The Gourmet Innkeeper: Cooking Monsters in a Fantasy World

Lights, Camera… Murder?!

Finnick could already see tomorrow's headlines.

Reality Bites: Star Chef Shredded to Pieces

Murder a la Carte: Fame Never Tasted So Fatal

Lights, Camera… Murder?! 

And so on…

Well, if they identified his body, anyway.

The aforementioned body was currently hanging on for dear life at the railing of the eminent Nispedana Summer Cruiseship. His knuckles were white, all the veins in his arm bulging out, and his palms slick from sweat. 

He gasped as he felt the salt wind tear at his clothes, threatening to pry his grip loose. His feet no longer had an anchor, and the side of the ship was too slippery to grant him traction. 

For now, he didn't risk using his pitiable strength to move sideways, afraid he'd slip and let go, primarily because there was someone waiting to take advantage at the slightest opening he showed.

The churn of the ship's massive propellers growled underneath him, reminding him of the fate that awaited him if he let go. The monstrosities were underneath the waterline, but he—with his sharpened senses—could feel their vibration and their growl.

He fought the urge to look down. Instead, he glared at the damned bastard who pushed him there in the first place.

"Help me up already! You know I can't swim!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. Sadly, his voice was drowned by the propellers as well as the strong winds and rain.

He heard that this was the common path of this cruise. Whoever added the tropics as an itinerary during the late summer must be an idiot.

Finn blinked through the humid air, the heavy raindrops, and his own gossamer hair to glare at the culprit. "This is getting too much. This joke—"

If he hadn't had the reflexes, he could've gone straight to the blades below, minced like the meat he loved to cook.

"Who said I'm joking?" the man asked, looking at him with a grin on his ugly face.

This man's name was… never mind, he didn't even remember. Something with a John. Anyway, this guy was an assistant to another star chef, who happened to have lost to him during a competition last year.

"...what do you mean by that?"

To be fair, this whole situation reeked of attempted murder. He wasn't naive. He had experienced quite a few things in his short 27—please, please, please, be longer—years of living.

It was just that he didn't think he'd become a victim, after everything. Besides, this cruise trip was a celebratory one for the whole company. How was he supposed to know someone wanted him dead?

"Come on John—"

"It's Jeik." 

"Okay, Jeik," Finn said, veins popping off at the side of his head, and his teeth teetering from the cold and tiredness. He tried to sound as calm as possible despite being literally a few fingers away from dying.

Fortunately, as a cook with an active lifestyle, his arm strength was quite strong, which was how he was still holding on after all this. "I'm sure there's a perfectly logical non-lethal way we can discuss this."

"Not really," the other man said. "My boss specifically instructed me to get rid of you today."

The fugly bastard said this while slowly prying his fingers off the railing. Finn's eyes twitched as he struggled to hold on. But he was already shivering and weak. How much could he fight against someone who wasn't carrying his own weight? 

Slip!

"FUUGGG!" He felt his heart drop to his stomach, but his reflexes saved the day again, holding on to the railing a few rows below.

Several curse words passed by his head, and he desperately wanted to curse at this bastard, but he knew his life depended on his handling this with calmness.

Fortunately, being an orphan, then becoming a child gangster, and then working in hellish kitchens for over a decade definitely ironed out his mental fortitude. 

"...okay, then can y-you tell me why?"

"The boss wanted to be a judge on that show, something about his lady love being a contestant. Then they found out the production team gave you the slot."

"What?" Just because of that? Just because of an appearance in a freaking reality show?!

Okay. There were plenty of non-murderous ways to get what they wanted!

These bastards had no imagination!!

"You can just threaten me!" he yelled. "I am properly threatened–eek!" he screamed, barely holding on to the railing. He probably looked like a flattened gecko right now. "Your boss can have the gig! I will call—"

"You underestimate your popularity Mr. Finnick Altheus Solthar," he said. "If you decide to speak, many people might try to protect you. At least this is the case while you're still breathing." 

Finn was now shivering from cold and fear, and his body was practically vibrating. He knew his grip only had so much energy left. "Are you people gangsters or something?!" How could their default action plan be murder?!

"Well, the boss' father and grandfather were indeed from that industry."

"..."

"Y-Y-You damned Fugger—Jeik, listen to me," he changed his tone when he saw the fugger turn his attention to his other hand. "Whatever he's paying you, I can double it." 

The man chuckled instead. "With what money? You already spent all your money building your restaurant."

Damn. He's right.

Recently, he had enough money to finally achieve a chef's dream: Build a restaurant. 

