[Daily Quest Completed]
[Rewards Granted: Full Energy Restoration | Random Power | Random Item | +40 EXP]
A surge of vitality rushed through him, washing away the leaden fatigue. His arms no longer trembled, his lungs no longer burned. It was like waking from death itself.
Then the second notification flared.
[Random Power Acquired: Master Tea Making (Gray Tier)]
Kaen froze. Blinked. Stared at the glowing words.
"…What the hell?" he muttered. "Tea making?"
Instantly, his head buzzed—an avalanche of knowledge crashing into him. How to brew leaves at perfect temperature, how to balance bitterness and sweetness, ceremonial rituals, the subtle art of tea leaves and soil cultivation. It stuffed itself into his mind whether he wanted it or not.
He dragged a hand down his face.
"How the hell is this gonna keep me alive? Am I supposed to scald bandits with boiling water?"
The System didn't answer. Of course it didn't.
The next prompt shimmered to life.
[Random Item Acquired: Elixir of Purity (Green)]
[Effect: Permanently grants immunity to all negative status effects and poisons]
Kaen's jaw dropped. He snatched the little vial from the air as it materialized in his hand, liquid inside glowing faintly like captured emerald light.
"Hell yes!" He actually jumped, holding it aloft. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"
He downed it in one go, the taste sharp and clean, like spring water cut with mint and fire. For a heartbeat, warmth burned through his veins. Then it faded—leaving only an unshakable certainty in its place.
No poison. No venom. No drug, no curse, no crippling debuff. Ever.
+40 EXP
LEVEL UP!
[EXP: 35/40]
[Level: 3]
[Stat Points Available: 3]
Kaen flicked open his status, eyes narrowing. He needed to toughen up—yesterday had almost broken his bones, today had nearly made him black out again. All the strength in the world wouldn't matter if his body snapped under the strain.
"Two on durability," he muttered. "One on vitality."
[Durability: 3 → 5][Vitality: 3 → 4]
The change was subtle but real. His body felt… steadier. Like his bones weren't glass anymore, like his breath filled his chest with a bit more ease. Not invincible—but less fragile.
He was about to revel in the progress when a sharp clack echoed near his head. A pebble bounced off the rooftop beside him.
"Oi, brat!" a rough voice shouted from below. "Get the hell off my warehouse before I call the guards!"
Another rock whizzed past. Kaen flinched, clutching his dagger instinctively, then thought better of it. Picking fights with random civilians wasn't survival—it was suicide.
He bolted, leaping down the far side of the building and sprinting until the curses and rocks faded behind him. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from irritation.
When he finally stopped in an alley, catching his breath, he groaned. "Great. Now I need to find somewhere else to sleep."
He slumped against the wall, muttering, "Food's a problem. Shelter's a problem. And if I keep running around rooftops, someone's gonna put a bounty on my head."
Then he blinked.
"…Wait." His eyes widened as the absurd thought clicked into place. "Tea Mastery."
The System had shoved every detail of tea cultivation, brewing, and service into his head. He wasn't just good at it—he was the best damn tea maker alive.
A grin tugged at his lips. "If I can find a tea shop… I could work there. Steady food. Steady money. A roof over my head. No more warehouses. Neat!"
The idea almost made him laugh. A thief, assassin-in-training, daily-quest grinder… working behind a tea counter.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten properly in days.
"Alright then," Kaen said, pushing off the wall, determination flashing in his eyes. "Let's find a tea shop."
The walk was long, winding from the cracked stone streets of the slums into the gleaming heart of the capital. Here, the air smelled faintly of perfume and polished marble, and every person carried themselves like the world owed them space.
Kaen felt the difference immediately—their gazes were sharp, dismissive. His ragged clothes drew sneers like knives. But he pressed on until he spotted it: a tea shop nestled between jewelers and silken tailors, its doors carved with intricate blossoms, its windows gleaming.
