Kaidren stared at the screen, watching the Zbook app slowly load with an agonizing pace. A soft blue ring circled the center of the phone’s display, and at the middle of it, a small progress percentage blinked: 1%.
He raised an eyebrow. "Zbook really wants to test my patience," he muttered.
Having completed his Permail setup minutes ago, Kaidren had returned to Zbook to finally create his profile. He typed in his freshly made Permail—[email protected]—with the same intentionally false birthdate of April 24, 2100, the same as he had used earlier.
He named his account Kage Ryujin, a subtle nod to his past. Perhaps part of him still clung to the name out of habit... or defiance. The blue loading ring on the screen blinked from 2% to 3%.
Kaidren exhaled through his nose and leaned back against the couch.
The TV in the background continued playing the same low-effort comedy series—Just Your Cup—where grown adults acted like overenthusiastic toddlers. The skits were tone-deaf, overacted, and painfully outdated. One man wore a pink tutu and screamed over spilled coffee. Another wore a banana suit and danced for applause that never came.
Kaidren watched for a moment, his neutral expression unmoving. "Cringe," he said flatly.
He turned back to the phone.
A soft growl echoed from his stomach.
Kaidren blinked slowly. "...Oh."
Of course. He’d been up since early morning, buried in tech setups, worldbuilding revelations, and that oddly captivating cartoon hero episode. It made sense that hunger would eventually sneak in. Especially the fact that he only ate a single pack of noodles this morning.
Kaidren stared at the screen for another few seconds, still 11%—then let out a long breath of resignation.
"I’ll let you cook while I go cook," he muttered to the phone, setting it gently back onto the glass coffee table beside the sleek silver laptop and the unused remote.
Slowly, Kaidren rose from the couch, one hand pressing into the soft armrest for support. He took his time. After what happened earlier with the sudden blacking out, he wasn’t about to rush again. His vision remained clear this time, though he still felt a little sluggish.
He stretched, wide and long, arms arching over his head as his spine gave off a few satisfying pops. His body bent and twisted in strange angles—bizarre enough that anyone watching might’ve thought he was performing some cursed yoga. But this was just his usual routine.
He yawned once and then made his way past the couch and toward the small kitchen tucked into the left side of the apartment, near the window that spilled soft daylight across the marble floor.
The kitchen was clean and modest, almost sterile in its minimalism. Kaidren moved with a casual rhythm, heading straight to the tall, silver-colored fridge that stood like a quiet sentinel beside the counter. It had two handles—one on top for the freezer, one below for the fridge.
He pulled open the lower door.
A gust of cold air escaped, accompanied by a puff of soft white fog. The familiar dim glow of the fridge’s interior bulb flickered on, casting a pale light across its contents.
There wasn’t much to see.
Just three lonely eggs in a plastic container.
And a single glass bottle of milk.
He tilted his head slightly to the side, as though expecting more to materialize from a different angle.
"Cabinets full. Fridge empty," he said to himself, shaking his head slowly in disappointment. "Did the system run out of budget?"
He stood there for a while, staring blankly into the cold emptiness. A part of him had hoped for something new—some fancy alien fruit, maybe a glowing food pack, or some kind of esper-specific ration. But no, just the bare minimum.
Eventually, he let out a small sigh and shut the fridge door with a soft thump.
Out of curiosity, he opened the upper freezer compartment. A sharper chill hit him, more visible fog curling out from within.
Kaidren nodded to himself, completely unsurprised now. He shut the door and mumbled, "Noodles it is."
Kaidren walked toward the kitchen cabinet with a steady, almost ceremonial pace. His right hand gripped the familiar polished wood handle, and with a soft creak, the door eased open—revealing the shelf of cartoonishly designed noodle packs stacked like lazy soldiers.
Rows of absurd packaging stared back at him, vibrant and ridiculous. He reached in, rummaging slowly, letting the plastic wrappers crinkle between his fingers as he examined each one.
"’Esping Hot Cheese Flavored Noodles’... seriously?" he muttered in dry disbelief, holding up a red-and-yellow packet with a chibi white rooster giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up. The flavor title was a pun—"Esping," obviously a mash of "esper" and "spring" or maybe "king"? Kaidren wasn’t sure. The absurdity of it made his stomach churn and the corner of his lips twitch, almost... almost into a smirk.
