The dizzying sensation of the memory-share left them both breathless. It was an uncanny feeling, like watching a film of someone else's life, only to realize the actor was you and the emotions were real. It was experiencing without experiencing, a phantom limb of memory that now felt as solid as their own.
Soma was the first to recover, his mind latching onto the most glaringly illogical detail from Zero's day. "Why didn't you put fixed prices on anything?!" he demanded, his voice a mix of bewilderment and frustration.
"That was your job!" Zero shot back, rubbing his temples. "You were supposed to be doing market research, not going out and befriending some high-and-mighty racist elf!"
"He wasn't—" Soma started to argue, but he stopped. The memory of Zero's afternoon, the sting of each customer's disgust, was now his own. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a quiet understanding. He spoke softly. "You know it's not your fault they didn't all stay, right?"
Zero sighed, a heavy, weary sound. He leaned back against the counter, his gaze distant. "They all walked out as soon as they saw my horns," he said, his voice quiet. "Honestly... at this point, I don't know what to think. In our past life, it was just a given that I'd be unlucky. Daily chores were like navigating a landmine. Work was five times harder just to get by. And for the first time, in this world, I felt... free." He looked down at his hands. "Yet I can't even go outside without being afraid of the world looking at me with that same coldness... like all of our foster parents did."
The words hung in the air, heavy with a lifetime of rejection. Soma walked over to him, closing the space between them, and wrapped his arms around Zero in a firm hug.
"Hey, hey," Soma whispered, his voice losing all its usual bravado. "It's not your fault. I know it isn't. Because I'm you. I felt it just now, all of it." He tightened his grip. "But I also know we can make things better. From now on. And remember your words to Cecil?"
Zero pulled back slightly, his expression confused. "What words?"
"You said you were going to enjoy a quiet life while sending a bunch of clones out to be heroes and villains," Soma reminded him, a small smile returning to his face. "This is the quiet life part. The part where we build our base."
A chuckle escaped Zero's lips, dry at first, then more genuine. "It'll take a long time to accumulate enough points for another Gacha. We can't exactly send out an army of one."
"Really? How much do we have now?" Soma asked.
"Less than a hundred," Zero admitted. "Around sixty."
"Then we'll build our café slowly," Soma declared, his confidence returning. "And we'll enjoy every single menu we serve."
Zero cracked a grin. "What are you, an anime protagonist now? You're going to 'talk-no-jutsu' me back into a cheerful state?"
Soma stepped back and walked toward his white apron, pulling it on with a flourish. "My card isn't from Naruto," he said, turning around with a wicked grin. "But I do know how to make some food that will make you happy. And probably naked again."
A real, hearty laugh burst from Zero's chest. Soma grinned back, the easy camaraderie restored as he turned to the kitchen and began preparing their dinner.
…
The aroma of seared meat and buttery potatoes filled the cozy loft apartment. Soma had prepared dinner with his usual flair: perfectly cooked steaks with a rich pan sauce, served alongside a mound of creamy mashed potatoes. They ate at the large dining table, the events of the day finally catching up to them.
"So, about the pricing," Zero said after swallowing a bite of steak that was so tender it practically melted.
"Oh, yeah, about that," Soma replied, expertly cutting into his own medium-rare steak. "I got a look at a few places. I didn't have any money on me, so I couldn't actually buy anything to taste the competition. For now, we can't base our prices on quality, only on the market average." He chewed thoughtfully. "From what I saw, a regular cup of coffee at a standard tavern or stall goes for about 2 Sol. A simple meal, like a meat pie or a stew, is anywhere from 5 to 10 Sol, depending on the place."
Zero paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. "What? That low?" he asked, his voice incredulous. "Then the thirty Sol from Linda and Henry..."
Soma nodded, a wry smile on his face. "Yeah," he said, taking a large bite of mashed potatoes. "They didn't just pay. They really went overboard. That was a massive tip."
