My stomach growled at the exact moment the plaza fountain shot out its last pattern before changing to the next wave.
The sound was loud enough to make a small child near us turn with a raised eyebrow, and embarrassing enough to make my ears burn behind my mask. Mira, sitting beside me with a cup of ginger tea that had long gone cold in her hand, held back her laughter with great difficulty until her shoulders shook.
"Young Master," she said, trying to sound calm, "your stomach just filed a report."
"My stomach is a traitor," I muttered. "It always speaks up at the worst possible moment."
The big digital clock on the mall wall showed 13:20. For nearly two hours we’d only drunk hot chocolate, wandered through shops, and sat watching children play in the water, and my body, which had previously complained only of aches, was now beginning to demand something more serious. The aromas drifting from the food court across the plaza didn’t help at all. The smell of fried chicken fresh out of the wok, grilled meat sizzling over coals, and something sweet and savory, maybe martabak or waffles, blended into a fragrant wave that nearly made me drool.
"Mira," I called softly.
"No."
"I haven’t said anything yet."
"You want to eat fried chicken at that food court." Mira didn’t even turn. "Or a burger. Or whatever smells most likely to disturb your immune system."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. Her guess was too accurate. "I just want something tasty. Something with real seasoning. Something that isn’t porridge."
"You ate porridge this morning, and you’re already bored of it."
"I’m not bored. I just... miss variety."
"Variety," Mira repeated the word like a judge hearing a defendant’s plea. "You want variety, and that means oily food fried in a public wok, with chili sauce of unknown origin, in a place hundreds of people pass through every hour."
"You make it sound like a crime."
"It is a crime against your digestive system." She tucked her teacup into her small bag and stood with a decisive motion. "We’re going home."
"Now?"
"Now."
"But we’ve only been out two hours."
"The agreement was two hours, Young Master." Mira smiled sweetly in a very dangerous way. "And I decide when we go home. You agreed to that in the car."
I groaned softly and buried my face in my palms while Mira locked my wheelchair handles and began pushing me away from the plaza. Passing the food court area, now thick with the aroma of fried food, I couldn’t help glancing back with a pleading look like a dog left by its owner in front of a butcher shop.
"Don’t look back," Mira scolded without turning.
"Do you have eyes in the back of your head?"
"I have ten years of experience."
We left the mall with shopping bags hanging from the wheelchair handles. The noon sun, shifted slightly west, shone through the SUV’s windshield as Mira helped me into the passenger seat, and the biting cold of the changing season that had stung this morning now felt far friendlier. Mira started the engine, adjusted the side mirror, then glanced at me with a faint smile.
"Don’t pout, Young Master."
"I’m not pouting."
"Your lips are doing exactly that."
"My lips have opinions of their own."
Mira laughed softly and patted the back of my hand once. "Trust me, there’s something much tastier waiting at home. And you won’t regret it."
I didn’t answer, but quietly kept that promise like a little boy keeping candy in his pocket.
The ride home was shorter than I’d expected. The quiet noon streets let the SUV glide smoothly, and in less than twenty minutes our house gate came into view at the end of the road, opening slowly as the car approached. The wide front yard with its white gravel path and neatly trimmed frangipani trees welcomed us as always.
At 13:50, Mira parked in the underground garage and helped me out. The row of lightly dusty sports cars still slept in their places, and I glanced at the matte black Lamborghini briefly before Mira pushed my wheelchair toward the elevator.
The moment the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, my nose was struck by a scent that erased all my earlier complaints.
Garlic sautéed patiently until fragrant. Turmeric and ginger simmered in broth. Coconut milk cooked slowly with bay leaves and lemongrass. And among all that, the smell of chicken fried over low heat until its skin turned crisp and golden, with an aroma far cleaner and warmer than anything I’d smelled at that food court.
"Mira," I whispered, "that’s..."
"Aunt Lara," Mira answered, sounding as surprised as I was. "I haven’t told her anything."
We turned into the corridor leading to the smaller family dining room, where we usually ate alone when there were no guests. The door was half open, and from behind it came the clink of plates and glasses being carefully arranged. Mira pushed my wheelchair in, and I held my breath.
On the long teak table covered with a clean white tablecloth, two plates had already been set facing each other with gleaming silver spoons and forks. Between them stood rows of steaming ceramic bowls: warm white rice with its grains still separate, turmeric fried chicken with crisp golden skin, stir-fried green beans with garlic and sliced carrots glistening with sweet soy sauce, and a bowl of thick corn soup with egg ribbons. At the side of the table, in small glasses, sat two servings of milk pudding with a thin caramel sauce.
A middle-aged woman stood beside the table in a white apron still damp at the front. Her gray hair was neatly coiled at the back of her head, her face round and full of smile lines, and her hands, rough from decades of kitchen work, were smoothing the folds of a napkin with gentle motions.
"Ah, the Young Master is home," she greeted warmly, turning and smiling wide. "Good afternoon, Miss Mira. Perfect timing. Lunch just finished cooking."
