Cora had already taken out most of the ingredients and arranged them on the counter. Bread, ground beef, mayonnaise, black pepper, a few vegetables, and oil were laid out in a rough line on the table.
She had returned to the sink and continued washing the remaining dishes without looking back at him believing he knew what he was doing.
Meanwhile, Tristan stood in front of the ingredients for several seconds, his eyes moving from one item to the next. He had watched palace chefs work many times, but standing here with everything laid out in front of him felt completely different. After a moment he placed a pan on the stove and turned the heat up. He left it empty, his attention fixed on the ingredients as he tried to decide what should go in first.
The pan grew hotter by the second...
Trusting the confidence he still carried from his old life, he picked up the container of black pepper and poured a generous amount straight into the scorching pan.
The pepper hit the metal and erupted into a harsh, burning sizzle. A thick, sharp cloud of smoke rose immediately, stinging the eyes and throat.
Cora’s head snapped up first. She started sneezing hard, then turned. When she saw Tristan still holding the pepper container and coughing from the smoke he had created, her eyes widened in panic.
"What are you doing?! What the hell are you doing?" she yelled.
"Cooking!" Tristan managed between coughs and sneezes.
Cora walked to him in a few quick steps, snatched the pepper from his hand, and yanked the pan off the fire. However, the heavy, choking smell of burned spice had already spread.
"You put black pepper in first?!" she demanded, still sneezing. "Who taught you that?"
Tristan covered his nose and mouth with one hand, his eyes watering. "Some recipes start with it."
Cora stared at him as if he had grown a second head. "Where exactly did you drop from?"
The burned-pepper smoke continued to fill the apartment. Footsteps approached quickly. Nadia and Talia appeared at the kitchen entrance, both coughing and waving a hand in front of their faces.
"What is going on in here?" Talia demanded, frowning deeply.
Nadia’s eyes were narrowed against the sting. "What is burning?"
They stepped further in and took in the scene; Cora still holding the pan, Tristan standing there looking half-choked, and the heavy spice smoke hanging in the air. Nadia’s gaze landed on the ingredients near Tristan’s hands. She let out a short, cold breath.
"I know you’d be a disaster." She grumbled, shaking her head then turned away immediately. "I need to leave this house as soon as possible." she muttered to herself as she walked away from the kitchen.
"I was trying to cook breakfast for everyone," Tristan called after her, his voice still rough from the effect of the smoke. "A little appreciation wouldn’t hurt."
Talia gave him a flat look. "So your idea of earning appreciation is nearly choking us or burning the place down?" She shook her head and walked out after Nadia.
Cora set the pan down with a sharp clack and pointed toward the doorway.
"Get out of the kitchen."
"No, I’m not the type to start something and abandon it halfway. I’m finishing this." Tristan said firmly.
Cora peered at him for a long second, caught between irritation and reluctant amusement. Finally she exhaled.
"I don’t know whether your persistence is impressive or just stupid." Then she stepped back.
"Fine. Do what you want. Just don’t burn the apartment down." She said with a resigned scoff as if Tristan was just a little troublemaker who would do anything to have his way and she just couldn’t deal with his excesses at the moment.
She left the kitchen after that.
Tristan remained alone with the lingering smoke and the untouched ingredients. He stared at the empty pan for a moment, then called out in his mind.
"Lysander. Can you cook?"
"No," she answered immediately.
He let out a frustrated breath.
Lysander’s voice returned with a clear thread of amusement. "Even if I cannot cook, Host, I know black pepper is not the first thing that goes into a hot pan."
"Then what comes first?" he aske d.
She gave him the basic order in a few short sentences; oil first, then the meat, proper seasoning later, and so on. Tristan listened carefully, the last of his earlier confidence replaced by focused determination.
He opened the window to clear more of the smoke, cleaned the pan, and started again, following the steps she had given him as closely as he could. Progress was slow and clumsy but he persevered. He overcooked the beef slightly, spread the mayonnaise unevenly, and assembled the sandwiches with little skill. By the time he finished, the results looked plain and unappetizing, the bread slightly crushed in places and the filling wasn’t smooth.
He carried the plates to the table and called out,
"Food is ready."
Only Cora appeared. She looked at the sandwiches, pressed her lips together, her expression silently saying ’I knew this would be the outcome’ then at him.
"Where are the other two?" Tristan asked.
"They said they’re not interested. They already decided it would taste bad." Cora replied simply.
She sat down anyway.
Tristan watched her in mild surprise. "You’re still going to eat it even though you think it tastes bad?"
"I’m not going to let food go to waste," she answered flatly, her attention now fixed on the food.
She picked up one half of a sandwich and took a bite. Her face immediately tightened, as if she had bitten into something sour and wrong at the same time. She chewed with visible effort, reached for water, and swallowed hard. Without comment she took another bite, the same pained expression returning, and continued eating in determined motions, like she was completing an unpleasant task rather than having a meal.
Tristan stood there watching her force the food down.
When she had finished most of what was on her plate, Cora stood up, now pressing a hand lightly against her chest as if the last bite had not gone down smoothly.
"Don’t try cooking again for as long as you’re in this house, if you don’t want to kill you." she said flatly as if she was just telling him he looked good. Then she carried her plate back into the kitchen.
Tristan looked down at the remaining sandwich. After a moment he picked it up and took a small bite.
The taste was dull, slightly bitter from the earlier burned pepper that had lingered in the pan, and badly balanced. He couldn’t manage to swallow it.
"Damn, this tastes like sorrow..." He spat out, scrunching up his face.
He stared at the doorway Cora had disappeared through with an unbelieving look.
"How on earth did she get to force the entire thing down?" The question escaped his mouth loudly.
He turned to look at the food then he realized something, his head whipped up Immediately...