Adam’s eyes snapped open to the sound of knocking.
He lay still for a moment, then looked around. Pale light filtered through the curtains.
"...Morning already?"
"I must have fallen asleep."
The knock came again, firmer this time.
Adam activated [Connect] instinctively. His vision shifted, as information washed over the space beyond the door.
Fortunately there was no hostility or threat, just a single presence.
He rose from the bed and opened the door slowly, as a trolley was pushed into the room, neatly arranged and covered with a white tarp.
The male attendant guiding it stopped just short of the threshold and handed Adam a letter.
"This is from the manager," the man said.
Adam accepted it and gave a small nod.
"Thank you."
The attendant bowed slightly in return.
"It is my duty, Mr. Adam."
With that, he stepped back, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.
Adam stared at the door for a few seconds before turning his attention to the letter.
He opened it.
Compliments of Sector 418.
We hope you enjoy your stay.
— Manager Vanessa
Adam was quiet for a while.
"If I weren’t so sure," he said slowly, "I’d think they were just really nice people."
Adam wasn’t an expert in human psychology, but [Connect] provided a basic understanding, which was a start.
From what he sensed, the manager felt a faint desire of possession toward him. It wasn’t romantic, but it was a desire nonetheless.
Adam didn’t want to overthink it; when the time came, he planned to let the manager down amicably.
He folded the letter and set it aside.
His gaze shifted to the trolley.
Unfortunately, [Connect] only worked on living things. It couldn’t tell him anything about food, poison, or traps hidden in objects.
Still, based on the manager’s attitude, and the attendant’s demeanor, the meal should be safe.
Adam reached out and pulled back the tarp.
His eyes widened at the sight beneath it.
Adam couldn’t believe his eyes.
He stood there, staring at the trolley in silence before finally muttering,
"All this... for me?"
The sheer amount of food was absurd.
Compared to what he’d been served in first class on the train, this was on an entirely different level, at least ten times more.
The trolley was packed to the brim. Pastries stacked neatly beside bowls of vegetables and fruit. Fresh salads glistened with dressing. Carbs, bread, rich sauces, and multiple cuts of meat filled every remaining space.
It wasn’t just a meal.
It was a spread.
Adam rubbed the back of his neck, genuinely baffled.
"How am I supposed to finish this whole thing?"
His eyes swept across the trolley again, counting it unconsciously.
"If this keeps up, I’ll be too fat to head back home."
He snorted softly at his own joke and reached out anyway.
It might have been far too early in the day for a meal this heavy, but that was a concern for regular people.
Martial artists didn’t get obese. They could eat as much as they wanted; the excess would be burned away in battle or training sooner or later. Most of them lived on cheap, high-energy formulas purely to save costs.
Adam had been the same.
Even after getting loaded, he hadn’t truly adapted to a rich mindset.
It was proof that money didn’t change a man. Mentality did.
But lately?
He was being spoiled. Constantly.
If this continued, he might actually get addicted to this lifestyle.
His gaze landed on the pizza.
"Guess we’ll start here."
The thing was massive, practically chairman-sized. Adam grabbed a slice and brought it to his mouth.
The moment he bit down, flavors exploded across his tongue. Cheese stretched, sauce hit just right, the crust crisp and warm.
He chewed fervently, eyes narrowing in appreciation.
Just like the good times.
For a brief moment, the world felt... simple.
Growing up, food had never been something Adam took for granted.
When his mother was still alive, she worked herself to the bone just to keep food on the table.
Aurora was good with her hands, exceptionally so. She could fix almost anything. But this was the Martial Era. Technology had replaced repairmen, automated systems handled maintenance, and only those who were truly struggling relied on a handyman anymore.
Business was never bad, but it was never good either. Just enough to survive. Nothing more.
Yet despite all that, there was one thing she never compromised on.
Every New Year.
Every birthday of Adam’s.
Aurora always bought a large box of pizza.
Adam could still remember it clearly, the last time in particular. He had been at home, bent over schoolwork, tired and distracted, when the door opened late at night. His mother had stepped in, holding a pizza box in her hands, her face lit up by that warm, beautiful smile she always wore when she was happy.
That night had been his birthday.
The last one they celebrated together.
As Adam finished the slice in his hand, his movements slowed.
She would’ve wanted to see this.
To see the man he had become.
But she was gone, and Adam would be damned if he disturbed her rest with regret or weakness. If he wanted to honor her, truly honor her, then he had to live his life to the fullest. To push his potential to its limit.
And to kill every creature responsible for the world that took her from him.
Adam finished everything on the trolley.
Every dish. Every plate.
Afterward, he took a long shower and freshened up, the lingering weight in his chest settling into something firmer and resolved.
He dressed, tightened his hoodie, and said quietly,
"Let’s go play a game."
He still had two days left before he could explore the incursion.
Two days to sharpen his skills.
Adam left the hotel room.
As the door closed behind him, a gentle breeze nudged the lid of the empty pizza box shut, briefly revealing the logo stamped on top before it disappeared from view.
Forever Pizza.