On Saturday morning, the sun rose over Mirror Lake, spilling a dazzling ribbon of gold across the rippling surface.
Inside Sazanami Cafe, the air was warm and inviting, saturated with the mouthwatering scent of freshly roasted coffee beans mingling with the sweet, buttery fragrance of caramelizing pastries.
Jun stood behind the counter, his hands moving with the easy rhythm of someone who had done this a thousand times, each motion smooth and efficient.
Yet today, his thoughts drifted far from the familiar routine, tuned into a completely different wavelength.
The mental boost that had sparked at the base of his skull the night before had completely reshaped the way he saw the world.
He wasn't merely juggling tasks anymore; his mind had split effortlessly into several parallel channels of thought, each running smoothly alongside the others.
With practiced ease, his hands worked to pull a double shot of espresso, eyes fixed on the precise flow rate of the rich, dark liquid, making tiny adjustments to the grind size—just a fraction of a millimeter—taking into account the subtle shift in humidity hanging in the air.
His peripheral vision caught the glowing digits on the oven's timer, instinctively gauging the precise second when the croissants would hit that perfect, golden flakiness, all while effortlessly estimating the exact steps it would take to reach table four in time to serve a pastry before the butter lost its warmth.
His enhanced hearing caught the faint, rhythmic tapping of a customer's foot three tables away, syncing it with the tense clench of the man's jaw and the cold, untouched coffee sitting in front of him.
The signs were clear—stress radiated off him, a caffeine crash was looming, and what he needed most now was a shot of sugar and a touch of warmth.
"Order up," Jun called out, his voice a calm and steady anchor amid the lively chatter and clinking cups that filled the bustling café.
He slid a plate of warm almond croissants toward the weary salaryman, pairing it with a freshly poured cup of rich, dark roast. "On the house. You look like you could use a boost."
The man blinked, startled out of his frantic foot-tapping. He looked at the pastry, then up at Jun. The tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction. "Ah. Thank you."
The bell above the door chimed once, then again, and then kept ringing without pause.
The weekend rush was in full swing. Tourists fresh from the lake park mingled with locals eager for a change of scenery, blending seamlessly with the steady flow of familiar faces who came every week.
The cafe, usually a cozy refuge for hushed chats and slow sips, was now alive with chatter and the hum of activity, its atmosphere charged with a warm, bustling energy that filled every corner.
For the first couple of hours, Jun's upgraded brain managed everything without a hitch.
He moved with effortless culinary precision, gliding between the espresso machine, the display case, and the tables, never once bumping into a customer or spilling a single drop.
Thanks to his boosted stamina, his legs stayed fresh and his lungs felt as if they could go on forever.
As the clock inched toward 11:30 AM, the rhythm of the café began to change.
The morning rush of coffee and pastry enthusiasts gradually gave way to the bustling lunch crowd, bringing a different kind of energy to the space.
It was at this point that Jun found himself facing his first real challenge of the day.
He was eager to offer his signature lunch special: a luxuriously rich and savory beef bourguignon, perfectly paired with creamy, buttery mashed potatoes.
This was no quick meal—it demanded that the beef be seared to a deep golden brown, then deglazed with a splash of robust red wine before being left to slowly braise for a full twelve hours, allowing the connective tissue to transform into tender, melt-in-your-mouth perfection.
He'd whipped up a batch the day before, but completely misjudged how busy the weekend would be.
Now there were only four portions left sitting in the warming oven, while the line of hungry customers snaking out the door easily called for at least a dozen.
Jun stopped mid-motion, the damp cloth still in his hand, as his mind quickly tallied the shortfall.
Sure, he could whip up some sandwiches, but that wouldn't come close to easing the kind of deep, soul-warming hunger the crisp autumn chill stirred up.
What he really needed was more braised beef, rich and tender—but there was no way he had twelve hours to spare.
He grabbed his smartphone and launched the Supermarket App. Skipping over the grocery section, he tapped on the Equipment tab.
He lazily flicked through rows of basic cast-iron skillets and heavy-duty stand mixers, barely glancing at them, until his eyes landed on exactly what he'd been searching for.
[Chronos Braising Pot - Tier 1]
Description:
A robust, rune-engraved cast-iron Dutch oven imbued with temporal-distortion enchantments, enabling the user to dramatically accelerate the slow-cooking process. This extraordinary vessel can replicate the results of 12 hours of traditional braising in just 15 minutes of real time, preserving all aspects of flavor complexity, ideal texture, and full nutritional value without compromise.
Cost: 50,000 Points.
Jun checked his balance. After six days of passive point generation and the massive influx of revenue from the morning rush, he had exactly 62,000 points. It was a massive chunk of his savings, but the return on investment for a lunch rush this size would pay it back in a single day.
