CHAPTER 1

Well, looks like he finally got it.

Iwatani Naofumi, a 20-year-old college student, now turned Shield Hero in another world, inspected the liquid in a makeshift cup with a critical eye, comparing it with the guide description of Cure for Bronchitis (Weak version). It looked – and smelled – accordingly, and he allowed himself to slump with a small content sigh, throwing a look to his left.

Beside him, huddled in his green cloak, slept a little girl. Raphtalia, a raccoon demi-human.

His slave.

He bought her three days ago out of sheer desperation, seeing as he couldn't effectively fight on his own. After all, his attack stat was just a little above zero, while the defense stat skyrocketed above anyone with the same level as him – and even those who were five levels stronger.

But the girl was sick, harsh coughs wracking her small body every dozen minutes or so. A Cure for Common Cold that was among the first simple recipes he had tried seemed to have little effect, which meant he had to search for another medicine. The apothecary from the capital answered a couple of his questions and even allowed to use Appraisal on some potions, if only because he had been bringing good quality herbs on a regular basis. 'A small favor to keep up the business' the man said.

Naofumi snorted at the memory. Business, my ass. He doubted that the amounts he was selling the man covered even ten percent of the overall quantity that the apothecary needed but, hopefully, with this new addition – he looked at the girl again, noting her twitching ears and ragged breaths – he might be able to make a real profit.

She had already proven herself useful, and when he finally deals with her health problems, she'll be even more valuable.

Which led to the matter at hand – he only managed to create one dose of the cure, but the apothecary had mentioned that a child like Raphtalia should get about five doses to be healthy again. That meant he still had at least four more to make, and Naofumi wasn't sure he'd be able to make them quickly even after his first success with the potion.

With a sigh, he looked up at the sky. Sure enough, it was already getting lighter. Sometimes, he missed clocks from his world. Never knowing what time it was felt alien at first, strange and uncomfortable, but after a day or two he got used to the fact that the exact minutes didn't really matter here, in this medieval-like place. Now he was basing his activities on the position of the sun in the sky, and in a way, it made him feel a little lighter inside. Back at home it was always 'lectures start at eight sharp, don't be late', 'go meet your brother after school club at six thirty', 'you'll have to cook the breakfast yourself, I need to be at work in twenty five minutes', and so on and so forth – all these endless restrictions, all depending on time. At least he learnt to cook pretty well, 'cause their parents were working from early morning till late in the evening. They never had the time for cooking, nor for any family outings, or really even just a nice evening together. It was usually just him and his brother. Sometimes it felt like he was more of a parent to his otouto than Mum and Dad combined.

Just thinking about it left a bad taste in his mouth. Figuratively speaking, because somehow, after that damn bitch's betrayal and subsequent 'trial' food lost any flavor, leaving Naofumi with the impression of eating paper each time he took something in his mouth.

Damn royalty. It wasn't enough to strip him of his belongings, his dignity, his social status. They managed to strip him of the ability to find joy in simple things like food or company. Wanted to take away everything. Everything he had and everything he was.

Half the nights Naofumi couldn't sleep from unbearable anxiety, fearing that someone would come and do something awful to him again. He would just sit and watch the stars, or, after he unlocked the Leaf Shield and several others, try his hand in every kind of medicine he came across. It helped calm him down, the rhythmical grinding, the mixing, experimenting with different plants and watching the results. He could forget, even if only for a couple hours, that this world hated him and wanted him to fail.

It was so very ironic that medicine was his salvation in more ways than one.

A sharp twinge of pain reminded the young man of the main reason for his interest in medicine. He winced, but quickly schooled his face back into neutrality, lest he break down in tears. Shit. He really needed to forget about this right now.

His eyes fell to the potion he'd made. Yeah, this would do. Naofumi looked at the sky again, trying to measure the time before the girl – Raphtalia – would wake.

"Guess I have enough time for a try or two at this," he murmured to himself quietly, looking over his herb supplies. They'd probably need to restock some of them, since he had used a lot tonight.

He just wished he hadn't botched so many of the attempts.

Learning how to make medicine was hard. The young man sighed, but sat up a little straighter. He had to do it. There was not much of a choice. And this potion was just one of the many steps he would have to take to achieve his goal.

As the nature around him slowly awakened, Naofumi started on another batch of the Cure for Bronchitis with a determined look.

He totally missed dull red eyes that watched him sleepily for several seconds, then closed again.

By the time he finished his work, the sun had already risen, bathing the surroundings in a warm glow. Some birds were chirping merrily in nearby trees, and a small breeze rustled the grass around them.

The Shield Hero took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, relishing in the small moment of peacefulness, then got up from his seat near the fire and stretched with a groan. He was probably going to regret staying up all night, but the three doses of medicine he had stored in inventory made up for tiredness.

Speaking of inventories… He searched through it for several seconds, and pulled out a dozen fish they had caught together the day before. After another moment a couple herbs were taken too. Even if he couldn't taste shit, it didn't mean he would cook shit. He still had some pride left in him, and if anything, his cooking was something to be proud of.