He had been cooking for more than a decade. After various trials and tribulations, he—despite not even entering elementary school —became the head chef of a small restaurant at the young age of 25.

This restaurant was an open kitchen where the tables/counters were arranged in a U-shape, surrounding the chefs.

The customers watched him work, watched him create delicious food, all while doing it with a surprising amount of grace and charm.

He was handsome and he had great body coordination, so he was—in their words, not his—a pleasure to watch. 

A year ago, he was scouted and recruited to join a reality show about professional chefs from different restaurants, making them compete for the title of 'Master Cook', along with some prize money and promotion for the restaurants they worked for. The challenges were difficult and interesting, but he pretty much breezed through them.

This, in addition to his face—as well as his sob story that the PD team somehow managed to find out—propelled him to stardom. He rejected other offers, of course, because he only wanted to cook, not to smile for the camera. 

However, he got another offer a few months back, and it was to return—this time as a judge.

The prize money, as well as the upfront money for becoming a judge, was enough for him to begin construction of his restaurant. 

It was supposed to be completed in two weeks…

Thinking about how excited he was to get there—and how he might not get there at all—clenched at his heart. Instead of feeling pity for himself, he just felt angry. He glared at the bastard who was teasingly flicking those pudgy fingers at his grip.

Why would he give that up for something like this? For people like these, who could not see poor people as people? 

He had worked so hard—how could he be reconciled with going out like this?

Finn's amber eyes focused, and he felt renewed energy pass him. By instinct, he knew he was about to give way, and this was the last chance. 

Jeik smirked, not knowing his resolve. His hand simply hovered over the redhead's remaining palm. "Well, you, an uneducated street urchin and orphan, shouldn't have coveted something you're not destined for," he said.

"Don't worry, although many people will be shocked at your disappearance, they'll forget you soon. You don't have family, anyway." 

They dared to do this for such a little thing precisely because he didn't have a family. Or lifelong friends, for that matter. Because he refused to join an agency, he technically didn't have backing either. 

He had no one.

Finn gritted his teeth, looking like he had been shamed and had already succumbed. Jeik thought his words had cracked the last bit of fight in him. Unexpectedly, just before he could pry the third finger, it disappeared.

His eyes widened when Finnick shifted railings like a monkey, using his remaining arm strength to move further to the side. Jeik gasped when he saw the redhead start climbing too, about to enter the deck. 

Finn could barely breathe, and frankly, he was just letting his body do the work. He doubted he'd be able to feel his arms for a while after this, but he'd think about that later. 

When he got a few meters away, he lifted his body up, and soon his feet finally found their bearing. He smiled in relief, thinking he could finally get to safety—

Flop

Suddenly, a force pushed him over, forcing him to let go of his support. This time, his arms were too far from the railing to do anything about it.

His body moved on its own and kicked the nearest surface, pushing him further away. Several meters away, in fact. 

If he jumped like this as a kid, maybe he could've done parkour as a hobby.

It felt counterintuitive, but Finn guessed it was better than sinking because he was too near the boat.

And so, he flew, farther and farther, to his only way of survival. He also tried to angle himself as vertically as possible to minimize the impact on his body. 

As gravity worked on him and as he fell smack into the sea, his mind couldn't help but ask: Was this really the end of his life? 

After the initial shock, would no one really remember him anymore? 

He wasn't always alone. Until he was seven years old, he actually had parents—loving ones.

At the time, he had no worries except for his homework, whether it'd rain when it was time to play, or whether his parents would feed him fish (again) later that night.

He wondered when he'd feel that again?

Anyway, the bright side was that he did not fall on the propeller, managing to use what was probably a lifetime's worth of adrenaline to kick himself far enough so he wouldn't get sucked in by the ship's movements. 

Splash!

But that was about everything he could do for himself. After all, even with adrenaline, he still could not swim. 

Gurgle, Gurgle, Gurgle 

He wanted to curse, but that'd get him to swallow water. He could only feel his helplessness against the waves and his own weight, and soon the surface became unreachable to him.

Unexpectedly, some time during his panicked squirming underwater, he saw a text appearing at the corner of his eyes. 

.

.

.

[Cosmic Integration has begun…]

Finn’s Past

[Cosmic Integration has begun…]

Cosmic what? 

Gurgle, Gurgle, Gurgle 

He did not even have the time to absorb the odd text that appeared at the side of his eyes. Everything slowly faded as the seconds ticked by, anyway.

At first, his body followed its instincts, with his arms thrashing around as panic clawed at his chest and his lungs begged for air. It didn't help that his arms were sore and his body was tired, working on what felt like the last bit of energy it had left.

