Chapter 12 Omelet Rice With 'I Hate You' Written All Over It

I don't know what I expected. Maybe something modest. Simple. Barely functional.

Instead, I found a space that was clean, organized, and surprisingly well-equipped. The counters polished stone, cabinets made of dark, rich wood. Furniture looked expensive, fancy chairs with upholstered seats, a table that could seat six, shelves lined with plates and bowls that looked expensive.

God damn! She's well off. Really well off. Compared to the rest of the citizens in this world, she's practically rich.

I looked at the appliances. A stove that had no fire, no gas, no visible heat source. A fridge that hummed softly without any plugs or cords.

She got magic stove and fridge! It's all magic. Nice! Now that's a fantasy world for you.

I opened the fridge. It was cold inside, the air crisp and clean. Shelves lined with fresh vegetables, meats, cheeses. Bottles of sauces and other goodies. A container of eggs. A jar of—

Wait. Is that...

I picked up the jar. It was glass, not plastic, with a metal lid and a simple label.

Tomato Sauce.

Ketchup. She has ketchup! She has ketchup. In her fridge. In this world. 

 And I had an idea.

I got ketchup, rice, eggs, and other goodies. I know what I can make. Omelet rice. Classic. Simple. Delicious.

I got to work. The magic stove took a moment to figure out. There was a small crystal embedded in the surface, and when I pressed it, a gentle heat radiated upward. No fire. No smoke. Just heat.

This is incredible. Just like electric stove back at home.

I cracked the eggs. Whisked them with a fork. Diced the vegetables. Heated the pan. Added the rice. For a few minutes, I forgot where I was. I forgot about the collar. I forgot about the dungeon. I forgot about everything. I was just a guy making breakfast.

I'll make some for her too. Maybe I'll show her that I can be her cook. That I'm not a fighter. That I can—

I caught myself.

Crap. What am I doing? No way that will work. She will mock me instead.

I stopped. Looked down at the omelet rice I was making. At the plate in front of me.

I'm going to write something on it. Something to remind her that I haven't forgiven her. Something to remind her that I still hate her.

I picked up the ketchup and squeezed it over the omelet.

I HATE YOU

There. That's better. Well, at least I didn't spit in it.

I had thought about it, just for a second. The idea had flashed through my mind, a quick, petty act of revenge. A way to get back at her for everything she'd done. But I couldn't. I felt like scum just for thinking about it.

I finished making my share. Sat down at the table. Ate my breakfast in silence. It was good. Eggs were fluffy, rice was perfectly seasoned. The ketchup added just the right amount of sweetness.

I'm a good cook. I forgot that about myself. Back home, I used to cook for myself all the time. It was one of the few things I was actually good at. Now I'm cooking for a woman who—

"Mmmhmm... Kuuuuuzuuuuuu-kun~!"

The voice drifted from upstairs. Soft. Groggy. Sleepy.

"Kuzu-kun... Where are you... I need you..."

I set down my fork. Walked to the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm here! I'm still here! Don't blow me up!"

"Come up... I need help..."

I climbed the stairs. She was sitting up in bed, her eyes half-lidded, her hair a wild mess. Her robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing pale, smooth skin. She looked like she'd just woken up from a coma. And yet, she looked adorable.

"Kuzu-kun... Help me change... I can't... I'm can't find it..."

"Change?"

"Clothes... need... all day..."

"Fiona, I—"

"Don't argue... Just... help..."

I turned away. My face was burning.

What is happening right now? Why is she undressing in front of me? Eeeeeek!

I heard the rustle of fabric. The soft sound of the robe falling to the floor.

"Kuzu-kun... Where are you going..."

"Just... give me a moment..."

I stood there, facing the wall, my heart pounding. My face was hot. 

She's not wearing anything under that robe. I know she's not. And she just took it off. And she's calling for me. What is she doing to me?

"What's wrong, Kuzu-kun? You're a bad attendant... bad... bad... Kuzu-kun. Fine, I do it myself."

I heard the rustle of fabric again. She was putting something on. I stood there, my back to her, my face burning, my heart beating hard.

She's doing this on purpose. She has to be doing this on purpose. She's testing me. She's toying with me. 

"Okay. I'm decent."

I turned around slowly. She was wearing a simple white dress that flowed down to her ankles. It did nothing to hide her figure, and she smiled at me with warm, innocent eyes.

"I'm hungry, Kuzu-kun. Feed me."

She walked past me and down the stairs, I followed her. She sat at the table, her eyes still half-lidded, her hair still a mess. She looked exhausted, vulnerable, adorable. 

