The cafe felt like a ship adrift in the middle of an endless ocean of water, sky, and silence as the rain had returned by morning, falling in gentle, steady sheets that turned the lake into a canvas of silver and grey.
Jun was momentarily confused and unsure of his location when he woke up to the sound of it pounding against the repaired windows and the scent of damp wood and earth, but then the memories of the previous few days descended upon him like a comforting blanket.
He started by brewing coffee. In this new life that seemed to be forming all around him, that had become a ritual.
His hands moved with an almost unconscious precision, grinding the beans, tamping the grounds, and pulling the shot with a fluid grace that would have been impossible only a few days ago. The espresso machine shone in the grey light.
The cream was thick and golden, the coffee flowed into the cup dark and rich, and the aroma warmed the empty room.
The rain continued as he drank, standing at the bar and watching the lake through the window.
The rain produced a hypnotic and serene rhythm, and the water's surface was a continuously changing pattern of ripples and reflections.
There was work to be done, even though he could have stood there for hours simply observing and taking in the peaceful rhythm of the rain.
Jun was aware that he had only scratched the surface of his grandfather's letters, which were still in the basement, stacked in their box and waiting to be read.
He had read the first one, the one that was addressed to him, but there were more, pages and pages of his grandfather's handwriting that contained his recipes, dreams, and life story.
With his footsteps resonating in the empty room, Jun put down his cup and headed for the basement stairs.
The air was still and damp, the basement was colder than the main floor, and the bare bulb illuminated the boxes, furniture, and forgotten items that occupied the area with a faint yellow glow.
The box of letters was where he had left it, and he carried it up to the main floor and set it on his table, the table he had built with his own hands, and he sat down and began to sort through the contents.
There were dozens of envelopes, each one addressed to him in his grandfather's elegant handwriting, and he opened them one by one and read the words that had been waiting for years to be discovered.
A few of the letters were brief and contained only a few words of counsel or support. Others were lengthy, full of memories, stories, and thoughts about a life that had been purposefully and lovingly lived. Then there were the recipes.
They were more than just cooking recipes; they were written on scraps of paper and in the margins of old books, tucked into letters and folded between notebook pages.
They served as a chronicle of his grandfather's life and a map of his journey from the chilly Izanami family hallways to the cozy little cafe by the lake.
One recipe caught his eye, written on a piece of paper that was yellowed and brittle with age. The ink had faded to a soft brown, but the words were still legible, and Jun read them slowly, savoring each word like he was tasting something precious.
"Coffee Cake with Honey Glaze"
"Your grandmother taught me this recipe for the first time. I knew I would never leave her when she made it for me on our first anniversary. The honey holds the key. Make use of the dark, good stuff that comes from the mountains. It has a huge impact."
Jun read the recipe twice, and then he read it a third time, and he could feel his grandfather's presence in the words, could almost hear his voice speaking the instructions.
The recipe was straightforward—just flour, butter, sugar, and eggs—but it felt sacred because of the way it was written and the love, care, and precision that had gone into it.
He ordered the flour, butter, eggs, and honey—the dark mountain honey his grandfather had requested—from the app because he wanted to make it. In the catalog, he came across a small jar labeled "Wildflower Honey - Mountain Harvest - Rare," and he immediately put it in his cart.
With the familiar soft chime, the delivery materialized in the basement, and Jun picked up the crate and carried it up to the kitchen. After placing the ingredients on the counter and reading the recipe again, he started.
He creamed the soft, golden butter with the sugar until it turned pale and fluffy, the grains dissolving into the fat as if they were transforming into something else. The mixture became rich, glossy, and smooth as the eggs were added one at a time, each fully incorporated before the next.
As directed by the recipe, he sifted the flour into the bowl, allowing the fine powder to fall like snow into the butter and sugar. He then gently folded the mixture together, taking care not to overmix.
He poured the thick, fragrant batter into a pan that he had buttered and floured, and the aroma that emerged was promising, cozy, and warm.
The dark amber liquid caught the light like liquid gold as he drizzled the honey over the top and watched it spread and swirl into the batter. He could see why his grandfather had insisted on using the good stuff; the honey was thick, fragrant, and had a subtle, complex floral sweetness.
The warmth that emanated from the cake filled the cafe like a hug as it was placed in the oven.