He watched as his last bit of oxygen escaped his lips in the form of bubbles rising to the surface. It was getting farther than he anticipated. How deep was this going?

But as time passed, his movements got slower, got heavier, and—no matter how hard he tried—he just wouldn't rise up, even a few inches. 

But then… he calmed down, and he stopped struggling. The natural panic that gripped his heart settled as he stopped fighting the inevitable. Although not seeing his restaurant welcome its first customers was a pity…he was tired.

He let the weight of the water take him in the end. He felt the cold bite of water, the pressure on his lungs, and the heaviness of his limbs. His ears rang, and he felt the darkness creep in at the edges of his vision. 

At the back of his head, he wondered: Was this how his parents felt when they died? Or… did they fight to stay alive? To go back to him?

His parents died by drowning, you see. They lived helping others, and yet they died so miserably. 

When they left the house that day, they were still so warm, but when he touched their corpses, he felt that they were colder than ice.

Now that he was floating into nothingness, his life passed through his mind.

Ah, so he really was dying, considering he was watching the infamous pre-death flashback. 

In the first seven years of his life, he had a relatively normal childhood. He was the only child of two loving parents, who owned a humble inn in the countryside.

It was not much of a tourist attraction, but it was a common pass-through, especially to those heading to the beach area about an hour or two away from them.

Their lives were simple. They had a few rooms to maintain and rent out. His dad fixed all the handyman work and the gardens, while his mother did the cooking (they provided plated breakfasts to guests) as well as the housekeeping.

He was adorable and was put in charge of the front desk when he was free, though otherwise, he was asked to do his schoolwork.

His parents were very, very kind people, and they seemed to live helping others. They even had a room for people who couldn't afford to stay. Like this, they were taken advantage of often, and he remembered asking a lot of questions as a child.

For example, why do they let people bully them? Why do they always take a loss? How could they not be angry?

At the time, his mother smiled at him, while his father patted his little head.

"We do not do good things to get things in return, nor do we do it to feel better about ourselves.

"It is because we want the world to be better for the future—for you," his father said, and his mother nodded.

"Our family also believes in karma," she added. "Do not fret about those people anymore, because the world has a way of getting back at them for us."

Since then, the young him tried to understand their point of view, though his immature mind could not wrap its head around it.

Heck, he still couldn't understand it until his death.

He even started to resent them when a trusted friend of his dad convinced him to lend the papers for the inn as collateral. His parents were dying, apparently, and he needed a huge amount of money for their hospital bills. He even showed them the bills, kowtowing on the inn floor—even when guests were there—to implore them for help.

His parents had always been soft-hearted people, but he had underestimated their kindness that bordered too closely with naivety. He only found out what happened when they had already lost everything.

It turned out that the man's parents were indeed ill, but they never received anything from their son. Rather, the money was used to gamble, and he lost everything. 

He had never seen his father so depressed and weak, and he had never witnessed his mother weep like that.

In a hurry, they had to go to the City where that bastard old friend was last seen. The boat capsized, and his parents went missing. 

A week later was his birthday, and he spent it crying as he looked for them along the shores himself. Cruelly, their corpses were found exactly on his birth date.

Later, they found that his mother was even pregnant. It was still early, not even 3 months, so she wasn't showing yet. 

Finn, at the time, questioned everything he learned, and he even felt angry at his dead parents. He felt angry at them for their stupidity and their naivety. He felt angry at them for leaving him behind and taking away his sister's life before she could even experience anything.

This feeling only got worse in time, especially during the first few years after their deaths, when he literally had to eat dirt and was beaten up for breakfast.

While he crawled onto the floor because his legs were broken, he thought: If his parents knew their only son would be punished like this, would they still have been so kind?

Good karma? 

Heh. What a load of bull.

In retrospect, it was exactly 20 years since that happened. 

It was as if the world asked: Wasn't it fitting for him to die by drowning, too? 

What a unique way to spend his birthday. 

Flushed Away?

[Cosmic Integration Complete. The Hearth System has been activated!]

Before his sight went completely dark, and just before his body completely shut down, he suddenly felt the water rise. It was as if the deep, endless waters had either been drained or an unknown force was pushing him upwards.

Or was it more like…a reverse-flush? 

Regardless of which it was, he saw the surface near him, and he instinctively raised his body and gasped as soon as he felt air.

"Hkkk—"

He broke the surface with a guttural choke. He coughed and wretched, allowing his body to take him to safety.

He dragged his body and coughed up more water when he completely escaped the water. 