At least I would have thought she was adorable if she wasn't my slave driver.

She pointed at her mouth, childishly, and demanded. 

"Food, Kuzu-kun. Need food. Now."

I sighed and walked to the kitchen. This would be an adorable moment if she wasn't the bitch who enslaved me. If she was just a normal girl, I would think she was cute, sweet, adorable. But she wasn't a normal girl. She was Fiona. The cruel wizard. The slave master. The woman who had tricked me and owned me like a pet.

I placed the plate in front of her. Omelet rice, perfectly made, topped with ketchup.

"I HATE YOU" Written on top.

She looked at the words, then she smiled at me.

"Kuzu-kun..."

"What? If you don't like it, I can make another."

She looked up at me, her eyes warm and soft. "You wrote 'I hate you' on my breakfast."

"Yeah, I kind of did. You know, I was in the moment."

She laughed, softly. 

"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"What?"

"I love it. It's perfect."

She took a bite. 

"Kuzu-kun..."

"What now?"

"This is delicious."

 She wasn't supposed to say that. She was supposed to be offended, angry, anything but pleased. She wasn't supposed to like it. 

"This is the best breakfast I've ever had. I'm not lying. This is incredible. Thank you, Kuzu-kun." 

I didn't know what to say, only watched her eat, and despite everything, I couldn't look away. She was eating like a squirrel, her cheeks bulging with each bite, her small teeth working quickly to chew the food. She held the fork with both hands, like a child who hadn't quite learned proper table manners, and every few seconds she would let out a tiny, satisfied hum. It was funny. It was cute. It was, I hated to admit it, adorable.

But darker thoughts were creeping into my mind, and they wouldn't leave me alone.

Why did she say it like that? "The sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me." What does that mean? She's seventeen, one year older than me. She's been alive for seventeen years, and an omelet rice with "I hate you" written on it is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for her?

 She's clearly wealthy by this world's standards. Her house filled with expensive furniture, her kitchen stocked with fresh ingredients, and she have magical appliances that most people probably couldn't afford. Surely, she must have eaten good food before. Surely, someone must have cooked for her. Surely—

I stopped that thought cold.

Wait! She ate that omelet without any hesitation. Not a single moment of doubt. No pause to examine it. No suspicion in her eyes. She just picked up her fork and started eating. If I had slipped something into the food, like poison, she'd be on the floor right now. It would have been that easy to kill her.

And look at her now, she's defenseless, her guard completely down, licking the plate like a cat. How did no one before me manage to poison her? I'd read the diaries. At least a few of her previous slaves had tried. All of them had failed.

And yet, here she is, eating food prepared by me, someone who had every reason to want her dead, without a single moment of hesitation.

Surely, she knew I might have done something. Surely, she considered the possibility. But she didn't care? She just ate.

My thoughts were interrupted by her soft and playful voice.

"Kuzu-kun."

"What?"

 "A penny for your thoughts?"

"Say, Fiona. Aren't you scared? Eating food made by others? By me? What if I put poison in that omelet? What if you just ate something that was going to kill you? You didn't even consider it. You just ate it. Like it was nothing."

 "Kuzu-kun. Omelet you made was delicious. Food made with poison is not delicious. It tastes terrible. You can tell right away."

My blood went cold.

"Wait... Fiona. What are you saying?"

She met my eyes.

 "Thirteen, Kuzu-kun. Thirteen slaves out of forty-six have tried to poison me. They used all kinds of poisons. Fast-acting, slow-acting, ones that had no taste, ones that were supposed to be undetectable. I know well how food with poison in it tastes. It's bitter. Sour. Terrible. Your omelet had none of that."

The air in the room felt suddenly cold. A chill ran down my spine, settling deep in my bones. She had said it so casually, so calmly, like it was nothing. Like being poisoned thirteen times was just a normal day.

How many times had she been betrayed? How many times had someone tried to take her life? And she just kept going. Kept eating food prepared by people who wanted her dead.

I didn't want to show it. I crossed my arms, trying to look smug. I didn't want her to see that she had gotten to me. 

"Oh yeah? Well, you know what? I spit in that omelet! And you ate it all! Ha! Jokes on you!"

"Really? If that's the case, I must say, your spit was tasty as well."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. No attempt at a comeback, no comment back. I was searching for a witty retort when she stood up from the table, walked over to me, and pressed a few small coins into my palm.

"Here's your reward. I did promise you a penny for your thoughts."

 Then she turned and walked toward the stairs.