James practically floated home after getting selected for the debate team.
His footsteps felt lighter, the late afternoon sun warmer, and for once, even the bus ride didn't smell like despair and stale fries.
By the time he unlocked the front door of his modest home, he was grinning like a man who just got early access to his dreams.
His mom was in the kitchen, slicing onions with clinical precision, the faint sound of an old Motown track crackling on the radio.
His dad sat in the living room, boots off, sipping iced tea and scrolling through his phone like it held the secrets of the universe or at least the sports scores.
"Hey," James called out as he dropped his backpack. "Big news!"
His mom turned around, eyes wide. "What is it?"
"I got picked to represent Midbridge in the Interstate Academic Debate Championship."
His dad looked up. "They're letting you debate now? After all those late nights watching YouTube and yelling at Ben Shapiro clips?"
"Exactly," James said proudly. "All those shower arguments finally paid off. It's time for those high class spoiled kids to see the power of James Rivera."
His mom put the knife down and walked over to hug him. "That's amazing, mijo. I'm so proud of you. Though I am not sure but hey it's fine."
"Thanks, Ma. And to celebrate, I'm making dinner."
"Are we talking edible food, or another one of your 'experimental stir-fries'?"
His dad raised an eyebrow replying jokingly knowing well the sudden change in his son and the great food he started cooking after watching MasterChef.
Though there is still one thing that he is not able to understand.
He himself watched MasterChef the whole night yesterday but when tried cooking, he nearly burned the house.
"Nope," James said, walking to the kitchen and washing his hands. "Tonight, you two are getting another full experience. Culinary finesse. Art on a plate. Drama and flavor. Welcome to Rivera's Bistro."
He opened the fridge, grabbed some chicken thighs, fresh garlic, lemon, and parsley.
Then he rummaged through the spice rack like a man searching for buried treasure.
"What's on the menu, Chef?" his mom asked, leaning against the counter.
She finds it very cute and funny when his son do this dramatic speeches.
Though sometimes she wonder if his brain has been damaged by reading those sneaky books.
"Tonight, I presentvGarlic-Lemon Chicken Thighs with pan-seared green beans and buttery mashed potatoes, all topped with a homemade lemon-parsley reduction."
"Sounds fancy," his dad said. "Tastes like rent money?"
"Tastes like love and six hours on FoodTube," James shot back.
He marinated the chicken in a mix of olive oil, lemon juice, smashed garlic, salt, black pepper, and paprika.
While it rested, he boiled potatoes, tossing in whole cloves of garlic to infuse the mash.
"Cooking tip," he said, winking. "Smash the garlic in the marinade, don't chop it. Releases better flavor. Learned that from some angry Italian grandma on YouTube."
"She's a keeper then," his mom said, laughing.
Once the chicken hit the sizzling pan, the kitchen filled with the kind of aroma that makes you believe in second chances and well-seasoned skillets.
Green beans were sautéed with butter, crushed almonds, and a pinch of red chili flakes.
The lemon-parsley sauce was a silky mix of zest, juice, melted butter, and chicken drippings.
"Voilà," James said as he plated it all. "This is what victory tastes like."
They gathered at the table, eyes wide.
First bite, silence.
Then his dad. "Son... what the hell?"
James raised an eyebrow. "That bad?"
He is confused.
It shouldn't be bad.
System is reliable.
His mom shook her head.
"No. This good, I would say even better than last time."
His father stated laughing.
"I have been watching some uhhmmmm....huh...genx reels."
"Dad it's GenZ."
"Yeah whatever."
They laughed and ate.
Afterward, they settled into the living room, watching an old black-and-white movie that none of them remembered choosing.
Halfway through, his dad pointed at the screen. "Why is everyone in these movies whispering like they're in a funeral home?"
"Because microphones back then were powered by candlelight," James replied.
"Also, did that guy just dramatically monologue about taxes?" his mom asked.
James nodded. "Peak cinema."
Soon after, they flipped to the news.
A roundtable was yelling about the upcoming election cycle.
"Do you think the country's really going backward?" his mom asked.
James sighed. "Hard to say. Nationalism's like that ex who keeps texting you at 2 a.m. nostalgic, loud, and always promising they've changed."
His dad chuckled. "I still say they're all crooks. Different suits, same lies."
James nodded. "True. But some lies are more expensive than others."
They debated policies, media coverage, and voter behavior until the credits rolled on the evening news.
Eventually, James stood up, stretched, and yawned. "Alright. Time to train."
His mom tilted her head. "For what? Ninja school?"
"Debate," James said with a grin. "But close enough."
He retreated to his room, shut the door, and flopped onto his bed.
"System," he whispered.
Activated. Welcome back, James Rivera.
"I want to prepare. Build me a debate package. Everything I'll need to win this thing. Voice modulation, body language reading, argument structuring, citation memory, fallacy detection. You know the full buffet."
Compiling... Initiating DEBATE MASTERY SUITE v1.0
A flickering HUD opened across his vision.
Modules identified:
Persuasive Rhetoric (Multi-Format)
Emotional Intelligence & Crowd Analysis
Logical Fallacy Database
Voice Pitch Control and Tonality
Academic & Political Citation Memory Packs
Real-Time Argument Structuring
Improvisation & Rebuttal Reflex
James stared. "That's... beautiful."
Total KHCS Cost: 790 Hours. Estimated mental load: Medium. Recommended: Integration during rest cycle.
"I figured. Okay. Prep it. I'll lie down."
Confirmed. Countdown initiated. Estimated integration: 3 hours. You may feel tingling, philosophical introspection, or sudden urge to watch C-SPAN.
James chuckled. "Got it. Bring on the upgrades."
He pulled the blanket over himself, watching the HUD glow.
Slowly, thoughts blurred, images melted together, and knowledge began pouring in.