Arya stepped into the kitchen, and the moment he crossed the threshold a strange calm settled over him.
Finally.
A chance.
He looked around quickly, taking in the space. It was a practical kitchen—large stone oven built into the wall, wooden preparation tables scarred by years of chopping, racks of herbs drying near the window, sacks of flour stacked neatly in one corner.
Nothing luxurious.
But more than enough.
Arya's lips curled into a faint smile.
I can't really botch this, he thought.
After everything… I finally have the opportunity.
For a brief moment a ridiculous thought surfaced.
This world has made a grave mistake giving me this chance.
He almost laughed.
Ha… ha… this is it. The first step toward world conquest.
Then he shook his head slightly.
Just joking.
Behind him the tavern owner frowned.
"Oi, kid."
Arya turned.
"What's so funny?"
The large man crossed his arms.
"Don't tell me I let a madman into my kitchen."
Arya immediately straightened.
"No sir! I wasn't laughing."
The man narrowed his eyes.
"Then what were you doing standing there grinning like a fool?"
Arya coughed lightly.
"I was just… thinking about what I should cook."
The owner snorted.
"Whatever you can, kid."
He leaned against the doorway.
"Something famous where you're from."
Arya nodded slowly.
Now the real question emerged.
What should I cook?
He glanced across the ingredients available.
Flour.
Salt.
Herbs.
Some vegetables.
Cured meats.
Cheese.
His first instinct was something simple.
Porridge.
Easy. Safe. Reliable.
But no.
Porridge would never impress anyone.
Then his mind moved to something bold.
Steak.
Yet that carried its own risk. A good steak depended heavily on the quality of meat, and if the cut was poor the dish would suffer regardless of skill.
Arya frowned.
He needed something…
Simple.
Memorable.
Something no one in this world had likely seen before.
Then the idea arrived.
He blinked once.
Pizza.
Flatbread, sauce, cheese, toppings, baked in a hot oven.
Universally loved.
Impossible to ignore.
A slow smile spread across his face.
Yes.
That would work perfectly.
He turned back toward the owner.
"Sir?"
The man grunted.
"What."
"Do you have tomatoes?"
The owner blinked.
"…what?"
"Tomatoes."
"Of course we do."
"And flour?"
The man stared at him.
"You're standing in a kitchen."
Arya nodded politely.
"And cheese?"
The owner rubbed his beard.
"Yes…?"
"And olive oil?"
"Kid," the man said slowly, "if you're planning to make soup with that list, I'm going to be very disappointed."
Arya smiled faintly.
"No sir."
He turned toward the preparation table.
"I'm going to make something better."
The owner snorted but said nothing more.
Arya rolled up his sleeves.
Now he worked.
Flour first.
He poured a measured amount into a wooden bowl, adding water, salt, and a small drizzle of oil. His hands moved confidently, kneading the dough with practiced rhythm.
The owner watched from the doorway.
"Bread?"
"Part of it."
Arya worked the dough until it became smooth and elastic before setting it aside to rest.
Next came the sauce.
Tomatoes were chopped quickly, their juice staining the board. Garlic, herbs, and a little salt followed into a small pan where Arya simmered them slowly.
The aroma began spreading through the kitchen almost immediately.
The owner's eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Hm."
Arya continued without speaking.
He sliced cured meat thinly, shaved cheese into soft curls, and rolled the rested dough into a wide flat circle.
Then he paused.
Here came the moment that separated good from unforgettable.
Arya closed his eyes briefly.
Mana.
The word still felt strange in this world where no one seemed aware of it.
But deep within his body, the remnants still lingered.
A faint current.
Weaker than before.
Yet still present.
He guided the energy carefully, letting only the smallest trace flow into his fingertips.
Not enough to reveal itself.
Just enough to sharpen sensation.
To heighten balance.
To coax flavor into harmony.
He spread the tomato sauce across the dough.
The mana touched it lightly.
The acidity softened.
The sweetness deepened.
Cheese followed.
Then meat.
Then herbs.
Each placed with quiet precision.
The owner leaned forward slightly.
"Kid…"
Arya ignored him.
Finally he slid the prepared disk onto a wooden paddle and pushed it into the stone oven.
Heat roared inside.
Minutes passed.
The scent that emerged slowly filled the kitchen.
It was warm.
Rich.
Savory.
The kind of smell that made a person suddenly realize they were hungry even if they had just eaten.
The tavern owner straightened.
"…what in the hell is that?"
Arya opened the oven and pulled the dish out.
The crust had risen perfectly, golden and crisp along the edges. Cheese melted into a bubbling blanket over the sauce.
He placed it carefully on the table and sliced it.
Steam rose gently from the cut.
Arya turned and offered a piece.
"To taste."
