I looked at the last two golden "Honey-nanas" and then at the violet flower. My stomach was mostly satisfied, but my old-world culinary instincts were starting to itch. This world provided the most incredible ingredients, and I felt like simply eating them raw was doing them a disservice. I wanted to see what happened when I really cooked.
I turned to my little partner, who was busy licking a stray drop of banana nectar off a snowy paw.
"Hey, partner," I said, my voice dropping into that gentle, persuasive tone you use when you're about to ask for a big favor. "I've got an idea, but I need your help. Can you... can you catch us a fish? Any fish! Even a tiny one will do. I just want to try something."
My benefactor stopped grooming and tilted its head so far to the side I thought it might tip over. It looked at me with those huge, swirling eyes and let out a confused, high-pitched "Kyuu?"
Guh—! I clutched my chest. The sheer, unadulterated cuteness was like a physical blow. It was getting harder and harder to function around this creature without constantly wanting to squeal like a fanboy.
"I know, I know, I'm asking a lot," I said, putting my hands together in a 'please' gesture. I pointed at the bananas, then at the river, and then made a motion like I was stirring a pot. "I want to make something better. A real meal. Something that'll make your little tail wag even faster. Please?"
The creature's long, pale-blue-tipped antennae suddenly perked up, standing straight as antennas catching a signal. Its tail started to swish through the grass with a determined thwack-thwack, and it let out a sharp, confident "Muu!!"
With a sudden burst of energy, it sprinted toward the riverbank, its fluffy white body a blur of motion before it launched itself into the crystal-clear water with a tiny plop.
"You're the best!" I called out after it.
Since we were officially a team now, I couldn't just sit around. While my fluffy hunter was prowling the depths, I started roaming the edge of the clearing. I gathered every dry, sun-bleached stick I could find, snapping them into uniform lengths. I wanted a steady, clean fire this time.
As I worked, I kept glancing at the water, watching the white-and-blue shape of my friend darting beneath the surface like a living torpedo. This was it—our first real mid-afternoon feast. I didn't know what kind of fish lived in this sun-drenched river, or how a violet flower and a crystalline banana would taste when combined, but the thrill of the "unknown" was better than any spice I'd ever used in my previous life.
I was determined to do my part, hunched over a pile of promising-looking stones I'd scavenged from the riverbank. I struck them together—clink, clink, clink—desperately hoping for that elusive spark. "Come on, just one little ember," I muttered, my brow furrowed in concentration. I tried different angles, harder strikes, and even different types of rocks, but the only thing I was succeeding at was making my hands sore.
A sudden, heavy plop from the riverbank shattered my focus.
I looked up, wiping a smudge of dirt from my forehead, and saw my benefactor emerging from the water. It was pulling something again, straining against the weight of a fish that looked entirely different from the "paper-fish" we'd had before. If the last one was a long, brown sheet, this one was a wide, vibrant green—almost emerald—and incredibly flat.
I stared in silence, the rocks forgotten in my hands. How did this tiny, fluffy creature even defeat something that was technically bigger than it underwater? I decided then and there that I was never going to underestimate my little friend again. It dragged the emerald fish onto the grass and tapped it with a triumphant paw, looking at me with a spark of pride in those big eyes.
It immediately started the "sprinkler" routine, shaking its body so hard the water flew everywhere, before sitting down and wagging its tail. But then it stopped. It looked at the scattered stones and the unlit pile of sticks by my side. It seemed to realize exactly what was missing.
It walked slowly toward the sticks, its tiny paws barely making a sound on the grass. It took a deep breath, its little chest puffing out, and then—
Muu-pfttt!
That adorable, tiny sneeze echoed through the clearing again. A burst of brilliant blue flame shot out, instantly igniting the sticks into a steady, crackling blaze. I jumped back slightly, eyes wide.
"Okay, note to self: the sneeze is cute, but the flame is 'insta-fry' territory," I laughed, feeling a mix of relief and awe. "I really need to be careful where I stand when you have an itch in your nose."
I wasn't about to let its hard work go to waste. I grabbed the emerald fish—which felt surprisingly firm, like a dense leaf—and carefully pierced it with a thin, sharpened stick. I set up two larger, notched sticks on either side of the blue fire to act as a spit, balancing the fish perfectly over the glowing embers.
