Chapter 5: The Culinary Master
Chishima Akishin ran for quite some time. Along the way, not a single person spared him a glance or a greeting. It seemed that very few people on Konishi Street actually knew the original Chishima Akishin—which, honestly, was great news.
Estimating he was about halfway to the traditional market, Akishin slipped into a deserted alleyway. He scanned both ends of the narrow path, ensuring no one would stumble upon him, before mentally summoning the Patch interface.
The "Pending" status behind his name had vanished. Next to the "Cooking" skill, a new prompt appeared: Ready to Learn.
Akishin raised an eyebrow, whispering under his breath, "Patch, are there any hidden risks in learning this skill?"
Silence—
No answer. He tried asking again, but the result was the same. It confirmed his suspicion: this was just a simple, low-level program, not some sentient system with a personality.
After a moment's thought, he remembered he had a guest to feed. This first meal for Hiratsuka Shizuka had to be perfect. The easiest way to win someone over—or at least show proper gratitude—was through their stomach. While he had some basic cooking skills, they were strictly "bachelor-level" home cooking.
In fact, if someone asked him to whip up a professional fish-flavored seasoning right now, he'd probably stare at the spice rack in a trance.
Whatever, let's just do it, he decided. He wanted to leave a good impression. The woman had saved his life, so the least he could do was give her his best. Right, this was purely about repaying a debt of gratitude. Absolutely no other motives.
None at all. (He shook his head firmly at the thought).
Without further hesitation, Akishin's finger pressed the option for Culinary Arts Master.
A flash of white light blinded him, his vision blurring as he was suddenly transported into a void of pure white. Then, the space shifted. A kitchen island, professional knives, a high-end range hood... in seconds, Akishin was standing in a state-of-the-art modern kitchen.
On closer inspection, the layout was identical to the kitchen back at the Chishima residence, only everything was brand new.
"System? Patch?" Akishin called out, his voice heavy.
Still no verbal response, but a row of text floated before him:
[Please select a primary culinary tradition.]
Below it was a list of countries: China, Japan, USA, South Korea...
Select? A focus for the culinary arts?
Akishin picked up a chef's knife from the rack, catching his reflection in the polished steel. Did this mean he had to train his skills layer by layer until he reached the Master level?
"But where are the ingredients?"
A second later, a massive slab of fresh beef appeared on the counter.
Akishin blinked. So he really did have to learn this manually. The moment he thought of beef, beef appeared.
What about chicken?
Sure enough, a whole, plucked chicken materialized next to the beef.
And... what about human meat!
Akishin had a dark, daring thought.
Unsurprisingly, no human meat appeared. The Patch wasn't that twisted.
Returning his focus to the choices, Akishin didn't hesitate. He slammed his finger onto the 'China' option. If you were talking about the pinnacle of culinary arts, no nation on earth dared to challenge that vast gastronomic empire.
Immediately, eight sub-options appeared: Lu, Chuan, Yue, Su, Min, Zhe, Xiang, and Hui.
More choices?
Akishin scanned the list, a wry smile spreading across his face as he pressed the option for Chuan Cuisine (Szechuan)!
When it came to pure impact, what had more power than the bold, spicy flavors of Chuan?
Akishin could already imagine Shizuka huffing and puffing over a spicy hot pot, her face flushed red, complaining about the heat while unable to stop eating, eventually peeling off her blazer layer by layer...
Cough! Stop it. That was a perfectly logical thought. Anyone eating Szechuan hot pot would sweat; taking off a jacket was just common sense.
The moment he made his choice, a flood of culinary knowledge surged into his brain. The details on Chuan Cuisine were staggering, down to the exact gram for every spice. This was followed by the techniques of the other seven great traditions—less precise, but still professional—and finally, a general library of global menus he now knew how to execute.
Perhaps because he was in Japan, Japanese cuisine was the most vivid in his mind after the eight Chinese traditions.
