The door creaked open as we stepped into the diner. The air was thick with the aroma of cooked food, sweat, and tension. Tina’s tiny hand still clung to mine, and I could feel her trembling slightly. The place was packed, but what caught my attention immediately were the customers.

They were enormous—towering warriors with battle-scarred faces, heavy armor, and a rough, intimidating aura. Their presence was suffocating, and I could see why Phil had been so flustered earlier.

I tried to steady my breathing. Is this why he gave up so easily? I thought. But oddly enough, I didn’t feel as scared as I expected. Maybe it was because of my earlier encounter with that giant Viking-like man. Somehow, that moment had hardened me just a little.

Phil shuffled nervously ahead of us. One of the soldiers, a hulking man with a deep scar running across his cheek, barked out, "Hey, Phil! Where’s our food?"

Phil stammered, "I-it’s almost done, sir!"

Another soldier leaned back in his chair and smirked. "You better be quick, or your head’s going on the plate next!"

Phil flinched. "Eck!"

The other soldiers roared with laughter, their voices booming throughout the diner.

Even though their threat was clearly a joke, the way they delivered it sent chills down my spine.

"Come on, kid!" Phil hissed, grabbing my arm. "We’ve got to hurry. Why did Aunt Linda leave me to handle all this?"

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The kitchen was a chaotic mess, with pots and pans strewn about. A large iron pot sat on the stove, steam wafting from it. Nearby, another pot was filled with stew, ready to serve.

I frowned, confused. "If there’s already food ready, why are you struggling so much?"

Phil threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "That’s just the local dish. It’s what the common folk order. The soldiers don’t want this—they demand the special stuff!"

"Special stuff?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Phil groaned. "Yeah, like spiced roast lamb and other fancy dishes. But I don’t know how to make those! I’m not even a real cook—I’m a waiter!"

Ah. That explained his panic. He wasn’t just overwhelmed by the number of customers; he was completely out of his depth.

"Do you know what the dish looks like?" I asked.

"Spiced roast lamb," Phil muttered, glancing nervously at the dining area. "But it takes hours to cook, and those guys aren’t the patient type."

"I see..." I trailed off, glancing at the vegetables piled on the counter. Potatoes, carrots, onions—basic ingredients, but enough to work with.

"Do they care as long as the food is spicy?" I asked, an idea forming in my mind.

Phil shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know! Spiced roast lamb is the only spicy dish in town. Maybe they’ll accept something else, but I’ve never tried."

"Well," I said, rolling up my sleeves, "then it’s time to experiment."

Phil stared at me, skeptical. "You’re a kid. What do you even know about cooking?"

I grinned. "Enough to save our skin today."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

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Phil cautiously approached the soldiers, balancing a tray filled with steaming dishes. His hands trembled slightly, and I could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The soldiers' boisterous chatter died down as they noticed him. Their sharp eyes locked onto the food.

Phil placed the plates on the table with a forced smile. "Here you go, gentlemen. Your food is ready!"

The first soldier, a burly man with a shaved head and a thick beard, squinted down at his plate. "What's this, kid? This ain’t our spicy roasted lamb."

The second soldier, a lanky man with a scar running across his jaw, leaned forward, his voice dripping with suspicion. "Are you making fun of us, kid?"

The other soldiers joined in, their grumbles growing louder.

Phil’s face turned pale as he waved his hands frantically. "N-no, we’re not! I swear! This is a... uh, a new dish!"

The soldiers exchanged skeptical glances.

Phil continued, his voice rising an octave. "We wanted you guys, our most loyal customers, to be the first to try it! It’s actually spicier than the roast lamb you’re used to!"

One of the soldiers raised an eyebrow. "Spicier, huh?"

"Y-yeah!" Phil stammered, his voice cracking.

With cautious expressions, the soldiers picked up their utensils and began tasting the food. The room fell silent. The air grew heavy with tension, and Phil’s nervous fidgeting didn’t help.

Then, without warning, the first soldier slammed his arm onto the table with a loud thud.

Phil jumped back, his face frozen in terror. "Oh no... I’m dead!"

But then the soldier grinned, his teeth flashing. "Damn! This is good!"

The second soldier, his cheeks already flushed from the spice, nodded vigorously. "And it’s even spicier than the usual stuff!"

The other soldiers joined in, their complaints replaced by laughter and loud compliments.

Phil’s knees almost buckled in relief. "T-thank goodness..." he muttered under his breath.

I watched from the kitchen with a satisfied smirk. The dish was simple but effective—a modern twist on medieval ingredients. I had taken the stew and soup they already had, added more flaming peppers for extra heat, and used the broth as a base to stir-fry sliced vegetables and thinly cut meat. The result was a spicy, flavorful meal that was bold enough to satisfy even the pickiest warriors.

Phil turned back to me, his face still pale but his eyes wide with disbelief. "What did you even do?"

I shrugged. "Just added a little flair. Good ingredients, good spice, and some modern cooking techniques. They seem happy, don’t they?"

The soldiers’ laughter echoed through the diner, and for the first time since stepping into the chaotic kitchen since arriving in this world.

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The diner was alive with energy, the clatter of plates and the hum of voices creating a chaotic yet comforting backdrop. Phil and I worked side by side in the kitchen, a rhythm slowly forming between us. Despite his inexperience, he was picking up quickly, and I offered tips and tricks that could help him in the future. Tina flitted around, balancing trays with surprising skill for someone her age, delivering dishes to hungry patrons.

Just as I felt the flow settling, the door to the diner creaked open, and a sudden hush fell over the room. A woman stepped inside, her figure framed by the warm glow of the evening light.

The moment Tina spotted her, her face lit up with joy. "Mommy!" she squealed, dropping her tray and running toward the woman.

The woman bent down, wrapping Tina in a tight hug. Her warm smile radiated relief as she brushed Tina’s hair aside. "Tina, you're here. I was so worried about you," the woman—Linda, I presumed Tina's mother—said, her voice tinged with concern. "You took so long delivering your father’s snack. I started looking for you everywhere. What happened?"

Tina’s expression faltered, guilt flashing across her face. "P-please don’t get angry, okay?"

Linda softened, cupping Tina’s cheek. "I promise, I won’t get angry. Just tell me what happened."

Tina took a deep breath, her small voice trembling. "I... I bumped into someone and spilled the sandwiches. I got scared and started crying, but Brother Gain helped me and brought me here."

Linda’s gaze shifted to me, her eyes filled with gratitude. "You must be Gain. Thank you for looking after my little girl."

I scratched the back of my neck, suddenly self-conscious. "It was nothing, really. She was upset, and I couldn’t just leave her like that."

As Linda and Tina continued talking, I noticed two figures standing behind her in the doorway. One was a young girl I recognized immediately. She was from the orphanage, one of the older kids who helped clean the plates this morning. What was she doing here?

My heart skipped a beat when my eyes landed on the second figure—a towering man with a muscular build and long brown hair tied into a ponytail. His sheer presence filled the room, the low light casting sharp shadows across his rugged face.

I froze. It was him. The warrior-like man I had encountered earlier, the one whose intimidating aura had sent me running.

"Why is he here?" I muttered under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest.