As the last customer walked away, Vincent began to pack up. He wiped down the counters, folded the tables, and stacked the empty trays inside the truck. The day had been a whirlwind, but even in the quiet aftermath, his mind buzzed.
Just then, a small group approached him, curious faces peeking over the edge of the counter.
"You'll be here tomorrow, right?" one asked.
He nodded, wiping his hands on his apron. "Yeah, same place. Same time."
"Good! We'll be back then."
Another young woman added, "You're not moving to another spot?"
Vincent shook his head. "Nope, sticking here. The park's perfect."
They exchanged a few more light words, joking about how popular his stall seemed already. Vincent felt a small thrill—his first real conversation about the day's success without any pressure.
Once they left, he drove home, washed off the day's sweat, and flopped onto the couch. The first thing he did was check the day's turn over. His eyes widened as the screen displayed the numbers.
$1,154. Just from one day?
Then he proceeded to calculate his profits. His eyes widened again.
$750? And this was after removing cost?
A chuckle escaped his lips, but then the familiar echo filled his head:
[You are being… excessively excited, host.]
Vincent groaned. "Oh, give me a break. I did all the work! I just made a small fortune today. I can really do this."
[Correction: statistically, you're still at high risk of failure.]
"…you've got the worst sense of reassurance, you know that?"
[Correct, host]
"Forget it." He sighed.
[Do you require… acknowledgment?]
He laughed. "Exactly! Give me all the impact. Everything you've got."
[Noted.] The system's voice was flat, yet somehow almost amused. [Acknowledged, host. You… performed adequately.]
Vincent shook his head. "Terrible sense of humor. Honestly."
[Humor is irrelevant to efficiency.]
But money in hand meant little if he didn't restock. His supplies had vanished in the rush of today, and he needed everything prepped for day two. If today had been a test, tomorrow was war. People would return expecting the same taste—no, better. The thought was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.
He headed straight for the market, his old truck rattling down the road. The morning air was crisp, and the bustle of vendors was already in full swing—shouts, greetings, the rhythmic thud of cleavers on wooden blocks.
"Ah! You're back!" The butcher from yesterday spotted him almost immediately. His grin widened as he wiped his hands on a bloodied apron. "You bought a mountain of meat yesterday. I thought you were stocking for a wedding, but here you are again."
Vincent chuckled. "Let's just say it went faster than I expected."
The butcher raised an eyebrow. "So you really sold all that? Hah! I thought you were overbuying. Guess I was wrong."
"I'll need more," Vincent said, scratching the back of his head. "Good cuts, the same quality. Maybe even better, if you've got it."
"Music to my ears." The butcher clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll set aside the best for you. A good customer's worth keeping."
Vincent smiled faintly at that. It was a relief. One reliable supplier meant one less problem to solve. He felt a warmth at the words. This man clearly respected him as a customer now, and it showed.
Around the market, other sellers were watching too, noticing the man who had bought so much yesterday. A few offered fresher vegetables, better sauces, or quick tips about availability, clearly hoping to keep him coming back. Their cooperative smiles and eagerness made him feel almost… important.
By the time he returned home, the truck was heavy with supplies, but his heart was lighter. He couldn't help it; he was excited.
Still, there was one thing nagging at him. He hadn't tasted a proper serving of his own food yet. Earlier today had been chaos, every plate leaving the truck before he could even sneak a bite.
So he unpacked, washed his hands, and pulled out some chicken. He decided on the teriyaki chicken rice bowl—simple, yet the one that had drawn so many customers back.
The kitchen filled with the hiss of chicken searing in the pan, the sweet-salty aroma of soy sauce and mirin caramelizing into a glossy sauce. Steam rose as he spooned the chicken over a mound of hot rice, sprinkling on sesame seeds and chopped green onions. He sat down, chopsticks in hand, and took the first bite.
He froze. His eyes widened in disbelief.
No wonder people went crazy earlier.
No wonder the orders came so fast.
The chicken was tender, coated in that perfect balance of savory and sweet. The rice soaked up the sauce, each grain glistening with flavor. It was comforting, satisfying, yet addictive enough to crave more after every bite.
Vincent leaned back in his chair, stunned. He had expected it to be good—after all, the system promised perfection—but to feel the harmony of flavors on his own tongue was another thing entirely.
"Damn…" he muttered. "If even I can't stop eating it, how could anyone else?"
[Congratulations, host, you've finally discovered what your customers already knew.]
Vincent nearly dropped his chopsticks. "System! Don't sneak up like that!"
[I didn't sneak. You spoke. I replied.]
He groaned. "You've got the worst sense of timing."
[Correct, host.]
He facepalmed. "That wasn't even a—ugh, forget it."
Still, the excitement in his chest was impossible to smother. He finished the bowl, cleaned up, and sat down with his notebook again. Time to strategize.
He flipped to a fresh page and began scribbling. Which dishes had sold fastest? Which ones had people asked for seconds of? The truffle burger and the loaded fried rice had vanished almost instantly. The hibiscus iced tea had been shockingly popular despite its higher price.
He underlined each one. Key sellers. He'd need extra stock of those.
The plan was simple: buy more, cook more, sell more. But deep down Vincent knew it was more than that. The food wasn't just selling—it was pulling people in, making them stay, laugh, and crave more. That was the real weapon.
By the time he finished, he felt a renewed thrill. Tomorrow, it'll be even bigger.
He glanced at the spreadsheet once more, calculating potential profits if today's pace continued. His jaw dropped slightly. Even after accounting for costs, the earnings were impressive. The system might be cold, indifferent, and sarcastic, but it couldn't deny the results.
Vincent leaned back, savoring the quiet after the storm. The first day had been chaos. The second day promised mastery.
[Do you require guidance, host?] the system finally asked.
Vincent smirked. "Not yet. I'll figure this out myself."
[Very well. Remember, host, this is only the beginning. Enjoy your victory, but prepare for tomorrow. Success draws attention—and attention can be dangerous.]
Vincent's smile faded just slightly. He didn't know what the system meant by that, but one thing was certain: tomorrow, he'd be ready.
He closed his eyes, letting the hum of the city and the faint scent of truffle and teriyaki fill his senses. Tomorrow, he'd cook more. Serve more. Sell more. And maybe… just maybe, he'd finally understand the real scale of what he could do.
[Author's note]: I hope you enjoy the book. If you've got any feedback make sure to drop it in the comment section. Thank you!