"Aunt Lara," Mira immediately bowed deeply with a guilty face. "Forgive me. I didn’t help prepare lunch today. I should have been in the kitchen since morning."
Aunt Lara waved her hand as if shooing away a fly. "Oh my, Miss Mira, don’t be like that. Cooking lunch is Aunt’s job." She laughed softly, and her eyes curved into two thin lines. "You’ve worked too hard. Caring for the Young Master from morning till night, making sure he takes his medicine, cooking special meals, looking after Miss Alya who wakes at dawn... Today you went out to have fun, and Aunt is truly happy to see it."
"But..."
"No buts." Aunt Lara patted Mira’s arm gently. "It’s a good day. Come, sit, sit. The food will get cold."
Mira fell silent for a few moments, her eyes slightly glistening, then nodded slowly with a small smile. "Thank you, Aunt."
"You’re welcome, child."
Aunt Lara turned to look at me, and that look warmed my chest in a way I couldn’t explain. She had worked in this house since I was little, long before this illness came, long before Mira became my personal maid. This was the woman who secretly slipped cake into my hand when I hid in the back kitchen, who fed me soup when I had fevers as a child, and who never once complained when the kitchen had to follow a new diet every time Doctor Karin changed my food list.
"The Young Master looks fresh," she said as she pulled out a chair for me. "His cheeks have color."
"Because Mira took me out," I answered, moving from the wheelchair to the dining chair with Mira’s help. "Though she didn’t let me eat anything tempting out there."
"That’s why Aunt made fried chicken," Aunt Lara winked. "With fresh oil, low heat, and cooked all the way through. Aunt knew the Young Master must be craving something savory."
I looked at Mira with narrowed eyes. "So you forbade me from eating fried chicken at the mall, when there was fried chicken waiting at home."
"That’s clean fried chicken," Mira answered without blinking. "And I didn’t know Aunt was cooking it."
"But you said something much tastier was waiting."
"Because I trust Aunt Lara."
Aunt Lara burst out laughing. "My, you two. All right, eat first. Aunt will go back to the kitchen. There’s laundry and groceries not yet put away."
"Aren’t you eating with us, Aunt?" I asked.
"Later, in the kitchen. That’s Aunt’s place." She patted my shoulder gently. "Enjoy your meal, Young Master. Miss Mira."
Aunt stepped out with slow steps, and before closing the door, she turned toward Mira and looked at the silver crescent hairpin tucked into the left side of her hair.
"A lovely pin, Miss," she said softly. "It suits you perfectly."
Mira touched the pin with her fingertips, and her face immediately flushed from neck to ears. "Thank you, Aunt."
The door closed with a soft sound. The dining room was quiet again, filled only with warm steam and the clink of spoons moving from bowl to plate.
I scooped warm rice onto my plate, then took a piece of turmeric-fried chicken and bit into it slowly.
The skin was crisp and savory, the turmeric and garlic seasoning soaked all the way to the bone. The meat was tender and juicy, without a hint of rawness, and the oil left no heavy feeling on my tongue at all. I closed my eyes and held back a satisfied moan that nearly escaped my throat.
"How is it?" asked Mira, her eyes sparkling with hope.
"This," I said with my mouth full, "is far better than anything at that food court."
"I thought so."
"I want to appoint Aunt Lara as the family chef for life."
"She’s been that since before you were born."
"Then I want to give her a raise."
"That’s Madam Elena’s decision," Mira grinned. "And she’ll refuse on grounds of budget efficiency."
We laughed together, and for a few minutes, the dining room was filled only with the clink of cutlery and light conversation flowing without weight. Mira told me about the dresses I had bought earlier, and how she planned to wear the blue one first when Miss Alya woke, just to see my sister’s surprised expression. I answered with my plan to display the three-tailed white fox plush on my room shelf, and imagined Alya demanding custody of the toy the moment she saw it.
The stir-fried green beans were crisp and fresh, the sweet and slightly spicy tempeh orek, and the corn soup thick with a warmth that soaked all the way down to my stomach. I finished everything on my plate without leaving a bite, took one extra serving of rice, and Mira looked at me with the expression of someone witnessing a small miracle.
"A year ago," she said quietly as she spooned pudding onto my small plate, "I had to force you to swallow half a bowl of porridge under the threat of calling Doctor Karin."
"That was cruel."
"It was effective." Mira smiled, but something trembled behind that smile. "Now you ask for extra rice."
I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at my empty plate, then at her face lit by the noon light from the window, and realized how far we had come together.
"Because I have a reason," I said at last.
"What is your reason?"
"You." I scooped up pudding. "And Aunt Lara. And Alya. And the small world I want to stay in longer."
Mira fell silent, biting her lower lip, then lowered her head to hide a smile that was too wide. "You become sentimental after eating."
"It’s the sugar."
"It’s happiness," she replied softly.
The milk pudding was soft and sweet, with thin caramel melting on my tongue. I finished it slowly, savoring each bite, and when the last spoonful landed on the empty plate, I felt a warm, peaceful fullness that I’d rarely felt since falling ill.
