Ethan decided not to season the meat immediately.
Instead, he copied what he had seen others doing. He rinsed the rabbit under clean water, dried it with a cloth, then rubbed a thin layer of cooking oil across the surface.
Simple. Nothing unnecessary.
He placed the meat onto the iron pan and lit the fire beneath it.
The flames rose eagerly. Thinking that hotter fire meant faster cooking, he added another piece of firewood. Then another.
Within moments, the flames licked around the edges of the pan. The rabbit sizzled loudly.
"Looks... promising."
A minute later, the pleasant aroma turned sharp, then bitter. Ethan watched the first curl of black smoke rise from the pan.
"...That can’t be right."
He hurriedly lifted the meat off the fire. The underside had turned almost completely black. He cut into the center — the outside was burnt, the inside barely cooked.
A quiet chuckle came from beside him. "Tried to overpower the fire?"
The elderly cook stood nearby, carrying a wooden bowl of vegetable stew, his weathered face amused rather than mocking.
"It has a habit of winning."
"I underestimated my opponent," Ethan admitted.
"Most first-timers think a stronger flame means a better meal." The old man shook his head, then tapped the iron pan resting nearby with one finger. "This is what cooks the meat. The fire only heats the pan." He pointed at the coals. "Rush the fire, and the pan becomes impatient."
No lecture. No lengthy instruction. Just enough to make Ethan think.
He scraped the ruined rabbit into the waste barrel. One portion of yesterday’s hunt, gone. Still, not entirely wasted.
Ethan had never learned Cooking as a proper skill — the System had nothing to credit it to directly. Instead, it split the gain between the two Growth Skills that had actually carried him through the attempt.
[Skill Proficiency Increased]
Basic Survival
Managing an open flame under real conditions has improved your proficiency.
+1.2%
[Skill Proficiency Increased]
Basic Crafting
Handling tools and ingredients has improved your proficiency.
+0.4%
Quality: Poor.
"Even getting it wrong teaches me something," Ethan murmured. The system wasn’t rewarding perfect dishes. It was rewarding genuine learning.
His second attempt began more cautiously. Fewer coals. A pan that heated gradually instead of immediately. He listened to the gentle sizzle instead of watching the flames.
"Now I get it."
The rabbit browned evenly. No smoke, no burning. Remembering Martha’s supplies, Ethan sprinkled a generous amount of rock salt over both sides. Then, worried it wasn’t enough, added another pinch. Just to be safe.
The finished cut looked almost professional — golden brown, juices shimmering. He cut a small piece and took a bite.
He stopped chewing.
"...I think I just seasoned enough rabbit for a week."
He chewed anyway. By the third bite, he reached for his waterskin.
"Too much?" the old cook called from across the room.
"I kept worrying it wouldn’t have enough flavor." Ethan glanced at the remaining meat. "Turns out I solved the wrong problem."
"Seasoning should whisper," the man said. "If it’s shouting, you’ve already used too much."
The technique had been sound. The texture, evenly cooked. His mistake wasn’t skill — it was balance.
[Skill Proficiency Increased]
Basic Survival +0.8%
Basic Crafting +1.0%
Quality: Poor — the cook glanced at the ruined seasoning and shrugged, almost amused. "You clearly know what good seasoning tastes like. You just haven’t learned to control this fire yet."
As he cleaned the pan, two young players at the neighboring station discussed a rumor about Forest Thyme pairing well with rabbit. Ethan glanced at the pouch Martha had sold him.
Worth trying.
His third attempt cooked smoothly. Confident now, he minced wild garlic and added thyme. The aroma was warm and inviting — so he added a little more. Then a little more.
The first bite was confusing. The rabbit had nearly disappeared beneath the herbs.
"...Now I’m eating thyme with a hint of rabbit."
This time the old cook actually laughed. He picked up a sprig from Ethan’s table and crushed it between his fingers.
"Every ingredient has its place. When one tries to steal the spotlight, everyone else disappears." He scattered the leaves into the compost bucket. "You hunted that rabbit. You didn’t hunt the thyme. Make sure the rabbit is what people remember."
[Skill Proficiency Increased]
Basic Survival +1.0%
Basic Crafting +1.2%
Quality: Normal — visible improvement.
Three attempts. None edible. Yet each had taught him something the last one hadn’t.
Ethan stood before the cleaned workstation. The ingredients hadn’t changed. The fire hadn’t changed.
He was the only thing that had changed.
He rested both hands on the edge of the counter, and without warning, a memory surfaced.