The moment he stepped inside, the room shifted. Nobles in embroidered robes looked up from porcelain cups, noses wrinkling. Some whispered; others just stared openly, disgust etched into every wrinkle.
Kaen ignored them, walking straight to the counter. "I need to meet the shop owner."
The attendant behind the counter sneered. He was young, sharp-jawed, dressed better than Kaen had ever been in his life. "You? In those filthy rags? Get out before something… unpleasant happens."
Kaen leaned in, lowering his voice. "It's necessary. Please. Just let me meet him."
The attendant scoffed, stepping around the counter. "You don't belong here, street rat. Leave. Now." He made a grab for Kaen's shoulder.
Kaen slipped aside. The man lunged again—Kaen sidestepped. It became a strange, unintentional dance: the attendant snapping, Kaen weaving away with ease, eyes glinting with a mix of irritation and amusement.
Then, with one last desperate grab, the attendant tripped over his own polished shoes and pitched forward, sprawling face-first onto the pristine floor.
A small chorus of laughter broke from the seated nobles. A few clapped softly, like they'd just watched a performance.
The attendant's face flushed scarlet as he scrambled upright, ready to explode. But before he could, a door near the counter opened. A man stepped through—gray hair neatly tied, sharp eyes behind round spectacles, posture commanding without needing volume.
"What," the man asked, voice even, "is happening here?"
Kaen seized the moment. "I wanted to meet the owner."
The man adjusted his spectacles, studying him with quiet scrutiny. "I'm the owner."
Kaen's heart hammered—but he kept his voice steady. "Can we talk? In private."
The owner considered him for a long, silent moment. Then, to everyone's surprise, he nodded. "Fine."
They moved into a small room behind the shop, its shelves lined with rare jars and lacquered boxes, the air heavy with layered fragrances of tea. The door shut, muffling the world outside.
The owner folded his hands behind his back. "Well? What is it you want, boy?"
Kaen bowed his head slightly. "Please. Let me work here."
The owner blinked—then barked out a laugh. "What does a thirteen-year-old know about tea?"
Kaen smiled faintly. "Everything."
That only made the man laugh harder, shaking his head. "Foolish. Do you understand how absurd that sounds? Mastering tea takes decades. You—" he gestured at Kaen's threadbare clothes— "are not only a commoner, but an urchin. Tea is not just boiling water with leaves tossed in. It is an art. Every detail matters—the heat, the water, the timing, the blend. A whole world exists within each cup. And I doubt you know even the first step. Now… get out of my shop."
Kaen's smile didn't falter. His emerald eyes held steady. "Then give me a chance. Just one. Let me brew a tea for you, right now. And I promise—it'll be the best cup you've ever had in your life."
The old man exhaled slowly, as though Kaen's persistence were wearing grooves into his patience. Then he raised his hand. A small flame curled into life above his palm, twisting and snapping with controlled precision. The glow painted his sharp features in amber.
"You get one chance," he said flatly, the fire hissing with menace. "If you fail, boy, then so help me… you will never step near this shop again."
Kaen's heart skipped, but his smile widened. He's testing me. Good.
Moments later, they were in the kitchen. The space gleamed—copper kettles, shelves of rare jars, delicate porcelain cups waiting in neat rows. Workers leaned against counters, arms folded, whispering to each other. A street urchin claiming mastery of tea was laughable.
But Kaen didn't hear them. His world narrowed to the tools before him.
First, he inspected the water with a strange intensity, lifting the clay jug as though weighing its soul. He poured only half into the kettle, then swirled it, as if coaxing impurities to settle, before discarding the first trickle and refilling with precise steadiness.
The workers frowned. What is he doing?
Then came the leaves. Kaen ran his fingers across the jars, stopping with unerring instinct at one blend—Silverleaf Verdant. A prized tea, expensive, meant only for nobles. Gasps rang out when he touched it.
"You dare use that—!" one worker began.
