With a flick, he opened his mail:
[Welcome Reward Package!]
A series of subtle, melodic chimes echoed in his ears. Liam accepted the items, watching as his inventory filled with basic iron gear. One by one, he equipped the pieces. He expected a snug fit, but as the final gauntlet snapped into place, the reality of his "Randomised" avatar hit him.
The armour was designed for a standard adult male Vanguard. Liam was currently a three-and-a-half-foot-tall wolf girl.
The chest plate hung dangerously low, the greaves clattered against each other like loose pipes, and the helmet sat so lopsided he had to tilt his head back just to see the sky. He looked less like a legendary warrior and more like a toddler who had fallen into a dumpster at a blacksmith's shop.
Camouflage, he told himself firmly, ignoring the clanking sound he made with every twitch. No one expects a threat from someone who looks like they can't see past their own visor.
He turned away from the main hub, where players were already forming "Elite" guilds with names like Godslayers and Shadow Legion. Liam had a different priority. He angled toward a crooked, sagging stall at the edge of the settlement. It looked like it had been built by someone who had heard a description of a shop once but had never actually seen one.
Behind the counter, an NPC methodically arranged bundles of dried weeds. Liam paused, letting the heavy iron armour settle with a loud thud.
The NPC looked up, startled. Liam didn't use voice chat; he didn't want the world to hear his gravelly, deep-baritone voice coming out of a doll. He typed: [How are you doing?]
The NPC blinked, his expression softening at the rare sight of player manners. "Well enough," he replied.
Liam leaned over the counter, his oversized helmet clinking against the wood. [What do I have to do here so I can cook?]
The man looked at the starter sword at Liam's hip, then back at his tiny face. "Cooking? Most people are out there trying to figure out how not to get eaten by a Level 1 Slime."
Liam didn't blink. He just stared with the soul-crushing patience of a man who had spent fourteen hours slow-roasting a brisket.
The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, there isn't much call for fine dining here. People don't build kitchens in the mud. If you want to cook, you've got to find your own ingredients."
Liam typed: [Where?]
The man leaned in, whispering. "You can find frogs by the water. And there are some chickens behind the houses. No one... 'officially' owns them. Just don't make a scene."
Liam gave a stiff, iron-clad nod: [Thank you.]
"The name's Spring, by the way," the NPC added.
Liam paused, his fingers hovering over the blue interface.
[...Spring? Is it an ingredient?]
"My name," the man said flatly. "Spring is a season. Or a name. Not a snack."
Liam stared at him for a second too long. [Okay. Nice to meet you, Season.]
Before Spring could correct him, Liam turned and waddled away.
The village was a fever dream of chaos. Players were sprinting, accidental fires were being started, and some guy was currently trying to "Live Stream" himself eating dirt for views. Liam ignored it all, moving left to right like a heavily armoured penguin.
He followed a path between two small houses, and there it was.
A chicken.
It was a fat, majestic [English Chicken], pecking at the dirt with the arrogance of a creature that didn't know it was about to become a data point. Liam looked around. The coast was clear. He stepped forward, lifted his sword, and tapped the bird's neck with the hilt.
Crack. It was a clean, professional kill.
Liam stood over the bird. Suddenly, his fingers began to tingle. The [Absorption] skill didn't feel like a menu option; it felt like a hunger. A deep, gnawing instinct that bypassed logic.
I should grill this, Liam thought. I should pluck it, season it, and find a heat source.
But his mouth was watering. He looked at the feathers. He looked at the raw meat. His stomach let out a growl that sounded like a tectonic plate shifting.
"...whatever," he muttered, his deep voice muffled by his helmet. "This is what I am now."
He crouched, picked up the bird, and took a massive, crunching bite—feathers and all.
[Absorption Skill Progress: 1 / 1000]
[You have absorbed 1 English Chicken.]
The taste was a revelation. It didn't taste like raw bird; it tasted like a burst of pure, savoury energy.
"WHAT... WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Liam froze. He looked up, the chicken still hanging from his mouth like a golden retriever who had successfully raided a trash can.
Standing a few feet away was a girl with short pink hair, cat ears, and blue eyes that were currently wider than dinner plates.
Elizabeth Kim.
She looked exactly like the "First Place" girl from the real world, only her cat tail was currently puffed out in pure, unadulterated horror. She was staring at a tiny, armoured wolf-child wedged in an alleyway, eating a raw chicken in the dirt.
"MMMF... hi," Liam mumbled around the carcass.
Elizabeth lunged forward. She didn't even think. She grabbed the chicken and yanked it out of his mouth.
"What are you doing?!" she demanded, holding the bird at arm's length like it was a live grenade. "Where are your parents? Are children even allowed in this game? You can't just... bite things! It's raw! It still has feathers!"
Liam's hands felt empty. My chicken, he thought, his red eyes narrowing slightly.
A panel lit up in his vision, floating right past Elizabeth's panicked face.
[Recipe Unlocked: Chicken Soup]
[User Effect: +50,000% Melee Resistance for 24 hours]
Liam stared at the number. Fifty thousand per cent. The math was so broken it was beautiful.
"Hello? Earth to... whatever you are!" Elizabeth waved a hand in front of his visor. "You just tried to eat a bird!"
Liam didn't respond to the lecture. He was staring at the notification, his mind already calculating how many hits he could take from a World Boss with that kind of resistance.
He looked back at Elizabeth, his face deadpan.
"...Good soup," he mumbled in his husky, gravelly baritone.
Elizabeth recoiled, her cat ears pinning back. "...What did you just say? And why do you sound like you've smoked for forty years?!"
Liam pointed at the air. [The soup.]
"WHAT SOUP?!" she screamed, looking around the empty alley.
Liam didn't explain. He looked at the chicken in her hand, then back at her face. He didn't have time for a social link with the girl who beat him in exams. He had cooking to do.
[...Can I have that back?]
"...What are you doing?!" Elizabeth's voice cracked with disbelief. "Is this a prank? Am I on a hidden camera show?"
Liam didn't answer. He reached forward, snatched the chicken from her hands with a quick, firm motion, and immediately turned.
He scurried away as fast as his clanking iron boots would allow, the "Second Place" loser disappearing into the shadows of the village like a thief in the night.
Why her? Liam's mind groaned. Of all the two billion players, I get caught by the National Rank #1 while I have feathers in my teeth.
He slowed down once he was out of sight and shoved the chicken into his inventory.
[You killed an English Chicken: +50 EXP]
Liam glanced at his stats. He didn't feel like a child. He felt like a man who had just discovered he was the only one in the world with a cheat code.
"…I'm going to need a lot of these," he whispered.
[Status Window]
Level: 1
NAME: Little Liam
CLASS: Vanguard
DEFENSE: 35 / 100(+5)
ATTACK: 30 / 100
Speed: 15 / 100
Intelligence: 10 / 100
Luck: 10 / 100
EXP: 50 / 1000
CURRENT GOAL: Find a pot.