"Do they make up these names with a dice roll?" he sighed, placing the Esping noodles on the kitchen counter.
Cabinet door closed, pot retrieved.
He knelt to grab the silver cooking pot—a modest size with a transparent glass lid—from a lower cabinet. Then, in his usual routine, he brought it to the sink. The soft sound of rushing water filled the kitchen as he rinsed the pot, swirling it around, inspecting for specks of dust or leftover residue. He grabbed the green sponge resting on a small rack and a bottle of translucent green dish soap, squirting just enough to foam. Methodical, precise. Always.
He rinsed off the suds, filled the pot with water—measured by eye like he’d done a hundred times back on Earth—and placed it onto the induction stove. The stove responded with a soft beep, followed by the faint hum of warming coils. He turned the heat up to medium-high and gently lowered the glass lid.
Kaidren leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, one eye occasionally watching the pot, the other on the bright red packet sitting just beside him. He picked it up and gave it a casual glance, his thumb slowly tracing the label.
"Ingredients... wheat flour, palm oil, artificial cheese flavoring... yup. All familiar poison."
He stared at it for a moment longer, then let out a slow breath. "At least it’s consistent."
After a few minutes, a faint tendril of steam slipped from the tiny vent hole in the lid. His attention sharpened immediately.
Steam meant it was time.
He moved with a surgeon’s care. First, peeling the plastic wrapper with a practiced touch, avoiding any rough motion that could accidentally tear the seasoning packets inside. Once open, the square-shaped brick of dried noodles stared back at him like an edible fossil from a less dignified era.
He removed the lid carefully, steam bursting upward in a white rush. Heat instantly kissed his face, and Kaidren flinched slightly, shielding himself with his shoulder.
"Damn," he muttered softly, blinking through the rising mist. "I forgot how aggressive boiling water can be."
He placed the lid aside, then dropped the dried noodle brick into the pot with care. The water sizzled as it absorbed the intruder, starting to soften the edges and melt the cube down.
Kaidren grabbed the seasoning packets from the counter and lined them up in order—sauce, powder, oil. A ritual. One he’d unconsciously developed over the years.
He set them aside for now. No point rushing it.
Turning toward the kitchen’s far corner, he noticed the small trash bin with a foot pedal and walked over. His right foot stepped down on the metal pad. With a quiet click, the lid sprang open, revealing a modest pile of morning debris—his earlier noodle wrapper and the used seasoning packets. He dropped the new wrapper in with a casual flick, watching it fall like a leaf onto a pile of plastic snow.
The lid shut behind him as he made his way back to the stove.
The noodles floated lazily, bobbing like sleepy fish. Kaidren frowned.
"They’re not soaking fast enough."
He scanned the counter and spotted a long-handled wooden spoon resting in a drying rack. He took it and approached the pot. Holding the spoon like a conductor’s baton, he gently pushed the noodle brick down, pressing it beneath the boiling surface. The noodles resisted at first but then slowly gave way, softening under pressure. A few slow stirs, and the brick unraveled like a blooming flower.
Satisfied, he placed the lid back on and leaned against a different part of the counter, folding his arms.
Now, the waiting began again.
He stared toward the living room. The flickering light from the TV danced against the white couch. Laughter tracks from the still-running comedy show echoed faintly, as irritating as they were harmless. Kaidren rolled his eyes.
Back on Earth, this entire scene would’ve felt pathetic—cooking instant noodles alone in a quiet apartment. But here, in a world built from a game, a world where danger lay hidden beneath every organization, every smiling hero’s mask... the silence and the scent of soon-to-be noodles felt like luxury.
The water began to bubble a bit more aggressively, steam fogging up the lid.
Kaidren let out a soft whistle. Tuneless, aimless. Just something to fill the air.
He didn’t know what was coming next in this world—school, work, danger—but for now, the world had given him something he hadn’t felt in a long time:
And all it had cost him... was one Esping Hot Cheese Flavored Noodle.