The alarm tore through the silence at exactly 4 a.m. Vincent groaned, his muscles already screaming in protest before he even sat up. His arms felt like lead, and his legs were one wrong move away from mutiny. The soreness from yesterday hadn't faded—it had doubled down, dug its claws in, and refused to let go.
He muttered under his breath, "Did I get hit by a truck in my sleep?"
Still, he dragged himself up. The system's tasks weren't going to complete themselves. By the time he got halfway through his morning torture—150 push-ups, 150 squats, a run that felt like death chasing him uphill—his lungs burned and his body trembled like it was seconds from collapse.
"Apparently it gets harder every day," he wheezed, half-glaring at the invisible interface floating somewhere in his mental space. "If this is just day three, I wonder how broken I'll be by day ten."
When the final set of drills ended, he barely managed to stay upright. Then came the one saving grace of his mornings—the System Synchronization. Warm light rolled over him, that familiar hum threading through his veins. Bit by bit, the agony melted away, leaving behind something close to normal.
He exhaled deeply. "If that's what heaven feels like, I take back every insult I've ever said about you, System."
[Sarcasm detected. Insincerity level: 92%.]
Vincent snorted. "And you're still annoying."
The System panel hovered above him, smug as always.
————————————
[Daily Task Set: Complete.]
[Rewards Distribution Initiated]
• +10 SEU granted
→ SEU Balance: 30
• Restaurant Blueprint Progress: +15%
→ Unlock: Roof & Weatherproofing
→ Cost to Finalize: 50 SEU
→ Effect: Solid building enclosure; no furniture inside yet
• Random Drop Acquired → Grade A Knife Set
→ Blades that never dull, no matter how long or how much you use them.
————————————
A faint flash lit up his kitchen table, and a sleek black case appeared, embossed with faint silver trim. Vincent flipped it open. Inside, a full knife set gleamed—six blades nestled in velvet, each catching the light like polished glass.
"Oh, now this—this is beautiful," Vincent said, picking it up reverently. "Knives that never need sharpening. Every chef's dream knife. No, scratch that—every chef's soulmate."
[Reminder: Soulmates are not eligible for storage in System inventory.]
He blinked. "You actually felt the need to clarify that?"
[Clarification improves host comprehension.]
Vincent rolled his eyes and chuckled, heading for the shower. The warm water hit sore skin, and he let himself enjoy the fleeting moment of comfort before the day kicked in. This time, he didn't risk lying down. The last thing he needed was to wake up at noon again. Instead, he toweled off, tied his hair back, and moved to his kitchen.
The exhaustion was gone now. Or… most of it. He frowned, stretching his shoulders, still feeling the dull ache deep in his muscles.
"Hey, System," he said, toweling his hair. "Isn't my recovery speed stat supposed to take care of all this?"
[It is. However, recovery-related attributes have been temporarily restricted from healing post-task fatigue.]
He froze. "You what?"
[Restriction necessary to increase Host's pain tolerance. Optimal adaptation occurs through sustained discomfort.]
Vincent stared at the air as if the system could see the betrayal in his eyes. "You're telling me you're making me suffer—on purpose?"
[Affirmative.]
He dragged a hand down his face. "You know, other systems probably ease their hosts into torture, not chart it out in percentages."
[Host exaggeration detected. Clarification: Host is the only one with a system.]
"I'm serious! I'll probably die from this pain before I build whatever tolerance you're after."
[Statistical probability of Host death: 13%. Probability of Host benefitting instead: 87%.]
Vincent blinked. "And the probability of me committing homicide on my system?"
[100%.]
He smirked. "Good to know we're on the same page."
After that delightful back-and-forth, he threw on his apron and started prepping ingredients for the day's shift. He laid things out, measured, organized. The rhythm helped him think.
"At this rate, it'll take forever to complete the restaurant," he muttered, checking his SEU balance again. "Fifty SEU for the next upgrade? That's half my sanity for a roof."
"I can't even afford today's upgrade. If I keep this up, it'll be months before it's done. And I can't ghost my customers till then."
He sighed, opening his phone. "Guess it's back to the park for now."
He typed out a quick post on social media:
Hey everyone! I'll keep coming to the park as usual until I finish renovating my restaurant. Thank you all for the patience and love — I'm looking forward to serving my loyal customers again!
