The next morning.
"Mm…"
The stuffy weight on his chest slowly roused Gut from his sleep. Rubbing his eyes and looking down, he let out a helpless sigh.
"What can I even say… do all elves sleep like this?"
Wrapped tightly in her blanket, Serie was sprawled across Gut like a crescent roll. Occasionally, she'd twitch slightly, her steady breathing indicating a deep, peaceful sleep.
Supporting her body from underneath, Gut gently slid himself out and softly placed the "crescent roll" down.
After putting on his coat, he stood aside, silently marveling at this "masterpiece" of a sleeping posture. Then he picked up a stick and poked the fireplace's charred remains from the night before.
Confirming the fire was fully extinguished, Gut looked out the window.
The sun had just risen, and the morning light wasn't too harsh yet. If he moved quickly, he'd still have time to make breakfast.
Carrying a bucket from the mountain cabin, Gut quietly shut the door and headed toward the nearby water source he had spotted the previous evening.
It was a small stream, not much flow, but it ran steadily and was kissed by sunlight—clear and pure, a favorite watering spot for local animals.
Kneeling at the bank, Gut dipped his bucket into the stream, watching nearby wildlife as he pondered the morning's meal.
That buck over there…?
Nah, too big. They couldn't finish it in one meal, and deer meat was tough to cook.
What about the wild boar?
Too much trouble to process, and the lack of spices meant its gamey smell would be hard to mask.
Then what?
Suddenly, two flashes of light on the stream caught Gut's eye.
Bingo!
Grilled fish—with a hearty pot of fish soup on the side.
Decision made, Gut tossed the bucket to the bank, squatted low by the stream, eyes fixed upstream, ready to strike.
Moments later, another flash skimmed across the water. Gut's hand shot out like lightning.
Splash! Splash!
A large fish thrashed wildly in his grip, flinging droplets everywhere. It was so slippery, Gut almost lost it.
Not wasting a second, he tossed it into the water bucket, locking it in. Only then did he crouch to inspect his catch.
"With that body shape and mouth… Could this be a mahseer?"
Gut wasn't sure. Mahseer did like swift, shallow mountain streams, but they were typically small. This one? Easily half a kilogram—definitely not normal.
Eh, whatever.
Shaking his head, Gut set aside the mystery. More meat was a good thing.
And so, leveraging his absurd physical prowess, he crouched beside the stream, eyes sharp, hands fast.
Each time the light danced across the water—snap!—another fish in the bucket.
So engrossed was he in this rewarding rhythm that time seemed to disappear.
Only when the sun baked his neck did Gut suddenly remember—this was supposed to be breakfast!
Looking at the now-overflowing fish bucket, he scratched his head sheepishly.
Hopefully… Serie was still asleep.
Back at the mountain cabin—
Serie wriggled beneath the blanket cocoon. Eyes tightly shut, she tried to block out the morning sun.
But then… a low rumble echoed from her stomach, snapping her halfway awake.
"Gut… not back yet?"
"Ugh… just a few more minutes… just a little nap…"
Zzzzz…
About fifteen minutes later, Gut finally returned.
One bucket held clear, warm mountain spring water. The other? An array of fresh ingredients—gutted and descaled fish, along with mushrooms and mountain herbs he had gathered.
Setting everything down, he glanced at the "crescent roll" leaning against the wall and whispered,
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Master."
The still-drowsy elf nodded without opening her eyes—her rumbling stomach said it all.
"Got it. Please bear with me just a little longer."
With that, Gut gave her ear a gentle rub and went to wash his hands.
He rekindled the hearth fire and set a small iron pot above it—not with water, but with several mahseer fish first.
As the heat rose, the fish began to sizzle, releasing rich, savory oils.
While that cooked, Gut placed another pot over the fire to boil water, and used his knife to sharpen sticks for skewering more fish.
He flipped the fish in the pot with a wooden spatula, evenly crisping them without burning.
Meanwhile, with a boost from flame magic, the water began to boil rapidly.
Once the fish had browned, Gut poured the hot water directly into the pot.
Ssshhhhh!
Steam erupted, and the broth quickly turned milky white.
He tossed in the prepared mushrooms and herbs, followed by a few whole fish, then lidded the pot.
That's when he realized—Serie was silently standing behind him.
"Master, sneaking up on someone like that is dangerous," Gut protested.
But Serie didn't respond. She simply pointed to the fish pot and said,
"If I increase the flame temperature with magic, can we eat sooner?"
Feeling the magic surge around her, Gut quickly stepped in.
"Please don't, Master. A fine soup needs time for the flavors to meld."
"Just wait a little longer—the grilled fish will be ready soon."
"…Fine."
Serie retracted her magic and quietly knelt by the fire, inhaling the delicious aroma.
Gut sighed with relief.
If she had used that much firepower, the pot might've melted through the floor.
So the two waited together by the fire.
Gut dug out salt and dry rations from their luggage; Serie occupied herself flipping through a spell book to distract from her hunger.
Time passed. The once-bright sky grew dim.
The grilled fish crackled, dripping golden fat into the flames.
"Drip."
Something hit the floor.
Gut looked outside—cloudy skies. "Rain? Good thing we didn't travel this morning."
But… there was no rain.
Then…?
Realization dawned.
Gut reached out and gently tugged down the spell book in Serie's hands.
Sure enough—tears of hunger glistened at the corners of her mouth.
"…Seriously?" Gut chuckled. "What am I, a cliché isekai protagonist seducing girls with food?"
Still, she was adorable like this.
He raised the book again to block her face and turned to finish seasoning the fish.
A final dusting of salt—precisely even, thin and crisp.
As Gut went to place the last skewer by the fire, he suddenly froze.
His cooking skills…
They had changed—drastically.
Once upon a time, he could barely roast a potato evenly.
Now? He judged heat instinctively, his salt sprinkling was surgical, every motion precise.
"…Because of that trait? The one that's never triggered even once?"
[Trait Name: Otherworldly Culinary God (Blue)]
[Description: A gift you received due to an unknown resonance after crossing into another world.]
[Effect: Due to unknown influences, your cooking talent, intuition, and execution have improved drastically in this world. Additionally, dishes you prepare have a very slight chance to produce special effects (e.g., fully restore HP/stamina, grant temporary buffs, or even… bring the dead back to life).]
"Sounds epic," Gut muttered. "Must've reached blue rarity just by selling that last line."
Because in all his years of cooking—not once had that 'slight chance' ever triggered.
Gut suspected its odds were lower than pulling a 5-star hero in a gacha game.
Still…
Even without any crazy effects, the passive bonus alone was more than worth it.
He handed a perfectly grilled fish, crisp outside and tender within, to Serie.
As he watched her smile with genuine delight—Gut felt it was more than enough.
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Powerstones?
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