As he waited in the kitchen, Jun experienced an almost palpable bond with his grandfather. He could picture the elderly man preparing the same cake for the woman he loved in this same kitchen using the same ingredients.
The years that separated them seemed to vanish, and Jun had the impression that he was a part of something that had been going on for a very long time and would go on long after he was gone.
He took the cake out of the oven and placed it on the counter to cool after the timer chimed. The honey glaze was bubbling slightly at the edges, the surface was golden and glossy, and the aroma emanating from it was rich, sweet, and warm.
He let it cool for what felt like an eternity before slicing it and biting into it.
It had the ideal texture—tender, moist, and slightly crumbly—and it melted on his tongue.
The honey was a faint sweetness that lingered at the back of his palate; it wasn't overbearing. Also, the cake was straightforward and uncomplicated, yet it was flawless in its simplicity.
Standing at the counter, he finished the entire slice before cutting and eating another.
He heard a soft chiming sound on his smartphone and pulled it out to see the glowing notification.
---
[Skill Update: Cooking]
[Level: 10/10 - Mastery (Deepened)]
[Description: You now have a deeper comprehension of culinary arts. You understand the language of food in a way that goes beyond technique, and you can now intuitively replicate recipes from written instructions, even if the original is centuries old or from another world.]
---
After reading the notification, Jun experienced a mild sense of amazement. He was aware that the abilities were unquestionable and that they came with an almost magical degree of mastery, but this was different.
Anywhere, at any time, and in any world, he could replicate recipes. He had mastered the universal language of food.
He experienced a rush of excitement he hadn't experienced in years as he considered the possibilities and the thousands of recipes that could be found throughout the vastness of human imagination and beyond.
The world of food had just opened up to him in a way that was practically limitless, and he could learn anything. He was also capable of creating anything.
In search of additional recipes, he returned to the letters and discovered them. Numerous pieces of his grandfather's life and love, tucked into notebook pages and folded into envelopes.
There was a recipe for bread that required two days to rise, with a soft, airy crumb and a crackling crust.
There was a soup recipe that called for herbs that grew wild by the lake and vegetables from the garden. There was a recipe for hand-cut, thinly rolled pasta that was served with cheese, butter, and cracked black pepper.
As Jun read them all, he sensed his grandfather's influence in each word and the years of preparation and skill that went into each dish. These weren't merely recipes. They were a gift and a legacy passed down from one generation to the next.
He made the decision to give the bread that took two days to rise another go.
There were lengthy wait times between the kneading, proofing, and baking steps in this methodical and slow process. However, Jun discovered that he didn't mind having to wait.
He was able to reflect, read more letters, and consider the possibilities of his new life.
In a big bowl, he combined the flour, water, and yeast; the result was a sticky, elastic dough that clung to his hands like it was almost alive.
He kneaded it on the counter, stretching, pressing, and folding as he felt the texture shift and the gluten form beneath his hands.
He covered the dough with a moist cloth and placed it in a warm corner of the kitchen to rise once it was smooth and supple.
As the hours went by, the dough expanded, filled with air, and developed into something greater than the sum of its parts.
He formed the dough into a round loaf with a smooth, taut surface the following morning and left it to rise once more while he got the oven ready.
When he slid the loaf into the oven, the smell that emerged was unlike anything he had ever smelled, and the heat that emanated from the oven was dry and fierce.
The aroma filled the cafe, spilled out into the garden, and drifted across the lake like a promise as the bread baked for forty-five minutes, darkening and crackling the crust.
The loaf was golden and flawless when Jun took it out of the oven, with a pattern of cracks covering its surface that resembled a map of some uncharted territory.
The hardest part was waiting for it to cool, after which he broke the crust and observed the steam rising from the soft crumb inside.
He bit into a slice that he had buttered, and the flavor was both straightforward and profound.
"Good bread," he remarked to the vacant space. "Really, really good bread."
He ate, drank, and watched the rain fall on the lake while sitting at his table with the bread and a cup of coffee. He experienced an almost overwhelming sense of contentment.
He picked up the next letter, which was still strewn all over the table, and started reading.
"My dearest Jun,"
"I'm hoping you're reading this. I'm hoping you're in the cafe. I hope you're coming to appreciate it as much as I did.
