Noct quickly took out the ingredients from the carry bag he had brought early in the morning. There were eggs, meat, vegetables, a bottle of milk, and a few other essentials.
He started with the vegetables—tomatoes sliced into neat, even pieces, carrots diced into perfect cubes, cabbage shredded into fine, delicate strands, and the rest chopped with almost mechanical precision, each cut clean and deliberate.Even though he had lost his original body, all those years of carving through evil spirits and clashing with demigods remained etched deep within him; the rhythm, the control, the instinct behind every movement—it all translated seamlessly into the blade in his hand, as if the act of cutting itself was something his very existence could never forget.
Next, he took out the cheap meat, placing it carefully into boiling water. He added the eggs too, timing them so they became perfectly semi-boiled—soft enough that the yolk would later release like molten gold.
As the meat simmered, he muttered to himself, "It should be ready soon…"
But it was only the beginning.
Once the eggs were done, he carefully peeled and sliced them. As he cut, the yolks oozed like yellow lava, rich with aroma.
"This looks good too," he murmured, though he knew this wasn't yet the final form.
He began combining the vegetables and eggs into the blender, arranging everything meticulously.
Suddenly, he realized, "Oh! Totally forgot to cut the meat!"
Smacking his forehead lightly, he quickly sliced the meat into small pieces. Fortunately, he had bought boneless cuts, so nothing went to waste. The tender meat was added to the blender, resting atop the finely chopped vegetables.
He opened the milk bottle, taking a small gulp first. "Ah… that feels refreshing," he said with a small smile, before pouring the rest into the blender.
Stepping back, he wiped his hands and said with excitement, "Time to blend!"
Little did he know… a disaster awaited him.
As he started the blender, it roared to life—eggs, chunks of meat, shredded cabbage, diced carrots, and slices of tomato all thrown into chaos. The golden yolks burst apart, bleeding into the mix, while the red of the tomatoes smeared into it, the greens and whites twisting violently together. Everything spun at high speed, colliding, tearing, and dissolving into one another—those once appetizing ingredients losing all sense of form and identity as they were crushed into a swirling, grotesque mess… slowly turning into something utterly wrong.
By the time he stopped, what remained was a thick, purple, viscous liquid—an abomination that looked like it shouldn't exist.
Just looking at it was enough to make anyone gag, his eyes twitching slightly as his instincts screamed at him to stay away from it.
And then the smell hit him…
No, calling it a smell was too kind, too merciful for something this vile, this offensive to the senses; it was like a hundred-year-old rotten piece of cheese—no, worse, because cheese, no matter how disgusting, could at least be preserved, aged, even eaten in some cursed, questionable way, but this… this was something else entirely, something that felt like it had long crossed the boundary of decay and entered a realm where it should have never existed at all.
This?
This was something far worse—like meat that had gone completely off the rails, rotted to hell and back, melted into a disgusting sludge and then somehow mashed together again into a cursed mess, thick, nasty, and wrong in every possible way, like it had been scooped straight out of some hellhole where even rot had given up trying to make sense.
Rotten and foul, yet not quite either—something beyond both, something that shouldn't have a name.
A disgusting, suffocating stench spread from it, heavy and invasive, clinging to the air and forcing its way into his lungs with every breath.
The slimy texture didn't help either—sticky, gelatinous, almost alive—probably thanks to those boiled eggs that had once looked so harmless.
He brought it closer, slowly, with hesitation creeping into his fingers, and with just one whiff his stomach churned violently.
Twisted and turned as if trying to escape, he was ready to throw up everything he had eaten at any second—but he held it in, barely.
"…If it tastes good, looks don't matter, haha… yeah… good… probably…?" he said with a hesitant smile, his own words betraying him, his voice lacking any real confidence.
Even he didn't believe it, what kind of catastrophe had he just created…? He cut off his thoughts, no hesitation, and took a sip.
…and that alone was enough, his entire body froze.
That single drop—just that tiny sip—was enough to make him realize this was one of the worst decisions he had ever made in his life.
Comparable only to the first time he used the Asura Art—that same unbearable, soul-twisting agony.
"What the f—!?" he spat, his face twisting in pure disgust.
But it was already too late, he had to finish it, "I can't waste money…" he muttered under his breath, taking a deep breath, then another—and then he gulped it down, all of it.
The liquid—if it could even be called that—slid down his throat like a living nightmare, his body instantly rejecting it, every instinct screaming at him to throw it up, to purge it out immediately.
His throat burned, his stomach twisted, his organs felt like they were revolting, crying out in pure agony, trying desperately to expel the foreign horror invading them.
He almost threw up, almost, but somehow… somehow, it stayed down, a miracle.
The moment he finished, he hurled the empty container away, "That was disgusting… utterly disgusting…" he said, his face pale, as if he had just survived a life-and-death battle.
His thoughts drifted—this was worse than the last time, worse than that time when he was starving to death… when he had no choice but to eat a giant larva just to survive, it had burst in his mouth the moment he bit into it, raw, slimy, alive.
Of course, fried grasshoppers were fine—those could actually taste decent, but this… this was beyond that.
A thought suddenly crossed his mind, "…I could use this to poison those bastards," he muttered with a faint, almost evil grin—and immediately felt like vomiting again.
"Fuck that idiot! Who even made that recipe!?" Noct burst out, shouting in frustration, he had been about to call it "bad"—but stopped, no, "bad" was far too kind.
"…This is like third-degree torture in hell…" he murmured, dropping to his knees, not that he truly knew hell—but the Night World was close enough, he did know.
"…At least I saved the money…" he added weakly, a hint of hollow satisfaction in his voice, but soon his expression changed, his fingers clenched, his eyes sharpened.
"I don't care… even if I have to go through this hell ten… no, hundreds of times… I'll kill all those bastards."
There was purpose in his voice, that day he learned a new meaning of suffering, a terrifying one, one he had never imagined.
Somehow, he dragged himself back to his feet and staggered toward the sofa, his head spun violently, "What the hell is happening…?" he muttered, clutching his head.
His vision blurred, darkened, "…Is this because of the drink…?" or something else, he couldn't tell.
His body gave out, collapsing onto the sofa as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier—until everything went black.
But this… this was only the first disaster he faced today, another one was coming, a far more painful one.