Now that the dark was pulling back, I could actually see him.
Six-seven, maybe six-eight. Tall enough that the ceiling was a problem. He turned around and walked toward a table that had no business being in the same room as him—barely wider than a cutting board, with two chairs that groaned the moment he dropped into one. He propped the broadsword against the wall, and the tip sank in. The surface gave like wet muscle.
I looked at the wall. Really looked at it, this time. The surface wasn't rough because it was old or poorly cut. It was rough because it was alive—mucousy, faintly ridged, like the inside of a throat. The patches I'd mistaken for damp stone were slick with moisture that pulsed on a rhythm too slow to be mechanical.
"Hurry it up." The man's voice cut across whatever spiral I was about to have. He'd noticed me staring. "Eighteen minutes now. You new or sum'?"
'Something like that.'
The prompt was still there, too. Hovering in my periphery like a notification I'd swiped away but hadn't actually dismissed.
> Would you like to begin the tutorial?
The man had no patience. That much was obvious. And I'd been granted the class of Canteen Cook, which meant the thing splayed open on the counter was presumably lunch. His lunch. The alternative being that I refused, and whatever came next involved the sword currently leaking wall mucus onto the floor.
'Yes.'
[Ding!]
The sound was clean and short, like a notification from an app I didn't have anymore. No phone. No pockets, either. I was wearing a kitchen apron—caramel-colored, rough fabric, with three claw marks stitched in black across the chest. Someone had dressed me for a job I'd never applied for.
[Tutorial — Basic Meal Preparation]
> Step 1: Bisect the carcass along the central spine. 0/4
'Does it mean dissect? Forget that, how am I supposed to even begin?!'
I looked at the carcass. Then at the two large knives hanging to my left. Left without any other choice, I grabbed one by the hilt and immediately the weight strained against my arm.
Heavy. Very heavy. My spaghetti arms are no match.
Raising the blade over the splayed carcass, a thought surfaced. Surely whatever brought me here wouldn't subject me to pain and suffering without aid. Surely—
There it was. Blinking steadily.
'Status.'
Nothing.
I tried to press it but met air.
'C'mon. How do I...'
Then I did the stupidest thing. I strained my body, like before the final push during a dookie. It actually worked.
[Status]
> Name: Suyin Cindermore
> Class: Canteen Cook
> Race: ???
> HP: 25/25
> SP: 100/100
> DEF: 2
> Fire Res: 0
> Ice Res: 0
> Thunder Res: 0
> Water Res: 0
'How does it know my name but mess up my surname?! Worse yet, why is my race unknown? I'm Asian... can I not be Asian?'
Then something caught my throat.
[Would you like to check your skills?]
> ...
'Excuse my language. FUCK YES.'
[Skills]
> Appraisal — Lv. 1
[Passives]
> Cooking — Lv. 1 Survival — Lv. 1
[Gathering — Locked]
"Chop, chop." The man's voice reminded me exactly who was acting as my executioner. "You got fifteen minutes now."
All I could manage at that moment was a "Yessir" with a clumsy salute with the wrong hand, which judging by his frown was the wrong answer.
Why is my voice squeakier too?
'No, focus Suyin. You have Appraisal. Let's try it.'
"Appraisal."
[Ding!]
[Appraisal — Lv. 1]
> Gullmaw (Low Rank) Edible: Yes
That's it?
A name I'd never heard and confirmation that I could eat it. Nothing about how to cut it, or which of the seventeen visible organs would kill me.
Just: edible. Thanks a lot.
I set the knife down and closed my eyes. The passives. Cooking Lv. 1, Survival Lv. 1. If they were actually doing anything, I should be able to feel it.
My hand opened toward the stove.
Flame shot up from my palm and caught the grate. Steady, even, like turning a dial on a gas range. Heat Control. The wood underneath didn't need kindling—the fire just took.
Fire magic. I have fire magic and I'm using it to light a stove.
The knife again. This time, instead of muscling through, I let my hand go where it wanted to go. The blade found the seam between two ribs on its own—rough, ugly, but guided. Like my wrist knew an angle my brain didn't. I pressed down and the flesh parted.
That felt a little inappropriate.
The feeling was strange. Like autocorrect for a knife. The moment I stopped thinking and let the passive do the work, the cuts came easier. Ugly, but they came. The second I overthought it—tried to steer—the blade caught on cartilage and I had to yank it free.
'Don't think. Just let it go where it needs to go.'
I bisected the carcass along the spine. It took me four tries and the result looked like something a dog had gotten to, but the two halves were separate. The system didn't complain.
> Step 1: Bisect the carcass along the central spine. 1/4
Water next. A clay basin near the back wall had a spigot that looked like it had been carved from bone. Brown water coughed out for three seconds before running clear. Close enough.
The pot was heavy, iron, dented on one side. I hauled it onto the stove and hit it with another palm-flame, longer this time. A minute later, the water started to move.
> Step 2: Bring water to a rolling boil. 2/4
The greens were in a wooden container near the shelf. Leafy, dark, smelled like mint crossed with wet grass. I didn't know what they were but they looked more edible than anything else in the kitchen, so in they went.
I worked through the carcass with the knife, pulling cuts off the bone where the passive guided me and setting them aside on a board. Halfway through, my hand sank into something soft.
A sac. Green, about the size of my fist. Tucked behind the lower ribs, attached to the organ wall by a thin membrane. It pulsed faintly.
The texture hit me before the smell did—warm and giving under my fingers like a rotten grape. My stomach lurched up into my throat and I jerked my hand back, gagging over the edge of the counter.
'Uhhh... that has to be bad, right? Can you help me, System?'
[Bzzt.]
'Guess not. I'll go with my gut instinct. Green is bad. Has to be.'
I wiped my hand on the apron, swallowed hard, and picked the knife back up. Cut around it. Wide. Left a good inch of meat behind rather than nick it. Whatever was inside, I didn't want to find out by spilling it into the pot.
> Step 3: Remove organs and set aside. 3/4
The cuts went into the boiling water with the greens. I found a jar of something crystalline on the shelf—salt, maybe, or something close enough—and threw in a pinch because that's what people did on cooking shows. The only reference I had.
Then I waited.
"Two minutes." The man was standing now, arms crossed, jaw tight. He'd been watching the whole time.
The pot bubbled. The liquid had gone from grey to a dark amber, and the smell shifted from raw and animal to... to soup?
> Step 4: Season and apply heat until cooked. 4/4
I grabbed a plate from the shelf—wide, wooden, chipped at the rim. The man was already walking toward the counter.
I lifted the lid off the pot.
Steam hit my face. The cuts of meat had transformed. What went in ragged and ugly came out glistening, stacked on top of each other, the greens wilted around them like they'd been placed there on purpose. The broth clung to everything in a thick coat.
I stared at it.
The hunter stared at it in return.
I set the plate on the counter between us.
[Tutorial Complete]
> Bonus: Did you wash your hands before cooking?
You've got to be kidding me.