Dead. Dead. Dead. Yes, that was what Stark Jalai was.
But moments before, he had been on top of the world—or at least the stage.
The bright lights of the International Vegan Culinary Championship gleamed over the arena. Judges leaned forward eagerly, waiting for the final dish.
The crowd held its breath.
And there, in the center, Stark Jalai moved like a master conductor orchestrating a symphony of vegetables.
Carrots diced with surgical precision. Lentils simmering in perfect harmony. A kale chiffonade that would make angels weep.
Every dish he plated was a masterpiece, a celebration of flavor, health, and ethics combined. His vegan chili wasn't just food—it was art a Mona Lisa of food. The judges took tentative bites and immediately erupted in applause, not that Stark noticed.
He was already plating his final dessert: a delicate cashew cream parfait topped with a spiraling fruit garnish.
"Stark Jalai—first place!" the announcer bellowed. The crowd erupted. Cameras flashed. Competitors stared in awe, whispering.
Stark smiled humbly. "Just doing my part for the environment," he said, waving his hands gracefully. Inside, he felt pride—but also fatigue.
Long hours, meticulous planning, and a life dedicated to vegan cuisine had brought him here.
Little did he know… his crowning moment would be his last.
⸻
His once-proud, pale, slender body—the infamous Vegan Cook—lay motionless.
Known across continents for his revolutionary vegan recipes and dishes that made people actually crave vegetables,
Stark had dedicated his life to health, the environment, and the well-being of animals everywhere.
Broccoli, kale, lentils—he had turned the world into a salad, and people had followed.
His influence was astronomical: a 5% spike in vegan food sales worldwide, an achievement most chefs could only dream of.
Yet there was one thing he despised with every fiber of his being: sugar. Not just sugar—but cookies.
Those deceptively innocent, small, sweet treats that melted in your mouth like molten lava while packing a punch of pure, waistline-destroying joy. Cookies.
The very food that single-handedly caused the most obesity in the United States in 2176.
And now… dead and lifeless like a mosquito you repeatedly smash for the fun of it as more, and more blood comes out, and its limbs separated from its body.
All because someone played a prank, reckless, insane, or maybe just careless—had placed a cookie in his meticulously prepared vegan meal healthy meal.
It wasn't just a normal allergy.
No. Stark's body had reached the point of ultimate rejection.
Years of disgust, hatred, and distrust toward sugar, compounded with every indulgent cookie he had ever loathed, had transformed into something far deadlier than medicine could fix.
One bite of cookie, and his body rebelled. And now, he was gone. Lifeless.
Or so he thought.
Then, light. Blinding, overwhelming light. Stark's consciousness stirred. But everything looked… bigger. He could feel weight. Limbs. A mouth that wasn't there before.
Brown eyes staring in terror back at him in a mirror—or something resembling a mirror in this new reality.
[Cookie System Activated]
It hit him like a sugar rush from hell. He had… turned into a cookie.
The thing he hated most. The very symbol of all the gluttonous decadence he had ever preached against. And now… he was it.
"Not a cookie. Just… not a cookie. My eyes… they're tricking me…" Stark whispered to himself.
But the reflection said otherwise. Limbs, eyes, a mouth, a body that smelled faintly of chocolate chips and cinnamon—he was a cookie.
A walking, talking cookie, roughly the size of a basketball.
"NOOOO!" Stark screamed, the sound echoing like dough cracking in an oven. His sanity teetered on the edge. He was a cookie. A cookie!
But this was not Earth. This wasn't even remotely close to anything he had ever known.
This was Kion—a land where food wasn't food. Food was alive. Dangerous. Beastly. Humanoid. Terrifying. Cookies weren't just desserts here—they were potential predators.
Cakes, pies, and candies roamed as monstrous creatures, while vegetables and fruits formed kingdoms and alliances in a delicate balance of power.
Everything looked massive. The counter was a cliff. The table, a plateau.
A spilled drop of water on the floor was a lake. Even the crumbs on the kitchen floor were jagged boulders threatening to swallow him whole.
Sticky puddles of spilled syrup were quicksand traps, and stray jelly beans rolled like boulders threatening to crush his tiny cookie body.
Every movement was a calculation in physics and survival.
And now Stark, a mere cookie, had to survive. Not as a chef. Not as a human. But as a fragile, baked, sugar-laden morsel in a world where survival wasn't guaranteed.
[You have earned the title: The Vegan Cookie. Congratulations.]
"Vegan Cookie… who do you think I am?" Stark demanded, glaring at the floating system interface that hovered before him, hoping to assert some shred of control over his ridiculous fate.
[A Cookie.]
[New Quest Activated: Drink Milk to Gain Muscle]
"Milk? Muscle? What… why would a cookie need muscle?!" Stark shouted. But a glowing checklist appeared in front of him:
• Step 1: Locate milk source
• Step 2: Consume milk
• Step 3: Gain cookie-sized strength and endurance
"Fantastic," Stark groaned, realizing that his absurd life as a cookie wasn't just about avoiding being eaten—he now had quests.
He shuffled forward, tiny cookie legs wobbling under his weight. A counter loomed before him like a cliff too steep to climb.
He leapt.
He missed. Flopped onto the table like a poorly baked biscuit. His crumbly body shivered under the impact.
"Ugh… my back… my back!" Stark groaned, rolling across the table and cracking slightly as if the universe were mocking him. "I'm a cookie! A cookie! And I have to… climb…?!"
He tried again.
This time he jumped with all the momentum his tiny cookie legs could muster, snagging the edge of the counter.
Dangling precariously, he swayed like a chocolate chip in a hurricane.
"Come on! You can do this! You… cookie… you… pathetic baked good!" he shouted at himself.
Hours—well, it felt like hours—passed in exhausting leaps, slides, and painful rolls.
He imagined every cookie in existence judging him. Every pie and cake smirking at his failure.
He cracked under the strain, a small chunk of his shoulder falling off like a tragic, edible reminder of his fragility.
He paused to catch his "breath," wobbling on the counter. Tiny crumbs of himself slid to the floor like fallen snow. He thought about all the milk he had enjoyed in his human life. How humans never had to struggle for a sip. How unfair this cookie life was.
Finally, panting, battered, and slightly crumbly, Stark reached the base of the refrigerator.
The handle gleamed above him like the Holy Grail. Summoning every last shred of cookie determination, he leapt.
He grabbed. He hung there, swaying. Every tiny movement felt like lifting Mount Everest.
And then he realized… he didn't have the strength to open it. Not even close.
His cookie-sized arms quivered. His doughy body sagged under the impossible weight of the refrigerator.
He sighed, deflated. Tiny cookie shoulders slumping. Milk—sweet, creamy, muscle-granting milk—was just out of reach.
Then… a shadow fell over him. A massive, looming hand descended.
Before he could react, he was scooped up.
And suddenly, everything went dark.