The back door swung open, and the night wind from the Ende Sea flowed into the Ginkgo Tavern's kitchen. In the darkness beyond the pale orange glow of the luminous lamps, something lay there. Kuroki Satoru stood frozen, a bucket of food scraps still in his hands. His eyes adjusted. A pile of tattered rags stacked on the stone floor—no, that wasn't it. A person. A small figure, childlike in frame, lay crumpled on the ground. Barely—so faintly he almost missed it—the chest rose and fell. Alive. At least he could confirm that much. Kuroki set the bucket aside. (Might as well carry them inside.) It was a simple conclusion. No hesitation. The option of leaving an unconscious person outside to sleep was something he'd inherited from his previous life and simply couldn't do. He knelt, sliding both arms beneath the figure's back and knees. He lifted. —*Zuki-i-i-i-!!!!* "Tch...!!" His lower back. His back had given out. The chronic condition he'd carried over from his previous life detonated at the worst possible moment. An old injury from his days as a three-star chef, from long hours standing—it had followed him faithfully into this other world. An unwelcome inheritance, chief among them. But Kuroki didn't stop. Couldn't stop, more accurately. Cradling the girl, he gritted his teeth and stepped across the stone floor. One step. Then another. Each protest from his back sent fresh sweat down his spine. (I'll carry her through sheer stubbornness...!) When he finally dragged her into the kitchen, Kuroki felt a small sense of accomplishment. He knew it was pathetic. To feel such satisfaction over moving someone just a few meters. This was the current state of the man who'd once stood at the peak of three-star cuisine. Then—*zururi*—came a sound. The girl he'd seated at the counter slid sideways and fell to the floor. "..." Silence. Kuroki stood frozen for five seconds, then carefully searched the kitchen for a blanket, protecting his aching back. He scanned the kitchen. No blanket. Of course not—this was a food stall's kitchen. Instead, he pulled over a tablecloth and draped it over the girl. He brought the luminous lamp closer to check her complexion. Silver hair spread across the floor. Her face was pale, but her breathing was steadying. Malnutrition and exhaustion—that was the diagnosis. "...A daughter, then." He murmured it to himself. No, not a daughter. A niece? No, he had no nieces. Digging through his previous life's memories, he couldn't place this silver-haired girl anywhere. "...Bedding management isn't my specialty." He offered this explanation to the empty shop. No answer came. The luminous lamp only swayed gently. --- The next morning, when sunlight streamed through the Ginkgo Tavern's windows. Kuroki entered the kitchen for prep work and found the tablecloth moving. The girl had woken. Her silver hair was disheveled, and her mismatched eyes—deep blue on the left, brilliant gold on the right—slowly opened. "Good morning." He spoke calmly, keeping his tone as natural as possible. The next instant, the girl dove under the table at sonic speed. "Huh?" Kuroki stood motionless. That wasn't a human reaction speed. With the velocity of a gale, the silver mass had vanished beneath the table before he could even process it. Kuroki crouched and peered under the table. The girl was pressed flat against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her entire body screamed, "Stay away." "...There's nothing to fear." *Zuruzuru*—the girl pressed herself further back. "I'll prepare a meal for you." *Zuruzuruzuru*. "...I understand." Kuroki quietly gave up and resumed his prep work. Three attempts, three failures. It was clear that more words would only backfire. He had no intention of forcing anything. It took less than five seconds to reach the optimistic conclusion that she'd emerge once hunger set in. He filled a pot with water and lit the fire. He sank the bones of a demon boar he'd butchered the day before. A magical beast from the wastelands around here—about a meter and a half long, sharp tusks, strong-smelling meat—but with careful skimming and long simmering, even in this world, he could produce a clarity of broth that should have been impossible. At least, he could. Gradually, the white-clouded broth began releasing its aroma from the pot. That's when a sound came from under the table. *Hikuhiku*—a sniffling sound. (Here it comes.) Kuroki didn't turn around. He simply continued stirring the pot. After a while, he glanced sideways and crouched slightly—the girl's face had emerged five centimeters from the table's edge. Her nose twitched in small movements, tracking the soup's scent. Their eyes met. *Zutto*—her face vanished. (I see.) Kuroki ladled the soup into a small wooden bowl. Instead of placing it on the counter, he set it beside the table—within arm's reach if she stretched. Then he turned his back completely and faced the cutting board. Silence stretched. Then, softly, the sound of the bowl being lifted. A sip. And then— "...!" A small voice. Whether surprise or relief, it was hard to say. Kuroki didn't turn. He simply continued chopping vegetables on the board. Shortly after, the bowl was quietly placed on the counter. Empty. Without a word, Kuroki ladled more and set it in the same spot. He turned his back. It was empty again within moments. He repeated this for the third and fourth bowls. Kuroki never once turned around. He only said, as if to himself, "I like children who eat." When the fifth bowl came back empty, Kuroki slowly turned. The top half of a face peeked over the table's edge. Deep blue and brilliant gold eyes fixed on him. They glistened with moisture. (The eyes of a hungry child.) That's how Kuroki interpreted it. Something stirred faintly in his chest, but his reason moved in a different direction first. "May I ask your name?" There was a pause. "...Irina." Just that, and the face withdrew