The large man stared at it.
Suspicion.
Curiosity.
Then hunger.
Finally he grabbed the slice and took a bite.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then his eyes widened.
He chewed slowly.
Then again.
Then again.
The owner lowered the slice and stared at Arya.
"…kid."
A pause.
"What the hell did you just make?"
Arya allowed a small, careful smile.
"Something simple, sir."
The man looked down at the slice again as if expecting it to reveal some hidden trick.
He took another bite.
Then another.
The crust cracked lightly between his teeth, the cheese stretched in warm threads, and the sauce carried a depth of flavor that seemed far too rich for such humble ingredients.
He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.
Then suddenly barked toward the dining hall.
"Renn!"
A thin young server peeked through the doorway.
"Yes, boss?"
"Get in here."
The boy stepped inside, eyes immediately locking onto the strange dish on the table.
"What's that?"
"Eat it."
Renn blinked.
"…is that an order?"
The owner shoved the remaining slice toward him.
"Eat."
The boy shrugged and took a bite.
For a moment he simply chewed.
Then his eyebrows shot upward.
"Whoa."
He took another bite quickly.
"What is this?"
Arya folded his arms behind his back politely.
"Food."
The tavern owner snorted.
"Don't get clever."
He leaned heavily against the table, studying Arya like a merchant inspecting a rare animal.
"You made this from flour, tomatoes, cheese, and cured meat."
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
The owner rubbed his beard slowly.
"…damn."
He grabbed another slice.
Then another.
Within moments half the dish had disappeared between the two of them.
Finally the man leaned back, exhaling deeply.
"Well."
A long pause followed.
Then he pointed a thick finger at Arya.
"Kid."
Arya straightened slightly.
"Yes?"
"You're hired."
Arya blinked once.
The owner continued speaking as if the decision had already been carved in stone.
"I'm adding this thing to my menu."
He lifted another slice and waved it slightly.
"Whatever the hell it is."
"Pizza," Arya said.
The man frowned.
"Peetsa?"
"Pizza."
"…right."
He shrugged.
"Doesn't matter what it's called. People will eat it."
He jabbed a thumb toward the kitchen door.
"You better be able to make it taste exactly like this every time."
Arya inclined his head.
"I can."
The man narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I hope so."
He leaned forward.
"Because if this was a fluke, I'll know by tomorrow."
Arya allowed himself a faint smile.
"It wasn't."
The owner studied him for another long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Good."
He wiped his hands on a cloth and continued in a businesslike tone.
"You start tomorrow."
Arya felt a quiet wave of relief pass through him, though he kept his expression calm.
"You'll work the kitchen."
He pointed toward a narrow hallway at the back.
"There's a small room upstairs. Not fancy, but it's got a bed."
Arya's ears almost perked up.
A bed.
Actual bedding.
The man held up a thick finger.
"Don't get excited."
Arya froze.
"I'm not giving it to you for free."
Of course not.
The owner smirked slightly.
"I'll cut the cost from your wages."
Arya nodded.
"That's fair."
"Good."
The man leaned back against the table again.
"Speaking of wages…"
He paused.
"Weekly pay."
Arya listened carefully.
"One hundred nickels."
Arya considered that number for a moment.
He didn't yet know the full value of currency in Stoneford, but judging from the prices he had seen at the market it seemed… modest.
But it was also stable.
And far better than sleeping on the street.
The owner crossed his arms.
"If you don't like it—"
He jerked his head toward the door.
"—you can get the hell out."
Arya shook his head quickly.
"No sir. That works for me."
The man nodded once.
"Good."
He glanced down at the nearly empty pizza.
"Because if you'd walked out with this recipe…"
He gave Arya a look that was half warning, half admiration.
"…I might've chased you down the street."
Renn, still chewing enthusiastically, raised a hand.
"Boss?"
"What."
"Can we sell this tonight?"
The owner thought about it.
Then shrugged.
"Why not."
He turned back to Arya.
"You still got enough ingredients?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He pointed toward the oven.
"Make another one."
Arya blinked.
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
The owner grinned slightly.
"Let's see if the rest of Stoneford loses their minds over this thing too."
Arya felt something warm settle in his chest.
Two days ago he had arrived in this town with nothing.
Yesterday he had slept on bare stone.
Today…
He had work.
A roof.
And the first small step toward building a life in this world.
Arya picked up the flour bowl again and began kneading fresh dough.
Behind him, the tavern owner leaned against the counter watching with growing satisfaction.
"…kid."
Arya glanced back.
"Yes?"
The man nodded toward the oven.
"Welcome to the Drunken Pavilion."
Arya smiled faintly.
"Thank you, sir."
And for the first time since arriving in this unfamiliar world—
The future no longer felt quite so uncertain.