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The second day of work at the Roswaal mansion began with a truth Subaru Natsuki discovered far too late: the human body could wake up tired even after sleeping.
It was not the same exhaustion as dying. Subaru already had, much to his displeasure, a rather specific point of reference for that kind of fatigue. Nor was it Beatrice's magical exhaustion, that miserable sensation of having his soul wrung dry by a blonde girl who spoke as if the entire world were an annoyance inside her library. No. This was much simpler, more humiliating, and for some reason, more offensive. It was work fatigue. Pain in his arms from carrying buckets, pain in his legs from running from one place to another, pain in his back from bending over to clean, and pain in his pride from discovering that a sheet could defeat him more efficiently than three alley thugs.
Subaru opened his eyes in the room he shared with Link, looked at the elegant ceiling, and stayed still for a few seconds.
"My body hates me," he murmured.
From the sofa, Link answered without opening his eyes.
"Mine submitted a formal resignation."
Subaru slowly turned his head. Link was covered up to half his chest with a blanket, his black hair an absolute mess, one hand hanging off the sofa, and the expression of someone who had been run over by a carriage, buried in compost, and then dug back up out of obligation. The previous day, he had worked in the gardens until his hands learned, in traumatic fashion, that not all tools were made to survive his strength. Subaru had seen Link lift stones that would have required two men, but he had also seen him receive a reprimand from Rem for marking the handle of a shovel with his fingers.
The image was still beautiful.
"How does the pride of the garden sleep?" Subaru asked.
"With the desire to kill the pride of the laundry."
"Don't call me that. My battle against the laundry was noble."
"You lost against a shirt."
"The shirt received support from water, soap, and gravity. It was an uneven fight."
Link opened one eye.
"I'm going to use that excuse when a plant beats me again."
Subaru sat up with effort. The room was already lit by morning, and the distant sound of footsteps in the hallway announced the inevitable. Ram or Rem would come soon. Probably Ram. The mansion seemed to have a cruel instinct for sending her in precisely when Subaru thought he could breathe for five more minutes. He was not wrong. The door opened after two soft knocks, and Ram appeared with her perfect uniform, impeccable posture, and that lethal serenity that said she had already judged both of them before entering.
"Barusu. Secondary guest. It is time."
Subaru raised one hand from the bed.
"I request an extension of sleep for humanitarian reasons."
"Denied."
"You didn't even think about it."
"Ram did think about it. It was unpleasant."
Link slowly sat up on the sofa, bringing one hand to his neck.
"Is Rem coming too?"
Ram looked at him without changing expression.
"Rem is already working."
Link woke up completely.
Subaru immediately pointed at him.
"That was instant! You activated like a dog hearing a food bag!"
"Don't say stupid things so early."
"It isn't stupid if the behavior confirms it."
Ram closed her eyes.
"Barusu criticizes the secondary guest for reacting to Rem, but Barusu bowed yesterday when Emilia-sama asked him to pass the salt."
Subaru went still.
Link turned toward him with a slow smile.
"You bowed for salt?"
"It was courtesy."
"It was Emilia."
"Courtesy for Emilia."
"Barusu almost hit the table with his forehead," Ram added.
Link brought a hand to his chest.
"How beautiful. Two idiots with clear priorities."
"You called Rem a goddess," Subaru said.
"You bowed to salt."
"It was a bow to the context!"
Ram breathed deeply, as if dealing with two very large, very noisy, and very unprofitable children.
"Get dressed. Work begins in ten minutes. Barusu will assist Ram with interior tasks during the first half of the morning. The secondary guest will assist Rem in the exterior area and later in the provisions storage room."
Link stood faster than his exhaustion recommended.
"Understood."
Subaru opened his mouth.
Ram raised one finger.
"No."
"I didn't even say anything!"
"Ram anticipates the mistake."
The morning divided itself with merciless efficiency. Subaru was dragged, metaphorically, by Ram toward the service rooms, where he learned that "basic tasks" was a phrase invented by people who hated beginners. Link, for his part, went out to the garden with Rem, trying to walk casually even though his entire body still remembered every stone moved the previous day.