As the heat hit the green scales, a new, fresh aroma began to fill the air. It didn't smell like chicken this time; it smelled like citrus and sea salt. My stomach gave an appreciative rumble. With the bananas and the violet flower waiting on the side, this was turning into a gourmet experience I never could have dreamed of in my first life.
"Almost there, partner," I said, watching the blue flames dance. "This is going to be the best one yet."
While the emerald fish sizzled over those hypnotic blue flames, I didn't want to just sit idle. I took the last of the "Honey-nanas," their crystalline skins glinting in the firelight, and carefully peeled them. I sliced the soft, syrupy fruit into perfect little half-circles, dividing them evenly between our two stone plates.
Then, I pulled the violet flower from my belt.
I stared at it for a good minute, feeling completely stumped. "Okay, partner," I said, holding the bloom up so it could see it. "You went through a lot of trouble to fetch this, and I don't want to ruin it. Do I garnish with it? Or is it a side dish?"
My benefactor looked at the flower, then back at me. Suddenly, it stuck out its tiny pink tongue and began licking the air with a series of quick, enthusiastic flicks. Then, it did something even stranger—it started vibrating its entire body, making a soft brrrr sound as its fur fluffed up.
I looked at the flower again, specifically at those strange white pores in the center. I leaned in close, my nose almost touching the petals. There was no sweet floral scent; instead, it smelled... sharp. Familiar.
I reached out a finger, touched one of the white crystalline dots in the center of the violet bloom, and brought it to my tongue.
My eyes widened. "No way."
It wasn't pollen. It wasn't poison. Those white pores were literally encrusted with pure, naturally occurring sea salt.
"You're a literal genius!" I laughed, looking at the little creature. "It's a seasoning flower! You didn't just bring me a salad; you brought me the salt and the 'flavor' for the fish!"
The vibration made sense now—the "shaking" was its way of telling me to sprinkle it. I held the flower over the emerald fish as it cooked and began to gently tap the back of the violet petals. Sure enough, the fine white crystals began to rain down onto the sizzling green scales, melting instantly into the citrusy oils.
The aroma shifted immediately. The scent of the "Honey-nana" slices on the plates mixed with the newly salted, roasting fish, creating a smell so professional it belonged in a high-end bistro, not a random riverbank in another world.
"Alright, chef," I said, giving a wink. "Lunch is almost served. And this time, we've got the perfect seasoning."
The emerald fish was finally done, its skin having turned a slightly deeper, charred jade color that smelled absolutely heavenly with the salted violet flower seasoning. I lifted the spit from the fire, but as my benefactor started to lean in, its little nose twitching at the steam, I held up a finger.
"Whoa there, speedy. Safety first," I said with a smile. "I'm not letting a stray bone ruin our five-star lunch."
I moved the fish to my stone plate and got to work. Unlike the paper-fish from yesterday, this emerald one had a much sturdier structure. The meat flaked off in thick, moist chunks that looked more like crab or lobster than chicken. I was meticulous, using the edge of my metal scrap to separate the succulent meat from those thin, needle-like ribs. The spine was the real challenge—it was surprisingly flexible and held onto the meat with a stubborn grip, but I took my time, ensuring every bite was "benefactor-safe."
Once I had a clean pile of seasoned fish meat, I began the final stage of my culinary experiment.
I gently added the fish flakes into the center of the "Honey-nana" slices. This time, instead of crushing everything into a mash, I used a thin twig to carefully fold the pieces together. I wanted the thick, syrupy honey juice from the bananas to glaze the fish without losing the texture of the meat.
The result was a glistening, sweet-and-savory masterpiece. The white salt crystals from the violet flower caught the light, sitting atop the honey-glazed emerald fish. It was a bizarre combination on paper, but the smell? It was pure magic.
I pushed the stone plate toward my friend. "Alright, partner. Emerald Fish à la Honey-nana. Dig in."
It didn't need a second invitation. It hopped onto the plate, its blue-marked forehead shining as it took a tentative bite. I watched the reaction closely. For a second, it just stood there, its eyes wide. Then, its tail started that familiar, frantic wag, and it let out a muffled, joyous muu-uuu! before diving into the rest of the meal.
I took a bite of my own portion and almost leaned back into the grass from the shock of it. The salt cut through the honey's sweetness perfectly, and the citrusy emerald fish gave it a refreshing finish.