At that moment, his status updated: Cooking Skill - Expert. Not yet a Master.
The Patch provided a brief clarification: A Master doesn't just know how to cook; they must possess their own "style." They must create a dish so distinct that the diner immediately knows who made it.
As the saying goes, "the face reflects the heart." A true Master, even using the same technique as another, will produce a different soul in the flavor.
Mastery touched upon the spiritual and the abstract. The Patch couldn't automate that. Akishin had to earn it through practice.
Of course, the original system could have done it instantly. But if the original system were still around, Akishin wouldn't have his freedom.
The Patch then laid out a series of tasks, starting from the simplest egg-fried rice to the legendary Manchu Han Imperial Feast. If he completed them all to the Patch's standard, he was guaranteed to reach Master level.
Except...
Looking at the task list—which numbered over ten thousand—Akishin silently picked up a cleaver and slammed it into the cutting board with all his might, splitting the wood in two. With a thought, the broken board vanished, replaced by a fresh one.
In this space, as long as it pertained to cooking, Akishin could manifest anything with a thought—except forbidden "dark" arts; that was a rule he set for himself.
He couldn't leave until he hit Master level.
There was no choice but to grind. He didn't have his phone, so he couldn't track time. He didn't even know if time was passing in the real world. He hoped not; he still had a lunch to prepare for a very scary teacher.
First up: a basket of eggs and a bowl of cold rice. The stove ignited automatically. Spices and ladles appeared one by one...
...
He lost track of how long it had been. A year? Two? Looking at the Manchu Han Imperial Feast spread across a table dozens of meters long, Akishin's dull eyes finally widened slightly.
The system text flickered: [Congratulations. Chishima Akishin's cooking skills have reached Master level, surpassing 99% of the world's professional chefs.]
Note: "Chefs" refers to those who have undergone systematic professional training.
At that moment, the [Pending] tag finally vanished.
"Haha... haha... haha..." An unstable laugh escaped Akishin's lips. It started as a dry wheeze before erupting into a full-blown roar. "Hahahahahaha!"
His right hand covered his face, his body twitching with tremors that sounded like the wailing of a vengeful ghost or a dying spirit.
Anyone hearing this would have labeled him a lunatic.
The truth was, Akishin was a little crazy.
Cooking, cooking, and more cooking. Some dishes had to be remade hundreds of times before the Patch deemed them "passable."
Akishin had condensed decades of a chef's life into a single, grueling year. He didn't know how he'd survived it, but he'd finally hit the level.
And in that moment, he finally snapped.
He picked up a chef's knife, slashed it across his own throat, and as blood sprayed, he collapsed into a crimson pool.
Did he die?
Of course not. This was a system reward, not a death sentence.
Text scrolled before his fading vision: [Detected total mental and physical collapse of Chishima Akishin. Emergency treatment procedure: Activated.]
Swoosh!
A flash of white light, and everything vanished—the kitchen, the knives, the imperial feast...
Akishin stood in the white void, eyes vacant, looking like a man who had lost his soul.
After a few moments, his pupils constricted. He reached up dazed, feeling his neck. The phantom sensation of cold steel biting into his flesh was still there.
"What... did I do? Suicide?"
Akishin shook his head. He hadn't expected to break so badly that the Patch had to stage a literal intervention.
As his sanity returned, he looked at his hands. The calluses from holding a knife for a year were still there. Every dish he'd ever made was now an instinct, a part of his muscle memory. He was fundamentally different from the man who had entered the alley.
"Is this what they call a Master? Then what about a Grandmaster of the Sword?"
He mused on the thought. A Grandmaster was the pinnacle, touching the realm of the soul. There was no higher peak; there was only the constant refinement of one's own power.
A Grandmaster status was a skill, not a measure of raw power. It simply allowed you to wield your power with absolute perfection.
If an ant had Grandmaster-level sword skills, could it beat a human? Obviously not. But against another ant? That ant would be a god.