"Kkk—hah…. Ha!"

He looked at the surface below him, and he couldn't even absorb much, partly because his entire body was extremely sore.

"S-Soil?" He uttered, eyebrows furrowed, and lifted his head to see the open sky and realized that a dense forest surrounded him.

Didn't he jump into the sea?

Before he could absorb what was going on, he turned in a direction as he was looking around, and his blood turned completely cold.

In front of him was an unfamiliar beast with teeth as big as his palms. Its eyes were completely red, filled with bloodlust.

WHAT THE FUDGE?!

It was not a creature he had seen before. It was like a chimaera that made people's stomachs tumble in disgust. In terms of appearance (or lack thereof), it was kind of like a lion, except its mane looked more like uncombed twigs and its face flattened as if squished at an angle.

On all fours, the monster was a bit smaller than he was standing up. However, he could tell it could eat him up easily.

Grrrr—

And it certainly did try to do so.

Finn lost his breath when it lunged towards him. "AH!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, almost falling backwards in shock.

However, a moment later, it went past him. Still shaking, Finn realized that—at least for now—it wasn't attacking him.

It entered a brawl with another monster, one he did not notice was right behind him! It had a different appearance, but no less terrifying.

In terms of appearance (and he was amazed that he could analyze like this), this new monster was like a snake.

One difference was that its proportion was much shorter compared to the normal snake (it was more like a chubby caterpillar, but slimier). Another difference was that its mouth looked like three origami fortune tellers pasted side by side, allowing it to bite at wider angles.

Finn watched with wide eyes as the two beasts tried biting the other down, trying to reveal each other's innards using their eerie fangs and sharp claws.

It was like watching an 8D horror movie, and Finn had no idea what to make of it. 

How much water entered his brain? He was hallucinating so vividly now…

Before he could think more, his peripheral vision caught sight of other movements, realizing he was surrounded by these monsters!

Some were just drinking water from the lake he had just been in, while some entered fights with others for no reason at all.

He also realized that some monsters walked past him… as if they didn't see him at all.

It did not mean they were any less terrifying. He was wet, shivering, and cold, and he was pretty sure it was partially because he wanted to pee in terror. 

He was also dead tired.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

"Happy thoughts, Finn…" he told himself as he took a deep breath. In cases like these, his mind would head toward his favorite thing: Food. 

"Happy thoughts…

"Remember that ramen you cooked last night? It was seafood ramen," he said, talking to himself in that soft voice that had made him quite popular as a celebrity chef. 

"Remember how you made that warm delicious broth. The stock you always used smelled lovely, and you could see the dried anchovies and konbu already there, adding flavor, adding excitement.

"Remember how you added the ginger, the onion, and how you let it all simmer in low heat, feeling them all combine and mix. Think of how you momentarily floated in the aroma that emerged from it."

"You added the shrimp next, which were toasted dry til' they clicked. They crackled like they were talking to you, and you couldn't wait to eat it."

He gulped, feeling a bit hungry. He continued his self-encouragement as he massaged his arm bit by bit. 

"You added the clams into the broth…" he paused. "You let them open on their own. And then, you let the broth pick up everything it offered—the sea mist and the memory of salt on its shell."

The sea, which was a world of the great unknown, was compressed into a single dish that ultimately ended up in his stomach. 

This thought calmed him down. The sea might've almost drowned him, but he was also eating its children. 

"Next, you added the noodles. They bounced a little, like pulling seaweed from the shore. They were cooked soft but with some fight. They hug the broth, but not swim in it, just as you like it."

"Then… you eat it," he said, gulping again. He was partially regretting thinking about this, but it was too late now. "The warmth hits you first, and it is this warmth that settles into your chest."

"The first sip was salty and sweet, then the savory and umami taste followed. The noodles slide smoothly into your mouth, and with each bite, you taste a bit of the sea. The noodles were a bit chewy, while the seafood, seaweed, and other things added more tactile feeling into the experience." 

Like this, his tittering nerves felt flushed away.

When he felt even a small portion of his brain was finally working, he took another breath. He forced himself to temporarily ignore his surroundings, realizing—and accepting—that, for now, these beasts were not an immediate threat.

It was here that he noticed a floating logo of a glimmering holographic ball at the lower right of his vision. "What the heck…" 

When he clicked on it, several logos popped up vertically, neatly lined up at the right view. Below, there was a text with a running countdown that immediately made him lose blood. 

No amount of imaginary ramen could fix this one.

[Moving Phantom Barrier: Activated. Validity: 00:58:38]