The cafeteria of Class A is, thankfully, empty as I walk in, shielding myself from the pouring rain outside. I take a moment to stretch, the strain of the day falling away as I do so. My stomach rumbles, reminding me of my immediate task at hand - dinner.
Ilka's spectral form follows me in, her curiosity piqued. "What are you planning to cook?" She asks, hovering over my shoulder as I make my way to the pantry.
"Creamy shrimp pasta," I reply, my mood instantly lifting at the thought of making one of my favorite dishes. Cooking truly is the best thing to do, the process is fun. Plus, the satisfaction of eating something you've cooked yourself is incomparable.
"Creamy...shrimp pasta?" Ilka's spectral form echoes, a hint of confusion in her tone.
I can't help but grin at her reaction. In this world, pasta isn't a common dish, they do have pasta but they haven't realized the potential it has. And creamy shrimp pasta? Probably unheard of. "Something I learned to make back home," I explain, reaching for the ingredients I need.
I bring out the ingredients one by one - fresh shrimps, heavy cream, garlic, onions, parmesan cheese, and a packet of spaghetti. Fresh herbs like parsley and basil would have been nice, but they're hard to come by in this world.
The cooking process is rather simple. I begin by bringing a large pot of water to a boil for the spaghetti. As the water heats, I turn my attention to the shrimps. They're already cleaned and deveined, which saves me a lot of time. I season them with a bit of salt and pepper, letting the flavors sink in while I chop the garlic and onions.
"Can I have some?" Ilka's spectral form drifts closer, I almost drop the knife I'm holding.
"Stop bothering me, Ilka," I retort, shooting her an annoyed glance. "You can't even eat."
"But I want to know what it tastes like," she whines, her spectral form pouting.
I grit my teeth, focusing on the task at hand. After chopping the onions and garlic, I add the spaghetti to the boiling water, stirring occasionally to prevent them from sticking together.
Next, I heat a large pan over medium heat, adding a bit of oil. I sauté the onions until they turn a translucent golden color, then add the garlic. The aromatic mixture fills the kitchen, making my mouth water in anticipation.
Once the onions and garlic are cooked, I add the shrimps, letting them cook until they turn a delightful pink. Once they're cooked, I remove them from the pan, setting them aside.
Now comes the sauce. I pour in the heavy cream, stirring as it heats. I season it with some salt and pepper, allowing it to simmer for a bit.
By now, the spaghetti is cooked. I drain it, reserving some of the pasta water. I add the cooked spaghetti to the sauce, tossing it until every strand is coated with the creamy sauce. I add a bit of the pasta water, which helps the sauce cling to the spaghetti better.
Finally, I add the cooked shrimps and a handful of grated parmesan cheese, tossing everything together until it's well combined. The dish looks and smells fantastic, the creamy sauce clinging to the spaghetti and shrimps, while the cheese adds a savory touch that rounds out the flavors perfectly.
The entire process takes me about forty minutes, finding all the damn ingredients is difficult here, I might need to organize this place. by the time I finished, my stomach is growling in anticipation. I serve myself a generous portion, letting the delicious aroma waft towards me.
"Voila," I announce, taking a seat at one of the empty tables. "Creamy shrimp pasta."
Ilka drifts closer, her spectral form watching with interest as I take my first bite. The flavors explode in my mouth - the richness of the cream, the savory hint from the cheese, the sweetness of the shrimps, and the punch of garlic and onions. It's exactly what I need after a long day.
"Eat slowly, Kael," Ilka teases, her transparent figure floating beside me. "It's not like anyone's going to steal your food. you look like some beggar that hasn't eaten in ages."
Just as I am savoring my third forkful of pasta, the doors to the cafeteria burst open. A gust of cold wind ushers in Isadora, her figure dripping wet from the relentless rain outside. Her dark, combat-ready clothes cling to her, providing no shield against the wet weather. Despite her drenched state, her icy, emotionless gaze doesn't falter.
"Is she...a human? why didn't she wear something" Ilka asks, her spectral form drifting closer to observe the newcomer.
Before I can answer, Isadora's cold gaze flickers towards me, landing on the creamy shrimp pasta on my plate. An inscrutable expression flashes across her face before she heads straight for the kitchen. I return to my meal, attempting to drown out the cacophony of sounds emanating from behind the kitchen door.
Ilka can't resist and continues to pester me, but my attention is torn between my spectral companion's questions and the clattering of pots and pans that follows Isadora's every move. It continues for about ten minutes before everything goes quiet.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
When Isadora finally emerges, she's holding a plate with four pieces of stale, cold bread. She glances between her plate and my nearly finished pasta before making her way to a solitary table at the far end of the cafeteria.
I can't help but sigh in disbelief as I watch her. This is the second time I've witnessed her meager choice of food. I can't understand why someone as formidable as Isadora has no idea how to cook, seriously it's not hard.
Ilka laughs out loud, her transparent figure shaking with mirth. "She's pathetic, how can someone not know how to make a simple sandwich at the very least, Ahahaha," she says, her voice echoing around the empty cafeteria.
Ignoring Ilka's commentary, I finish my pasta, stand, and head for the kitchen again.
"You're not seriously going to cook for her, are you? You are actually doing something nice for someone? Tell me Kael do you like her?" Ilka asks, her spectral form following me closely.