A rehabilitation room. The smell of disinfectant. Parallel bars stretching across polished floors. His legs trembling beneath him.
"I can’t."
Dr. Maya Chen had stayed beside him without speaking. Minutes passed before she finally asked, "What happened?"
"I fell."
"And?"
"I failed."
She’d shaken her head gently. "No. You discovered one way that doesn’t work." He’d glared at her. "It feels the same." "It isn’t," she’d said, crouching to his eye level. "If you fall for the same reason tomorrow, that’s failure. If you understand why you fell today, then today was practice."
The memory faded. Ethan looked down at the pan.
Burning the meat. Too much salt. Too many herbs. None of those mistakes would happen again.
"I guess this isn’t much different," he murmured.
He picked up his fourth portion of rabbit.
"This time, I’ll let the meat speak."
A thin layer of oil. A gentle fire. He watched the pan instead of the flames, resisted the urge to flip the meat constantly, and turned it only once. A small pinch of salt. Black pepper. Half a clove of finely chopped garlic. A few crushed leaves of thyme — restrained this time.
The fragrance drifted through the kitchen, gentle and balanced. Nothing competed. The old cook’s nose twitched mid-stir. A nearby player glanced up. "Something smells good." Another nodded. "Whoever’s making that rabbit figured something out."
Ethan pressed the meat gently. Firm, not hard. He let it rest, then cut in. A thin stream of clear juice escaped. The inside remained moist.
He took the first bite. The rabbit remained the strongest flavor. The salt enhanced it without overwhelming it. The garlic added warmth. The thyme lingered, gently, at the end.
"...That’s it."
[Skill Proficiency Increased]
Basic Survival +1.5%
Basic Crafting +2.0%
[Crafting Complete]
Created: Hunter’s Hearth Rabbit ×1
Quality: Fine
A rustic rabbit dish slowly cooked over gentle heat and seasoned with wild garlic and forest thyme. Its simple preparation allows the natural flavor of the meat to shine, making it a favorite among hunters returning from a successful day in the woods.
Effects: Restores Hunger. Well Fed. +5% Stamina Recovery. Slightly increased Natural Health Regeneration. Duration: 60 Minutes.
The kitchen briefly quieted as nearby players turned toward the notification chime.
"Fine quality? On the fourth try?"
[Title Acquired]
Immature Chef
Slightly increases learning speed when preparing food. Beginner NPC cooks are slightly more willing to share advice.
The name sounded almost embarrassing. Still, compared to where he’d started an hour ago, he had earned it. Not through luck, but through failure, observation, and understanding.
The elderly cook set his ladle aside and walked over. "May I?"
Ethan slid the plate toward him. The old man tasted it in silence, chewing thoughtfully.
"You’ve improved." Not enthusiastic — more meaningful for it. "The meat is cooked properly. The seasoning supports it instead of fighting it." He took another bite. "Though a little less garlic. It lingers slightly longer than the rabbit."
"I can taste that now."
"Good. The moment you can identify your own mistakes, you no longer need someone else to teach you." He handed the plate back, studying Ethan a moment longer than the compliment required. "You didn’t really need me to teach you to cook. You already knew that, out there, wherever you learned it. You needed to learn to cook here — with a fire that doesn’t listen to a dial and ingredients that don’t measure themselves."
Ethan blinked, caught off guard by how precisely the old man had named it.
"If you ever want to take it further — actually learn Cooking, not just borrow it from Survival and Crafting — find a proper cook willing to apprentice you. It’s a different kind of study. Slower. But it opens doors this kitchen can’t." He shrugged, already turning back toward his station. "Something to think about. Not today."
"Keep cooking. Different meats, different herbs, different methods. Experience is a better cookbook than memory."
He returned to his station as naturally as he had arrived.
Ethan sat down with the finished meal. Every ingredient represented a decision. Every flavor reminded him of an earlier mistake. He ate slowly, listening to conversations drift through the kitchen — regional cuisines, glowing mushroom stew, an apprentice who’d once confused two very different mushrooms and slept for two days.
The world didn’t revolve around players. It existed whether they visited it or not.
As he finished, he noticed someone standing several stations away — a young woman with a woven basket of herbs, chestnut hair tied into a loose ponytail, simple traveler’s clothes dusted with pollen. She wasn’t cooking yet, just glancing toward the finished dishes drifting out from the stations around her.
Then her nose twitched.
She looked directly at Ethan, eyes widening slightly.
"...That smells amazing."
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