A heavy sigh escaped Zero's lips as he slumped back in his chair, the reality of their situation sinking in. At a rate of 2 Sol per coffee, earning the points they still needed for the Gacha felt like an impossible task. "Haaahh... so it's really gonna be a while, huh?"
Soma polished off his last bite of steak, then suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes shining with a brilliant, manic energy. "Aha!"
Zero looked at him, his own expression flat and dejected. "What."
Soma slammed his hands on the table, a huge, triumphant grin spreading across his face as he shouted, "Cooking competition, baby!"
…
Morning light spilled into the alley outside Café LeBlanc, illuminating two figures bustling around large wooden crates. The café was closed for the day. Today, they were taking the business on the road.
Zero stood proudly, having forgone his usual simple attire for a far more dramatic ensemble. He wore a set of flowing, deep purple robes that resembled a traditional Han-style garment, the silk catching the light with every movement. On his head sat a wide-brimmed conical hat, from which a thin, black gauze veil hung, obscuring his face—and, more importantly, his horns—in an aura of mystique.
"What the fuck are you wearing?" Soma asked, staring at him flatly.
"I'm trying to emulate my Zhuge Liang stature here," Zero declared, striking a thoughtful pose with one hand on his chin. "Look at me. Am I not the very picture of Zhuge Liang from Dynasty Warriors right now? The brilliant, unassuming strategist."
Soma snorted. "With that dramatic purple color, you look more like the cunning Sima Yi. And besides, a veil is what women wear."
"How dare you!" Zero said, deeply and theatrically offended.
"Are you going to help me with these crates or not?" Soma said, gesturing to the heavy containers filled with their best knives, pots, and a few choice ingredients.
Zero let out a soft chuckle, his persona dropping instantly. He bent down and effortlessly lifted one of the heavy wooden crates. Thanks to his Archdemon body, a weight that would make a normal man struggle meant nothing to him. He smirked at Soma. "So, does my little brother need some help with his crate?"
Contrary to Zero's expectations, Soma simply bent his knees and hoisted his own crate with equal ease. He grinned, flexing one arm. "I'm you, remember? I'm your clone. Of course I have your power," he said with a smug "hehehehe."
Zero's face fell as he dejectedly picked up his crate and followed Soma out of the alley.
As they walked through the bustling city streets, Zero noticed people looking at him weirdly. The stares weren't the familiar looks of disgust and fear; they were looks of pure, unadulterated confusion.
"See?" Soma said jokingly, "It's not because you're a demon. They can't even see your horns with that ridiculous hat on. It's your clothes. You look like you escaped from an opera."
"Who cares," Zero said stubbornly, adjusting his grip on the crate. "I'm going to channel my inner Zhuge Liang."
They walked on, a pair of strangely dressed porters carrying their kitchen on their shoulders. A group of children playing on the cobblestone pavements stopped their game to watch them pass. One boy, puffing his chest out proudly, ran up to them. "Where are you guys going with those big boxes?"
Zero smiled behind his veil. "We are going to a cooking competition."
The word "competition" was like magic. The children's eyes lit up, and they immediately began to follow behind them, chattering excitedly. One small girl with pigtails skipped alongside Zero. "Mister, why are you wearing such strange clothes?"
Zero was about to offer a grand, mysterious explanation when Soma cut in. "That's because he's really ugly and isn't allowed to show his face in public," he said with a dramatic, winking "ehehehe."
"Hey!" Zero shouted, and without breaking stride, he swung a leg out and gave Soma a playful kick on the butt, which garnered a chorus of delighted laughter from their new entourage of kids.
Their procession finally spilled out into a massive, open plaza, the heart of the city's commercial district. It was their version of Times Square. Giant billboards, powered by glowing, shifting runes, advertised everything from magical artifacts to luxury carriages. The air was thick with the sounds of a thousand conversations, the hiss of steam-powered vehicles, and the hum of powerful magic. And there, in the very center of it all, a large area had been cordoned off. Several cooking stations were already lined up, and other contestants were beginning to gather, ready for the battle to begin.
