The morning in Lunaria began with the sweet smell of caramelized mushrooms and a distant boom that rattled the windowpanes.
Cris blinked awake, still curled up in a quilt that meowed every time he moved. He sat up, stretched, and noticed a note floating above his head. It read:
"Breakfast is on the table. Don't eat the blue one. Or the wiggly one. Or the one that whispers."
He blinked again. The note caught fire, sneezed, and vanished.
The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was hit with an overwhelming mixture of love, spices, and utter chaos.
His mother was juggling three frying pans with magic—only one of which was on fire (success!). The stove was growling. A nearby cupboard trembled, trying to escape.
"Morning, sugarcake!" she beamed. "Want a cinnamon pancake or a mana-infused fried egg that might give you x-ray vision for five minutes?"
"I… think I'll just take water."
"Coward," his grandmother muttered from the corner, sipping tea while levitating three spoons in a synchronized dance above her head.
Cris sat down cautiously at the table. His little sister, Cici, was feeding sparkly cereal to a hamster wearing a cape. His father walked in, holding a potted plant that sang lullabies.
"Lovely weather today," he said, kissing his wife on the cheek. "Only three magical explosions before breakfast."
"Four," said one of the twins, entering with soot on his face.
"And counting," added the other, sipping something from a mug that glowed ominously.
Then it happened.
A loud DING echoed in Cris's mind, followed by a flash of light in his vision.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]Main Quest Unlocked!"Roast a Drunk Dragon"Objective: "Find a drunk dragon. Cook it. Garnish with herbs."Reward: [??????]Time limit: undefined.Side effects: possible moral trauma.
He choked on his water.
"Did you just—did you just say I have to roast a drunk dragon?!"
Everyone in the room turned to him. His grandmother squinted.
"System talking to you again?"
"Yes! And it wants me to—" He waved his arms. "—to find a dragon. A drunk one. And roast it!"
"Hah!" Grandpa boomed, entering the room in full armor over his pajamas. "Sounds like a proper breakfast quest!"
His mother wiped her hands. "We're out of rosemary though. That'll ruin the flavor."
"I'm not actually doing it!!"
His dad patted his shoulder gently. "Of course not, son. That would be immoral. Unless the dragon volunteers. Then it's polite."
Cris covered his face with both hands. "This world is insane."
Cici nodded. "Yup! But it's fun!"
An Attempt Was Made
Several hours later, Cris found himself walking through Lunaria with a parchment labeled "Potentially Drunk Dragon Locations – Community Edition." It had three options:
The hot springs ("sometimes used by dragons to relax")
The abandoned winery ("RUMOR: Old flame-breather passed out here in 492 A.E.")
Behind Uncle Grulo's shed ("he snores fire and smells like brandy")
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.
"Why is this my life now?"
The system popped back in, text flickering and spelling 'drgn' as 'drgon'.
"Tip: All dragons are edible if you believe in yourself.""Warning: You do NOT meet the required fire resistance.""Solution: Hug someone brave."
"...Is this system drunk too?"
He chose the hot springs. It was the least likely place to get mauled.
The Hot Springs and Other Bad Ideas
The hot springs shimmered with magical steam. Fairy frogs croaked rhythmically. A stone sign read:
"BEWARE: NO BUBBLING = SAFE. BUBBLING = PROBABLY A DRAGON."
Cris tiptoed forward. There was no bubbling.
Good sign.
Then the water exploded upward with a roar, and a massive scaly figure launched out of the springs, wings flapping, steam swirling dramatically around it.
It wasn't drunk. It was offended.
"WHO DARES INTERRUPT MY SELF-CARE TUESDAY?!"
Cris turned to run. He tripped over a mushroom. Fell. Rolled.
The dragon narrowed its eyes.
"Wait… Are you the kid from the prophecy?"
"What prophecy?!"
"Oh. Never mind. Wrong universe."
It snorted, then burped a small puff of fire, which shaped itself into a heart.
Cris blinked.
"I'm—uh—sorry! I got a quest from a broken system and it said—uh—something about cooking you?"
The dragon stared.
Then… laughed.
Deep, booming, rumbly laughter.
"ROAST ME?! Kid, you couldn't roast a turnip."
"…That's fair."
The dragon chuckled again and offered him a scale. "Here. Take this. Say you tried. Tell your system I'm on vacation."
Cris accepted the shiny red scale with trembling hands.
The system pinged.
"Mission Result: Partial Success."You have:– Not roasted a dragon ✅– Survived ✅– Acquired loot? ✅Reward: 1x [Slightly Charred Dragon Scale]Comment: "You tried. Good job, champ."
Back at Home
That night, back at the house, Cris told the story to his family over dinner.
The whole table laughed.
Even the table itself.
"Honestly," his mom said, spooning glowing soup into bowls, "that's better than roasting one. Dragons taste gamey anyway."
"Next time, try cooking a basilisk," Grandpa suggested. "Much more tender."
"I'm never doing quests again," Cris muttered.
"Too late," the system chimed in sweetly.
"New Quest Available: Befriend an emotional mushroom."Status: Probably crying somewhere.
Cris stared into his soup, defeated.
"I miss normal problems."
His sister patted his hand. "You're doing great, big bro."
And for the first time since he arrived, he smiled without confusion or fear—just exhaustion and affection.
Maybe this chaotic life wasn't so bad.
As long as he didn't actually have to cook anything alive.