A large pot landed on the dining table with a heavy *thud*.
The stench of raw meat mixed with an excessive amount of spices filled the air.
In the dark brown broth, several suspiciously shaped chunks of meat tumbled about as bubbles popped incessantly on the surface.
“Is this the ‘exclusive secret recipe’?”
Angel pinched his nose and used a fork to poke at a piece of meat that still had fur on it.
“What even is this?
A sewer Touille’s tail?
Or the leg of a mutant cockroach?”
“That is flavor, my dear friend!”
Alastor stood by the table, ladle still in hand, wearing a look of immense pride.
“I went out and hunted these fresh ingredients myself.
It is a taste of vitality.”
Charlie looked at the indescribable mass of sludge in her bowl, the smile on her face nearly crumbling.
She tried to pick up her spoon, but the pungent stench that shot straight to her brain made her gag involuntarily.
“Uh, it looks…
very nutritious.”
Vaggie stood to the side with her arms crossed, showing no intention of sitting down.
Moon sat at the table.
He glanced at the mess in the pot, then at Charlie’s straining expression as she tried to be polite, and finally set down his napkin.
“While this wild cuisine is certainly impressive, Mr.
Alastor.”
Alastor turned to him, his grin never wavering.
“Thank you for the compliment.”
Moon stood up, unbuttoned his coat, and draped it over the back of his chair.
He casually rolled up his sleeves.
“But I think on a night like this, everyone’s stomachs might crave something more…
gentle.”
The other made no response, so Moon turned and walked into the kitchen on his own.
The kitchen’s food supply was practically pathetic.
A few potatoes rolled in the corner of a cabinet, alongside a bundle of carrots as dry as withered branches and a bottle of Hell’s specialty chili sauce with only a bit left at the bottom.
“Don’t tell me you actually plan to cook something with that pile of junk.”
Moon looked down as he picked out the potatoes.
“I can try.
It’s better than that pot out there.”
“I agree with that assessment,” Vaggie said.
“But agreeing is one thing—just don’t go putting anything weird in the food.”
Moon picked up a knife and tested the blade.
“Rest assured.”
The knife hit the cutting board.
The first stroke was crisp, and then the pace accelerated.
Peeling, slicing, and julienning—the movements were seamless.
With every stroke, the thickness of the shreds remained perfectly uniform.
The once-unremarkable potatoes were transformed in an instant into a small, snowy-white mountain.
“Wow, so tidy!”
Niffty appeared at the kitchen door out of nowhere, clutching her feather duster as she peeked inside.
Even Alastor leaned against the doorframe.
He didn’t speak, merely observing Moon’s movements.
The carrots were sliced into diamonds and blanched in boiling water for a few seconds before being quickly fished out; their dull orange color became vibrant.
Moon upended the nearly empty chili sauce bottle, mixing it with minced herbs and lemon juice.
He poured hot oil over the mixture with a sharp *sizzle*, releasing a mouthwatering aroma of sour, spicy freshness.
The snowy potato shreds remained crisp and tender after blanching.
They were tossed in the special sauce and piled into a tower.
A few bright carrot diamonds were interspersed throughout, the red and white contrasting beautifully under an oily sheen.
Moon set the plate down.
Looking up at the flickering lights, he decided to simply turn off the overhead lamp.
The hall plunged into darkness, and Moon struck a match.
*Phut.*
A small flame danced, igniting a few remnant decorative candles on the table.
The flickering candlelight cast a soft filter over the dilapidated dining room.
“Please, dig in.”
He made a welcoming gesture and sat back down in his seat.
Charlie carefully forked a curl of potato shreds and put it in her mouth.
*Crunch.*
The crisp texture exploded between her teeth.
The slightly spicy sauce, infused with the citrus scent of lemon, instantly awakened the taste buds that had been numbed by the previous stench.
There was no lingering funk, only the purest sweetness of the ingredients themselves.
“It’s delicious!”
She covered her mouth, her face full of surprise.
Angel glanced at her and took a bite as well.
He went silent immediately, looking down to fork a second mouthful.
Even Vaggie, who had been watching with arms crossed, took a bite and then quietly sat down.
She didn’t say a word, but her fork moved rapidly.
Husk was even more direct.
He treated the shredded potatoes like a bar snack, taking a bite of food for every swig of booze, looking thoroughly content.
Only Alastor didn’t move.
He looked at Moon across the long table and the candlelight.
“Just potatoes?”
Moon raised his water glass in a silent toast to the man opposite him.
The table was quiet, save for the sound of utensils clicking against plates.
A group of demons with vastly different forms and complex backgrounds sat around the same table, sharing a dinner that was, in truth, as humble as could be.
“Once people sit at one table and eat a meal, many things can be discussed.
What you’re trying to do in this place is already hard enough; you can’t go without a decent meal.”
Charlie stopped chewing and looked up.
Her overactive tear ducts were always so prone to bursting; her eyes were shimmering with water.
Moon felt compelled to add:
“Don’t cry.
Eat first.”
“I’m not crying,” Charlie insisted, though she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes as she looked down.
“I just think…
well, this is nice.”
Alastor stared at Moon, something churning deep within his crimson pupils.
It was a mix of confusion regarding the unknown, an instinctive rejection of this warmth he couldn’t understand, and an ever-mounting interest in this so-called performer—this “ordinary man” who, until now, hadn’t shown a single shred of anything special and remained utterly unreadable.