He tapped [Purchase].
A gentle, melodic ding drifted up from the basement. "Excuse me for just a moment," Jun said to the waiting customers, his voice carrying easily over the hum of conversation. "The lunch special will be ready in fifteen minutes, so please enjoy your drinks."
He rushed down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the narrow space.
On the cold concrete floor sat a heavy, square wooden crate, its surface scuffed and worn from travel.
Jun knelt beside it, pried it open with effort, and brushed aside the coarse packing straw to reveal what lay inside.
The pot was a masterpiece of dwarven-looking craftsmanship.
It was made of dark, matte-black cast iron, but the lid was domed and etched with intricate, swirling silver runes that seemed to catch the light and hold it.
The handles were thick brass, and on the front, a small, mechanical dial glowed with a faint, amber light.
The thing was unbelievably heavy, but Jun grabbed the brass handles and lugged it up the stairs with ease, his enhanced muscles making the eighty-pound vessel feel light as a feather.
He placed it on the back burner of his commercial stove, where it slid into place like it was made to be there.
He got right to it, grabbing a raw, well-marbled chuck roast and slicing it into thick, even cubes. A quick splash of oil hit the hot pan, and soon the meat was searing, sending up that rich, mouthwatering aroma of browning beef and melting fat.
He poured in a generous splash of dry red wine to deglaze, scraping up all those flavorful browned bits, then added pearl onions, carrots, and a tidy bouquet garni of thyme and bay leaves.
He poured everything into the Chronos Braising Pot, making sure to add just enough rich beef stock to cover the meat completely.
With a firm twist, he secured the heavy iron lid, and almost instantly, the silver runes etched into its surface came alive, glowing with a gentle, rhythmic blue light.
Jun set the amber dial on the front to [12 Hours / 15 Minutes] and tapped the center button.
The pot didn't hiss or clatter; instead, a deep, steady hum thrummed through the countertop, sending a subtle vibration into Jun's chest.
The kitchen air seemed to bend and shimmer around it, a wavering distortion like the mirage of heat over a sunbaked road in midsummer.
Jun programmed a fifteen-minute timer on his phone before proceeding to return to the front area.
When the timer buzzed in his pocket, he wandered back into the kitchen.
The soft blue glow of the runes dimmed until it vanished, and the gentle hum came to a stop.
Jun unlatched the lid and slowly lifted it.
A cloud of steam drifted out, but this was no ordinary steam—it carried with it an aromatic masterpiece. The scent was rich and layered, almost impossibly complex.
Notes of deep, dark wine mingled with the earthy essence of root vegetables, all wrapped in the irresistible, savory perfume of beef that had been tenderly coaxed to perfection over a long, slow fire.
The fragrance was so sumptuous, it seemed to hang in the air with a weight you could almost feel.
He peered into the pot, where the sauce had cooked down into a rich, glossy mahogany glaze that shimmered like polished wood, wrapping itself snugly around each tender piece of meat.
Picking up a fork, he pressed it softly into a cube of beef, feeling it yield with just the slightest resistance.
The meat didn't just give way; it completely surrendered, collapsing into perfect, tender strands without the slightest hint of resistance, the once-stubborn connective tissues having dissolved entirely into the rich, flavorful sauce.
Jun let a drop of sauce roll off the back of the spoon onto his tongue, and his eyes widened just a touch.
It was perfect.
The wine's bright acidity sliced through the deep, savory richness of the beef with perfect ease. The taste was like remembering an ideal autumn evening, warm and alive in every detail. The System's magic hadn't just sped things along; it had elevated every aspect to something that felt almost unreal.
He swiftly dished up the portions, pouring the hearty stew over fluffy, butter-whipped potatoes, and topped each with a dash of fresh parsley.
"Lunch special is up," Jun announced, carrying the first tray out, and the reaction was immediate.
A middle-aged man at the counter, who had been massaging his temples as if trying to physically push the numbers on his spreadsheet into behaving, took the first bite and closed his eyes with the drama of someone starring in a gourmet commercial.
For a moment, the weight of countless cells, columns, and formulas dissolved into buttery bliss, and you could almost hear a tiny choir of pastry angels singing hallelujah in his head.
Jun watched as the magic began to work its way through him. The man's stiff, guarded stance eased, and the heavy shadows beneath his eyes seemed to fade as a deep sense of renewal flowed over him.
He released a long, trembling exhale, his shoulders sinking noticeably.
Without uttering a word, he focused solely on his meal, eating slowly and with care, as though each bite of stew was mending the frayed edges of his weary soul.
At table three, a young woman who had been nervously chewing her lip until it was raw took a bite of the beef.