"Okay," I whispered, chewing slowly. "I think I've found my true calling in this world. I'm not a hero; I'm a gourmet."
We sat by the fading blue fire, two explorers enjoying the best mid-afternoon breakfast a reincarnation could buy. The river continued its peaceful song, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly small—just me, a fire-sneezing shrimp-kitten, and a plate of impossible food.
We both finished our plates at the exact same moment, like we'd practiced it. I let out a heavy, satisfied sigh, leaning back on my palms. "Phew... okay, that was officially a triumph. Five stars. No, ten stars."
Right on cue, my benefactor let out a long, melodic "Muuuuu~" that sounded like a tiny, happy accordion. It was the sound of a very full, very relaxed creature. It sat there for a second, meticulously licking its tiny paws to get every last trace of honey-nana glaze off its fur, before trotting over to the river for a final drink.
I followed suit, kneeling by the crystal-clear bank. As I scooped the cool water into my mouth, I noticed the heat. The sun was climbing higher, and the air was beginning to shimmer over the grass. The "mid-afternoon" warmth was turning into a real scorcher, and I knew we couldn't just lounge here forever.
"Alright, partner," I said, standing up and wiping my damp hands on my pants. "The sun is getting a bit too friendly. We need to find some real shade—and ideally, a place to hole up before it gets dark. I don't fancy being out in the open if those 'four-balled goat minotaurs' decide to come out for a midnight snack."
My benefactor looked up from the water, its blue-marked forehead glinting in the intense light. It gave a sharp, understanding nod and shook itself dry one last time, its fur poofing out like a fresh cotton ball. With a nimble leap, it reclaimed its spot on my shoulder, its weight familiar and comforting.
I took one last look at our little riverside kitchen, kicked the remaining blue embers into the dirt to be safe, and grabbed my trusty walking stick.
"Let's move," I whispered.
We turned away from the wide river and began heading toward the denser treeline in the distance. The grass was tall here, swaying in the heat, and the shadows of the massive trees ahead looked like cool, dark islands in a sea of gold. I didn't know if we were heading toward a cave, a hollowed-out trunk, or something even stranger, but as long as we were moving together, the "blind path" didn't feel so scary anymore.
The heat of the afternoon was becoming a heavy weight, so I kept us to the deep, cool shadows cast by the massive trees. Even in the shade, the forest felt alive with a new kind of energy. Above us, small, spherical blue birds with snowy white bellies hopped from branch to branch, their chirps sounding more like a composed melody than random animal calls.
The ground was a vibrant tapestry of wildflowers, each more delicate than the last. I spotted one particularly beautiful bloom—deep red with golden stamens—leaning over the edge of a mossy rock toward the water.
"Just one more for the collection," I whispered, reaching out.
But as my fingers closed around the stem, the "flower" didn't just bend—it buzzed. A strange, metallic-looking insect, camouflaged perfectly against the petals, suddenly shot upward with the sound of a miniature jet engine.
"Woa-!"
The surprise was so total that my feet tangled, and I went down hard, landing butt-flat on the grassy floor. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I scrambled backward, expecting a sting or a swarm.
But my benefactor was faster.
With a blur of white fur and a surge of protective energy, the little creature launched itself from my shoulder. Before the insect could even orient itself toward me, my benefactor spun in mid-air. Smack! Its fluffy, powerful tail connected with the bug like a furry whip, sending the intruder tumbling deep into the underbrush.
My protector landed gracefully in front of me, fur puffed out to twice its normal size, tail still twitching with lingering adrenaline. It looked back at me, its wide, shimmering eyes scanning for injuries, and let out a sharp, authoritative Muu!—as if to say, "Watch where you're sticking your hands!"
I stayed on the ground for a second, a bit dazed, before letting out a sheepish laugh. "Right. Thanks for the save, partner. I guess even the flowers have bodyguards here."
The little creature didn't move until it was sure the threat was gone, then its fur slowly smoothed down. It trotted over and tapped my knee with a soft paw, its expression shifting back to that curious, tilted-head look.
I stood up, dusting off my pants and looking at the red flowers again—this time from a very safe distance. The forest was beautiful, but it definitely had teeth, and I was starting to realize just how lucky I was to have my fluffy, tail-slapping companion by my side.
"Alright," I said, offering my shoulder again. "No more picking random things. Let's find that shade before I manage to offend a butterfly or something."