Chapter 45

Crops

TURBO SEED BULLETS

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It’s been just over a week since I saw that ad while scrolling through my point shop. Again, the suspicion that the System was monitoring me close enough to know my thoughts had returned to the surface, as I’d been thinking earlier that very day about how handy it’d be if we had our own crops.

... Not to mention, the very specific references make it feel exceedingly unlikely that the entry existed before Ayre and I did the Iron-rank mission.

Still, like every other custom offer from the System shop, it was too good to pass up on, and I had the soil turned for a sizable garden that afternoon. I fenced it off with simple stakes and rope and had a talk with Kyuuga since I figured he’d be the big threat to the project.

When I explained how it was important to not eat the plants inside the boundary so they could grow to produce even better food, I knew I had his attention. In fact, I feel bad for any other animals he catches trying to sneak in there.

The bullets, themselves, are the first ones I’ve encountered with their own submenu. I can set each individual bullet to be a different plant, or keep going as they retain the last one I set. I can only assume the contained seed capsule is held in some sort of quantum state until fired. It would make more sense than physically swapping seeds out every time I toggled the setting.

As for what seeds are on the menu, it really does seem to be anything I can think of. Even things that don’t fit the climate are available, but we’ll see how they grow. Most of what I picked shouldn’t have issues one way or the other, though.

Mostly, I focused on the essentials: Tomatoes, corn, peppers, herbs and such. Things that don’t seem known to the Empire. We already have potatoes and onions, but we use enough that, if these really do offer extra benefits, we might as well be getting them, too. I had some spare rounds, so I even tried things like a lemon tree and sugar cane. One of the experiments is something I’m very excited about, however.

I planted coffee bushes.

I had been worried I’d have to choose a specific variety, but the System had its own it highly recommended: Essence Arabica.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to wait until they were ready, but the System hadn’t been lying when it said this stuff would grow fast. Instead, I spent the last few days running around to make sure I was ready, most notably getting a rotisserie barrel for my fireplace.

As we are separating the seeds from the cherries, I explain the roasting process to Ayre, who asks if I have the Cooking skill since I know so much about it. That it never really occurred to me to get it surprises me, and I go to grab it.

”I ... can’t select it?”

Ayre looks up from the pot of coffee cherry husks in surprise. “You can’t? Are you restricted or something?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. After you mentioned transitive alchemy, I looked into getting that, and the System straight up said that I wasn’t allowed because of my background. There’s no message like that for Cooking, just nothing happens when I try to pick it.”

The elf’s brows furrow. “Wait, your background keeps you from taking alchemy? How?! You said your people don’t even have magic.”

I can only shrug. “Apparently, I’m barred because I understand nuclear physics.”

Now, it’s Ayre’s turn to give a shake of the head. “Yeah, that means nothing here.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The archer’s eyes widen with the light of an idea, and Ayre holds up an index finger. “Oh! Just because you can buy skills directly, that doesn’t mean you can’t still earn them the regular way, right? You’ve done so much cooking since you’ve come here, are you sure you don’t already have it?”

With a thoughtful frown, I navigate out of the store and back to my own information. Like the store, I have a separate tab for general skills, but I’ve almost never paid them any mind once I bought them.

... Wow, I really do have a lot. And ...

”Oh, yeah, there’s definitely skills here I’ve never purchased,” I confirm. “Not many, but I don’t remember taking Line Fishing. Oh, there it is! Cooking! I do have it!”

Ayre beams a bright, celebratory smile at the news. “That explains why you were able to do so much with our porridge when we made camp!”

My smile is a bit more embarrassed as I resist the urge to rub the back of my head, what with the berry goop all over my hands. “Ah, it still could have used some milk and sugar, but we didn’t have any ...”

”Did you do a lot of cooking back home?”

I consider the question as we continue pitting the cherries. “I guess so? That’s kind of a hard metric to gauge. I didn’t do it professionally, or anything. Mostly, it was a cost-saving measure. Raw foods usually last longer, so there’s less waste, and making food for yourself is cheaper and healthier than getting it already made.”

Ayre looks confused at this. “Are you saying that cooking at home isn’t normal for your people?”

I give a wiggly hand in reply. “Not when you’re living alone. You don’t have the time.”

I don’t realize I’ve said something wrong until Ayre gasps. Those ears drop down and those big eyes grow watery.

”Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, Remmi, I didn’t know.”

I give my friend a bewildered look back. “... I think we just had a miscommunication.”

”... You aren’t an orphan?”

I stare in silence for a moment as I process that. And then it hits me. I’m fifteen. Sure, it seems normal enough for someone my age to be out on their own, but I was talking like I’d been doing it for years. Mostly because I had. Because I’m not fifteen.

”Oh, no, no, no, no, no!” I insist quickly. “Nope, both parents alive and well, last time I checked! Sister, too! But my mother made sure to teach us both lots of recipes to help make ends meet should we need them.”

And they saved my life at university.

”Oh ...” Ayre looks down into the cherry pot for a moment. “... Well, now, I just feel embarrassed.”

”Don’t be!” I insist. “I’m glad you thought to comfort me!”

I finish the last of my cherries and begin to look around for a towel to wipe my hands on before remembering that I don’t need to spread my mess around. Snapping my fingers is completely unnecessary for casting Cleanse, but I do it, anyway.

At least I don’t wiggle my nose.

”How’s your pits coming along, Ayre?”

”Almost done, just a handful more,” comes the reply. “You talked about roasting the seeds, but what about all of the fruit? Are you going to make a jam out of it?”

I look back at the perhaps gallon worth of pulp we have between our two pots as if seeing new potential at those words. “... You know, I’ll bet I could ... The sugar cane is about ready, too, I could use it and some lemon juice, some other seasonings ... And I saw jam setter at the general store.”

Ayre stares back at me. “If you’re only just now thinking of jam, what were you going to do with it before?”

”I was going to make cascara. I’m sure I still can, we’ve got plenty.”

But the elf frowns. “Sorry, Remmi, that didn’t translate.”

I wave the issue off. “It’s just the name of an infusion tea made from coffee cherries. I’ll press them, dry them out, throw in some cinnamon and ginger, it’s good stuff.” I grin back at the elf. “You’ll probably actually like it, too. I’ve never gotten to try it, but I’ve heard it’s sweet and fruity!”

The way Ayre’s ears perk up at that makes me chuckle. I’m not at all surprised that my elf has a sweet tooth.

I pick up my beans and make my way over to the sink, followed shortly by Ayre. “Once we get the pulp cleaned off, we can start roasting these. Keep this up, Ayre, and maybe you’ll get the Cooking skill, too!”

My teasing is instantly rewarded by a panicked expression filling Ayre’s face. “Oh, I hope not,” the elf whines. “I need those points for training, and you already have me learning Wilderness Survival!”

”Oh, come on, it’s a great skill that makes life easier,” I insist back. “Besides, everyone likes a good cook!”

”They do?”

”Yeah!” I try to shove the image of Ayre in a cooking apron out of my head. “And you’re already skinning your catches for the furs. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to turn the meat into a nice, savory rotisserie for dinner?”

That bottom lip comes out, though. “Can’t I just leave that to you?”

I grin. “One adventure with me and you don’t wanna go solo again, huh?” I throw an arm around Ayre’s shoulders. “I feel the same way about you, Ayre! Let’s stay in the same party forever!”

Ayre flubs and flusters for a bit, torn between protesting that wasn’t what he meant and sounding like it’s not what he wants, so I release the elf after a quick half-hug and finish cleaning the pulp off of the coffee beans.

The reason why I explained the roasting steps to Ayre ahead of time is because it’s like popping popcorn without a timer - you’ve got to do it by ear. There’s two separate pops you have to listen for over the clanking of the beans as you keep them moving. After the second one, you’ve really got to watch it close. Another minute, maybe, then you have to hurry to pull the beans and get them cooled down.

Even after that, of course, it’s still not done. You have to get all of the chaff disposed of, and then the beans have to degas overnight, venting their carbon dioxide for twelve hours. I’ve known the general steps, as this was a project I long wanted to do even back home, but I have to admit, it’s a bit labor-intensive.

But the next day, we grind the beans for the first two cups, as I insist Ayre has to try it, too. Even if the archer doesn’t care for coffee, the ceremonial first cup must be taken.

I lift that steaming cup of nigh-black liquid up under my nose and inhale. It’s an earthy, semi-nutty aroma that seems to have a ghost of bittersweet chocolate to it.

Ayre and I toast and bring the cups to our lips, the fluid passes over our tongues and runs down our throats ...

And both of our eyes shoot wide.