Ken crept across the wooden floorboards of the unfamiliar home, each creak beneath his bare feet sending a jolt of nervous energy up his spine. Morning sunlight poured through the crooked windows, casting warm golden streaks across the stone walls and hand-woven tapestries. The place smelled of lavender and old wood.
He paused by a wooden dresser with tiny, uneven drawers and ran his fingers along a small wooden figurine—crudely carved, probably handmade. A basket of wool and knitting needles sat beside it. Everything in the house was humble, rustic… lived in.
So this is real, he thought. I'm not dreaming. I'm really here… in this kid's body.
He found a washbasin near the hearth, splashed water on his face, and stared into the reflection on the rippling surface. Same child's face. Same wide, unfamiliar eyes.
As he stood there, fragments began to trickle in—like puzzle pieces floating to the surface of a murky pool.
A name: Ken.
An age: Eleven.
A mother, kind and tired.
No siblings.
A father lost to war when he was just a toddler.
Living in the town of Brimholt, on the edge of the Galdric Kingdom.
He staggered back a step and gripped the wooden table beside him.
I… remember. I remember both. Him. Me. We're both Ken…
The memories didn't fight each other—they meshed, layered like worn pages in the same book. He wasn't just some stranger in a strange body now. He was Ken—both of them. The modern failure of a cook, and the peasant boy who never knew a world beyond firewood and barley porridge.
"Ken? Are you awake?" called a woman's voice from the back.
His heart skipped. He recognized that voice.
"Yes!" he shouted reflexively, his young voice cracking slightly.
The woman who entered the room wore a faded apron and carried a woven basket full of wild herbs. She looked no older than her mid-thirties, though her eyes carried the weight of someone who'd endured too many hard winters. Her hair was tied back in a neat braid, and her face brightened the moment she saw him.
"You've been sleeping like a stone all morning," she said with a gentle laugh, ruffling his hair. "You feeling alright, little one?"
Ken blinked up at her, momentarily overwhelmed by the warmth in her gaze. It hit him all at once—this woman wasn't just a stranger. Somewhere, deep in the back of his newly shared memories, he knew her. Her voice was familiar. Her scent was comforting. Her presence—safe.
"I'm fine," he said softly, almost reverently. "I just… had a weird dream, I think."
"Well, you're up just in time. I picked some mountain thyme for tonight's stew," she said as she moved to the hearth, laying her basket beside a half-filled pot.
Ken watched her bustle about the small kitchen. Her movements were practiced, efficient. She worked without hesitation, humming a faint tune as she sorted herbs and prepared the vegetables.
He hesitated, the words caught halfway between impulse and memory. Then, after a beat, he spoke up.
"Ma?"
She turned to look at him, surprised by his tone.
"Yes?"
"Can I help with dinner tonight?"
That stopped her. She blinked. "You want to help?"
Ken offered a small smile. "Yeah… I think I should start learning. You always do everything yourself. I want to do something useful."
Her expression softened. She set down the carrots she was slicing and gave him a look that was equal parts amused and touched.
"Well, aren't you full of surprises today," she said. "Alright then, Chef Ken. Let's start with peeling the potatoes."
---
Later that afternoon, Ken sat at the worn wooden table in the corner of their small kitchen, a bowl of lumpy potatoes in front of him and a dull iron peeler in his hand. He'd peeled about half of one so far, his hands sticky with starch and skin curling around his fingertips.
Peeling's the same, he thought. Different world, same damn technique.
He scraped another strip away, rotating the potato with growing focus. As he finished the first one, a strange ding echoed in his ears—loud, clear, and completely impossible.
Ding!
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED: Master Chef System v1.0]
Ken jumped, nearly dropping the potato.
WELCOME, KEN
You have taken your first step on the culinary path.
A glowing interface, semi-transparent and floating just before his eyes, flickered to life with a faint magical hum. His heart nearly burst out of his chest as he stared.
---
STATUS SCREEN
Name: Ken
Age: 11
Race: Human (Commoner)
Title: Novice Cook
Class: Unawakened
Level: 1
ATTRIBUTES
Strength (STR): 4
Dexterity (DEX): 6
Intelligence (INT): 8
Endurance (END): 5
Charisma (CHA): 7
Perception (PER): 6
Luck (LCK): 9
Taste Sense (TS): 3
Smell Sense (SS): 4
SKILLS
Basic Knife Handling (Lv. 1)
Ingredient Prep (Lv. 1)
Fire Control (Locked)
Seasoning Sense (Locked)
Flavor Memory (Locked)
CURRENT QUEST
Task: Peel 5 Potatoes (1/5)
Reward: +5 EXP, +10% EXP in Ingredient Prep (Lv. 1)
---
Ken's jaw dropped.
Is this… a video game interface? A literal cooking system?
"Are you okay over there?" his mother asked, turning from the stove.
"Uh—yeah! Just… really focused," he said, quickly grabbing another potato.
The moment he picked it up, the system blinked:
[Quest Progress: 1/5]
His eyes lit up.
He peeled faster, more smoothly this time, riding the wave of excitement. For the first time in years—even in two lifetimes—he felt a spark ignite deep inside him.
He was still Ken.
Still a cook.
But now, he had a second chance.
And this time?
He had a system.
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