Charlie slouched on the basement couch, still stewing over the System's shower trick, when a sharp knock at the door jolted him. "Charlie, come tell us what you want for dinner!" his father's voice called, gruff but expectant.
"Coming, Dad!" Charlie groaned, hauling himself up. His muscles ached from the day's tasks, each step a reminder of the System's relentless demands. As he shuffled toward the stairs, he muttered under his breath, "System, you said I'd get something delicious. Was that a lie?"
A translucent screen flickered into view, its text crisp and clinical:
Diet Dinner: Grilled chicken with steamed vegetables and brown rice.
Ingredients:
1 chicken breast
Salt, pepper, garlic powder (or available spices)
1 cup brown rice
Mixed vegetables (fresh or frozen)
Instructions:
Season chicken with spices.
Cook rice (1 cup rice, 2 cups water; boil, then simmer).
Steam or microwave vegetables.
Grill or pan-fry chicken until golden and cooked through.
Charlie stared, his face twisting in disbelief. "You want me to cook? And just one chicken breast? You trying to starve me?"
Correct. Follow the instructions. A simulation will guide you to ensure proper execution.
Task: Cook a balanced meal.
Reward: $50 (if quality meets standards).
Charlie's jaw dropped. "You're insane. I hate cooking!"
The screen didn't budge. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action.
He rubbed his chin, the promise of $50 sparking a flicker of interest. "Fifty bucks is… something. But if you make it a hundred—"
No negotiations. $50.
"This is so unfair!" Charlie threw his hands up, his voice echoing in the basement. "First exercise, now I'm a chef? I don't even like kitchens!"
A new quote scrolled across the screen: Cooking is self-reliance. Master the skillet, master your fate.
Charlie snorted, unimpressed. "Yeah, maybe I don't want to master fate."
Grumbling, he stomped up the stairs, each step punctuated by muttered curses. "Stupid System, stupid cooking…"
In the kitchen, Marge was already pulling ingredients from the fridge. "Charlie, what do you want for dinner? Be clear—I'm not dealing with your whining later."
He hesitated, the System's instructions flashing in his mind. "I'll… cook my own dinner," he said, the words feeling foreign on his tongue.
Marge froze, her hand on a carton of eggs. "You'll what?"
Charlie shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah. I got it."
She stared, then leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Wait… did you shower?" Her voice was thick with disbelief, as if he'd announced he was running a marathon.
Howard poked his head in from the living room, his newspaper forgotten. "Charlie, you okay?"
"I'm fine, Dad," Charlie snapped, irritation flaring. "Why wouldn't I be?"
His parents exchanged a glance, their concern palpable. Marge set the eggs down, her movements slow. "You just… don't usually do this," she said carefully.
Charlie ignored them, focusing on the System's simulation, which hovered invisibly before his eyes. It was like a video game tutorial, showing each step with exaggerated clarity: how to season the chicken, measure the rice, even grip the knife. He grabbed a chicken breast and shook salt and pepper over it, half the spices landing on the counter. "Stupid spices," he muttered, wiping the mess with a sleeve.
Marge and Howard hovered nearby, their whispers barely discreet. "He looks like he knows what he's doing," Marge said, her voice low.
"Maybe," Howard replied, squinting. "But he's so clumsy. I'm waiting for him to burn something."
"He loves food," Marge murmured. "Maybe he's got a knack for this."
Charlie's ears burned, but he kept his focus on the simulation. He heated a pan, flinching as the oil hissed when he added the chicken. The sizzle filled the kitchen, a sound both foreign and oddly satisfying. Next, he tackled the rice, measuring water with the precision of a bomb defusal. Some spilled, but he got it simmering. The vegetables—frozen carrots and broccoli—went into the microwave, the easiest part.
Howard cleared his throat. "Charlie, make a little extra for us?"
"Yeah," Marge added, her tone teasing but warm. "We can't miss this. Our lazy son, cooking? Historic."
Charlie shot them a glare, his face flushing. "You guys—"
A notification pinged in his vision:
Subtask: Prepare portions for your parents.
Reward: Double the original amount ($100).
He sighed, deflating. "Fine. I'll make some for you, too."