She paused mid-chew as a soft, genuine smile spread across her face, and the tense, restless energy that had been pouring off her seemed to vanish in an instant.
Glanced at her phone, she quickly switched it off, and set it face down on the table, fully immersed in the moment.
The food did more than merely satisfy their hunger; it nourished and restored them. By 1:00 PM, the final serving of bourguignon had been placed before its eager recipient.
Gradually, the café began to clear, the once lively and bustling atmosphere easing into a serene, contented quiet.
As Jun methodically wiped down the counter, his attention was drawn to the sound of hushed yet animated whispers emanating from the corner booth.
Seated there was Mrs. Tanaka, accompanied by two of her longtime friends, both elderly women known for their habitual visits to the lake park each weekend.
"I'm telling you, it's not just the tea," Mrs. Tanaka declared, her voice ringing with conviction in the serene hush of the café.
"My hands—look at them!" She lifted them proudly, flexing each finger with remarkable ease.
"Not a single twinge, not a hint of ache. It's been four whole days since I tasted his honey cake, and my arthritis has completely vanished."
Her friend leaned in, eyes widening with intrigue. "Tanaka-san, are you suggesting the boy is use some sort of medicine?"
"No, not medicine," Mrs. Tanaka replied, shaking her head with grave certainty.
She cast a furtive glance toward the counter, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper—though Jun's sharpened hearing picked up every word with ease.
"My grandson devours those fantasy novels," she continued, a note of wonder threading her tone. "He told me about things like this. I believe Jun-kun might actually be a wizard."
"A wizard?" the other woman exclaimed in a hushed, breathless tone, her eyes widening with a mix of wonder and disbelief as if the very word carried with it the weight of countless legends and untold magic.
"Consider this," Mrs. Tanaka whispered in return. "He repairs the entire building single-handedly within a single day. His coffee alleviates headaches, and his soup relieves joint pain. He shows no signs of agin, never appears fatigued, and moves with an almost ethereal grace. He is, without a doubt, a wizard—a wizard of the kitchen."
Behind the counter, Jun halted his wiping, his movements slowing to a standstill.
He glanced down at his hands, noting the damp cloth resting loosely in his grasp, before lifting his gaze once more to meet the eyes of the elderly woman before him.
A wizard, he mused, a faintly dry and amused smile playing at his lips.
In truth, he merely adhered to recipes and employed a pot imbued with enchantment.
He chose not to correct their assumption, reasoning that if perceiving him as a wizard brought them comfort, it was a harmless belief to uphold.
In fact, this perception contributed a distinctive and endearing quality to the fabric of the town's social and cultural ecosystem.
By 8:00 PM, the final customer had left, and the "Closed" sign was flipped in the window.
Jun stood in the center of the cafe, looking around. Physically, he felt fantastic. His enhanced stamina meant that a fourteen-hour shift on his feet felt like a light jog. His muscles weren't sore, his back didn't ache, and his mind was still razor-sharp.
But as he looked at the dining area, the reality of his situation set in.
The front of the house was a bottleneck. He was constantly having to stop mid-pour or mid-plate to run the register, wipe down a freshly vacated table, or greet a walk-in. His cognitive processing could handle the multitasking, but the flow of the cafe was suffering. He was spending too much time away from the kitchen.
More importantly, a deeper instinct flared in his mind. He looked back through the pass-through window at his kitchen.
His cooking wasn't just good; it was magical. His hands, guided by the absolute mastery of his Level 10 skills, moved with a rhythm and precision that bordered on the supernatural. The ingredients responded to him in ways a normal chef couldn't comprehend.
If he brought a random sous-chef into his kitchen, they would notice. They would see the way the sauces reduced perfectly without him watching, they would feel the strange, soothing warmth radiating from the pots, and they would eventually ask questions he couldn't answer.
By 8:00 PM, the last customer was gone, and the "Closed" sign hung in the window.
Jun stood at the center of the café, surveying his surroundings. Physically, he was in exceptional condition. His augmented stamina rendered a fourteen-hour shift on his feet no more taxing than a leisurely jog.
There was no trace of muscle soreness, no ache in his back, and his mind remained focused and precise.
As he surveyed the kitchen, the stark reality of his circumstances became undeniable.
The space was in complete disarray: the sink was overflowing with unwashed dishes, and the preparation counters were littered with dirty bowls, scattered flour, and used pans.
Jun wandered over to the sink, eyeing the towering pile of ceramic and glass. He froze, as a cool, rational thought settled in.
No one can see this.
If he brought on a kitchen helper or sous-chef, they'd notice everything—the Chronos Braising Pot, the way he never measures a thing yet every dish turns out flawlessly precise.