After the plates were cleared and Mira made sure everything was arranged back on the tray to be taken to the kitchen, she pushed my wheelchair out of the dining room toward the elevator. The long hallway of the house looked calm under the noon light streaming through the large windows on the left, casting shadows of painting frames across the marble floor. In one of the frames, my mother’s face smiled gracefully among the other family photos, and I looked at her for a moment before turning the corner.
In my room, Mira immediately helped me move to the edge of the bed, then opened the drawer under the small table beside it. From it, she took out the ivory-white compartmented pill box with Doctor Karin’s handwritten labels. She opened the compartment marked Noon, and poured its contents into my palm.
Three small pills and one vitamin tablet.
"The noon ration," she said, handing me a glass of water.
I swallowed everything in one gulp, without much protest, and opened my mouth briefly to show that it was all in. Mira inspected carefully, then nodded in satisfaction.
"Good."
"I’m like a schoolboy reporting to his teacher."
"You’re a very obedient student." She smoothed the blanket at the foot of the bed and looked at me with a smile. "And now, I know what you’re thinking."
"What am I thinking?"
"The capsule."
I fell silent for a moment, then smiled a little sheepishly. "I can’t hide anything from you."
"No one can," Mira answered with a satisfied tone. "It’s 14:30 now. Doctor Karin allows the first session of the day to begin after lunch and medicine. You can simply go in."
"And you?"
Mira’s smile dimmed slightly, replaced by an apologetic expression that felt sincere. "I might be a little late. There are still a few things to take care of."
"Like what?"
"Tidying our shopping, storing those dresses properly so they don’t wrinkle, calling the clinic about next week’s blood test schedule, and checking the kitchen’s monthly expenses with Aunt Lara." She counted on her fingers. "Probably an hour, or an hour and a half. Maybe longer if Aunt wants to chat."
"Aunt Lara always wants to chat."
"That’s the problem."
I laughed softly, then reached for her hand and held it for a moment. "It’s fine. I can log in on my own. I’m an adult."
"You just took your medicine proudly like a little child."
"That’s different."
"I’ll catch up as fast as I can," Mira promised, and she bent to kiss my forehead. "Don’t forget the three things from last night."
"Don’t be bait. Retreat if the indicator passes seventy. You may pull the safety."
"And don’t push yourself," she added.
"Is that the fourth?"
"That’s an addition."
I raised my hands in resignation. "Agreed."
Mira smiled, then helped me up and into the capsule. She fastened the sensor pads at my temples and the nape of my neck with a precise touch she had performed hundreds of times, making sure everything was snug with nothing pressing. The thin blanket was drawn up to my chest, the gel cushion adjusted beneath my head, and the capsule screen lit up with a soft blue glow.
[Session Ready. Today’s Session Limit: 04:00:00. Begin Session?]
"Begin," I said quietly.
"Have fun playing, Young Master," Mira whispered, and her smile was the last thing I saw before the capsule lid came down with a soft hiss.
Darkness enveloped me, warm and silent like a blanket of night. Then lines of silver light flowed in from the distance, merging into the crescent moon logo with ripples of water around it, and a gentle voice echoed inside my head.
[Welcome Back, Syl.]
[Loading World...]
The very familiar sensation of falling rushed over me, like diving from a cliff into a pool of warm water. My body lost its weight, and my legs, which for months could only walk a few steps before trembling, suddenly felt light and strong like a deer ready to run.
I opened my eyes.
The lake wind brushed my face, carrying the smell of water and lavender mixed with wet wood. Soft morning sunlight pierced the willow branches at the lake’s edge, falling on the calm water and reflecting a golden shimmer. I stood at the end of the simple wooden pier where we had last parted, with crescent-shaped floating lanterns still drifting slowly among the willow roots.
Behind me, the Silvergrass Moon Temple stood gracefully amid its garden, its silvery-white walls reflecting the morning light. The tower bell chimed once, softly, as if welcoming my return.
I drew a deep breath and smiled.
"I’m back," I murmured.
To be sure, I opened my friend list. One by one, the names appeared with gray lights beside them.
[Yuuki: Offline.]
[Yuna: Offline.]
[Lumina: Offline.]
[Flora: Offline.]
[Mirabelle: Offline.]
All of them. Not one was online. Yuuki and her friends must still be asleep after hunting until dawn, and Mira would only join after finishing the household chores. For the next hour, or maybe more, I was alone in this world.
Strangely, I didn’t feel lonely. Instead, there was a calm I rarely felt: no raid to lead, no hunting target, no younger sister to watch over from behind. Just me, a temple, and a lake.
At the corner of my vision, the temple panel I had closed last night without pressing a single button blinked softly again as if greeting me. Eight hundred for the hall. Twelve hundred for the altar. Two thousand for the tower. Eighteen hundred for the inn. The numbers waited patiently, like a flock of questions in no hurry for answers.
I stepped down from the pier, followed the stone path flanked by clusters of lavender, and decided that today, at least for the next hour, I would stroll through the village alone, without hurrying.
Aunt Lara once said, on one of those mornings long ago, that food cooked with care always tastes better than food cooked by recipe.