After completing the system's final task for the day, Vincent dropped to his knees, drenched in sweat and disbelief. His breath came out ragged, his body protesting every movement.
[Daily Task Set: Complete.]
[Rewards Distribution Initiated.]
Vincent groaned, head tipping back as the translucent blue panel blinked to life above him like a smug neon sign.
"Finally."
The words came out half-exhausted, half-triumphant. His arms trembled as he wiped sweat from his forehead. Every muscle in his body screamed for mercy — even the ones he didn't know existed.
[• +10 SEU granted.]
[→ SEU Balance: 40.]
"...Huh. Not bad."
[• Restaurant Blueprint Progress: +20%.]
[→ Unlock: Kitchen Shell (walls, ventilation, drainage).]
[→ Cost to Finalize: 45 SEU.][→ Effect: Empty shell of a kitchen, no equipment yet.]
Vincent's eyes twitched. "An empty shell. Wow. And for 45 SEU. Truly inspiring."
[Clarification: This is a necessary foundational stage.]
"Yeah? My foundation's about to collapse," he muttered, pressing a palm to his aching ribs.
[• Random Drop Acquired → Enhanced Multitasking.]
[→ Temporarily boosts host's focus, coordination, precision, and speed, allowing up to five dishes to be cooked simultaneously with peak accuracy.]
Vincent blinked. "...Wait. I can cook five dishes at once now?"
[Affirmative.]
He stared at the panel in awe, and then a slow grin spread across his face. "Five dishes. At once. That's… actually insane."
[Reminder: Insanity is not a system-recognized buff.]
Vincent groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You just can't let me have a moment, can you?"
[Correction: Host may have up to 0.7 moments before results diminish.]
He glared up at the holographic text. "You do realize sarcasm is wasted on code, right?"
[Clarification: Sarcasm detection module active since 2.3.2 update.]
"Of course it is."
He exhaled, shutting his eyes for a brief, blissful moment. The exhaustion weighed on him like a wet blanket, but the promise of that new skill pulled a grin from somewhere deep in his chest.
After a quick shower, Vincent felt almost human again. The soreness lingered, but his spirit buzzed with a rare kind of excitement.
The kitchen, the customers, the sizzling sound of oil hitting the pan — he missed it already. And today, he had enough ingredients to feed a small city. His earlier "mistake" suddenly felt a genius move.
He stepped out, dressed, and grabbed his gear. "Let's make some stomachs happy."
By the time he arrived at the park, the crowd was massive.
Someone shouted first. "He's here!"
Every head turned. Dozens of people — no, hundreds — surged forward. Phones came up, someone started cheering, and for a terrifying second Vincent thought he might get trampled.
"Wow," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel.
After setting up, he got started on the cooking.
The first order came in before he'd even finished wiping his hands.
"Chef Vincent! Two truffle burgers!"
"One loaded fried rice!"
"Make that three —!"
He moved like a man possessed. The Enhanced Multitasking skill kicked in instantly. His world sharpened — every motion clean, every rhythm perfect. Flames danced in sync, knives flashed, and the sound of sizzling oil became music.
One hand flipped a burger, another plated a bowl of chips, while his third — okay, not literally, but it felt like it — scooped rice with impossible timing. Every dish landed flawlessly, every garnish placed like art.
The smell of food wrapped the entire park, rich and intoxicating. People groaned in delight as they took their first bites, the line growing longer with each satisfied customer.
By the fourth hour, his hair clung to his forehead with sweat. His wrists ached. His feet throbbed. The multitasking buff was still active — barely — and his stamina bar blinked dangerously low.
And yet, the line wasn't shrinking.
It was growing.
And obviously he wasn't running out of stock either.
Joggers were abandoning their runs halfway through the park trail to join the line. Parents arrived with their kids. Someone even came with their dog, claiming it "just wanted to watch the chef."
Hours passed in a blur of heat, orders, and endless movement.
By the time the clock hit 6 p.m., Vincent had been cooking for six straight hours. Six.
His stamina bar was a tragic sight — barely a sliver of light left. Every muscle in his body trembled like overworked dough. His hands felt like they'd been grafted to the spatula, and his body was working faster than his recovery stats could keep up.
If endurance had flavor, his would've been burnt toast.
The multitasking skill still clung to him in flickers, but the edges were starting to blur. Every sound — the chatter, the clatter, the hiss of oil — came together in a dizzying hum.
Thirty more minutes. That's all it took for his arms to start shaking uncontrollably. He blinked rapidly, swaying on his feet, half convinced he'd collapse right there.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, "this is how people die making burgers."
Then, miraculously, common sense kicked in.
Vincent straightened, raised a hand, and called out over the sizzling chaos, "Alright everyone! That's it for today! I'm officially sold out!"
The crowd groaned in disappointment.
"What? Already?"
"Come on, Chef, one more order!"
"Please—just one extra bowl!"
"Bring more stock tomorrow, yeah?"
Vincent blinked at them, incredulous. He had to actually bite the inside of his cheek to stop the words that nearly escaped.
Bring more stock? Do you even have a conscience? I've been cooking non-stop for six hours! My hands are seconds away from falling off and you want more stock? I've served over five thousand custo—
[Correction: Host has served a total of 1,637 customers.]
He twitched. The point is—without my stats and the new Enhanced Multitasking skill I just got, I wouldn't have even survived this. I've been serving non-stop for six hours, and some of you ordered three dishes each. I swear, I'm taking a day off tomorrow. Customer satisfaction is a scam"
[Correction: Host has no reason to complain. The host is solely responsible for his predicament due to voluntarily overstocking for customer satisfaction.]
Vincent blinked, his exhausted stare flattening into a deadpan glare. "You shut up."
[Statement: Invalid. System cannot shut up.]
He inhaled sharply. "Then shut up metaphorically."
[Processing… Request denied.]
He stared blankly at the glowing text for a long moment. "…I hate you."
[Affection noted.]
"Unbelievable."
Vincent sighed, pressing a hand to his aching back. The crowd was still watching him expectantly, faces bright, voices soft with encouragement now instead of demands.
He forced a weary smile and raised his voice. "I'm sorry, everyone. I won't be able to come tomorrow — I've got some renovations to handle. But I'll post an update once things are ready again."
There was a beat of quiet… and then applause broke out.
"Take your time, Chef!"
"We'll wait for your next post!"
"Rest well, you've earned it!"
Their warmth washed over him like a balm — enough to make him smile, even through the exhaustion threatening to pull him under.
"Yeah," he murmured, "you'd better wait."
Packing up was a slow, clumsy battle. His fingers fumbled, his knees wobbled, and he nearly fell asleep while locking up the cart. The drive home blurred by — headlights streaking across the windshield like ghosts.
When he finally stumbled through his apartment door, Vincent didn't even make it past the living room.
The couch caught him mid-collapse.
He exhaled shakily, eyes already fluttering shut. "I swear," he mumbled, half-delirious, "I'll never make that mistake again…"
[Correction: Probability of repetition—93%.]
He cracked one eye open, glared weakly at the floating text. "Make that 0% if you don't shut up."
The system blinked out obediently.
Silence.
And then, mercifully, sleep.