Despite her mockery, I gather the necessary ingredients to make a simple hot chicken sandwich. "I'm not as heartless as you, Ilka, It's not like I'm going to make her a time-consuming plate," I retort, the clucking of the spectral being's laughter fueling my resolve. I prepare three chicken sandwiches in quick succession and head towards Isadora's table, I made sure to make them a bit spicy.
Her emotionless eyes follow me as I approach, but she says nothing. I place the plate of hot sandwiches in front of her. "Congratulations on winning the tournament," I say, attempting to make small talk.
Again, she says nothing. Her icy gaze seems to drill into me, making me feel uncomfortable. I sigh and make my way out of the cafeteria, leaving Isadora alone with her meal. That girl really is a problem, getting on her good side is going to take a long time and some character development.
Once I'm out of sight, I hear the faint sound of movement. I glance back to see Isadora quickly grabbing the sandwiches, eating them as if they'd vanish if she took too long. Despite her cold exterior, it seems she has a hearty appetite after all. I wonder if teaching her how to cook will get me on her good side, or maybe I should cook her something whenever we meet in the cafeteria, I'll figure it out later.
I let out a lengthy yawn and stretch my limbs as I start the walk back to my dorm, the pleasant aroma of the food I cooked for Isadora still lingering in my nose. Ilka, her spectral form shimmering next to me, couldn't seem to stop poking fun at Isadora's lack of basic cooking skills.
"And you," she quips, "how can you be so pathetic to continuously ask me to teach you martial arts? It's laughable! I get it I'm the best of the best but why don't you try creating your own martial arts?"
I smirk, raising an eyebrow at her. "Oh? And how can you be so stingy, Ilka? So unwilling to impart your wisdom onto your humble soulmate?" I retort, my tone laced with humor.
Her form bristles at that, and she starts to circle me, her words full of mock offense. "Soulmate my ass! I may be stuck with you but we're not soulmates, you hear me! Get on your knees and beg, Kael. And maybe, just maybe, I'll consider it," she says, her voice echoing around me.
I let out a 'tsk' of amusement and shake my head. Arriving at my dorm, I enter my room and begin preparing for the next day. I take off my jacket and have it turn back to its original form, its dark aura seeming to permeate the air around it.
Ilka watches curiously, her form floating closer. "What are you doing, Kael? Why are turning it back, that stupid piece of garbage," she inquires, her voice echoing in the silent room.
I sigh, taking a deep breath as I activate the sword's ability, allowing it to felt into my uniform, slightly altering the colors. "For my safety," I explain, ignoring Ilka's words.
"Look at you, hiding behind your toys," she mocks, her spectral form shaking with laughter. "You're so weak!"
Ignoring her taunts, I take out my little toy. I place it at the edge of my uniform and watch as the Sword of Umbra extends its influence, covering the gun and disguising it as a simple accessory to my outfit.
Ilka's transparent eyebrows shoot up, her spectral form circling around me. "Wait, you're going to carry that...that thing that goes 'bang!'? Haha," She mimics the sound and action of a gun with her hand, her amusement clear.
With a resigned sigh, I tune out Ilka's continuing teasing and begin to speak. "The cultists have begun to permeate the empire, Ilka. They've even infiltrated the academy, mingling among both the students and staff," I reveal, my tone serious.
I continue, ignoring the surprised look on Ilka's spectral face. "They're after an artifact that's supposedly under the academy's protection. And in the process, they're corrupting others with their beliefs, stirring chaos wherever they go."
Leaning back, I cross my arms over my chest. "They're experts at hiding, it's going to be a real challenge dealing with them," If only my novel was peaceful, then I wouldn't have to protect myself wherever I go.
"Cultists? Seriously? They still exist? How cliché," Ilka squealed, hovering around me with an amused grin. Her spectral laughter echoed around the room, bouncing off the stone walls.
"Yes, Ilka, they do. And it's not just about the cultists, they're merely the pawns. There's another group, one pulling the strings from the shadows," I retort, sighing at her clear lack of understanding. Her amusement only intensifies, like a child who has just heard a thrilling ghost story.
"But how would you know all that, Kael?" she asks, still laughing, her eyes sparkling with a peculiar mix of skepticism and curiosity.
At this point, I am out of options. Her constant questioning leaves me cornered, with no feasible escape route. So, I weave a tale that is part truth, part fiction. "Because, Ilka, I am from the future," I say, maintaining a serious face. I don't think she'll believe me if I told her this is a story.
Her laughter echoes around the room once more, louder this time. "Oh, really? From the future?" she chortles, clutching her spectral stomach as she floats in mid-air. "That's your story? Couldn't you just have said you wouldn't tell me? That would be less embarrassing!"
Riding her wave of hilarity, she doesn't stop there. "If you're from the future, Kael, why are you so terrible at martial arts and swordsmanship, huh?" she giggles, spiraling around me like a mischievous ghost.
Ignoring her jab, I add, "There will be a few disturbances coming up, and it seems like I'll be involved in them, whether I like it or not." Ugh, I hope I can manage, In my novel they managed to get the artifact, and I hope I can stop them to prevent further trouble.
"Oh, really?" Ilka teases, landing softly on my shoulder. "Going to play the hero, are we?" she asks, her spectral form shimmering in amusement. The room is filled with her laughter once again, painting our bleak conversation with strokes of her humor.