Thankfully, Soma's name was the last one called. A harried-looking committee member led him to the only remaining spot, tucked away in the back row. Soma waved a hand, gesturing for Zero to bring the crates.
With the gaggle of children still trailing behind him like ducklings, Zero carried both heavy crates over with an ease that drew a few surprised looks. As he set them down, he surveyed the area. "Quite lucky, you are," he said to Soma. "Got the very last spot."
Soma's eyes scanned the other stations. Each was already a hive of activity, with contestants directing two or three assistants in pristine uniforms who were already polishing cutlery and prepping ingredients.
Zero noticed too, then grinned at their own little entourage. "Alright, you rowdy bunch," he announced to the kids. "If you help this big brother here prepare his station, you're all going to be rewarded with cake back at our café later."
A loud cheer went up from the children, who immediately swarmed the station, eagerly trying to "help" by unpacking pots with loud clangs and arranging vegetables in mismatched piles. The other contestants sneered at the chaotic, unprofessional display. "How dare he bring street urchins here," one muttered.
The contestant at the neighboring station, a dark-haired human with a perpetually sour expression, strode over. "Hey, you," he said condescendingly. "You'd better give up your spot. This is a place for professionals."
Soma turned from his crate. "What? Who are you?"
The man looked stunned, as if the very notion that someone didn't recognize him was a mortal offense. "I," he declared, puffing out his chest, "am Gaylord de Jacquard, the heir of the renowned Jacquard Restaurant."
Soma's face remained blank for a second. Then he snorted. Then he began to laugh. "Ehehehe... Your name is Gaylord? Ehehehehe!" He slapped his knee. "Hey, Zero! Zero, look at this guy!"
Zero turned from his task of setting up their stove. "What?"
"His name is Gaylord!" Soma wheezed. Zero took one look at the fuming man, processed the name, and burst into hard laughter himself. "Hehehehe!"
Gaylord Jacquard's face went from pale to pink to furious red. He was about to shout something when a sudden shower of shimmering, rainbow-colored leaves began to rain down from the sky, halting the commotion. Everyone looked toward the main stage, where a female MC held her hands aloft, a gentle smile on her face as her magic signaled the start of the event.
One by one, assistants and onlookers were asked to clear the competition area. "Alright kids, field trip's over for now," Zero said, leading his little helpers out of the station. As he passed Soma, he gave him a pat on the back. "Break a leg."
Soma grinned back. "Hey, that's not nice to wish for someone." They shared a final chuckle before Zero and the children were lost in the crowd.
On stage, the other MC, a charismatic man, raised his hands. The raining leaves swirled upwards into a vortex, which he then ignited with a snap of his fingers, turning the leaves into a crackling, multi-colored firework display.
"Welcome," the two MCs shouted in unison, "to the 182nd Grey Tide Festival!"
The crowd roared. As the opening ceremony continued, Soma turned back to his station, his smile fading. He saw it clearly now. Gaylord had three assistants. The elven woman two stations down had four. Every single contestant had a team. He was the only one alone. He suddenly remembered the man who had accepted his registration, the way he'd held back a laugh when Soma said he was competing solo.
'So that's why,' he thought, a grim understanding dawning on him. 'They want me to be humiliated. I'm the underdog clown to make the event more hype, huh.'
"Hey, country bumpkin," Gaylord sneered from his station, having recovered his composure. "Did you get that scar on your forehead by messing up while learning to chop an onion? Ohohohohoho!"
The insult, aimed at the small scar near his hairline that had come with the character card, was the final spark. The competitive rage, the core trait of Sōma Yukihira, ignited in his chest. He would not be humiliated. He would not lose in the kitchen.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled-up strip of white cloth. With sharp, deliberate motions, he tied the white headband around his forehead. His entire demeanor shifted. The playful clone was gone, replaced by a chef whose eyes burned with focus and an unshakeable will to win.
**A/N**
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**A/N**