The morning air in the kitchen was warm with steam and the tang of chopped roots. Fire crackled under copper-bottomed pans. Knives thudded against wooden boards.
Ren stood at his usual prep station, apron tight, sleeves rolled.
But today? Today was different.
Today, he was going to experiment.
Not by pouring raw mana into dishes—he wasn’t ready for that yet.
But after last night’s lesson, something had clicked. He’d slept light and woke buzzing with ideas. The way Farin described affinities… like flavor profiles. And what was cooking, if not the blending of profiles?
He couldn’t cast spells. But maybe… just maybe… he could nudge the mana within ingredients. Coax out subtle effects by aligning them with the right affinity as he worked.
Like pairing wine with meat. But instead of wine, he was using mana
He flexed his fingers. The mana was there—dim and quiet, like a coal under ash. He wasn’t drawing it out yet, just letting it brush against what he touched.
The first test? A simple root stew. Earthy base, soft texture. He reached for a pinch of dried fenleaf—bitter, fibrous, kind of dull. Normally used as filler according to the other chef.
But this time, as he crushed the herb between his fingers, he let his inner warmth swirl—a whisper of heat, not fire, but something close. He thought about warmth, comfort, hearths on winter nights.
Then he stirred it into the pot.
He tasted a spoonful, letting the steam hit his nose.
Hmm… deeper. Like the bitterness mellowed out and wrapped around the broth instead of stabbing through it. Weird. Good weird.
“Hey, Jona,” Ren called.
The wiry waiter poked his head into the kitchen. “Yeah?”
“Got a new variation. Taste this.”
Ren passed over a small bowl, watching closely as the man took a bite.
Jona blinked. “Oh. That’s… smoother than usual. Like, I dunno—warmer? I could eat this all day.”
Ren nodded, hiding his excitement. “Just trying something new. Here, take a bowl to table six. Tell me what they say.”
“Sure thing, Chef.”
The next test was a seared fish filet—normally citrus-cut and light. This time, Ren cupped the fish in his hand for a second longer, thinking wind. Movement. Clean skies.
When he seasoned it with lemongrass and charred salt, he felt that same flicker of movement flow with his blade as he scored the flesh.
Taste test?
Clean. Brighter. Almost… dancing on the tongue?
He plated it.
“Jona!”
“Another one?”
“Yeah. Give this to the elf at the bar. She’s got sharp taste.”
________
Not everything worked.
The roasted marrow dish? He tried pushing a whisper of a shadow vibe—earthy, deep, musky. It came out cloying. Heavy.
He scrunched his face and tossed it. “Nope. Too much. Wrong balance.”
By mid-afternoon, Jona was starting to eye him suspiciously.
“Okay, Chef. What are you doing today?”
Ren just smiled. “Call it… seasoning theory.”
Jona raised a brow, but didn’t press.
The servers trickled in with their reports.
- “Table four asked if we changed suppliers. They said the stew was nostalgic.”
- “The elf said the fish was lighter than usual. Like it made her want to go running.”
- “Table six asked if you added wine to the braised shanks. They couldn’t tell but said it tasted more… alive?”
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Ren jotted mental notes. Patterns. Pairings. Outcomes.
No glowing dishes. No flashy effects.
But something was happening.
And he was just getting started.
__________
The dinner rush hit hard.
Ren moved like he was born in this kitchen—chopping, searing, tasting, adjusting. The mana stayed subtle, almost instinctual now. Just a flicker of wind here, a nudge of heat there.
He wasn’t changing the food so much as guiding it. Whispering to it. Like letting a song sing itself.
By the time the last plate went out, Ren was drenched in sweat, his fingers raw from peeling roots, his senses tingling with mana trails and taste notes.
He’d just begun wiping down his station when he felt her presence behind him.
Maela.
She didn’t say a word at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching him.
“Hey, Maela,” he said, forcing casual. “Rush was wild tonight.”
She didn’t return the smile.
“You’ve been… busy,” she said. Her tone was mild. Her eyes were not.
Ren put down the cloth.
“Alright,” he said. “Hit me.”
“You’re good,” she said slowly. “Too good. You showed up out of nowhere, didn’t know the difference between crushed root and marrowleaf, but now you’re crafting flavor profiles I’ve never seen outside noble kitchens. And I’ve seen you fumble mana like a drunk farmer trying to milk a goat. But now, suddenly, your dishes hum with it?”
Ren felt his heartbeat pick up. But he kept his voice steady.
“I had some help.”
“You listened to me huh.”
Now Ren turned to face her. “You’re the one who sent me to him.”
Maela crossed her arms. “And I don’t regret it. But I didn’t expect him to come back raving like you were some forgotten culinary saint dropped from the sky.”