But Kaen ignored him. He opened the jar, inhaling deeply, then did something that made the room fall silent: he pinched exactly three leaves between thumb and forefinger, placed them into his palm, and crushed them ever so slightly—not enough to ruin, but just enough to release hidden fragrance. He repeated this motion, strange and ritual-like, until he had the exact amount.
Then he set them into the cup.
The kettle whistled, but Kaen didn't rush. He raised his hand toward the fire pit, eyes narrowing. The water had to reach—not boiling, not lukewarm—perfect. He dipped a finger to test, ignoring the burn, nodding once. Then, in a smooth motion, he poured the stream in a spiral, not directly, letting it wash over the edges before touching the leaves, like an artist painting with water.
The steam rose in a soft curl, carrying a fragrance so pure it silenced the entire kitchen. Nobles had paid fortunes to taste this tea—and yet the aroma that now bloomed was richer, deeper, alive.
Kaen set the cup down before the owner, stepping back with calm confidence. "Done."
The old man scoffed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "Your hands are clever, boy. But let us see if your flavor matches your performance." He lifted the cup and took the first sip.
And froze.
The world fell away. The sharp, commanding man who'd threatened fire now sat utterly still, eyes wide. The tea rolled over his tongue, warm yet delicate, and in its depths lay memories he'd long buried—days when his father first showed him the art, afternoons in the garden with his late wife, laughter of apprentices who had long since gone their own way. The taste wasn't just tea—it was nostalgia itself, wrapped in comfort and aching sweetness.
His hand trembled as he lowered the cup. He sipped again. And again. His breaths hitched, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, slipping down wrinkled cheeks.
"Master?!" one of the workers gasped, stepping forward. "Are you alright?!"
"Sir!" another cried, panic tightening their voice.
The old man ignored them. His hands clutched the cup as though it might vanish if he let go, his eyes distant, his face wet with silent tears.
Finally, he spoke, voice hoarse. "…Impossible."
He set the cup down with trembling fingers, staring at Kaen as though seeing a ghost.
Kaen tilted his head, emerald eyes glinting. "Then… let's do it again. This time, green tea. It's the most popular, isn't it?"
The old man hesitated, but curiosity gnawed at him. Wordlessly, he gestured for the workers to bring the leaves.
Kaen repeated his strange, precise ritual. Every movement looked deliberate, flowing, almost like a dance—selecting, measuring, coaxing the leaves, then spiraling the water with perfect control. Once more, the fragrance bloomed, vibrant and crisp, filling the kitchen with a freshness that turned heads.
The old man lifted the second cup with reverence. One sip—and his brows shot upward. His eyes closed. Again, that quiet stillness, as if the world around him had dissolved.
When he lowered the cup this time, his expression was softer, yet more shaken. His gaze locked onto the boy. "…Who are you?"
Kaen smiled faintly. "Kaen. An orphan, living in the streets of the capital of the Fire Nation. You can use the term 'street rat'—it's not totally wrong."
The man frowned. "But… how are you this good at tea making? At your age?"
Kaen's voice softened, almost wistful. "When my parents were alive, back in the Fire Nation colonies, my mother taught me. She was obsessed with tea. She passed that obsession to me before…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "…before she passed."
The old man's stern face softened. He bowed his head slightly. "May your parents rest in peace." After a breath, he looked back up, eyes resolute. "Kaen… I would like to offer you a place here as the head cook of my kitchen. In exchange, you will have shelter, food, health care, and a monthly income of thirty gold coins."
Gasps filled the room. The workers gaped, whispering furiously among themselves. Thirty gold?! For a boy?! For a commoner?!
Kaen, however, only smiled. His eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. "I accept."
He bowed respectfully, then straightened. "May I know your name, sir?"
The old man regarded him for a long moment, then allowed the faintest of smiles.
"My name is Renjiro," he said, his voice steady, carrying the authority of years. "Across the Fire Nation, there is no herbalist more trusted, nor pharmacist more renowned. My remedies find their way to nobles, generals, even the palace itself."