The outside air was cool. Roswaal's garden looked too beautiful to be real, with clean paths, flowers arranged by color, trimmed bushes, and a green expanse that, under any other circumstances, Link would have appreciated without feeling that every leaf was evaluating his performance. Rem walked beside him with a small notebook in her hand, explaining the day's tasks in a calm voice.
"First, we will inspect the area of tools damaged yesterday. Then sacks of soil will be transported to the side greenhouse. Afterward, the secondary guest will help move two large planters near the east wing. You must control your strength. The planters are old."
"Understood."
"You must not lift them from the upper edge. They may crack."
"Understood."
"You must not rush, even if they seem light."
"Understood."
"And you must not call stones 'personal enemies' in front of the mansion staff."
Link stopped.
"I said that once."
"You said it three times."
"I was under emotional pressure."
"The stone was not."
Link looked away, pretending interest in a hedge.
"Rem has a dangerous memory."
"It is part of Rem's work."
Every time she said "Rem" in the third person, Link felt a part of his dignity trying to flee through the garden. He did not understand how such a simple way of speaking could affect him so much. Maybe it was the tone. Maybe the calm. Maybe the fact that Rem did not seem to make an effort to be adorable, and precisely because of that, every gesture of hers became ten times worse for Link's mental stability.
To hide it, he worked.
And he worked well.
That was the problem. When the task was physical, direct, without too many subtleties, Link was useful in an almost insulting way. He lifted sacks of soil with ease, transported heavy tools without complaining, moved logs, carried stones, and cleared fallen branches as if his body had decided to compensate for his lack of knowledge with pure brute strength. Rem watched him closely, correcting every excess before it became a disaster. When Link held a sack too tightly, she said, "Less pressure." When he carried things too quickly, she said, "Shorter steps." When he tried to move three things at once, she simply said, "No."
And Link obeyed.
Unfortunately, that did not go unnoticed when Subaru saw him later from a second-floor window, while Ram was teaching him to clean glass.
"Look at that," Subaru said, placing both hands on the frame. "The garden monster domesticated by simple commands."
Ram lightly struck him on the head with a folded cloth.
"Barusu must look at the glass, not the garden."
"But this is social research. Link only needs Rem to say one word to correct his posture. That is power. That is dominance. That is—"
Ram struck him again with the cloth.
"Glass."
"Yes, Miss Ram."
Subaru cleaned the glass. He did it with real concentration for about thirty seconds, until his mind wandered again.
"Hey, Ram."
"No."
"You don't know what I was going to ask."
"Ram recognizes Barusu's tone when he is about to say something unnecessary."
"That's unfair. It could be an important question about my training as a servant."
Ram waited.
Subaru discreetly pointed downward.
"Does Link seem strange to you?"
Ram continued inspecting the freshly cleaned glass.
"Barusu must be more specific. The secondary guest is strange in many ways."
"You know. The horns. Being similar to an Oni."
Ram's hand stopped for barely a fraction of a second. Subaru noticed, but had the wisdom—miraculous, almost historical—not to point it out.
"That is none of Barusu's business," she said.
"I'm not asking to bother you."
"Barusu usually bothers people even without intending to."
"That's true, but not this time."
Ram turned toward him. Her face was the same as always, calm, distant, difficult to read. But Subaru, who was starting to learn that Ram hid things behind her dryness, understood that he had stepped on sensitive ground.
"If Barusu wishes to help the secondary guest," Ram said, "he should begin by not treating his nature as a spectacle."
Subaru lowered his gaze.
"Yeah. You're right."
Ram blinked once.
"How unsettling. Barusu accepted a correction."
"I'm growing."
"Do not exaggerate."
Below, Link was in the middle of a silent battle against a planter.
Not because it was heavy. The weight was the least of it. The problem was that Rem had insisted it was old, valuable, and part of the mansion's original design. That turned every movement into a threat. Link crouched, placed his hands where Rem indicated, and lifted carefully. The planter rose without resistance, too light for him, which made it more dangerous. He could crack it by squeezing. He could drop it by getting overconfident. He could move it too quickly and strike a column. He could trip, though that last one seemed less likely until he remembered his recent history.