The kitchen became a battlefield, Charlie moving between tasks with clumsy determination. The simulation guided his every move, correcting his grip on the knife, nudging him to flip the chicken before it burned. By the time he plated the food, he was sweating, but the aroma—savory, warm—made his stomach growl.
His parents sat at the table, their expressions wary as they eyed the plates. Marge cut into the chicken, hesitating before taking a bite. Her eyebrows shot up. "This… isn't bad," she said, glancing at Howard.
Howard chewed, nodding slowly. "Seasoning's good. Chicken's cooked right. Even the vegetables aren't mushy." He pointed his fork at Charlie. "Not bad, kid."
Marge smiled, a rare softness in her eyes. "Look at you, Charlie. You're full of surprises."
They mixed Charlie's meal with their own—scrambled eggs, buttered toast, a few slices of ham. It wasn't a perfect pairing, but they ate with gusto, their approval quiet but clear.
Charlie, meanwhile, stared at his plate: one chicken breast, a small pile of vegetables, a scoop of rice. It was a fraction of his usual portions, and his stomach protested.
Marge noticed, her smile fading. "Charlie… is that enough? You don't have to starve yourself."
Howard frowned, his fork pausing. "We've talked about your eating, but this… you need to eat, son."
Charlie glanced between them, caught off guard by their concern. They'd always nagged about his weight, but now they looked worried he'd go too far the惩1the other way. Before he could respond, the System chimed:
Task complete.
Reward: $100, Cooking Mastery Level 1 acquired.
"Strength is mastery of energy."
A grin spread across Charlie's face. A hundred bucks and a new skill, just for cooking? It was hard, but worth it. "I'm okay," he said, his grin softening into a genuine smile. "Really. I'm fine."
His parents exchanged another glance but didn't push, returning to their meal. Charlie dug into his, the flavors better than he'd expected.
Later, after cleaning the kitchen, Charlie shuffled to the bathroom, the day's exertions clinging to him like a second skin. The shower's warm water washed away sweat and grime, soothing his aching muscles. He stepped out, toweling off, and threw on a loose shirt and shorts. "Alright, System," he said, rubbing his damp hair. "What's for dinner today? Please, I'm starving—give me something good."
Today's Menu: Grilled chicken wraps with avocado, spinach, and roasted sweet potatoes.
Charlie sighed. "Fine. Let's do this."
The kitchen was his battlefield now. Charlie laid out ingredients with a soldier's focus: chicken breasts, tortillas, avocado, spinach, sweet potatoes. The System's simulation flickered on, guiding him step-by-step. He seasoned the chicken, his movements less clumsy than before, and set it sizzling in the pan. The sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped into uneven chunks, went into the oven with oil and spices. He mashed avocado, spread it on tortillas, and layered in spinach and sliced chicken.
The kitchen was a mess—spilled spices, a stray potato peel—but the aroma was incredible. Charlie wiped his brow, a flicker of pride warming his chest.
The front door creaked open as his parents returned from work. Howard stepped in first, his tired eyes widening at the smell. "Charlie?" he called, peering into the kitchen.
"Hi, Dad! Hi, Mom!" Charlie said, glancing up from plating. "Sit. It's almost ready."
Marge followed, her expression mirroring Howard's confusion. They sat, watching their son—the boy who'd once lived on chips and soda—move with purpose.
The plates hit the table, and Charlie sat, a grin tugging at his lips. His parents hesitated, then took cautious bites. Howard's eyes widened. "This is… really good," he said, almost disbelieving.
Marge nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Charlie, where'd you learn this? Two days in a row, and it's this good?"
Charlie shrugged, hiding a smirk. "Just… picked it up."
After dinner, Charlie cleaned the kitchen, the System chiming again:
Task complete.
Reward: $100.
New Task: Prepare dinner for 25 consecutive days.
Reward: Cooking Mastery Level 2 (improved technique, enhanced flavor).
Charlie's eyes lit up. "Tastier food? Hell yeah!" He laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet house. His stomach growled, the wrap filling but not enough. He patted his belly, sighing. "Guess I'll get used to it."
Exhausted, he collapsed into bed, the day's efforts pulling him under. But as sleep took him, the darkness shifted. This was no ordinary dream…