Chen stepped off the last bus of the day and made his way down the familiar street toward home, the soft evening light casting long shadows behind him.
The pouch of cookies sat snugly in his bag, wrapped in a layer of cloth and zip-locked to avoid any more attention.
He reached his building, took the stairs two at a time, and unlocked the front door.
It clicked open to the same quiet, slightly cluttered apartment—still empty. His parents wouldn't be back for another hour at least. He kicked off his shoes, slipped into slippers, and stepped into the kitchen with a grin slowly stretching across his face. Tonight, he had a plan.
He placed the pouch carefully on the top shelf of his closet, surrounded it with some spare laundry for scent-camouflage, and then got to work. Opening the small bag of ingredients he'd "forgotten" to return to the café (technically Listra said he could use leftovers, and she didn't say when), he laid out a few fresh roots, softly glowing herbs, and a vial of pale orange oil that smelled like roasted sesame and sunflowers.
The rest he fetched from the family fridge and pantry—noodles, garlic, onions, two eggs, and some frozen vegetables. What he was planning was a common tavern dish—"Stamina Stir," they called it at the café—a simple noodle dish prepared with ingredients known to boost the body's efficiency in absorbing nutrients.
By itself, it was little more than a tasty high-energy meal, but paired with the VitalBite cookies? It was basically a one-two punch of rejuvenation and vitality. Chen grinned as he tied on an apron.
He cracked his knuckles dramatically. "Time to channel the spirit of Chef Gregory," he muttered, before promptly burning the first batch of garlic.
"Crap—okay—reset. Restart. We go again." Ten minutes later, the garlic sizzled perfectly. He added the noodles, sautéed the frozen vegetables, splashed in the glowing oil sparingly—he wasn't sure how non-magical people reacted to it—and then added the chopped roots last. A dash of pepper, a quick toss in the pan, and suddenly the kitchen was filled with a deep, rich aroma—one that felt nourishing just by breathing it in. He plated the noodles and set the table, still humming the tavern's familiar background tune under his breath.
By the time the front door opened with the unmistakable jingle of Mom's keychain and the heavy footfall of Dad's return from work, the entire apartment smelled like something out of a food magazine.
Chen stood by the dining table, apron on, arms crossed, expression casual but eyes gleaming with pride. "Welcome home," he said. "Dinner's ready."
His mother froze mid-step, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she slipped off her shoes. "Chen Li Huang… is that… food? You cooked?" His father followed right after, sniffed the air once, then squinted at the dining table.
"We didn't forget your birthday, did we?"
"No, it's not my birthday," Chen said quickly.
"It's not Father's Day, either."
"Anniversary?" his mother asked, eyes darting to the calendar. "Mid-Autumn Festival?"
"No! It's not a special day! I'm just being filial!" Chen huffed, face already turning pink. "Can't a son surprise his hardworking parents with a nice meal without it being suspicious?"
"No," both parents said simultaneously. But they smiled anyway.
After a few more teasing questions and one or two inspections of the food to make sure it wasn't plastic, they sat down and dug in. And the moment the noodles hit their taste buds, the room fell quiet. Not the awkward kind of quiet, but the stunned, eyes-wide, involuntary chef's-kiss sort of quiet.
His father slurped, chewed, and raised both eyebrows. His mother paused mid-bite and stared at the plate like it had just grown angel wings. "You said you made this?" she asked, suspicious but now impressed.
"With help from a friend," Chen lied smoothly. "And… maybe a little practice."
"Hmph. You sure your friend didn't just hand this to you on a plate?"
"Nope. Did it myself. I watched the process and remembered. Café-style stir fry."
"Which café?"
"One you've never been to," he said, immediately regretting it.
"I mean—uh—it's kinda new."
"Mmmhmm." His mother clearly didn't believe a word of that, but the food was too good to complain about.
After two servings each and a round of compliment/teasing where his father claimed he was proud but also worried his son might secretly be dating a professional chef, the family leaned back with warm stomachs and happy faces. Chen waited a moment, then stood up with a theatrical cough.
"For dessert, we have…" He disappeared into his room and returned moments later with the velvet pouch, now slightly warm to the touch and still holding that magical bakery scent. He opened it just enough to pull out a pair of cookies and slid them onto a plate.
"Don't eat too fast," he warned, "these are… kind of special." The second the cookies hit the table, both parents leaned in.
The scent was unlike anything they'd smelled before—subtle, sweet, and clean, with layers they couldn't name.
His mother sniffed one, narrowed her eyes. "You want something, don't you?" "Huh?" "Are you sick? Need more pocket money? Failed a class?"
"No! It's just a cookie—" "You cooked dinner. You're offering dessert. That's not normal. What did you do?" Chen groaned and rolled his eyes. "I didn't do anything wrong!"
His mother raised an eyebrow and inhaled deeply. "Then why does this smell like heaven dipped in caramel? You're hiding something—"
"Just eat it already!" he exclaimed, and before she could protest, he stuffed the cookie right into her mouth. His mother froze mid-bite.
Then her eyes widened, her shoulders relaxed, and her face melted into an expression of pure joy. Her lips curled up slowly as she chewed in slow motion, like each crunch released a wave of bliss.
"Oh… my… gods…" she mumbled. "What… what is this?" His father, who had been watching with growing horror and jealousy, grabbed the other cookie and shoved it into his mouth before Chen could stop him.
"Wha—DAD! Slow down will you." But the man was already gone—mentally, anyway. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, murmuring softly like he'd just heard an angelic choir composed entirely of dessert chefs.
"This is illegal," he whispered. "It's too good. It's criminal." Chen snorted. "See? I told you. Magic cookies."
"Where did you get these?" his mother asked, eyes narrow again—but this time out of desperation. "You can't say you made them. You'd never waste something this good on us unless you were desperate."
"Hey, I'm just being nice!" he said again, then added, "A… friend shared them with me." "That same friend?" "Yup." "What's their name?" "Uh… Lis—Lila."
"Lila, huh?" his mother said, tone deeply skeptical. "And does this 'Lila' have any more cookies?"
"Maybe," Chen said quickly. "But no promises."
"Mmm. We need to meet this girl. Girl, right? This 'Lila' girl."
"Can you not make this weird?" Chen groaned.
"She's just a friend."
"A friend with cookies this divine? You better marry her," his dad mumbled.
"I'd marry her and I'm already married."
"YOU TWO NEED HELP."
"What we need is more cookies," his mother said sternly.
"Bring some tomorrow."
"They're not free—"
"I gave birth to you. You can owe me a few cookies." Chen slumped dramatically into the couch, but he was smiling.
He pulled his quiz results out of his bag, still in pristine condition, and held them up. "Also—look."
His parents glanced at the paper, then leaned forward in disbelief.
"Full marks?" his dad said.
"Wait—this is today's quiz?"
"Yep. Killed it."
"You didn't cheat?"
"No!"
"Your teacher didn't mark it wrong by accident?"
"No! I studied!"
"And now you're cooking dinner, passing quizzes, and bringing home miracle cookies," his mother said, folding her arms.
"You're definitely up to something."
"I'm improving!" Chen said, throwing up his hands.
"For once in my life, I'm not screwing up, and you both act like I summoned a demon!"
"Did you summon a demon?"
"MOM!"
But the warmth in his chest didn't fade—not when he laughed, not when they laughed, and not even when his mother made him promise to bring home three cookies minimum next time.
That night, Chen lay in bed staring at the ceiling, heart full.
His double life was just beginning, and already he could feel it—this was going to be the high school life he never dared to dream about.