The vibrant aroma of melted butter, perfectly toasted bread, and fresh green herbs drifted effortlessly through the enormous industrial kitchen. It quickly replaced the unwelcoming scent of polished marble and expensive disinfectant that usually defined the oppressive space.
Not a single person spoke as the rich fragrance bloomed, enveloping the room in a heavy and unfamiliar warmth. Every single chef, maid, and kitchen assistant stood completely frozen in absolute disbelief at the sight before them.
Lady Aria Delforde was calmly flipping an intricate herb omelet with ease. She was the same woman who had once dramatically complained that the mere smell of cooking clung to her expensive designer dresses.
She held the handle of the heavy copper pan with unshakeable confidence, her posture radiating an effortless and fluid grace. Even Aria herself found the physical sensation of handling the culinary tools to be oddly familiar.
Her muscles moved on pure instinct, adapting to the heat of the professional stove without a single moment of hesitation. A notification from Nova appeared softly before her eyes, floating over her field of vision in sharp text.
[Basic Cooking Skill synchronized.]
[Skill Origin: Mission number two thousand one hundred and forty-six.]
[Identity: Royal Palace Head Chef.]
A faint and amused smile tugged at the corner of Aria's lips as the digital data flashed across her consciousness. She remembered that specific life, a grueling decade spent serving a demanding emperor who executed chefs for the slightest oversights in seasoning.
So that is where this specific muscle memory came from.
Thousands of distinct lifetimes blurred together in her vast memory, making it impossible to recall every single face she had ever met across the cosmos. However, her immortal soul still perfectly remembered every complex skill her physical form had painstakingly learned to survive.
She carefully placed the finished omelet onto a warm porcelain plate before immediately preparing another portion for her son. Azeri stood quietly beside the marble counter, his large dark eyes never leaving her hands for even a second.
He clutched his plush crow, Raven, slightly looser than before, his mind visibly struggling to reconcile this comforting reality with his past experiences. The boy looked as if he were witnessing a high-level magic trick rather than a simple breakfast preparation.
"Mother."
Aria did not look up from the sizzling pan, though her tone softened instantly to match the child's wonder.
"Yes, Azeri?"
"You really know how to cook."
"I know a little," Aria replied with a modest shrug.
The surrounding line cooks nearly choked on their own breath upon hearing her casual response. To call her display a little knowledge was an absolute understatement that insulted their professional training.
The flawless knife techniques she had displayed moments ago were vastly cleaner and faster than those of professional culinary experts with decades of high-end experience.
The elderly head chef unconsciously stepped a pace closer, studying her movements with the genuine fascination of a seasoned craftsman witnessing another master at work.
"Madam."
Aria looked up smoothly, her calm gaze locking onto the elderly man.
"Yes?"
"May I ask..."
The old man's voice trailed off momentarily, carrying a sense of deep and professional curiosity rather than the paralyzing fear that usually governed the mansion staff.
"Where exactly did you learn those remarkable techniques?"
Aria paused for a fraction of a second, her expression remaining entirely unreadable. She could hardly explain that she had once spent twenty years as the most celebrated chef in a high-fantasy cultivation realm.
"I have traveled quite a lot in my life," she answered vaguely.
The answer was not exactly a lie, considering her extensive and exhausting history with the Transmigration Bureau. The head chef nodded slowly in response, sensing with professional intuition that she had absolutely no intention of elaborating further on her mysterious past.
Within a matter of minutes, the simple breakfast was entirely complete and arranged beautifully on a silver serving tray. There were fluffy herb omelets, freshly cut seasonal fruit, a bowl of light vegetable soup, and a glass of warm milk for Azeri.
She had also prepared warm, crusty bread accompanied by a small dish of homemade strawberry preserves. Nothing about the meal was overly extravagant or pretentious.
It was simply the exact kind of wholesome, nurturing meal a young child should begin his day with. Aria carried the heavy tray herself, politely declining the immediate offers from three separate servants who rushed forward to assist her.
"No, thank you. I will take it from here."