"Slowly," Rem said.
"Yes, Rem."
"Turn a little to the right."
"Yes, Rem."
"Not that much."
"Yes, Rem."
"Do not answer every instruction if that distracts you."
Link closed his mouth.
From the window, Subaru bit his fist to avoid laughing.
Without looking, Ram said:
"Barusu has no moral authority to laugh."
"I know, but it's hard."
Link managed to place the planter in its new spot without breaking it. Rem checked the position, touched the base, observed its alignment with the path, and finally nodded.
"It is fine."
Link went still.
He had received "it is fine" from Rem. Not "acceptable," not "it must improve," not "avoid destroying mansion property." It is fine.
"Thank you," he said, perhaps with too much contained emotion.
Rem looked at him.
"There is no need to thank me. It was your task."
"Still."
Rem observed him for another second, then lowered her gaze to the notebook.
"Let us continue."
Link smiled faintly.
The smile lasted until the next task, when he discovered that transporting sacks was simple, moving planters was possible, but distinguishing useful herbs from weeds was still a secret language the garden refused to translate. Rem knelt beside a cultivated area and showed him a small plant with rounded leaves and a pale stem.
"This one is kept."
Then she pointed to another, similar but not the same.
"This one is removed."
Link looked at them.
"They're the same."
"No."
"They're cousins, at least."
"Observe the edge of the leaf."
Link leaned in.
"The first one has a smooth edge. The second has... an almost smooth edge."
"Serrated."
"That."
"The smell also changes if you break a leaf."
Link took a leaf from the wrong plant and smelled it.
"It smells like plant."
Rem looked at him.
"That is not a useful description."
"I'm doing my best."
"Rem notices."
"That sounded like a kind insult."
"It was not an insult."
"Then it hurt by accident."
Rem blinked and showed him the differences again. Link listened carefully, though every explanation convinced him that the garden was an academic institution with hidden exams. He was capable and clumsy at the same time: he could do an hour's worth of physical work in ten minutes, but then spend ten minutes staring at two leaves trying to decide which one deserved to live. Rem did not mock him. She repeated the explanation. To Link, that was worth more than any compliment.
Inside, Subaru lived through his own training under Ram's supervision. Folding napkins, checking dishes, cleaning handrails, learning to walk without dragging his feet, opening doors discreetly, closing doors without noise, carrying trays without looking like a desperate juggler. Subaru failed at almost everything at first, but he failed with a stubbornness even Ram began to recognize as a useful quality, though she refused to express it pleasantly.
"Barusu, the tray is tilted."
Subaru corrected it.
"Now he is too rigid."
Subaru relaxed his arms.
"Now he looks like he is about to faint."
"I'm trying to find the balance between dignity and survival!"
"Barusu possesses little of both."
"Your words are knives wrapped in silk."
"Then at least learn to dodge them."
By midmorning, when the sun was already warming the glass and the mansion's shadows grew shorter over the gardens, Rem gathered Subaru and Link in a room near the kitchen. Ram came with Subaru behind her, and Subaru carried a tray with three empty cups he had not spilled. His expression was that of someone who had just achieved a historic feat.
"Look," Subaru said. "Three cups. Zero victims."
Link raised a thumb.
"Progress."
Ram looked at the tray.
"One cup is slightly out of place."
Subaru lowered his gaze, devastated.
"No."
Rem took the cup and adjusted it.
"Now it is correct."
"Thank you, Rem. You are merciful."
"Rem only corrected the cup."
The room smelled of bread, herbs, and broth. Link noticed it immediately. The aroma came from the nearby kitchen, where the mansion's meals were surely being prepared. It was not the smell of home, of course. It lacked ingredients, spices, that punch of ají, garlic, onion, and heat that in his memory was tied to family conversations, noisy markets, big pots, and plates served without measuring too much because someone else could always arrive at the table. But the smell of a real kitchen, of food being prepared, touched something in him that the garden had not reached.
Subaru saw him get distracted.
"Oh," he said, with a dangerous smile. "Interesting."
Link looked at him.
"Don't start."
"I haven't started anything."
"That's your starting face."