again. "Irina, then." Kuroki stacked the five empty bowls while giving a small, wry smile. "I'm starting to worry about the food costs." --- When the opening bell rang from the village's north end, the Ginkgo Tavern's door burst open. Sand-rank adventurers, regulars at the Waterend branch, came pouring in. Sand-rank was the lowest tier in the adventurer classification system established by the continental organization "Universal Shield, Steel Lattice Alliance"—commonly called the Steel Lattice—ranging from fresh graduates of apprenticeship to seasoned veterans. The habit of these people was to fill their bellies at the Ginkgo Tavern before submitting requests at the Waterend branch. Leading the group was a broad-shouldered man—someone Kuroki privately called "A-san" among the regulars. Characterized by wide shoulders and a sun-tanned face, he was known for claiming the counter seat before anyone else. Behind him came B-san, thin and talkative—once he started talking, someone had to stop him—and C-san, quiet but eating more than anyone else. Despite his unfriendly appearance, his face showed faint satisfaction each time his plate emptied. He was one of Kuroki's favorite customers to watch eat. Just as everyone was about to sit at the counter, Kuroki spoke. "Starting today, we have a live-in staff member. Dishwashing duty, three copper coins per day plus meals." Everyone turned to look at the kitchen with confused expressions. There was no staff to be seen. That's when a single hand emerged from under the table. Silver hair was barely visible. The hand clenched firmly, signaling agreement. "A ghost!?" "The Ginkgo Tavern is cursed!!" "I told you I heard something coming from the back door!!" "It's staff." Kuroki ended it with one sentence. He lined up three morning sets—demon boar stew and wheat bread—on the counter while continuing his prep work as if nothing had happened. --- The first disaster struck fifteen minutes after opening. Irina finally crawled out from under the table and took a plate from the kitchen corner. Kuroki pointed to a shelf and said, "Please stack the washed ones over there." *Gasha-n!!!* "...Don't worry about it." It was the first plate. Irina stood frozen, both hands over her mouth. Her apologetic face made the glowing mark on her neck—the mysterious seal that supposedly bound her magical power—waver slightly. The second plate broke when she dropped it into the wash basin. *Gasha-n!!* "...Still don't worry about it." The third plate shattered as she tried to stack it on the shelf. *Gasha-n!!!!!!* Kuroki stopped moving. Quietly—very quietly—he began counting on his fingers. "...I need to calculate how much per plate." A-san burst out laughing. B-san shouted, "He's doing math!" C-san laughed so hard with food in his mouth that he nearly choked. The next challenge was plate delivery. Irina emerged from the kitchen holding a plate in both hands. There was a slight step carved into the stone floor at the kitchen entrance. No one paid attention to it—just a centimeter or so. Irina's toes caught on it. The plate traced an arc through the air. A-san's reflexes kicked in. He caught it perfectly. "Whoa!!" Applause erupted. Irina froze. A-san was shouting at triple his normal volume about how "an adventurer's reflexes came through!!" He seemed the happiest of all. Taking orders was a different kind of disaster. Kuroki told Irina, "Go take B-san's order." Irina approached B-san's table. B-san said, "I'll have the dried fish set today." Irina turned to stone completely. B-san tilted his head. "...Actually, maybe the stew instead. No, the fish is good. Or maybe the stew..." He changed his mind three times. Irina remained a statue the entire time. Finally, a mosquito-quiet "yes" was heard, and Irina bolted back to the kitchen. "What's the order?" "...I forgot." "Go ask again." Irina headed back to B-san's table. She turned to stone again. B-san started up once more: "Actually, maybe the stew? But then again, the fish...?" "Um..." "Yeah?" "...Which... would you prefer?" B-san thought for a moment. "The stew." "...Yes." Irina ran back to the kitchen. "The stew." "Understood." While putting dishes away, Kuroki suddenly noticed something. Irina's hands were rough. Red scratches ran across her knuckles—whether from striking stone or something else, he couldn't tell. "May I see your hands?" Hesitantly, just her hands emerged from under the table. Kuroki retrieved a recovery potion (small) he'd bought from the Wandering Bee yesterday—the shop where Pisk Luarno dealt in herbs and recovery items for adventurers—twenty copper coins' worth. He took her hand and applied the medicine to her fingertips. In that instant, something ominous stirred in his chest. Half a second later, alarms blared at full volume in Kuroki's mind. (I'm thirty-eight. Even during my three-star days, I wasn't the type to lay hands on juniors. Right now I'm just treating wounds. Case closed.) He rapid-fired this at himself without speaking, then finished the treatment and retreated to the kitchen with a businesslike "I'll count on you tomorrow." Alone, Kuroki opened his research notebook. He began writing, "The ratio of demon boar fat to shadow moth wing powder is..." while having no idea what he was actually doing. Under the table, Irina stared at her treated fingers. —From the tower, she had said. Eighty kilometers northwest of Waterend. The "Forbidden Tower"—a massive structure that had appeared in a single night four hundred years ago alongside the great upheaval known as the Foundation Collapse Calamity, designated by the Steel Lattice as the highest danger rank, "Annihilation-class"—was where this girl had come from. She'd collapsed at the Ginkgo Tavern's back door. Kuroki hadn't yet considered what that meant. He searched for words to write in his notebook while gazing at the luminous lamp's orange glow. The sound of waves continued. The night was still deep.