Chapter 9 (1/2)

Smith Jr. stood in front of a stove holding a pan filled with egg fried rice. He lifted the pan off the fire and tilted it, pushing the rice down with a spatula into an empty bowl. For Smith Jr. egg fried rice was an extremely easy dish to cook. He didn’t even need to use the recipe. With a steaming bowl of egg fried rice in his hand, he looked around before settling his gaze on the ceiling. “System, I’m done.”

[Young chef, if that is egg fried rice, then you are a god. Since you are clearly not a god, then that is not egg fried rice. Please try again.]

“Not egg fried rice?” Smith Jr. furrowed his brow and stared at the bowl. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. It was filled with egg fried rice.

[Follow the recipe to cook egg fried rice.]

Smith Jr. frowned and went to take a look at the recipe. When he pulled it off of the refrigerator door, there were a lot more pages than he had first thought. The first page contained a list of the ingredients. The next page was filled with instructions on how to cook the rice. It had to be scooped out of the bag whilst wearing special gloves in order to prevent any bit of oil or dirt or sweat from getting in. It had to be washed three times in its pot with water, and the water had to be swirled in a specific manner. Smith Jr.’s uncomfortable feeling in his stomach grew even stronger as he read further and further down the page. For heaven’s sake, there was a specific angle that he had to hold the pot whilst washing the rice to prevent even a single grain from being lost. “System, how is anyone supposed to cook rice following this recipe?”

[Taste may be subjective, but there’s objectively a perfectly cooked egg fried rice. Follow the recipe to taste perfection.]

Smith Jr. frowned at the response. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, frowning. However, frowning wouldn’t change a thing. There was a piece of advice his father had given him when Smith Jr. was younger, and he had never forgotten it: If someone stronger than you tells you to do something, you do it. Smith Jr. and all his ancestors had abided by that piece of advice, and their family line could be traced back for over two hundred thousand years, so obviously, the advice worked. And Smith Jr. was no fool. That golem out there, Red Asura, it was way, way, way stronger than anyone Smith Jr. had ever seen before. With the golem staring at him from the entrance of the restaurant, Smith Jr. put his heart and soul into reading the recipe.

After studying the recipe, Smith Jr. produced another bowl of egg fried rice. “Finished. Please evaluate it, system.”

[The eggs aren’t spread evenly over all the grains of rice. Each grain of rice must be golden and shiny.]

…

Five tries later.

“Please evaluate it.”

[The eggs are undercooked. The residual heat isn’t enough for the eggs to finish cooking.]

…

Twenty tries later.

“Done.”

[A droplet of your sweat landed in the pan while you were cooking. Are you trying to sell egg fried rice or your sweat? Try again.]

…

Fifty tries later.

“Is this acceptable?”

[It is not. The rice at the bottom of the pan is one degree higher than the rice at the top. The rice must be kept in constant motion to keep each grain at the same temperature.]

…

Two hundred tries later.

“Kill me.”

[The system will not kill the chosen one.]

…

Five hundred tries later.