They'd realize the food isn't just tasty—it's actually changing people, both physically and mentally.
The kitchen was his haven, and more than that, it guarded the secrets of his System.
He could not afford to take the risk of revealing it under any circumstances.
Jun retrieved his phone and launched the application. Bypassing the culinary tools section, he proceeded directly to the [Sanitation & Maintenance] tab.
He methodically navigated through the extensive selection of industrial scrubbers, examining each listing with precision, until he identified the specific model that met his exact requirements.
[Aegis Auto-Cleansing Dishwasher - Tier 1]
Description:
A stylish, commercial-grade stainless steel dishwasher enhanced with hydro-kinetic and thermal-sanitization runes. Once activated, it generates a high-pressure, high-heat vortex that cleans, sanitizes, and flash-dries up to 100 dishes in just 45 seconds. No pre-rinsing needed, and it leaves every piece spotless.
Cost: 15,000 Points.
Costing only a fraction of the braising pot's price, the purchase required no second thought from Jun, who tapped [Purchase] decisively.
Moments later, a soft chime resonated from the basement, signaling its arrival.
Installation was slated for the following day, promising to eliminate the persistent cleaning bottleneck within seconds, all without the need for additional staff in his kitchen.
But that still left the front of the house.He looked out through the pass-through window at the dining area.
He could cook, brew, and bake in absolute secrecy, but he couldn't be in the kitchen and out taking orders, running the cash register, and serving tables at the same time.
He didn't need a cook. He needed a face for the cafe. A cashier. A waitress. Someone to handle the customers, manage the floor, and keep the public strictly out of his kitchen.
He resolved to review the local community boards the following day, recognizing the need for an individual who was dependable, discreet, and capable of managing the demands of the weekend rush with professionalism and a welcoming demeanor.
Jun rose to his feet, extending his arms high above his head in a slow, deliberate stretch. He proceeded to the front door, securing the deadbolt with a firm twist, before extinguishing the main lights.
The room glowed softly under the warm, amber light of the pendant lamps, creating a calm and welcoming vibe.
Outside, the day had changed completely. The bright, starry sky from earlier was now hidden behind heavy, dark clouds.
A sharp wind swept across Mirror Lake, while a steady, icy rain tapped a rhythmic beat against the wide glass windows.
Feels satisfied seeing scenery, Jun tried toward his third-floor apartment to rest when his smartphone suddenly chimed.
It wasn't the soft chime of a delivery or the cheerful ping of a skill unlock. Instead, a harsh, grating buzz crawled up his spine, and the screen blazed with a blinding crimson prompt.
[WARNING: High-Stress Entity Approaching.]
[Emotional Resonance: Critical.]
[Psychological Damage: Severe.]
[Proximity: 10 meters and closing.]
Jun's eyes narrowed as his thoughts flipped from "cafe manager" to "threat assessment." He tossed the dish towel onto the counter and strode quickly to the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street and the lake park path.
He gazed through the rain-streaked glass, where flickering streetlights cast elongated, distorted shadows across the glistening pavement, while the wind howled with relentless force, bending the trees that lined the lake's edge.
A young woman was making her way slowly along the pathway leading to the café, each measured step carrying her closer to its inviting entrance.
In the serene, unassuming expanse of the rural suburb, she appeared strikingly out of place, clad in the distinguished uniform of Shuchiin Academy. One of the nation's most prestigious and costly private institution.
The blazer, a deep and opulent navy, paired with a flawlessly pleated skirt, bore the hallmarks of refinement and discipline, yet there was an inexplicable disarray to the ensemble, as though some intangible element had marred its intended perfection.
It was drenched, clinging to her trembling form. Her typically pristine, raven-black hair hung in wet, tangled strands across her face, heavy with rain. She carried no umbrella.
In her right hand, she gripped a small, inexpensive canvas bag with such force that her knuckles blanched.
She halted a few feet from the café's outdoor deck, her gaze never lifting toward the building. Motionless in the biting rain, she stood with her head bowed, her shoulders trembling in relentless, uncontrollable shivers.
Through the glass, rain, and darkness, Jun's heightened perception discerned every detail. He noted the deep, shadowed fatigue etched beneath her eyes, the subtle hitch in her chest as her breaths came shallow and quick, betraying the edge of panic.
Most palpable of all was the overwhelming aura of despair emanating from her, a suffocating psychological weight so intense it seemed to distort the very air surrounding her.
She resembled a bird cast out from a gilded cage, only to be engulfed by the unrelenting chaos of a tempest.
Jun glanced at the urgent red prompt still flashing on his phone, then shifted his gaze to the trembling girl standing in the rain. Without thinking twice, he sprang into action, unlocking the front door and stepping out onto the deck.