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[Young chef, the path to becoming an immortal cook has been laid before you. Learn to cook the first meal of your restaurant, egg fried rice.]

[Reward: Stinky-Dog’s Cooking Technique]

Smith Jr. read the text that had appeared. Then, he read it again. After reading it for a third time, he only had one question: Why the hell would he want the reward?

[Who are you calling a stinky dog!?]

A line of text flashed by Smith Jr.’s vision so fast that he swore he hallucinated it. He frowned and stood up before going to the closet, putting on an unfamiliar set of clothes. He exited his room and went down a flight of stairs that led to a hallway. To his right, there was the entrance to the kitchen. Ahead of him, there was the dining area. The dining area and the kitchen were separated by a wall. It was impossible for anyone to see what was going on in the kitchen from the dining area. However, to Smith Jr.’s surprise, from within the kitchen, he could see everything. It was as if the inner wall of the kitchen was made of glass.

Inside of the kitchen, there was a magic tool—a refrigerator, according to the foreign memories in his head. Tacked onto the refrigerator’s surface by a magnet, there was a piece of paper. On the paper, there was a recipe for egg fried rice. Smith Jr. frowned and placed the paper down onto a table. Rather than mindlessly listening to the so-called cooking system, he was going to scout around by himself. Only a crazy person would listen to random words appearing in his head, and Smith Jr. was no crazy person.

***

“What is he doing?” Vremya asked, staring at the display. He was sitting on a couch next to Karta, and his personal computer was in front of them, much like a large-screen television. “Why isn’t he practicing?”

“I told you to put a time limit on the quest, old man,” Karta said and rolled her eyes. A potato chip floated out of the bag in front of the dog’s face and entered her mouth. “This is what happens when you don’t include time limits. Your users think they can do anything.”

Vremya rubbed his chin. He had removed the time limit because he recognized Smith Jr. was much like himself, someone who enjoyed lazing around. A time limit would add an unnecessary burden on the man, and if Vremya wanted to raise an excellent user, he couldn’t burden him. It would be like pulling on a sapling to make it grow, harming the foundation for short-term growth. However, after seeing Smith Jr.’s actions today, he seriously considered adding in a time limit for future quests. “Well, how about this then?” He took out a controller, and a red figure lit up in the screen.

***

Smith Jr. frowned. After leaving the kitchen, he had walked straight to the restaurant’s exit, but there was something blocking his way. It was a humanoid golem made of red metal. It had six arms and three heads, but none of the heads had faces on them. Smith Jr. swallowed. He suspected the golem could kill him in the blink of an eye. However, as the laborer of a sect, he had many techniques to face those stronger than himself. Without hesitation, Smith Jr. dropped to his knees and smacked his forehead against the ground. “This lowly one seeks the great master’s forgiveness! Spare my life, senior!”

[This is Red Asura. He’s the enforcer of the restaurant’s rules. He also cleans the floor and bathroom, washes the dishes, and takes out the trash.]

Smith Jr. read the text that appeared in his vision before standing up while backing away from Red Asura at the same time. “This lowly junior greets Red Asura. Do you mind … letting this junior through to gain more knowledge about the world?”

[The user may not exit the restaurant until the mission is complete. Train hard, young chef.]

Smith Jr.’s face darkened.

***

“If Pozhar knew his handcrafted puppet was being used to guard a novice chef, I bet he’d be really mad,” Karta said and sighed. “This isn’t fair. You’re a total newb, but the guardian of your store is already way better than mine.”

“It only makes sense my guardian is way better,” Vremya said, “considering I’m a way better individual than you.”

Karta rolled her eyes. “Call me Master.”

Vremya coughed. “The bet between you and me isn’t over,” he said. “You never specified how many tries I could have to reach the peak.”

“Sore loser.”

Vremya snorted, but he didn’t respond. He’d rather endure the shame of going back on his word than endure the shame of calling the stinky dog his master. Besides, he really hadn’t lost the bet yet; he just had an unlucky start. If he were to try again, he’d reach the peak in no time. However, he wasn’t going to try for quite some time. It wasn’t that he was scared of failing, it was that these systems were just too interesting.