He knew it because he had worked in a small restaurant for a while, back when he was a freshman and needed money to go to a big anime festival with his brother. He was just a kitchen helper, but one day one of the two cooks went down with an illness, and out of the remaining staff only he could cook without burning the food.

The next moment he found himself in a white apron, standing beside the stove. Mr. Takahida, a man in his fifties and their second chef, clapped him on the shoulder and told not to worry too much.

"Just imagine that you are at home, lad, and everything will be fine", he quipped with a big smile. Somehow, that didn't feel reassuring at all.

Then, two minutes after his first dish had been served, one of the waiters barged in asking who cooked it. Naofumi raised a slightly trembling hand in the air and was immediately dragged to the dining area. He was mentally preparing himself for anger and complaints and thinking of a better way to apologize when…

"Excellent!"

Eh?

"Is this young man the one who cooked this?" asked the customer, an elderly man in a gray kimono.

Naofumi hesitantly nodded and was surprised when the man's eyes lit up.

"I-I'm Iwatani Naofumi," he introduced himself with a bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Iwatani-san!" the man stood up to shake his hand with vigor. "I absolutely loved your dish! If you could please tell me where you learned to cook so well?"

Unused to such praise, Naofumi flushed with embarrassment.

"Um, I, er, I learned on my own, because, well, my parents have a lot of work… And they're not wealthy enough to hire a cook," he finished lamely.

"Oh? Then I must really commend you on your skill. Not many managed to satisfy my standards. In fact," the customer hummed in thought, "only Kyoko-chan's cooking has ever truly pleased me."

The man smiled wistfully with a faraway look.

"She was my beloved wife, Kyoko-chan," he added quietly, noticing the confusion on Naofumi's face. "And your cooking reminds me of her so much…"

Naofumi stood there, not knowing what to say. The use of past tense didn't go unnoticed by him, and he was desperately trying to think of something to cheer the man up when his eyes fell onto the table in front of him.

"Well, if you like it, you could eat here again, sir. I'm a student, so I won't always work weekdays, but almost every weekend I'm here and can cook something for you again."

The man's face brightened a little in response.

"That would be most appreciated, Iwatani-san."

"J-just Naofumi is fine," he laughed nervously, barely managing to hide his relief. "I'll leave you to your meal now, sir, pretty sure I'm really needed in the kitchen right now. Besides," he continued with a small grin, "Can't keep you from this delicious food any longer, or it might get cold."

The elderly man laughed and bid him goodbye, and Naofumi hurriedly returned to the kitchen.

Not knowing that the following twenty minutes would be burned into his mind – forever.

"WHAAAAAAAAT!"

The shriek rang out right after Naofumi finished recounting his recent talk and belonged to the always benevolent Takahida who, in Naofumi's opinion, looked like he suddenly got raving mad. The cook was shaking and his eyes were gleaming with some sort of emotion that Iwatani couldn't even begin to identify.

"Ugh, Takahida-san?.. Why are you –

He didn't get to finish the sentence because a heartbeat later the older man was in his face.

"You didn't recognize HIM?!"

Naofumi opened his mouth for a retort but Takahida Ryuichi wasn't finished yet.

"THAT was Ichijou Sousuke! THE Ichijou Sousuke! How can you not know him! That's –

"Oi, Taka-kun," their manager, Sanada Saito, interrupted him mid-rant. "Lay off of the poor kid. He's only been working here for two weeks, how in the hell would he know one of the restaurant critics, especially the one who rarely goes out in public these days?"

"But –

"No buts! So what if Ichijou-san is one of the harshest critics out there," Naofumi gulped. The chef's reaction didn't seem so overboard anymore. "The thing is, I think it was for the best that our Nao-kun could speak to him as though he was just any other man. He's probably tired of everyone being afraid of him."

Takahida visibly deflated.

"Now, Taka-kun, do you want to spoil the business, or what?" Sanada pushed his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose. "Get back to work, or Ichijou Sousuke will be the last thing on your mind."

The manager's tone was flat, but the message was pretty clear – go do your job, or else. Everyone around shuddered and hurried to pick up where they left off.

Cutting the onions for his next dish, Naofumi thought about it a little longer, but soon the flow of orders took all his attention.

For a brief moment, Naofumi wished to be back there, in that small but cozy restaurant. After the incident he was promoted to one of the cooks and the famous critic became their regular customer. When his second year in University began, he couldn't work as much anymore, but per his promise he still cooked on weekends, and Ichijou Sousuke never stopped dining there.

Until Iwatani Naofumi was summoned to another bloody world.

I wonder what happened to them all. Is Ichijou-san still a regular?Did he… ask about me?

With a grimace, he pushed those thoughts away. It wasn't going to do him any good wondering about something he would never know, wishing for things that would never come true.

He had a lot of work to do.

Taking out a knife, Naofumi started gutting the fish, albeit with a tad more force than necessary.