The next day, Elric woke feeling considerably better than before. The soreness in his body had mostly faded, leaving only a slight lingering pain in his throat. He glanced at his phone, which now displayed 6:00 AM in bright numbers.
Yesterday, after taking leave from work, he'd fallen asleep again almost immediately after drinking some water. His body had desperately needed rest. So it was no wonder he'd been woken by intense hunger after not eating for three whole days.
Usually, he went to work between ten and eleven and had both breakfast and lunch at the restaurant. He might eat dinner there too, or pick something up on his way home. So naturally, even though he was a cook by profession, there were no ingredients in his house. He didn't even own a refrigerator—there'd never been a need for one.
He decided to go in earlier today. He usually opened up the restaurant anyway, so arriving a few hours early wouldn't matter.
After taking a long, hot bath that helped ease the remaining stiffness in his muscles, he got dressed and headed outside. Normally he'd ride his bicycle to work, but he really didn't have the energy for that today. Instead, he pulled out his phone and called an Uber.
The drive was quiet, giving him time to think about what had happened. The fear from yesterday still lingered at the edges of his consciousness, but the physical recovery had helped settle his nerves somewhat. He'd have to go back to that other world eventually—he knew that. But not yet. Not today.
The Uber dropped him off in front of a modest but elegant building with large windows and a hand-painted sign that read "Rebecca's Kitchen" in flowing script.
After unlocking the front door and disabling the alarm, he quickly made his way to the walk-in refrigerator. Looking at the leftovers from yesterday's service, a genuine smile appeared on his face for the first time since the incident. There was half a braised short rib, some roasted vegetables, a container of the signature cream sauce his mom had developed, and fresh bread.
Perfect.
He was in the middle of devouring the reheated short rib when the front door suddenly opened. He didn't look up, continuing to eat with single-minded focus.
"You greedy pig." A woman's voice cut through the quiet restaurant, equal parts exasperated and amused. "Did you not eat at all yesterday? You lied to me when I called you in the evening and you said you'd ordered food, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I lied," Elric replied around a mouthful of beef. "What about it?"
"You shameless thing!" The woman's footsteps approached. "Do you think I can't do anything to you? Just wait—I'll be telling Rebecca the moment she wakes up."
Hearing this, his chewing paused for just a moment before continuing. The threat was an empty one—they both knew it—but the words still stung in a way he'd never quite gotten used to.
Only after cleaning the plate completely did he finally put down his fork and look up at the woman who was now standing directly over him, hands on her hips.
Ivy was a woman in her early fifties with sharp eyes that missed nothing and graying hair she refused to dye. She'd been his mother's best friend since college, and in many ways had become a second mother to him after the incident three years ago.
She naturally reached down and placed her hand on his temple, checking for fever with practiced efficiency.
"No, it seems you're fine," she said after a moment, withdrawing her hand. "But you should take today off too, just to be safe."
"I'm fine," Elric protested.
"Then why are you here at six in the morning? You usually don't show up until ten."
"I could ask you the same thing. Did I come to some alternative universe or something? You're never here this early."
"You bastard!" Ivy swatted his shoulder lightly. "It's because of you. My plan was to clean up the restaurant, then go to your house to check on you and take you to the hospital if you'd gotten worse. But it seems you're not as fragile as you look."
This restaurant had been opened by his mom and Ivy when he was five years old. His mother, Rebecca, had been the head chef, while Ivy managed the business side and served as the primary server. They'd opened it as a small establishment, pooling all their savings into the venture with no guarantee of success.
But because of Rebecca's unique recipes—innovative fusion dishes that somehow made traditional comfort food feel elevated—and Ivy's sharp business acumen, the restaurant had naturally grown over the years. It was still small, maintaining only twenty tables to preserve the intimate atmosphere, but it had become a high-class establishment. They were doing nearly seven hundred thousand dollars in annual revenue now.
Including himself and Ivy, there were only five people on staff total. The small team meant everyone wore multiple hats, but it also meant the income was considerable when divided among so few.
Even in the previous year, before taxes, Elric had taken home about two hundred thousand dollars personally. Not rich enough to be careless with money, but comfortably upper-middle class.
His life should have been one without lacking anything significant. And it had been, until three years ago.
That's when it started—the Sleeping Sickness, as the media had dubbed it. Suddenly, people around the world began falling ill, completely losing consciousness and slipping into comas. It affected almost one percent of the global population in the first wave. Even though subsequent waves were smaller, people were still contracting the illness with terrifying randomness.
No one knew what caused it. The best medical minds in the world had been studying it for three years and still had no answers. It wasn't a virus, wasn't bacterial, wasn't genetic. It simply... happened.
After about a month from the initial onset, some people started to regain consciousness on their own, waking up as mysteriously as they'd fallen asleep. Most of them recovered completely, with no lasting effects.
But many weren't so lucky.
His mother, Rebecca, had been one of the first wave victims. She'd collapsed in the kitchen one morning while prepping ingredients for the day's service. Just dropped the knife she'd been holding and crumpled to the floor like her strings had been cut.
Three years later, she was still unconscious.
Fortunately, because Elric had been helping his mom cook for as long as he could remember—standing on a stool to reach the counter when he was six, learning knife skills before he learned algebra—he'd been able to take over her role after she collapsed. The recipes were in his blood, muscle memory built over years of working alongside her.
So money had never become a problem, even with the medical bills.
But there were also many people who just died suddenly while in comas. No warning, no decline—their hearts simply stopped beating one day. The doctors called it "spontaneous cessation," which was just a fancy way of saying they had no idea why it happened.
That fear haunted Elric every single day. The fear that he'd get a call from the hospital saying his mother's heart had stopped, that she'd slipped away while he was at work or asleep or living his life.
"Hey, Elric." Ivy's voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. "Let's visit Rebecca while we're here this early. And we can get you checked out properly at the hospital too."
"I'm fine," Elric repeated, though with less conviction this time.
"What's the problem with getting checked?" Ivy's tone shifted from gentle to stern. "You cheap bastard. Are you that afraid of losing a few hours of pay?"
That wasn't it at all, and Ivy probably knew it. The truth was, Elric hated hospitals. Hated the sterile smell, the fluorescent lights, the way doctors spoke in carefully neutral tones that told you nothing and everything at once.
He'd spent enough time in hospitals over the past three years visiting his mother. Every visit was a reminder of what he'd lost, what might never come back.
But Ivy was right. He should get checked out, especially after what had happened. What if there were lasting effects from the sympathetic trauma? What if his heart had been damaged somehow?
And more than that... he wanted to see his mom. Wanted to sit by her bedside and tell her about the impossible thing that had happened to him, even though she couldn't hear him. Or maybe she could—the doctors said they didn't know how much coma patients perceived.
Maybe some part of her would understand that her son had somehow gained the ability to live two lives, to exist in two worlds simultaneously. Maybe she'd be proud of how he'd handled it, or worried about the danger, or both.
"Fine," Elric said quietly. "Let me help you clean up first, then we'll go."
Ivy's stern expression softened immediately. "Good boy. Now go get the mop—the floor in the dining area needs attention."
You, witch go get it yourself.