Ch-92 < Cooking session >

The day after their intense discussions and preparations for the Final Herrscher, Kevin decided it was time for a break.

With the MANTIS surgery with Jyahnar's genes scheduled in the near future and missions temporarily on hold, Kevin found himself with rare free time. he decided to do something completely different—cooking.

Kevin entered the kitchen, determination gleaming in his eyes. He had never been much of a cook, but that wasn't going to stop him. He'd conquered countless Honkai beasts, fought Herrschers, and survived the horrors—how hard could making a few dishes be?

Armed with a stack of cookbooks containing recipes from around the world, Kevin scanned the pages. He decided to start simple: a hearty soup, some freshly baked bread, a custard —and perhaps a vegetables soup. The recipes seemed straightforward enough, but as Kevin began gathering the ingredients, it quickly became apparent that this task would not be as easy as he had hoped.

The kitchen was soon filled with the sounds of clattering utensils, chopping vegetables, and the sizzling of pancakes in a pan. Kevin followed the recipe instructions meticulously, measuring out ingredients and timing everything to the second. But despite his efforts, things started to go wrong almost immediately.

The gas stove suddenly flickered out, leaving Kevin staring at a pot of uncooked soup. After a few attempts to relight it, he finally got the flame going again, only for the power to cut out a moment later, plunging the kitchen into darkness.

Kevin sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. Was the universe really against him cooking today?

When the power returned, he resumed his work, only to find that the utensils he was using had inexplicably malfunctioned. His knife dulled after a single chop, the blender refused to start, and even the whisk seemed to bend out of shape as soon as he touched it. Frustrated but determined, Kevin pressed on, trying to salvage the dishes.

As the minutes turned into hours, the kitchen began to resemble more of a disaster zone than a place where food was being prepared. The soup turned into a strange, thick sludge, the bread dough somehow expanded into a monstrosity that overflowed from its pan, and the pancakes took on an unnatural color that Kevin couldn't even begin to describe.

Finally, Kevin surveyed his work—if you could call it that. The countertop was littered with what could only be described as unidentifiable masses of food. The "soup" looked more like a swamp, the "bread" was an amorphous blob, and the "stew" had an unsettling sheen to it. The kitchen, once pristine and orderly, was now a chaotic mess of flour, spilled liquids, and burnt pots.

Undeterred, Kevin decided he needed a second opinion. He called Kosma, one of the only others in the base who might be willing to try his creations. Kosma entered the kitchen cautiously, taking in the sight of the unusual dishes with a neutral expression.

"Kosma, I need you to taste these and tell me what you think," Kevin said, holding up a bowl of what was supposed to be soup.

Kosma looked at the bowl, then at Kevin, before hesitantly taking it. He leaned in to smell it first, only to recoil almost instantly. The potent aroma, a mixture of burnt ingredients and something else entirely, hit him like a wave. Kosma's eyes widened, and before Kevin could say anything, Kosma's legs buckled, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Kevin blinked, staring down at his fallen comrade. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I need to try again."

With renewed determination, Kevin returned to his disastrous kitchen, flipping through the cookbooks to find something that might be more manageable. He decided to attempt a few more dishes—a simple salad, an omelet, and perhaps some grilled paneer. Surely, those wouldn't be as prone to failure.

But as he worked, the curse seemed to follow him. The lettuce for the salad wilted almost immediately upon contact with his hands, the eggs for the omelet somehow turned to stone in the pan, and the paneer ended up more charred than grilled.

Kosma, who had regained consciousness and foolishly decided to stay, tried a bite of the salad. He chewed slowly, his expression turning from cautious optimism to utter despair as the flavors—or lack thereof—hit him. Even the genes of Vishnu, which gave Kosma extraordinary resilience, couldn't withstand the assault on his taste buds. He managed to swallow but only barely, and when Kevin offered the omelet, Kosma declined with a weak shake of his head.

Kevin couldn't help but feel slightly discouraged, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. He tried calling Kalpas, hoping that the famously stubborn soldier might be up for the challenge. Kalpas entered the kitchen with his usual gruff demeanor, ready to tackle whatever Kevin had prepared. But the moment Kalpas saw the dishes—particularly the soup that had knocked out Kosma—he turned on his heel and left without a word. This was the first time Kevin had ever seen Kalpas run from a challenge.

Kevin sighed, rubbing his temples. Cooking was supposed to be a relaxing activity, but it was turning out to be more stressful than any battle he'd faced. The kitchen was in chaos, and he had yet to create a single dish that was remotely edible.

Finally, Kevin decided it was time to take drastic measures. He tapped into the power of Origin, a force capable of altering reality itself. If he couldn't make the dishes taste good through conventional means, he would do it with his powers. He focused, channeling the energy of Origin into the kitchen, altering the very laws of reality that governed taste and flavor.

The kitchen glowed with a faint light as Kevin willed the dishes to transform. The strange, inedible masses began to shift, their colors becoming more vibrant. The look remain same but Kevin can guess that their taste has changed.

With everything seemingly in order, Kevin plated the dishes and set them on the table. He took a deep breath, hoping that his intervention with Origin had worked.

He tasted the bisque first, and to his relief, it was delicious—rich, flavorful, and smooth despite looking a charcoal.

The bread was light and fluffy, and the soup was savory, with tender chunks of paneer and perfectly cooked vegetables.

Just then, Kosma, who had been sitting in the corner nursing a glass of water, looked over at Kevin's new creations. Cautiously, he approached the table and picked up a roll. He took a tentative bite, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"This… this is actually good," Kosma said, disbelief evident in his voice.

Kevin smirked, a sense of pride swelling within him. "I told you I'd figure it out."

Kosma nodded, quickly grabbing another roll, and this time he didn't hesitate to dip it into the bisque. Kevin watched as Kosma savored each bite, the earlier disaster apparently forgotten.

As Kevin continued to taste his dishes, he realized that while he had succeeded in creating something edible—something delicious, even—it hadn't been through his own skills as a cook. The power of Origin had saved him, bending reality to his will, but it didn't feel quite like a victory.

Still, as Kosma dug into the stew with gusto, Kevin decided that perhaps he could consider it a small win. The kitchen was still a mess, and there were countless dishes to clean, but at least the day wasn't a total disaster.

"Next time," Kevin mused aloud, "maybe I'll just stick to something simple."

Kosma looked up from his plate, his mouth full of stew, and nodded vigorously in agreement.

A/N ~ some fun time.. now Kevin can change the taste of dishes.