She and Azeri settled down at a small breakfast table nestled beside the kitchen's tall, frosted bay window. Bright morning sunlight filtered through the glass panes, casting pale golden streaks across the highly polished dark wood.
It was, without a doubt, the warmest and most inviting corner of the massive mansion Aria had seen so far. She poured a small glass of the warm milk and slid the porcelain cup gently toward Azeri.
"For you, sweet pea."
The little boy stared down at the steaming liquid for several long, agonizing seconds without making a move to touch it. He looked as if he were waiting for a trap to be sprung or for the food to vanish into thin air.
"Can I really drink it?"
Aria blinked in surprise, her protective instincts instantly putting her on high alert. "Why wouldn't you be allowed to drink it?"
Azeri lowered his intelligent eyes, his voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. "I thought..."
"Go on."
"I thought Father had not officially approved breakfast yet."
The devastatingly honest words made several nearby servants discreetly turn away, wiping at the corners of their eyes in deep shame. Aria took a slow, deep breath to control the rising tide of anger she felt toward the mansion's rigid and soulless system.
"Listen to me carefully, Azeri."
The boy looked up at her immediately, struck by the sudden and absolute authority in her tone.
"You never need a permission slip or an official approval to eat when your body is hungry."
The little boy remained entirely silent, his advanced mind processing the profound and rebellious declaration.
"As long as I am standing here..."
"Yes, Mother?"
"You will never have to ask anyone whether you are allowed to have breakfast."
Azeri's small lips parted slightly in pure astonishment as he stared at her face. For a child who had grown completely accustomed to measuring every single action against invisible and terrifying rules, those supportive words felt almost impossible to comprehend.
Slowly, moving with an excruciating level of caution, he finally picked up his small silver spoon. He dipped it into the light vegetable soup and tasted it, his eyes instantly widening at the physical sensation.
"It is warm."
Aria smiled gently, the icy exterior of her veteran transmigrator persona melting away completely.
"It is."
"It is very delicious, Mother."
The genuine smile on her face softened even further, a rare warmth filling her features.
"I am incredibly glad you like it."
Nova's digital chime echoed once more within the quiet recesses of her mind, the text scrolling rapidly.
[Sub-Mission Updated: Earn Azeri Blackharth's Trust.]
[Progress: Two percent to seven percent.]
[Host Emotional Synchronization: Stable.]
Aria noted the increase with a sense of grim satisfaction. It seemed that in this world, simple acts of kindness were more powerful than any system-issued weapon or high-tier skill.
Before Aria could mentally respond to her system companion, a quiet and hesitant knock echoed from the main kitchen entrance. The elderly head butler stood in the doorway, bowing respectfully as he addressed her with an altered and uncertain tone.
"Madam."
Aria turned her head toward the man, her expression instantly shifting back into a cool and composed mask.
"What is it?"
"Chairman Blackharth requests your immediate presence in the east study."
The pleasant atmosphere in the room instantly cooled down, the warmth evaporating as if a window had been opened to a winter storm. Every single servant in the kitchen lowered their heads once again, reverting to their terrified and robotic states.
Azeri's small fingers tightened frantically around his silver spoon, his eyes shifting toward the floor. The progress they had made in the last hour seemed to waver under the shadow of the mansion's master.
Aria gently placed a reassuring and firm hand on the boy's small shoulder, grounding him instantly.
"I will be back before you finish your preserves, Azeri."
She stood up gracefully, smoothing down her designer blouse before following the silent butler out of the kitchen toward the grand staircase. She didn't let her own apprehension show, though she knew the meeting with Desmond would likely be an interrogation.
As they disappeared into the endless, shadow-drenched corridors of the Blackharth mansion, Azeri continued to watch her retreating figure with intensity. For reasons his brilliant mind could not entirely explain or catalog, the freezing house no longer felt as cold as it had yesterday.
He took another bite of the warm omelet, the taste of herbs and butter lingering like a promise. The young heir felt as though he finally had an ally within the walls of his own home.