Subaru carefully set down the tray, proud of not breaking anything, and pointed at Link.
"I remember reading somewhere that Latinos know how to cook from birth."
The room fell silent.
Ram blinked.
Rem tilted her head.
Link looked at Subaru with a slow, heavy, deadly expression.
"That's racist."
Subaru immediately raised both hands.
"It's a cultural comment based on positive stereotypes!"
"Still racist."
"It was a compliment!"
"Stereotypes don't become good because they make you hungry."
Ram looked at Subaru.
"Barusu has managed to offend the secondary guest and logic in a single sentence."
Rem calmly added:
"Rem considers assuming abilities based on origin to be incorrect."
Subaru received the blow as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him.
"Sorry. Yes. You're right. I retract it. That was stupid. Though, in my defense, my brain has been weakened by domestic training."
"Your brain came like that," Link said.
"Also valid."
Link crossed his arms, still annoyed.
"I know how to cook because I learned. Because I like eating well. Because in my house, if you didn't learn how to defend yourself in the kitchen, you ended up eating just anything. Not because I came out of the cradle with a frying pan in my hand."
Subaru lowered his head with exaggerated but not false remorse.
"Understood. I formally apologize to the Latin community and to babies without frying pans."
"I'm going to hit you."
"I deserve it."
Rem looked at Link.
"Does the secondary guest know how to cook?"
Link hesitated.
The question, coming from Rem, disarmed his indignation a little. He did not want to sound arrogant. He also did not want to say no, because he did know. And a small but intense part of him wanted to prove something. Not because he was Latino. Out of personal pride. Out of the memory of his homeland, his family, the meals he did not know when he would taste again. Out of the anger of being in a world that had taken too much from him and still keeping a recipe in his head like a piece of home hidden between his teeth.
"Yes," he finally said. "I know how to cook."
Subaru cautiously lifted his gaze.
"A lot?"
"Enough that you won't say stupid things with so much confidence again."
Ram observed the kitchen door.
"The mansion kitchen is not a place for experiments without permission."
Rem nodded.
"But if the secondary guest knows how to cook, it could be useful to know his level. Roswaal-sama appreciates uncommon varieties in food, and Emilia-sama tends to show curiosity toward new dishes."
Link looked at Rem.
"Does that mean I can cook something?"
"If he follows the kitchen's safety rules, uses authorized ingredients, and allows Rem to supervise."
Subaru whispered:
"Rem supervising cooking. You just unlocked your route event."
Link struck him in the arm. This time he controlled his strength. Subaru barely complained, which was a sign of progress.
Ram closed her eyes.
"Ram will report that the responsibility belongs to Rem."
"Rem accepts," Rem said.
"What can I use?" Link asked, now more serious.
Rem led him to the kitchen.
The mansion kitchen was large, clean, and well equipped, though not with the familiar objects Link would have wanted. There was no gas stove, no blender, no modern pots, no stainless-steel knives like the ones at home. There were hearths, iron, ceramic, well-kept knives, wooden tables, baskets of vegetables, herbs, meats, grains, flours, fruits, dairy, and local spices. Link walked slowly among the ingredients, smelling, observing, touching carefully. Rem followed without interrupting, waiting. Subaru remained at the entrance with Ram, who held him metaphorically in place through pure authority so he would not enter and touch anything.
"I need meat," Link said. "Something tender, if there is any. Onion. Tomato or something similar. Potatoes. Rice. Garlic, if it exists here. Something acidic. Vinegar or sour fruit. And some dark sauce or reduced broth."
Rem listened to the list attentively.
"Some ingredients exist under different names. Rem can help identify them."
"Good."
"What will you prepare?"
Link looked at the baskets.
He could not make the exact dish. Ingredients were missing, the right pan was missing, the intensity of modern heat was missing. But he could adapt it. Cooking had always been that too: making do with what was there and making it delicious anyway.
"A meat stir-fry with potatoes and rice. Back home, we'd call it lomo saltado, though this will be a weird version."
Subaru poked his head in from the entrance.
"That sounds incredible."
"You don't speak. You're in reflection period for culinary racism."
"I accept my punishment with hunger."
