The first rays of dawn slipped through the window when I opened my eyes. My body felt heavy from last night’s training, but the mont I rembered what I had to do today, fatigue lted away.
I had a promise to keep.
Dragging myself out of bed, I washed up and headed to the kitchen. The air was cool, quiet — the perfect ti to work.
I laid out everything on the counter.
Flour, salt, and water for the taco dough.
Fresh hare at from yesterday’s market.
Cabbage, tomatoes, onions — neatly arranged, vibrant in color.
"Alright," I murmured, cracking my knuckles. "Let’s do this."
*****
First, the dough.
I poured the flour into a wooden bowl, added a pinch of salt, and mixed it slowly with warm water. My fingers kneaded the soft mixture until it ford a smooth, elastic dough.
Unlike Earth’s modern mixers, I had only my hands — but cooking was muscle mory to . The motion was calming, rhythmic. When the texture felt right, I covered it with a damp cloth and set it aside to rest.
Next, the filling.
I sliced the hare at into small, thin strips. The knife glided easily — the at was tender and light, with a faint herbal scent, a byproduct of the beast’s mana-rich diet.
In a pan, I lted a knob of beast butter over the mana burner. The soft blue fla of condensed mana flickered quietly beneath the pan, steady and hot — cleaner than any stove fla back on Earth.
The butter sizzled.
I tossed in the at, and the room filled instantly with that satisfying sound — the sharp hiss of searing flesh. The rich aroma hit , smoky and mouthwatering.
"Perfect."
When the color began to brown, I added diced onions and shredded cabbage. The sizzling turned sharper, more alive. Then ca the tomatoes — their faint glow dimd as they hit the heat, releasing sweet, tangy juices that mixed into the at.
Finally, I added the seasoning — crushed red fire-pepper, a pinch of ground salt crystal, and a few herbs I’d bought from the market.
The air grew thick with heat and spice, a savory storm that made my stomach growl.
I stirred until the mixture blended into a glistening, golden-brown filling — juicy but not oily. The kind of balance that would make anyone addicted after one bite.
*****
By the ti I returned to the dough, it had softened beautifully.
I rolled small pieces into thin, round sheets. Not too thick — just enough to crisp at the edges while staying soft in the middle.
One by one, I placed them on the pan, letting them puff slightly before flipping. The aroma of freshly baked dough filled the kitchen. Golden brown, slightly charred spots — just the way I liked them.
Once done, I filled each with the spiced at and vegetable mix, folded them neatly, and set them aside to cool.
When I took the first bite from one — just to test — the crunch, the warmth, and the burst of flavor made smile involuntarily.
"...Perfect."
It would’ve been even better with cheese, though.
I sighed. "Right, no cheese in this world... yet."
Maybe that’s sothing I should fix soday. A little project for future .
For the finishing touch, I made a small jar of sauce — crushed mana tomatoes, herbs, salt, and a hint of sweet spice — thick and red, a perfect companion for the tacos.
I packed everything neatly into my lunch box, wrapped it in cloth, and glanced at the clock.
"Ti to go."
*****
The academy gates lood in the distance as I walked up the cobblestone path, the chatter of cadets already filling the morning air. It didn’t take long to notice the glances.
They were different today.
The mont I stepped through the gates, whispers began.
"That’s him—"
"Did you hear? He called Lady Mariella a—"
"Shh! Don’t say it out loud!"
I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed. "News sure travels fast."
It was already spreading, then. I’d barely slept and the rumor had grown wings.
The glares followed through the hallways — from nobles sneering down their noses to commoners pretending not to look. I didn’t react. No point.
When I entered the classroom, the noise dimd instantly.
I walked straight to my usual seat at the back, ignoring the heavy air that seed to cling to the room.
The mont I sat down, I could feel the stares.
So curious.
Most hostile.
And a few — outright burning.
Kael was one of those few.
He sat at the front, posture straight, eyes locked on with that sa righteous disgust that could make anyone want to punch him.
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Whether it was habit or a warning, I didn’t care.
Beside him sat Princess Celestia, her expression cold and distant. Elisha glared openly, eyes sharp with disdain. The rest of the protagonist’s little entourage looked equally ready to pass judgnt.
I exhaled through my nose. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m evil incarnate."
But amidst all the hostility, one gaze stood out.
From the far corner of the room — soft, uncertain, and strangely gentle.
Ariana.
Our eyes t briefly. She didn’t look away. There was no fear or disgust there — only... pity.
Her hands fidgeted nervously on her desk, as if she wanted to say sothing but couldn’t.
I gave her a faint nod — nothing more — before leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes.
A mont later, the door opened and the teacher entered, snapping the room back to attention. The murmurs stopped, eyes turned forward.
Finally.
I leaned back in my seat, forcing my mind to clear.
Whatever was said about didn’t matter. I was here for one thing: to learn.
Even if I knew how the world worked — the system, the combat hierarchy, the chanics — that didn’t an I understood it on a fundantal level.
And knowledge was still power.
And these classes were much help and not to ntioned it also increased my intelligence stat.
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