[Devil's Ledger: Offer Pending]
Offer: Weekly Quota 1 (Wickedness)
Starter Perk: Knife Mastery +1 (trial, 1 hour)
Penalty Preview: Palate Dulling (demo)
Jax Romano didn't sleep that night.
He tried—he turned off every light, opened a window, even drowned the city noise with a podcast about fermentation—but his mind kept circling back to the ledger.
The book rested on the counter beside his bills. It hadn't moved since the last page had written itself, yet he felt its weight from across the room like a heartbeat under the floorboards.
He told himself it was a prank. Maybe a hallucination. Maybe both.
Still, when dawn broke, he found himself sitting in front of it with a cup of burnt coffee, staring at the faint red stitching that glowed in the dim light.
He touched the cover. Warm again.
The pages turned by themselves.
A single line appeared in clean handwriting: Breakfast service begins at sunrise, Chef. Would you like to taste the truth?
He exhaled slowly.
"Sure," he said to no one.
The ledger pulsed once.
The next blink brought him back into his kitchen. Not the same one, but cleaner—brighter—every tile immaculate. The morning sun hit the pots like spotlights.
Kazimir leaned against the counter, jacket folded neatly on a chair.
"Welcome back," the devil said.
Jax nearly dropped his coffee. "How did I—"
"Questions after results." Kazimir lifted a chef's knife from the block and balanced it on one finger. "We'll start with a demonstration."
"I didn't agree to anything."
"Then consider it a complimentary sample."
Before Jax could respond, Kazimir pressed the knife's spine lightly against his palm. The steel hummed.
A rush of energy shot up his arm—cool, focused, clean.
The world sharpened.
He saw the air move around the blade, the way light curved along its edge.
He could smell garlic and onion molecules separating in the pan across the room.
His fingers itched to cut.
Kazimir slid a basket of vegetables toward him. "Mirepoix. Standard dice. Go."
Jax moved.
The knife became an extension of his hand. The blade sang through carrot, celery, onion—each cube identical, perfect, hypnotic.
He didn't think. He simply knew. Ratios, timing, seasoning—everything mapped itself inside his skull.
The scent of the sauté bloomed rich and precise.
Then the heat vanished.
Jax blinked, gasping as though he'd surfaced from deep water.
The vegetables were chopped. The pan was cooling. Kazimir's expression was neutral, faintly amused.
"What did you do to me?" Jax demanded.
"An hour's boon," Kazimir said. "Knife Mastery, Palate Enhancement—basic tools. Imagine what a permanent arrangement could achieve."
Jax rubbed his hands. They trembled like after adrenaline. "So you're selling talent."
"I'm offering access. You already have the seed. I give it sunlight."
"And the cost?"
"One quota per week," Kazimir said. He opened the ledger and turned it toward Jax. "One wicked soul. Proven corruption, cruelty, or exploitation—your city has no shortage. You corner them. I collect the essence they've cultivated. In return, your craft ascends."
Jax laughed once, dry. "So I hunt criminals for you? I'm a chef, not a vigilante."
Kazimir's gaze didn't change. "You are a chef who despises waste. This is a cleanup operation."
"I won't kill anyone."
"You won't need to. Sin extracts easily at the moment of consequence. You simply create the opportunity."
Jax stared at the neat lines on the page. "And if I miss a week?"
"The Ledger dislikes tardiness. You'll feel it."
He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed something small onto the counter—a pinch of gray powder.
"Try seasoning your breakfast with this."
Jax frowned but obeyed. He sprinkled it over a fried egg, tasted—nothing. Not even salt.
Kazimir's smile widened slightly. "That's a preview of Palate Dulling. Imagine cooking blindfolded and deaf. Miss twice, and the entire restaurant's flavor collapses. Miss thrice…" He tapped the ledger. "Collateral clause activates."
"What's that mean?"
"The thing you love most enters the account as payment."
Jax set the fork down carefully. "That's insane."
"Reality often is. Yet here we are."
Kazimir closed the ledger. "I'm not forcing you. Decline, and you wake tomorrow with an empty restaurant, a court summons from your landlord, and the certainty that you never tasted your own potential."
The kitchen lights dimmed, leaving only Kazimir's face lit by the open flame of the stove.
"Or," the devil said softly, "you sign, and cook like a god."
Jax paced.
He'd made deals before—contracts with music venues, shady suppliers, people who talked in promises. None of them had ended cleanly.
But this wasn't about greed. It was about survival.
He looked at his hands. Callused, cracked, smelling of garlic and regret.
He remembered Elara's words: Don't change your mind first.
Kazimir waited, silent.
Jax picked up the pen lying beside the ledger. It was black metal, heavier than it looked.
"Only the wicked," he said.
Kazimir inclined his head. "The Ledger judges. I merely deliver."
"If this thing targets someone innocent, I'm done."
"Understood."
Jax pressed the pen to the page.
The moment the tip touched paper, heat surged through his chest. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the red stitching. Letters burned themselves beneath his hand: Jax Romano — Accepted.
He let go, breathing hard. The pen evaporated.
Kazimir exhaled like someone finishing a meal. "Excellent choice."
The room brightened again. The counters dulled back to their real stains. The smell of pennies was gone, replaced by a faint sweetness, like citrus after rain.
Jax looked down. The ledger's next page was already turning.
A name began to ink itself slowly, letter by letter, in dark crimson.
Vincenzo Rullo.
Underneath: Landlord. Extortion. Trafficking. Collection due Sunday, 11:59 p.m.
Jax froze. "You picked someone already?"
"The Ledger wastes no time," Kazimir said. "Your first course is prepared."
He buttoned his jacket and lifted his hat from a chair.
"Where do I find him?" Jax asked.
"You'll know. His smell will offend your new palate."
The devil moved toward the door, his reflection bending oddly in the glass.
"Wait."
Kazimir paused.
"What happens if I quit halfway?"
"You won't." The smile returned, faint and genuine. "You've tasted what you could be. That's the hardest addiction to cure."
The door swung open on its own, letting in a gust of city air. Kazimir stepped through and vanished before it closed.
Jax stood alone again.
The clock ticked. The sauce simmered. The world looked normal, except for the ledger glowing faintly on the counter.
He poured a spoonful of the sauce onto a plate and tasted it.
It was perfect.
For one heartbeat, he could taste every grain of salt, every thread of garlic. The flavor unfolded into notes he couldn't name—clean, endless, alive.
Then, just as quickly, his tongue went numb.
Ash.
He laughed once, bitter and thrilled.
The ledger pulsed again. The name Vincenzo Rullo shimmered brighter, as if daring him.
He stared at it until the last bubbles in the pan burst and died.
Romano's had fourteen days left on the lease.
He had seven to pay the bill.