Ram gently pushed him back.
"Barusu will not get in the way."
Link washed his hands with a seriousness that Rem approved of immediately. Then he began.
At first, everyone expected clumsiness. Not because Link was incapable, but because in the mansion he had already earned the reputation of being a walking contradiction: he could carry enormous stones and then be defeated by two similar herbs; he could move sacks without sweating and crack a tool because he forgot his fingers no longer had the same strength as before. But in the kitchen, something different happened. Link did not become perfect, of course. He had to adapt to the knives, the hearth, the nonexistent measurements, and ingredients he did not fully know. Even so, his hands moved with a confidence he had not shown in the garden.
He cut the meat into strips, not too thick, checking the grain carefully. He sliced onion into long cuts, crushed garlic with the side of the knife, tasted a sour fruit Rem offered as a substitute, and decided to use it in moderation. He cut the potatoes into thicker sticks than usual, because the oil and hearth would not let him treat them the same way as in his world. He let the rice cook while preparing everything else, adjusting the water by eye with a confidence that made Rem raise her eyebrows slightly.
"You did not measure," she said.
"I measured with my soul."
From the entrance, Subaru whispered:
"That sounded very Latino."
Link raised the knife without looking.
Subaru hid behind Ram.
"I self-censor!"
Ram sighed.
"Barusu uses Ram as a shield without permission."
"It was survival instinct."
The kitchen began to change its smell.
The garlic hit first, browning in hot fat until it filled the air with a deep warmth. Then came the meat, and the sound of the stir-fry made Subaru poke his head in again like a hungry animal. Link moved the ingredients quickly, careful not to crush the pan or break the handle. He added onion, then local tomato cut into wedges, then a little of the acidic juice, salt, spices Rem indicated were safe, and a dark reduction that was not soy sauce but could imitate part of that depth. The aroma became intense, savory, strange for the mansion, and at the same time impossible to ignore.
Rem watched in silence.
Ram did too, though she pretended not to be interested.
Subaru did not pretend anything.
"I'm dying," he said.
"You're not tasting it until it's ready," Link replied.
"I die with hope."
"Die away from the kitchen."
Link finished by mixing the potatoes into the stir-fry at just the right moment, so they would not completely fall apart, and served the rice on the side. It was not perfect lomo saltado. He knew that. It lacked real high heat, exact ingredients, that touch of home impossible to replicate in another world's mansion with strange names for everything. But when he placed the finished plate on the testing table, the smell was enough for even Ram to stop pretending indifference.
Rem tasted it first, as supervisor.
Link watched with absurd tension.
Rem took a small portion with utensils, brought it to her mouth, chewed in silence, and lowered her gaze to the plate. Her expression did not change in an exaggerated way. Rem was not Subaru. She was not going to shout, cry, or declare that she had seen the light. But there was a pause. A pause far too long to be simple courtesy.
"It is well prepared," she finally said.
Link let out the air.
"Yeah?"
"The acidity is unusual, but it balances the fat. The meat is tender. The potatoes absorbed part of the flavor without falling apart. Rem considers it a satisfying dish."
Link felt his heart strike harder than during some parts of the battle against Elsa.
"Thank you."
Subaru brought both hands to his head.
"Rem gave a positive culinary critique! This is historic! Let me taste it before I faint!"
Ram tasted it next. Her face remained almost the same, but she ate a second small portion before speaking.
"Acceptable."
Subaru pointed at Link.
"In Ram language, that means you could open a restaurant."
"Barusu exaggerates," Ram said.
"But you don't deny it."
"Ram will not dignify that logic."
Subaru tasted the dish.
His reaction was immediate, loud, and absolutely Subaru.
"It's delicious! This is ridiculously good! Link, I retract my racist comment and replace it with culinary respect earned in battle! The meat, the potatoes, the rice, this acidic thing I don't know what it is, it all works! How did you do this with fantasy ingredients and a kitchen without technology?"
Link tried to maintain a serious expression.
He failed a little.
"Because I know how to cook, dumbass. Not because I'm Latino."
Subaru raised the fork.
"Correct. You know how to cook because you know how to cook."
