A small restaurant stood in a quiet neighborhood not far from the forest.
Nothing fancy. Warm yellow lights. Wooden tables scratched by years of elbows and cutlery. The faint smell of grilled meat and spices hung in the air, comforting and painfully normal.
Zephyr sat alone near the window while a waitress handed him a laminated menu.
He stared at it like it was written in an ancient language.
"…I don't remember any of these dishes," he muttered.
He scanned the list. Names meant nothing to him. Sauces, sides, desserts. After a century of survival rations, monster meat, and whatever the system deemed "nutritionally efficient," this all felt absurdly luxurious.
"Well," he mumbled to himself, "I guess I'll just try everything."
The waitress blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
She leaned slightly closer. "Sir, have you decided what you'd like?"
His instincts flared suddenly. A faint, almost forgotten warning in the back of his mind screamed at him not to order the entire menu like some unhinged billionaire.
He paused.
Thought about it.
"…Yes," he said at last, pointing randomly. "I'll take that. And that. And that one."
Not everything. Just enough to look mildly unhinged instead of clinically concerning.
The waitress nodded slowly, still eyeing him with polite suspicion, then walked away.
Zephyr leaned back in his chair.
The clinking of plates. The hum of conversation. The soft buzz of an air conditioner.
Peace.
Then the orange interface flickered into existence in front of him.
[System loading complete.]
He stiffened.
"…What?"
Heads turned slightly as he spoke out loud.
The interface continued, indifferent.
[All your powers have been sealed.]
[You have returned to being a normal human.]
For a split second, he felt it.
The weightlessness. The vast ocean of energy that had once flowed through his veins.
Gone.
Completely gone.
His eyes widened as he clenched his fists. Nothing responded. No surge. No distortion of space.
"You bastard," he hissed under his breath. "How dare you? No. I refuse. I'd rather die."
He stood up abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor.
Conversations around him faltered.
A couple at the next table stared.
A child pointed.
"Mom, why is that guy yelling at nothing?"
Zephyr didn't care.
The interface shimmered again.
[The system's benevolence is infinite. You have received a gift.]
"Benevolence my ass," he muttered.
[Felicitation. You have regained 1% of your total power and 3 of your previous skills.]
[You may increase the percentage of your power and reclaim additional skills by eliminating demons.]
He froze.
"…What?"
Slowly, very slowly, he sat back down.
One percent.
It was humiliating.
But it wasn't zero.
Better than nothing, he thought reluctantly.
"…Fine. What are the three skills?"
The interface responded immediately.
[Skills (3)]
[Weapon Mastery]
[Detection]
[Eyes of Chaos]
He exhaled through his nose.
"Figures."
Weapon Mastery. Useful.
Detection. Convenient.
Eyes of Chaos… he'd rather not rely on that one too much. It came with side effects. The kind that made reality look optional.
Still.
One percent of his former power was likely more than most hunters on Earth possessed.
The waitress returned before he could think further, carefully placing dish after dish in front of him.
Grilled meat glistening with sauce. Steaming rice. Vegetables sautéed in butter. A bowl of soup fragrant with herbs.
The smell alone made his stomach twist.
He picked up his fork hesitantly.
Took a bite.
His eyes widened.
"…This is insane."
Another bite.
The flavor exploded across his tongue. Salt. Spice. Tenderness. Actual seasoning. Not dried monster jerky cooked over cursed fire.
"Oh my—" He stopped himself, swallowed, then leaned forward like he had just discovered fire. "What is this flavor? This is incredible."
He took another bite, then another, eating faster now.
A couple at a nearby table stared again.
"Is he okay?" someone whispered.
Zephyr didn't hear them.
After a century of blood and ash, this—
This was divine.
He pointed his fork vaguely at the air, chewing with pure, unfiltered satisfaction.
"If demons think they're taking this planet again," he muttered between bites, "they picked the wrong century."
He grabbed another piece of meat, eyes gleaming slightly.
One percent was enough.
For now.
After he finished eating, Zephyr leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
For a brief, sacred moment, he felt like he had ascended.
Warm food sat comfortably in his stomach. Real seasoning still lingered on his tongue. The simple miracle of not fighting for his life every waking second made the world feel absurdly generous.
"If heaven exists," he muttered softly, "it probably tastes like this."
Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the street.
And then—
A familiar figure passed in front of the restaurant window.
The young woman from the forest froze mid-step.
She blinked.
There he was.
Sitting casually. Alive. Calm. Eating like someone who hadn't just erased half a forest.
Her eyes widened.
She spun around and bolted toward the entrance.
The restaurant door slammed open.
"Hey! You!"
Every head in the room turned toward her.
She stood there, slightly out of breath, pointing directly at Zephyr like she had just caught a criminal in broad daylight.
The room fell silent.
Then she seemed to realize she had just shouted in a packed restaurant.
"Ah—! I'm sorry!" she said quickly, bowing slightly in embarrassment. "Please excuse me."
Murmurs resumed, though curious glances lingered.
Zephyr opened one eye lazily.
"…Do I owe someone money?" he muttered.
The young woman marched over and sat down across from him without asking.
"You," she said firmly. "Who are you?"
Zephyr blinked at her, stomach full, brain slow, expression completely blank.
"Do we know each other?"
Her face flushed instantly.
"Of course we do! You saved my life in the forest!"
He stared at her as if she had just accused him of stealing the moon.
"What? Me? Saved you?" He scoffed lightly. "That's a good one."
Before she could explode, the waitress approached with the bill.
"Sir, that will be ninety-seven shekels."
Zephyr stared at her.
"…Shekels?"
The word meant something. It felt important. Crucial, even.
But his brain, still adjusting to Earth's mechanics, lagged behind.
"What's that?" he asked genuinely.
The waitress blinked.
Samira blinked.
The waitress tried again carefully. "The currency. Money."
Money.
And then it hit him like a divine slap.
Earth.
Society.
Economy.
You exchange numbers for survival here.
His face went pale.
"Don't tell me," Samira said slowly, eyes narrowing, "you came in here and ordered all that without any money."
Memory crashed into place fully.
On Earth, money wasn't optional.
"…Damn it," Zephyr muttered, sweat forming at his temple.
The waitress crossed her arms.
"Sir?"
Samira watched him carefully. The arrogant calm from earlier was gone. Now he just looked trapped.
Opportunity.
She leaned back slightly, pretending to think.
"I'll pay for him," she said casually.
The waitress looked relieved.
Zephyr looked suspicious.
"On one condition," Samira added, eyes locking onto his. "You answer my questions honestly."
He stared at her.
This was humiliating.
Defeated by a plate of grilled meat and a social system.
"…Fine," he sighed. "Yes. It was me."
Her eyes sharpened. "So you admit it."
"I admit that I was present," he corrected weakly.
She smiled.
Victory.
"I'm Samira," she said, extending her hand slightly. "Nice to meet you."
He looked at her hand like it might demand payment too.
"…Zephyr," he replied with a deeply tired expression. "Likewise."