Golden light flowing down from a silver chandelier hanging from a ceiling depicting some kind of garden washed down on me as I entered the dining room with Ifira. My shoes, which I had carefully wrapped in a layer of plants on the way here, softly pressed against the tiled floor.

  Different tile colors were placed in a way that they looked like a red flower whose stem ran down the hall, in which a plush red carpet began to cover them.

  On the way here, I saw statues carefully carved from granite. I didn't know who they were but if I had to guess, they probably didn't mean anything. The paintings did though, the portraits looked very similar to Ifira physically so it isn't impossible to assume that they must have been her ancestors.

  Did her genes that led to her becoming the perfect vessel come from them, I wonder? Or did it originate from her mother's side of things? Actually, little to nothing is known when it comes to the woman who gave birth to Ifira, so maybe the answer is yes?

  Not that it matters, the gene clearly manifested in Ifira and not anyone before her so the only one who I should be focusing on should be Ifira herself, not her bloodline.

  And yes, I'd prefer to ignore a history that can potentially lead to me uncovering the reason for how someone becomes a perfect vessel in favor of my own sanity, prioritizing myself is the right choice no matter how many times I think about this.

  "You will be amazed by the kind of food our chef makes." Ifira mentioning the reason I came here for— food, of all things. — reminded me that I should probably offer to cook something for her. "You should taste the mashed potatoes, they are simply fantastic."

  Mashed potatoes huh? Is it even that hard to cook? I'm guessing the only reason why Ifira even likes them is because the chef has some kind of perk that enhances the taste of everything he cooks, I don't see her complimenting them like this otherwise.

  "You know, I can cook something for you if you want?" My offer made her stop, she looks at me, I smile. "I'm fairly confident in my own cooking skill, you know that I sold food before this right?"

  "Wasn't that the girl living in your house?" Ah, so people are thinking that Laself is the one who cooks the food in our store? Well, yeah, she is, but I was the one who did everything back when we were still running a stall.

  "Laself? Yeah, you can say that, but she learned from the best, which is me." My own thumb taps on my chest twice. "And I only have like, two sub classes dedicated to cooking."

  "Boasting about your skill in cooking doesn't impress me, you're a kid, how can you possibly be good at cooking? Everyone knows children can't cook." The condescending scoff that follows after Ifira's declaration would have discouraged any normal person but not me, I'm too shameless for that.

  "You sure? Who told you that?" A tickles my throat, I didn't even find the situation funny. "Did your mother say that you can't cook as a kid or something?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes."

  The confirmation made me pause, wait what? Seriously? Did they say that to her just so she doesn't go to the kitchen and try making her own food? Were they scared that Ifira would burn down their mansion if she did that or something?

  Okay, maybe they had the right to be scared, Ifira is many things but she wasn't known as an amazing chef, even during canon.

  "Huh, well, maybe they just thought it was beneath you?" Hopefully, with my words, she doesn't think that her parents were trying to hurt her, there's a good chance she might kill them if she ever realizes the actual reason why she wasn't allowed to cook. "You do have a chef after all?"

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  "Nobles commonly think that way, yes." The frown that Ifira wore as she mentioned that can only mean that she doesn't agree with the common noble practice of arrogance. "You're saying that we can actually cook?"

  "... Yes." The shocked stare that a nearby maid shot me caused a pang of guilt to attack my chest. Come on, don't look at me like that! It's not my fault. "Cooking can be done by anyone, regardless of age, just look at me for example!"

  Maybe I am partially to blame? What I just said was basically enabling Ifira right? I shouldn't encourage her like this... Nah, I want her to experience cooking at least once, see if she still has that monstrous talent of hers when inside a kitchen.

  "That makes sense." Ifira went and grabbed my hand, she started dragging me across the house, we ran past the tables, then the doors in the back. "This is our kitchen."

  "Uhuh, kitchen, or course." Nodding absentmindedly was the only thing I could do in response.

  Chefs move back and forth in a room so spacious that it dwarfs the mass hall of Flotol's church, lengthy windows run from either side of the polished walls, letting out the steam and heat that comes from several metal pots boiling god knows what.

  Crates of food stacked atop each other were gathered in one of the corners, and just above them, cabinets full of spices and other ingredients are bolted to the wall, the tallest one is placed so high that there's a ladder stationed on one end of the wall just in case one of the chefs needs something from them.

  Who in their right mind would call this place a kitchen?

  "All of you, out." Ifira commanded and the chefs, probably knowing of her reputation and power, were about to follow her orders but I moved quickly to stop them.

  "Wait!" I come forward, hands raised and panicking. "Ifira, they need to do their jobs don't they? You can't operate this kind of kitchen by yourself, even if I get help from my mother, you know?"

  Ifira took one look at the kitchen, spent a few seconds— presumably, who knows what's going on in her head. — thinking if I was right or not, then she conceded, saying, "the kitchen is too big for me to work on it alone, okay, all of you, stay."

  "Yay." I say dully. "We don't need them to watch over us all the time and they can just keep working while we cook, we don't need them after all."

  "What she said." Ifira moved inside the kitchen like she owned the space and could comfortably use it to its fullest extent. "None of you disturb us unless we ask you to, which will never happen."

  How... Arrogant. Wow, if someone else said that, I wouldn't believe them but this is Ifira we're talking about right? Her talent should extend past fighting and be useful when wielding kitchen knives and stuff right?

  Knives are the only thing that she's good at. Everything else? Ifira might as well be a beginner, she keeps asking me what to do— which is a great way to keep her arrogant words earlier, she didn't ask the chefs, but me. — and I had to stop my own cooking to teach her.

  Even then, the result of her attempts isn't... The best. So to say.

  "How?! How does this make sense?!" Right in front of Ifira is this mess of a fried egg that she finished cooking. "We had the same ingredients!"

  But different skills, also, I actually have experience when it comes to cooking.

  "Well, I guess it has something to do with how I've been cooking for a while now? I'm sure that you'll be able to do the same in the future as well."

  Unlike Ifira's plate, which had a badly burnt fried egg on it, my plate had boiled eggs which had been cut into thin slices, an omelette of vegetables and meat, fried onions, as well as a bowl of wet egg yolk.

  "I don't get it, why... How?"

  "Just keep trying." I say as I cut a piece of omelette and dipped it into the bowl. Eggs. It's all eggs. Then again, the yolk compliments the taste of the fried meat in the omelette pretty well.

  "Let's switch plates." Ifira's tone gave the impression that there's no room for arguments, I either do it or this kitchen gets smashed into a thousand pieces.

  "Fair enough. I'm throwing out what you cooked though, I'm eating what your chefs made."

  "Very well, just know that if I don't find the taste of your own cooking up to my standards, I will punish you."

  "Do what you want." I say while searching the kitchen for a meal that I think will taste good.

  And now Ifira is comfortable enough with me that she's hesitating to actually punish me, verbal warnings are rare when it comes to this girl so me getting one means that she considers me as a friend!

  Most people would just suddenly find themselves on the ground, possibly with broken bones or on the verge of death. Lucky me? I guess?