He stared at it for a moment, then added a quick chef emoji and a wink.
Satisfied, he hit post, and—wisely—muted notifications.
By the time he finished restocking his truck and closing the kitchen, it was 11:48 a.m.
He stretched his arms, sighed, and headed out.
When he arrived at the park, a small cluster of people had already gathered. He didn't even have time to park before someone yelled, "He's here!"
The wave of heads turned instantly. In seconds, the crowd surged toward him.
Vincent froze halfway across the path. "Oh no."
A young woman waved her phone like a flag. "You actually came! We thought you quit!"
"Quit?" Vincent blinked. "What gave you that idea?"
"You disappeared for eight whole days!" someone shouted from the back.
Another voice chimed in, "We've been living off convenience-store sandwiches, man! Do you know how bad that stuff is compared to your food?"
He couldn't help laughing. "Alright, alright, calm down! Let me set up before someone faints from anticipation."
The crowd parted enough for him to back the truck into place. A few regulars jumped forward to help—one unfolded the sideboard, another hooked up the small gas line, a third started wiping down the counter.
"Appreciate it," Vincent said, smiling. "Looks like I've got a full crew today."
[Observation: Customer enthusiasm at 237% above average.]
"Yeah," he muttered, "no kidding."
Once the truck opened, the line formed fast. The air filled with sizzling oil, chatter, and the rhythmic sound of metal on metal. Vincent worked with an easy warmth—focused, efficient, grinning between orders.
But as the minutes passed, he realized something.
The line wasn't shrinking.
It was growing.
More people arrived, jogging toward the truck, some still in work clothes, others clearly having rushed straight from home. The small crowd swelled into a restless queue that curved down the park walkway.
Apparently, word traveled fast — too fast.
Someone must've reposted his update, because more faces kept arriving, curious and hungry.
By 2 p.m., he'd lost count of how many orders he'd filled. His movements were smooth, precise — no hesitation, no wasted motion. Even so, sweat rolled down his temples as he kept up with the endless rhythm.
"Chef Vincent! Two more truffle burgers!"
"One bulging bowl here!"
"Chef! Make mine extra spicy—"
He moved like a machine, half-smiling, half-focused, fueled by adrenaline and habit.
His loyal customers cheered, joked, and gossiped between bites. "This is why no one can compete with him," one said proudly. "He's a walking culinary miracle."
Vincent grinned faintly but didn't respond — too busy keeping up with the flood of orders.
By late afternoon, his stock finally ran dry.
He stared at the last empty container, then at the hopeful faces still waiting. "...You guys cleaned me out."
A collective groan rose from the remaining crowd.
"Nooo!"
"Not even one more serving?"
He lifted both hands in mock surrender. "I'd love to, but I think my stove might actually explode if I push it any further."
Someone in the crowd laughed. Another shouted, "Fine! But promise you'll bring more tomorrow!"
Vincent smiled tiredly. "Deal. Tomorrow, I'll bring enough to feed an army."
[Caution: Exaggeration detected.]
"Shut up," he muttered under his breath.
Packing up was almost a group effort—the regulars helped again, chatting as they worked, still high from the food and the atmosphere. It wasn't just about eating anymore; it felt like being part of something.
Once everything was stowed, Vincent headed to the market. The evening crowd was light, and he maneuvered through the aisles like a man on a mission.
This time, Vincent didn't hold back. He stocked up on everything — fresh vegetables, premium meat, sauces, spices — four times his usual quantity. Over two thousand servings' worth.
If he was going to show up tomorrow, he'd make sure no one left disappointed.
"Better to have extra than to let anyone down again," he muttered, swiping through item lists and storing everything in his system inventory.
As he loaded the final crate into his system inventory, he exhaled in relief. "Thank God for system storage. No way my truck would even move with all this."
[Acknowledgment: Host finally expresses gratitude.]
"Don't get used to it," he said dryly.
He paused, glancing at the mountain of stock data flashing across his interface. A wry smile tugged at his lips.
"Though something tells me… I might've just made a terrible mistake."
He laughed softly to himself as the streetlights flickered on.
Vincent had no idea what exactly he was signing up for.