Ren’s smile faltered for just a second. “He… said that?”
“Not in those words. But close enough.”
She studied him again, eyes narrowing.
“So where’d you really learn that kind of cooking?”
Ren paused. This was it.
Farin had helped him come up with something plausible—a blend of half-truths and obscure references, enough to pass casual scrutiny.
“I trained under a traveling cook from Kiroshi,” he said. “Temple-city near the eastern ridge. Obscure food laws, old mana traditions. Weird stuff. Not the kind of training that gets you a job in most city kitchens.”
“And you just ended up here?”
“Didn’t fit in over there. Left. Traveled. Was looking for somewhere quiet to start over. Got lucky when I saw your sign.”
Maela didn’t respond right away. Her fingers tapped the countertop, a steady rhythm. Thinking.
Finally, she said, “I don’t know if you’re lying, Ren. I think you’re not.”
She stepped back, expression unreadable now.
“But just remember—I sent you to Farin because I thought you had potential. Not because I trust you. Not yet.”
Ren gave a small nod. “Understood.”
Maela turned to leave, but paused in the doorway.
“One more thing,” she said. “The stew tonight? It hit like a hearthfire in winter.”
Ren blinked. “…Good?”
She nodded, still not smiling. “Too good.”
Then she left.
Ren stared after her for a moment.
The lie held.
For now.
_________
The room above the tavern was quiet, lit only by the amber flicker of a single wall-lamp. Ren sat on the edge of his small bed, legs sore, hands stained, mind spinning.
He leaned back against the creaking wall and finally exhaled.
Time to check.
He blinked—and the world flickered faintly.
[You have received 38 EXP: Mana-assisted Cooking – Improvised]
[You have received 21 EXP: Taste Identification – Multi-Affinity Response]
[You have received 12 EXP: Subtle Mana Manipulation – Wind]
[You have received 16 EXP: Subtle Mana Manipulation – Heat]
[You have received…]
[…]
[…]
[Level Up: Level 4 Achieved]
[2 Attribute Points Gained (Carried from Level 3)]
[+1 to Perception]
[+1 to Dexterity]
Ren blinked, the notifications fading into soft afterglow behind his eyes.
“Level four…” he murmured, lips curling into a grin.
He flexed his fingers experimentally. They didn’t feel stronger. Not really. But there was a certain fluidity there now. A little less hesitation in his hands, a little more awareness in his movements.
[Dexterity: 10]
[Perception : 13]
Not bad.He could see some solid growth in his stats since he first arrived.
Still way below any serious adventurer, probably, but for a kitchen rat trying to decode a magical system of food alchemy?
It was a damn good start.
________
He leaned back on the mattress, exhaling slow, mind still humming with the lingering aftertaste of mana.
Then the system’s soft glow pulsed again—an icon hovering gently at the edge of his vision:
[Attribute Points Available: 2]
Right.
He still had those to assign.
He brought up the full status window—familiar now, though still strange to see himself laid out in numbers:
Name: Ren Saito
Race: Human (Outsider)
Level: 4
EXP: 17 / 120
Affinities: Undetermined
Status Effects: None
Attributes:
- Strength: 8
- Dexterity: 10
- Constitution: 8
- Intelligence: 9
- Wisdom: 9
- Perception: 13
- Charisma: 8
Unassigned Points: 2
He studied the numbers, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of the bed.
Perception and Dexterity had both ticked up again after tonight’s work—he could feel that. The way his senses tracked taste, the way his hands moved more naturally with the knife, even the subtle way mana seemed easier to feel than before.
And he had two points to spend.
He considered just dumping both into Perception. He was already better-than-average there—if that trend continued, it could become his anchor stat. His edge.
But Dexterity was tempting too. Every slip of the knife, every twitch of the wrist during infusion mattered. And if he ever started needing to cook under pressure—or defend himself—it would only get more important.
Then again, there was also Intelligence and Wisdom. He hadn’t touched those yet, but if mana theory and spell shaping became part of his growth, it might bite him later if they lagged behind.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Think like a chef.”
Perception lets you see. Dexterity lets you act. Intelligence lets you understand. Wisdom helps you adapt.
He bit his lip, thinking.
Then nodded.
[+1 Dexterity applied]
[+1 Intelligence applied]
Balance. Hands and head. Precision and insight. He’d ride his sensory edge for now—but he couldn’t afford to be a one-stat wonder, not in a world that bent around mana like this one did.
He felt the shift ripple subtly through his body.
A fraction tighter grip. A hint more clarity in the fog of arcane flavor.
Not much.
But enough.
Tomorrow, he’d try the real thing.