Ram observed the plate.
"And because he seems to have eaten enough in his life to develop motivation."
Link pointed at Ram with the handle of a spoon.
"That one I'll accept."
Rem looked at the remaining ingredients.
"The secondary guest mentioned desserts."
Link blinked.
"When?"
"During breakfast, Barusu said Latinos knew how to cook. Then the secondary guest said he knew how to cook because he learned. Rem assumed that included other preparations."
Subaru leaned toward Link solemnly.
"Brother, if you know how to make dessert and don't say it, that is treason."
Link looked at Rem. She awaited an answer with professional calm. Not enthusiasm, not pressure. Only attention. That was enough.
"I can make something simple. Rice pudding, if you have milk, sugar, cinnamon, or something similar."
Rem nodded.
"There is milk. Sugar as well. For cinnamon, Rem will look for a similar spice."
"Then yes."
Ram looked at Subaru.
"Barusu will not participate."
Subaru was offended.
"Why?"
"Because Barusu turns simple tasks into noise."
"I'm excellent at mixing."
"Yesterday he splashed water with a shirt."
"The shirt was hostile!"
Link laughed while Rem prepared the ingredients. The rice pudding was slower, calmer. Link made it with patience, explaining that the secret was not abandoning the pot, stirring carefully, letting the milk thicken without burning, adjusting sugar little by little, and perfuming it with the right spice. Subaru listened as if witnessing a sacred class. Rem watched with real attention, asking concrete questions about texture, proportion, and time. Ram pretended not to be interested, but she was getting closer and closer to the pot.
The result was creamy, sweet, warm. It was not exactly the one from home, because nothing could be, but it came close enough to hurt a little. Link tasted a spoonful and went still. The flavor carried him, for an instant, to a table that was not there. To familiar voices. To a noisy kitchen. To someone saying it needed more sugar, to someone else saying it was perfect, to a large pot where there always seemed to be a little more left.
Rem noticed the change in his expression.
"Did it not turn out well?"
Link returned to the present.
"Yes. It turned out well."
Subaru tasted it and nearly fell against the table.
"This is dangerous. This is a diplomatic weapon. Link, you could conquer nobles with this."
"Don't exaggerate."
Ram tasted it.
There was silence.
Then she took another spoonful.
"Acceptable."
Subaru lightly struck the table.
"Double acceptable! Absolute victory!"
Rem tasted it too.
"Rem thinks Emilia-sama might enjoy it."
Link froze.
"Emilia?"
Subaru grabbed the plate dramatically.
"No. This dessert must reach Emilia-tan. It is our duty as mansion employees and representatives of happiness."
"You just want to see her eat it."
"Also."
Ram took the plate before Subaru could do anything ridiculous.
"Ram will take it when appropriate. Barusu will not use dessert as an excuse to burst in wherever Emilia-sama is."
Subaru lowered his head.
"My plan was discovered before it was born."
The kitchen ended up turning into a small unofficial event. Not because Roswaal appeared, nor because Emilia came down immediately, nor because Puck declared something grand. It was simpler. The mansion staff had tasted something new. Subaru had learned, once again, that his comments could be idiotic even when he did not want to cause harm. Link had demonstrated a skill that did not come from his horns, nor from the kagune, nor from abnormal strength, but from something more human, more his own. Rem had found in him a different usefulness than carrying heavy things. Ram had admitted two "acceptables," which practically amounted to an ovation with fireworks in her language.
In the afternoon, the tasks continued.
Subaru returned to the hallways, inspired by the food and punished by Ram with more tray practice. Link returned to the garden with Rem, but something had changed in the atmosphere between them. Not full trust. Not sudden closeness. Nothing so easy. Rem was still Rem: professional, reserved, attentive to every dangerous movement. Link was still clumsy, too strong, too obvious when he tried not to look at her. But now there was a possible conversation beyond instructions and corrections.
"The dish you prepared," Rem said as they walked toward the greenhouse, "did you make it often?"
Link carried a toolbox with both hands, controlling the pressure as she had taught him.
"Sometimes. Not always the same way. In my house, everyone made it a little differently. Some add more tomato, others more onion, others argue about the potatoes. Cooking is half recipe, half family fight."
