There was something about this silence that unsettled Kairo more than shouting ever could.
In the slums, noise meant life. Shouts between windows. Mopeds coughing through alleyways. Bottles shattering, arguments over cards, laughter laced with something feral. This was the rhythm of the streets.
But now, as he sat in the pitch of early morning—alone, awake, eyes wide—there was only silence.
Except for that humming sound.
Not from a fridge—he didn't have one. Not the building's generator—that broke two weeks ago.
It was the System.
Still running, and still glowing. Still real.
He sat on the splintered floor, knees drawn close, staring into the translucent interface hovering before him. Like a screen made of glass and light, waiting for his next command.
His heartbeat hadn't slowed since the moment it booted.
He should have laughed.
Should have dismissed it as a scam, some psychotic delusion born from starvation and burnout.
But the quarter million dollars it had locked away under his name?
That was real.
The farmland? Real.
The taste of that sun-warmed tomato still lingered on his tongue—so bright it felt like his entire mouth had been rebooted.
The System was no illusion.
He reached up, fingers trembling slightly, and tapped the corner of the floating display.
[Accessing Operator Panel…]
Tier: Silver
License Type: Business-Class Operator
Assets: 1 Farmland Realm
System Wallet: $250,000 (Restricted) For business only
Skills: Partial Activation
Mission: 1 Active
"Start a Business. Earn €1000 Revenue Within 7 Days."
Penalty for Failure: Tier Demotion and Asset Seizure.
Kairo exhaled through his nose.
"Figures," he muttered. "Strings attached."
He leaned back against the wall, the old plaster cold against his neck.
The more he stared, the clearer it became—this wasn't charity. It wasn't some divine blessing from the heavens. The System didn't give—it invested. And like any investor, it wanted returns.
Maybe that was what scared him most.
Kairo had never believed in luck.
People in the slums liked to say life was a dice game. But Kairo knew better. The dice were always loaded. And when you finally thought you'd landed a six, it was just someone else's three you hadn't noticed.
Silver tier. Not Gold. Not Platinum. Silver.
Middling. Mediocre. Meant his luck wasn't even enough for the best pick. Just a decent one. A street rat with decent odds.
He wasn't insulted.
He was motivated.
The system flared again, brighter this time. A human silhouette appeared in the center of the air, surrounded by numerical indicators.
Free Attribute Points: 10
Attribute Value Description
Strength 3 Physical health and stamina
Dexterity 4 Coordination, finesse
Perception 6 Observation and reaction
Intellect 5 Processing, logic, memory
Charisma 4 Persuasion and trust
Skills
Cooking (Poor)
He stared at the Cooking skill and chuckled once.
"Poor. Harsh."
But it wasn't wrong.
Kairo had spent most of his life eating whatever wouldn't poison him. But somewhere in his chest, a familiar itch stirred—one tied to memories he rarely let surface.
Flashback
He was fourteen, working illegally in the back of a tavern outside Porto. His job was to clean fish, mop grease, and stay out of sight.
But the chef—a retired soldier named Abele—had caught him one night boiling potatoes and sneaking seasoning from the prep tray.
Instead of firing him, Abele watched. Then corrected. Then showed him how to roast garlic without burning it, how to fry anchovies so they didn't go rubbery, how to tell when oil was hot by smell alone.
For three weeks, Kairo came early. Stayed late. Watched. Learned.
He remembered the moment Abele said, "You got hands for it, ragazzo. Just need to listen to the food."
A week later, the tavern was raided. No permits. Illegal staff.
Kairo escaped out the back. Never saw Abele again.
He hadn't cooked since.
He didn't realize he'd been smiling faintly.
Then he decided to distribute his free attribute points
+6 to Intellect – The faster he learned, the more he earned.
+2 to Perception – For reading people and situations.
+2 to Charisma – He'd need charm to sell anything, even dreams.
[Attributes Confirmed]
The changes didn't feel like anything supernatural, just efficient. Like putting glasses on after years of blurry vision.
His mind became sharper. Thoughts came in quicker, and not just faster, but clearer, like the fog was finally lifting.
This wasn't magic.
It was optimization.