"I've only given you a few recipes. I never had the opportunity to learn about certain dishes, cuisines, or customs. However, you can locate them. The app will assist you. You'll have access to things I never would have thought possible."
"Jun, I know it sounds unbelievable, but there are recipes from other worlds. Before I left, I saw items from places that don't exist in our world in the app. You can try them, but I was never able to. You ought to."
"Cook from your heart. Cook with affection. Give others access to what you create. My boy, that's what this life is all about. It has always been about that.
"I cherish you. You have my utmost admiration.
"Your grandfather,"
"Haruki"
With the letter in his hands and the taste of bread still on his tongue, Jun sat for a considerable amount of time contemplating what his grandfather had written. recipes from other worlds.
foods originating from nonexistent locations. He had access to something unimaginable thanks to the app.
He launched the app and browsed the catalog in search of anything that felt different. When he opened the category marked "Specialty Items - Limited Availability," he discovered items that left him speechless.
"Floating Island Cake - Recipe and Ingredients - From the World of Teyvat"
"Sumeru Style Roasted Chicken - Recipe and Ingredients - From the World of Teyvat"
"Crane's Cloudy Lookout - Recipe and Ingredients - From the World of Teyvat"
"Salted Fish: Recipe and Ingredients from the Luofu World"
"Immortal's Delight - Recipe and Ingredients - From the World of Luofu"
As he gazed at the screen, Jun experienced a feeling of awe that he hadn't experienced since his early years, when the world was full of magic and mystery.
He could make these recipes from places and worlds he had only ever imagined. Where he could make them with his own hands, he could taste them.
He hasn't purchased anything yet because he wanted to wait until he was ready and had mastered the fundamentals of his grandfather's recipes before moving on to something more exotic.
The prices were high and the descriptions were enigmatic. However, the fact that they were real and accessible gave him an almost overwhelming sense of possibility.
The rain continued to fall, the lake continued to ripple and shine, and Jun sat at his table and made plans for the future.
Before mastering the bread, soup, pasta, and cake, he would learn his grandfather's recipes.
The aroma of the food that had united his grandparents and given them a happy and peaceful life would fill the cafe.
He would then investigate the other worlds when he was prepared.
He took out his notebook and wrote:
"Day 5. It rains again. I made Grandfather's honey cake and two-day bread, both of which are perfect. The recipes are more than just recipes; they are pieces of Grandfather's life.
"The app contains recipes from other worlds, like Teyvat and Luofu. When I'm ready, I'll try them."
"The cafe is starting to feel genuine and like it belongs to me.
He closed the notebook and looked out at the rain, and he was happier than he had ever been.
///
The rain continued its gentle assault on the windows, the lake, and the garden outside as the afternoon went by slowly.
Jun took the time to thoroughly explore the app, browsing the categories and taking notes on items he might require later.
From simple wooden tables to elaborate light fixtures with a palace-like appearance, there was a section devoted to furniture and décor.
There was a section for books, including cookbooks, novels, and small business management manuals, and another for cozy and practical clothing.
He bought a few things, such as a set of basic but tasteful plates and bowls, a collection of mugs in warm earth tones, and a small bookshelf that he could put together and fill with the books he planned to buy.
As the deliveries arrived in the basement with the familiar chime, he spent the late afternoon placing them on the counter and the shelves.
The cafe was starting to resemble a cafe.
The espresso machine was shining, the bar was shining, and the plates and cups were neatly stacked on the shelves. The bookshelf leaned against the wall, empty but ready to be stocked.
He could picture people sitting at the sturdy, solid table he had built, sipping his coffee, consuming his food, and finding their own tranquility in the area he was designing.
The rain had subsided to a light drizzle that evening, and Jun prepared a simple dinner for himself using the ingredients he had on hand. A glass of tap water, a piece of bread with butter and salt, and a salad with the leftover vegetables. Simple, healthy, and delicious food.
A feeling of hope that was brighter than anything he had ever experienced filled him as he sat at his table and ate while gazing out at the lake that was disappearing into darkness.
He was constructing something. He was making something. Additionally, he didn't feel lonely despite being by himself.
With the taste of bread still in his mouth and the assurance that his grandfather was keeping an eye on him, Jun went to bed as the night enveloped him like a blanket.