"It sounds noisy."
"It was."
"Did you like it?"
Link took a moment to answer.
"Yes. A lot."
Rem said nothing for a few steps.
"Then Rem understands why it seemed important."
Link glanced at her sideways.
"Was it noticeable?"
"Yes."
"Shit."
"It is not a bad thing."
The phrase was so simple that Link did not know what to do with it. Rem continued walking, and he followed her with the toolbox, feeling that the garden no longer seemed as hostile as it had in the morning.
Inside, Subaru received a small portion of the rice pudding left in the kitchen and, during a minimal break, sat with Link beside a side window. Both were tired. Subaru's hands were clean but aching. Link had dirt on his knee and still smelled faintly of the kitchen on his sleeves.
"Hey," Subaru said. "About earlier... I really am sorry. About the 'Latinos cook from birth' thing."
Link looked at his plate.
"You're an idiot, but not malicious."
"That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me today."
"Don't get used to it."
Subaru ate another spoonful of dessert.
"But you do cook amazingly."
"That, you can say."
"You cook amazingly because you learned, because you have talent, and because you probably threatened the pots until they obeyed."
"Exactly."
Subaru smiled.
"And maybe a tiny bit because cooking is in your blood."
Link looked at him.
Subaru raised both hands.
"In a poetic sense! Poetic, not racial! Like inherited passion, family memory, living culture, the warmth of home, and all those things that sound deep!"
Link held his gaze for a few more seconds.
Then he snorted.
"That one I'll accept."
Subaru sighed in relief.
"I survived."
"For now."
Both ate in silence for a while.
The mansion continued its rhythm around them. Ram passed through the hallways with precise orders. Rem organized the kitchen and the exterior tasks. Emilia, somewhere in the mansion, might perhaps receive a portion of a dessert Link had never imagined preparing in that world. Roswaal would smile if he learned of his anomalous gardener's new skill. Beatrice would probably pretend contempt if someone offered her a spoonful, though Subaru suspected she would take it if Puck insisted.
It was far too peaceful a scene.
Subaru thought it, but did not say it. He did not want to tempt fate.
Link, however, looked through the window toward the garden and felt the strange weight of calm. It was not complete peace. There were too many questions for that. His body was still a mystery. His horns, his mana, his kagune, the word Oni, Ram and Rem's reaction, Roswaal's interest, Elsa's existence out there, and Felt far from the mansion. All of it was still there, waiting.
But that day, he had cooked.
He had worked.
He had made Subaru laugh, had received an "it is fine" from Rem and two "acceptables" from Ram, had prepared a dish from his homeland with impossible ingredients, and had remembered that he could still create something good with his hands, not only break wood, block knives, or pull monsters out of his back.
Subaru finished his dessert and set the spoon on the plate.
"Tomorrow, you should cook something else."
"Tomorrow, you should learn not to fold napkins like war maps."
"I'm working on that."
"So am I."
Subaru looked at him.
"On cooking?"
Link shook his head.
"On not breaking everything I touch."
Subaru smiled, softer this time.
"Then we're doing well."
Link looked at his hands, large, strong, dangerous, but also capable of cutting onion, moving rice, holding a spoon, and preparing something sweet.
"I hope so."
From the hallway, Ram's voice cut the moment with surgical precision.
"Barusu. Secondary guest. The break is over."
Subaru let his head fall back.
"Peace lasted four spoonfuls."
Link stood with the empty plate.
"Personal record."
Rem appeared behind Ram, serene as always.
"The secondary guest must wash the utensils he used in the kitchen."
Link straightened.
"Yes, Rem."
Subaru pointed dramatically toward the sky.
"And there it is! The power of the blue goddess over the Latino chef!"
Link turned toward him.
"Run."
Subaru ran.
He did not get far, because Ram caught him by the collar of his uniform before he could turn the hallway into a chase scene. Link could not help laughing, Rem observed the disaster with resigned patience, and the Roswaal mansion, for a few more hours, filled with noise, work, and the sweet smell of rice pudding.
A fragile tranquility.
But tranquility nonetheless.