Megrie had arrived in this world without explanation—a world where "fat" was the standard of beauty.
Ironically, in her original world, she had been the girl ridiculed for being overweight. In this world, she was despised and trampled upon for being too thin.
She had once been the only daughter of the City Lord. Her mother passed away early, and her father showered her with all his affection until she turned eighteen. That year, her father brought home a woman named Nata, claiming she would be Megrie's new mother.
Nata entered the household with three children: the eldest son, Gray (20); the second son, Loya (18); and the youngest daughter, Kiki (16).
Her father had said with a look of relief, "From now on, you are one family. Megrie will never be lonely again."
But happiness was as fleeting as a meal that never quite filled the stomach. Her father contracted a mysterious illness and passed away shortly after.
As soon as the funeral ended, Nata tore off her mask of gentleness. Megrie's clothes, jewelry, room, and food—everything was snatched away and given to Nata's children. She was forced to become a servant, working day and night, constantly subjected to verbal abuse. In a world that worshipped plumpness, she wasted away under the weight of hunger and exhaustion.
The rounded figure she had once been proud of became "skin and bones"—a sight everyone looked down upon.
Finally, that day came. She died of hunger in the corner of the kitchen.
However, death was not the end.
When she opened her eyes again, the "Megrie" who woke up was no longer the girl who allowed herself to be slaughtered.
She came from another world. There, she was a master chef. Her cooking could move people to tears and drive them into a frenzy; she had even built her own empire of chain restaurants.
Now, fate had thrust her into this world where fat was beauty, yet people were left to starve. Megrie clenched her fists and swore a silent oath:
"This time, I will use my cooking to eat my way back to dignity, to eat my way back to status, and to make everyone who ever trampled on me unable to ever hold their heads up again."
Hunger can make a person lose their mind. At least, that was what Megrie believed.
She stood at the kitchen door, staring at the row of cabinets Nata had personally locked. Her stomach growled at an inopportune moment, as if mocking her predicament.
Empty.
Everything is empty.
No—it was locked away.
"How cruel..." she murmured under her breath. This world worshipped abundance, yet it wouldn't grant her a single bite of food to survive.
Megrie took a deep breath and slipped out of the City Lord's manor. The night draped over the town like a dark cloth, and the occasional flicker of lamplight felt like it was beckoning to her.
She chose the most ordinary-looking house. "Ordinary" meant low security. A kitchen window was slightly ajar, and the faint scent of dry flour and firewood wafted out.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered, nimbly flipping inside.
The kitchen wasn't large, but it was clean and organized. Her instincts took over immediately. Boiling water, adding noodles, a pinch of salt. Even without broth or garnishes, she adjusted the heat with precision, letting the noodles tumble in the boiling water until they reached the perfect texture.
A moment later, she held a bowl of steaming noodles in her hands. To a starving person, the aroma was nearly cruel.
Megrie sat down, her hands trembling slightly. "Just this one bowl..." she told herself, lifting her chopsticks.
Just then—cold sensations pressed against her neck simultaneously.
"Don't move."
It wasn't just one voice. It was three.
She froze. The bowl in her hand wobbled, nearly slipping from her grasp.
A sword, sharp and cold, pressed against her carotid artery from the left. A heavy, powerful axe rested near her right shoulder. And a wooden staff, simple and rough, was jammed firmly against the back of her neck.
"Slowly, turn around," one of them commanded.
Megrie swallowed hard and obeyed.
Her gaze first landed on the man with the sword. His silver-gray armor glinted under the dim light. He stood tall and straight, like a blade unsheathed. His face was handsome and stern, his eyes sharp with vigilance.
—The Patrol Guard.
He looked like the literal definition of "Justice."
Then came the axe. The man's bare arms were defined by powerful muscles, marked by years of labor. His shoulders were broad, and his stance was casual yet brimming with strength.
Megrie instinctively swallowed again. Not out of fear, but of a different kind of intensity.
Finally, she looked at the owner of the wooden staff. He wore simple indoor clothes, and his hair was slightly messy, but his features were more refined than those of a typical town resident. His expression was gentle, though his brow was currently furrowed. He didn't look like he was catching a thief; he looked like he was contemplating.
Three pairs of eyes fixed on her at once.
The air froze.
Then—all of their gazes slowly drifted down to the bowl of noodles in her hands. Steam was still curling upward.
"..."
The guard with the sword frowned first. "What is that smell?" he asked in a low voice.
The man with the axe twitched his nose, his tone confused yet earnest: "It smells... incredible."
The homeowner remained silent for a few seconds before finally speaking.
"You broke into my house," he said, his voice quiet but impossible to ignore. "Just to cook this?"
Megrie's spine felt a chill from the tension, yet she instinctively hugged the bowl tighter. She looked up at the three men, her voice honest to the point of tragedy:
"...I just wanted one bite."
In that instant, none of the three weapons moved an inch closer.
And that bowl of noodles was quietly changing the course of her life.