He dove into the System's Skill Library next. Categories bloomed across the interface like folders in a hyper-advanced OS.
Primary Tracks Unlocked:
Business Development (Beginner Modules)
Restaurant & Food Services (Beginner-Intermediate Modules)
Culinary Arts (Beginner–Intermediate Modules)
Negotiation Tactics(Beginner Modules)
Market Psychology (Beginner Modules)
Programming (Basic Modules)
Combat: Urban Self-Defense & Tactics ( Beginner Modules)
He selected Culinary Arts: Street-Level Cuisine (Southern Europe), Business Development, and Restaurant & Food Services and initiated a soft sync.
Immediately, knowledge began to unspool into his consciousness—not forcefully, but intuitively. Like reading a book and remembering every line without effort.
He could recall recipes, temperature tricks, and knife techniques.
Flavor pairings. Herb applications. Cultural taste preferences. How to run a small business, a restaurant, in his case.
It was all there, like muscle memory that had been waiting for its moment.
"Okay," he whispered. "Now we're talking."
He returned to the farmland mid-morning.
The realm was as he remembered—warm skies, vibrant rows, air too clean to be Napoli.
This time, he explored thoroughly.
He entered the livestock section: cows with coats like polished mahogany, chickens with iridescent feathers, goats munching calmly in self-cleaning pens.
He tasted a raw egg. No salmonella. Smooth, rich, full-bodied.
He sliced a strawberry in half—it glistened like rubies and bled sweetness.
Each crate at the harvesting bay had labels and barcodes that could be disguised to appear as "authorized organic farms" when delivered to the real world.
Export Time: 3 hours per batch
Max Quantity per Week (Silver Tier): 300kg produce, 30kg meat, 50 liters dairy
More than enough to run a food operation.
The only limit was ambition.
Back home, Kairo pulled out a pencil stub and a wrinkled notepad from under the sink.
He sketched the beginnings of his plan.
Target: Dockside workers, ferry guards, mechanics, street kids.
Hook: Real flavor for real people. Price low. Quality high.
Menu Name: Salt & Smoke – Napoli's Real Kitchen
Simple, punchy meals:
Lemon-roasted egg tartlets
Spicy olive oil grilled tomato flatbread
Smoked garlic-chili soup in cups
Fennel-laced citrus drink with crushed basil ice
Each dish could be prepped fast, served hot, and eaten on the go.
All designed to make one person talk about it to ten more.
He tapped into the System Wallet.
Available Budget: $250,000
Unlocked for Initial Venture Use Only
Requires Registered Trade Name
All spending is tracked via interface
He submitted the name Salt & Smoke. The system verified its availability in the EU market registry, then registered the business under a shadow shell.
Within minutes, he had:
A basic food license
A startup account in a local digital bank
A rental agreement on a vacant newsstand stall near the ferry port
Delivery approval for his first batch of disguised farmland ingredients
All under the radar. All legal. All his.
The next day, Kairo visited the stall in person.
It stood like a forgotten tooth between two newspaper sellers and a broken payphone. Metal shutters peeled like old paint. The interior smelled like rust and neglect.
Perfect.
He ran his fingers across the wooden counter. Wiped it with the sleeve of his jacket.
"You're not a kitchen," he whispered, "but you will be."
From behind him, a voice rang out:
"Oi! You looking to sell dreams or food?"
Kairo turned to see an old woman with a market cart and a cigarette that looked older than she did. She squinted at him with suspicion.
He smiled thinly. "Both."
She laughed. A single bark of a laugh. "Then make it taste better than the ones before you, eh?"
Kairo nodded. "No promises."
That night, he received confirmation.
[MISSION PROGRESS: 0.0% → 3.5%]
Estimated Potential: 6.2% (first week)
Projected Profit: €620 (If Plan is Executed)
REWARD CALCULATION ACTIVE
And with that, the system dimmed, but Kairo didn't.
He stayed up late, rehearsing recipes, planning signage, imagining queues of strangers brought in by scent alone.
This wasn't just food.
It was a front. A fuse.
He wasn't just chasing revenue.
He was building a throne beneath the noise.