Hilgrogar Cipà, Velmordop’s only five-star restaurant, didn’t look like a place where food was cooked at all.
It gave the impression that meals simply appeared out of nowhere, presented on flawless silver trays as if summoned into existence by waiters who moved with eerie precision in their pressed linen suits.
The lighting was dim but clearly designed with purpose, a kind of manufactured atmosphere that made expensive wine glisten like molten jewels and forced ordinary people to lower their voices as though volume itself was out of place here.
Each table was spaced with almost mathematical accuracy, leaving no room for discomfort or intrusion, and every plate that emerged from the kitchen looked as though someone had spent hours calculating its placement, sculpting the food into something more than a meal.
Angela Ray, Kaz’s friend, cut across the floor between tables with sharp, mechanical grace that came from practice in a place where the customers didn’t really speak so much as hum and sniff in judgment.
She had learned how to exist in that atmosphere, wearing the stark black-and-white uniform until it fit her like a second skin.
Her back stayed straight, her tray never wobbled, and her smile was maintained with the same relentless consistency as a machine programmed not to falter.
From a distance, she could have been mistaken for an advertisement playing on a loop.
But if you looked closely — close enough to see past the facade — you could catch the sweat collecting behind her ears, proof that she was still human, even if the restaurant demanded she act otherwise.
But once you pushed past the swinging double doors, away from the carefully manufactured calm of Very Expensive Dining, you stepped directly into another world.
Kaz, unfortunately, was already stuck in it. And the only word his brain could come up with for the situation was simple, f*cking hell.
’What the heck is even happening?!’ he panicked internally, staring at the mountain of trays lined up across the counter.
Each one looked nearly identical to the next, except apparently, they weren’t, and he had absolutely no clue how anyone was supposed to keep track.
Before he could even process, a sharp voice cut through the clatter. "What are you doing, Kaz? Go deliver tray twenty-seven to table sixteen!"
"Right away, chef," Kaz said, panicking slightly as he grabbed the nearest tray without checking.
"Hey, hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?" the chef barked, swooping in immediately. "That’s tray twelve for table twenty-two. This—" he jabbed a finger at another tray, the one with braised beef that looked like it belonged in a museum instead of a stomach, "—this is tray twenty-seven!"
Kaz froze, cheeks burning, and quickly set the wrong tray back where it belonged.
He snatched up the correct one with both hands, nodding rapidly.
"I’m sorry, chef. Thank you, chef," he blurted out, before practically sprinting toward the swinging double doors as if his entire life depended on not messing it up again... oh wait, it kinda does.
Outside hell, the dining hall was wrapped in silence, a silence so deliberate it almost felt enforced.
People sat at their tables, cutting into their meals with calm precision, their forks gliding smoothly without a single sound of chewing escaping into the air.
It was the sort of atmosphere where even a cough felt like it would get you escorted out.
Kaz stood frozen, balancing the tray in his hands while scanning the sea of faces.
His eyes darted from one table to another, mind racing.
’Where the hell is table sixteen?’ he thought, trying to keep his expression casual so no one would catch on that he was completely lost.
Then his gaze caught Angela.
She had already noticed him, of course.
Her brows lifted slightly, and without moving her lips enough to break the silence, she mouthed, "What are you doing?" Her hands shifted just enough to mimic the same question.
Kaz raised one hand in return and quickly flashed numbers with his fingers.
First a two, then five, then two more, all in fast succession to spell out "twenty-seven."
Angela squinted, mouthing back, "Twenty-seven?"
She pointed her chin subtly toward the far left corner, her lips forming the words, "Over there."
Kaz gave her a quick nod to signal thanks, then puckered his lips into a mocking kissy face before turning toward his destination.
Angela rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck, but the corner of her mouth twitched as if she was fighting a smile.
Scoffing under his breath, Kaz marched confidently toward table twenty-seven, placing the tray down with "practiced" ease... he did NOT practice sh*t.
"Your braised beef, cooked perfectly and paired with a sauce that apparently took longer to prepare than I did to graduate high school," he said with a grin.
The diners — two well-dressed men and a woman — laughed lightly, amused at the way he broke through the stiffness of the room.
"Finally, someone around here with personality," one of them said, and Kaz used that as an opening to charm his way through the interaction, keeping the tone light, respectful, but sprinkled with humor.
By the time he left the table, they were smiling, and even gave him a quiet compliment on the service.
This back-and-forth went on several more times, each table another chance for Kaz to lean into his easy charisma.
While most waiters melted into the background, Kaz made sure people remembered him, even if it was just for a few moments of unexpected laughter in the middle of their Very Expensive Dining experience.
ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO
Next Reward: Quick Sever
Global System Tracking: DISABLED
World Rank Association: UNLINKED
STR: 20 | AGI: 10 (Affinity) | VIT: 5 | DEX: 5 | INT: 17 | WIS: 5
[Available Stat Points: 0]
[Derived Stat — MANA: 90 / 90]
[Crimson Slash Lv. 1]
[Phantom Stride Lv. 2]
[Instinctive Blade Lv.1]
[Predictive Guard Lv.1]
[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]
[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]
[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]
[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]
Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)
Training Ring (+1 VIT)
Ring of Genorya - ???