Thinking about training the sword manually until he hit Grandmaster... Akishin shivered. He felt genuine fear.
Then, the Patch text appeared again: [Detected that Chishima Akishin cannot learn Grandmaster Swordsmanship through normal means. Swordsmanship will be divided into three stages: Expert - Master - Grandmaster. Additionally, Chishima Akishin is granted the meditation method: [Sword Meditation] to reduce the difficulty of learning.]
His mind cleared. New knowledge took root—a meditation technique, a way to train the mind that combined mental focus with specific breathing.
The meditation involved sitting cross-legged, emptying the mind, and visualizing a single sword. Nothing else. The clearer the image, the better.
The breathing was specific: slow inhales through the nose, expanding the abdomen, holding for 10 to 15 seconds, and a slow exhale—exactly four breaths per minute.
Combined, this was true [Sword Meditation].
It wasn't magic. It wouldn't make him an immortal or a god. It was a support technique. It could restore mental energy, increase focus, purge negative emotions, and improve physical endurance.
If practiced well, it could even replace sleep.
Real swordsmanship required mental control, and Akishin's new method was just a high-tier version of that ancient logic.
Back to the main event.
With his cooking skills at Master level, he could leave at any time. However, with the new [Sword Meditation] and the lingering violent aura from his temporary insanity, Akishin decided to stabilize himself first.
At the very least, he needed to make sure he didn't look like a completely different person. Shizuka was sharp; he couldn't afford to scare her.
Sitting cross-legged, hands resting on his knees, back straight, he began to adjust his breathing...
It took a while. He messed up the rhythm several times, spending over half an hour just entering the "zone."
Once his breathing stabilized, he emptied his mind. At just the right moment, a long sword in its scabbard appeared in his mind's eye.
A black scabbard, a black hilt, no guard (tsuba), no cord (sageo), no wrap (tsuka-ito)... it looked like a slightly curved black staff. If not for the faint seam, you wouldn't even know it was a blade.
This was the sword Akishin had acquired on the black market in his previous life. Sadly, he hadn't even had the chance to use it much before he died alongside Gin.
Ten hours passed in the white space.
Akishin opened his eyes, feeling incredibly refreshed. His spirit was at its peak.
He didn't know exactly how much time had passed; it felt like minutes, maybe half an hour at most.
He pulled up the blue status screen:
Chishima Akishin
Strength: 20
Agility: 16
Charm: 13
Constitution: 20
Skills: Swordsmanship (Grandmaster - Pending), Culinary Arts (Master), Go (Master - Pending), Hand-to-Hand Combat (Expert), Firearms (Expert), Sword Meditation...
Skill Points: 0
Every stat had increased. Strength saw the biggest jump of two points, while the others rose by one.
In a sense, Akishin had entered the space with his physical body. It wasn't surprising that a year of intense labor resulted in these gains.
Strength and Constitution made sense, but Charm? Did being a good cook actually make you more handsome?
A new kitchen knife appeared in his hand. Akishin used it as a mirror. He looked the same. He hadn't aged, and his hair hadn't grown an inch.
Is it an aura thing?
Since he couldn't figure it out, he stopped caring. Either way, it was progress.
"Exit."
With that mental command, he vanished from the void. His vision flickered, and the dirty, familiar alleyway reappeared.
Akishin paused, rubbing his forehead with a faint smile. He brushed some non-existent dust off his clothes and checked his phone. Only ten minutes had passed. Excellent. System-made goods really were unfair.
As he walked out, a few street punks blocked his path.
"Hey, Uncle. Lend us some pocket money, will ya?"
Akishin smiled and walked right toward them.
"Of course!"
...
A few minutes later, Akishin walked out of the alley, cracking open a new pack of cigarettes. He popped one in his mouth, lit it with a cheap lighter, took a deep drag, and exhaled slowly. His face was a picture of pure bliss.
Then, he strolled toward the market. Hosting Hiratsuka-sensei was his top priority.
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