Early in the morning.
"Yawn... I'm so hungry." I stretched lazily in the king-sized bed, the silk sheets pooling around my hips. The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the room in a soft, golden hue.
Ron was still asleep beside me, his breathing deep and even. He looked peaceful, almost innocent, a stark contrast to the wild, desperate creature he had been in the bath last night.
Poor boy. I sucked him dry seven times last night before he calmed down from the drug's drawback. He's probably going to be sore for a week.
I slipped out of bed, my movements silent as a cat's. I didn't bother getting dressed, padding naked across the marble floor to the kitchen.
The kitchen was a chef's dream, all gleaming chrome and dark wood. I opened the massive stainless steel refrigerator, and my eyes landed on a large, blood-red steak sitting on a plate.
A high-grade Wyvern steak.
A gift from Ron, from one of the storage rings he took for himself. He'd remembered my preferences.
'What a thoughtful boy,' I thought, a genuine smile gracing my lips.
Cooking was not something I usually bothered with. Devour was far more efficient. But sometimes, I enjoyed the simple, primal pleasure of preparing my own food.
And in my old world, being the Hero for more than twenty years, always on the move, always fighting, I never had the chance to learn how to cook. All I did was slap a fat, juicy monster steak over a fire and eat it half-raw.
I do have memories of thousands of beings who were talented in the art of cooking, from five-star chefs to humble home cooks. I had all their knowledge, all their skills. But I'd never had the reason, or the desire, to use them.
Until now.
I have the time, the tools, and the desire. And I have someone to cook for. Not for survival. Not for sustenance. For pleasure. For the simple, domestic joy of it.
It was a novel experience.
"I wish Eva and the girls were here," I muttered to myself. "Next time I'll make sure to cook something nice for them too."
I took out the steak, along with some exotic herbs and spices I found in the pantry. I heated a cast-iron skillet on the industrial-sized stove, the metal humming with power.
I seasoned the steak with a mix of crushed peppercorns, sea salt, and a rare herb that smelled faintly of thunderstorms. The scent was intoxicating, a promise of the storm contained within the meat.
I placed the steak in the hot skillet, and it sizzled, the aroma of searing meat filling the kitchen. A symphony of smells and sounds.
I moved with a practiced grace, my hands knowing exactly what to do. I basted the steak with garlic-infused butter, the fat sizzling and popping. The smell was divine, a scent that spoke of power and primal satisfaction.
I was so engrossed in my cooking that I didn't notice Ron until he leaned against the doorframe, watching me.
He was dressed in a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair still damp from the shower. He looked tired, but there was a new light in his eyes, a mix of awe and confusion.
"Morning," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I didn't know you could cook."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," I said, letting out a soft laugh at the boy who became a man. "Breakfast is almost ready."
He didn't say anything else, just watched me as I finished cooking the steak. The way he looked at me was different this morning. Not with the raw, desperate lust from last night, but with something more complex. A mix of reverence, fear, and a dawning, terrifying understanding.
I guess this was his way of hiding the shame of what he did to me last night, even if I enjoyed it.
I plated the steak, a perfect medium-rare, with a side of sautéed vegetables. I set the plate on the kitchen island, along with a cup of soda, another of his preferences and mine.
"Eat," I said. "You'll need your strength."
He sat down, picking up the knife and fork. He took a bite of the steak, and his eyes widened in surprise.
"This is... amazing," he said after swallowing. "Better than anything I've ever tasted."
"I'm glad you like it," I said, taking a bite of my own steak. The meat was tender, juicy, and bursting with flavor. A perfect start to the day.
We ate in silence, the only sound was the clinking of silverware against plates.
Once we were finished, I leaned back in my chair, my gaze fixed on him.
"We should go to the hospital," I said, changing the subject. "To check on your sister."
"!!!" He froze, the fork halfway to his mouth. The mention of his sister brought back a flood of memories, a reminder of the reason he had started this journey in the first place.
"What... what about her?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you going to continue with the treatment?"
His tone was almost a pleading one. A desperate hope.
"Of course," I said, my voice calm and steady. "I said I would save her, didn't I? And I always keep my promises."
I could see the relief washing over him, a wave of emotion so strong it almost made me feel something.
"But I have a condition." I raised a finger.
"Which is?"
"We need to bring her home," I said, my voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Here. To this house."
He looked at me, confusion and hope warring in his eyes.
"Here?" he asked, looking around the luxurious penthouse. "But... why?"
"Did you forget that the hospital cut off her treatment?" I said, my tone was a little sharp. "And you think they will just keep her there for free? And even if they did, that's more than enough reason to bring her here. No one is to be trusted, especially corporate hospitals. They will sell her for her unique condition in a heartbeat."
My words hit him like a physical blow. The hope in his eyes was replaced by a cold, hard fear. He knew I was right. The world was not a kind place. Especially not for the weak and the sick.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice firm, all traces of uncertainty gone.
"Get ready," I said, rising from my chair. "We're leaving in an hour. And let's just hope we don't have to break anyone's legs today."
...
The hospital was a sterile, white fortress of glass and steel. The air inside was thick with the smell of disinfectant and illness. A place of healing, but also a place of despair.
Ron led the way, his steps sure and confident. He knew this place like the back of his hand. He had spent countless hours here, watching over his sister, hoping for a miracle that never came.
We reached the doctor's office after a few minutes of walking. The name on the door read: Dr. Miles Alden.
Ron knocked on the door.
"Come in," a tired, aged voice called from inside. The room was cluttered with books, papers, and medical charts. A man in his late fifties, with thinning gray hair and a weary expression, sat behind a large oak desk.
He looked up as we entered, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw Ron.
"Ron? What are you doing here?" he asked, a hint of relief in his voice. "I've been trying to contact you for days. The board has decided to discontinue your sister's treatment. I'm so sorry."
"I know," Ron said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I'm here to take her home."
Dr. Alden sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Ron, be reasonable. Her condition is... complex. She needs 24/7 care. Specialized equipment. You can't possibly provide that at home."
"I can," I said, stepping forward. The doctor's eyes landed on me, and he flinched, a flicker of fear in his eyes. He could feel the aura of power radiating from me, the aura of a predator.
"And who are you?" he asked, trying to maintain his professional composure.
"A friend," I said, my smile a little too sharp. "And I'm here to ensure that Akira receives the best care possible. Here. Under our supervision."
I can't just say that my 'treatment' is mouth-to-mouth.
"That's... that's not possible," the doctor stammered. "The board would never allow it. Her case is... unique. She's a valuable asset to our research."
"Asset?" Ron's voice was dangerously low. He took a step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of the dagger hidden at his waist. "She's my sister. Not a lab rat."
"Ron, please," the doctor pleaded, holding up his hands. "You don't understand. Her condition... the way her body is resisting the mana infusion... It's unprecedented. We could learn so much. We could help so many others."
I could see the greed in his eyes, the cold, calculating greed of a scientist who saw a person not as a life, but as a puzzle to be solved, a prize to be won.
"Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to keep her here, cut her open, and see what makes her tick. All in the name of 'science,' of course."
"No! It's not like that!" The doctor protested, but the lie was transparent.
"Is it?" I took a step closer, leaning over his desk. My shadow fell over him, a suffocating weight. Then I turned to Ron. "Could you wait outside for a moment? This is a conversation between doctors."