Chapter 101| Who doesn’t like rice on thursdays II

Chapter 101: Chapter 101| Who doesn’t like rice on thursdays II

Zane pocketed the communicator and headed toward the east wing.

By the time he arrived at the guest room block it was 5:05 PM. The corridor was usually quiet at this hour. Most students were either in the cafeteria or heading back to their dorms, only a few roaming around the guest room finishing up a business or two before lockdown.

He checked the time once more on his communicator as he stopped outside room seven.

Fifty five minutes before Maren arrived as stated by her.

Enough time to cook properly if he moved.

He unlocked the door and went in.

The guest room block officer looked up when Zane approached the desk.

Zane told him the details maren gave him beforehand.

The officer Squinted slightly. The specific expression of someone running a facial recognition assessment. Eyes narrowing, head tilting just barely, the internal search clearly in progress. Had he seen this first year before? Something about the face was familiar.

The assessment ran for approximately three seconds.

Then failed visibly. The officer’s expression returned to neutral and he reached for the key without further investigation.

"Room seven," he said flatly. "Your friend left instructions."

Zane took the key and kept walking before the officer’s memory caught up with him.

_ _

Room seven was at the far end of the corridor. Slightly larger than room four from Sunday. Same thick walls. Same half drawn blind. But along one wall revealed a small counter surface.

And on the counter, a compact electric cooktop.

He looked at it.

’She arranged a cooktop,’ he thought.

The system surfaced.

『 She arranged a cooktop. In a guest room. For a dinner you are cooking. The system finds this level of preparation both impressive and mildly intimidating on your behalf. 』

’She just wants the food to actually be hot,’ Zane thought.

『 The system accepts this interpretation. 』

He set the ingredients down. Washed his hands at the small sink. Looked at the cooktop. Looked at the ingredients. Looked at the cooktop again.

’Right,’ he thought. ’Cooking. In a guest room. For Maren.’

He started prep.

Cooking in room seven at 5:15 PM turned out to be exactly an experience.

The counter was smaller than he’d anticipated. The cooktop had two settings: low and aggressively hot. The pan Maren had apparently also sourced and left on the counter was slightly too small for the amount of chicken he’d bought.

He made it work.

The chicken went in. Sizzled immediately on the aggressively hot setting.

’Too hot,’ he thought. Turned it down.

The sizzle reduced to something more cooperative.

He added the aromatics. The smell that came off the pan was actually good. Better than he’d expected from a guest room counter with a two-setting cooktop and no ventilation to speak of.

The rice went into the second pot he’d also found on the counter. Maren had apparently thought of everything. He measured water by eye because there was no measuring equipment and he was improvising.

At 5:35 PM the chicken was doing something he hadn’t planned for.

It was sticking to the pan.

He looked at it.

The system surfaced.

『 The system observes the host’s cooking situation. The system notes the pan is too dry. Oil would resolve this. 』

’I didn’t buy oil,’ Zane thought.

『 The system notes this was an oversight. 』

Zane looked at the pan. Then at the counter. Then back at the pan.

’Is there oil in this room.’

『 The system cannot search physical spaces. The system recommends checking the counter thoroughly. 』

He checked the counter thoroughly.

A small bottle of cooking oil sitting behind the cooktop that he’d completely missed on the first pass.

Maren had left oil.

’She left oil,’ he thought. ’She thought of oil.’

He added it. The chicken released from the pan immediately and started doing what it was supposed to do.

’She thought of oil,’ he thought again. ’And a cooktop. And a pan. And a second pot for rice. And signed them both in. And booked the room.’

The system surfaced.

『 The system notes the host is starting to understand the sixty forty weighting. 』

’Shush,’ Zane thought.

By 5:50 PM the room smelled considerably better than any guest room had a right to smell. The chicken cooked through. The rice doing its thing. The aromatics having done their job and stepped back.

He plated it.

Looked at the two plates on the counter.

’Not bad,’ he thought. ’For a guest room. With a two-setting cooktop. And no measuring equipment.’ ℯℯ𝑙.

At 5:58 PM he heard a knock at the door.

He wiped his hands on a cloth. Maren had left one of those too, he’d found it mid-cook and opened the door.

It was Maren.

She wore a soft off-shoulder top in a dusty rose colour. The neckline sitting exactly where off-shoulder tops tended to sit when the person wearing them had a chest that had opinions about fabric. The material doing its negotiation in real time. Dark fitted trousers that tapered at the ankle and sat against her slim waist and hips with the specific fitted quality that training gear had been suggesting all along but this confirmed properly. Hair down and slightly wavy. Small bag over one shoulder.

The Thursday evening version of her standing in a doorway.

Zane registered all of it in approximately 1.3 seconds.

The system surfaced.

『 The system notes the host’s assessment speed has improved significantly. 』

’Shut up,’ Zane thought.

『 The system is simply logging progress. 』

The smell from the room hit her before he said anything.

She looked at him.

Then past him at the counter.

Then back at him with an expression that was doing its best to stay neutral and losing slightly.

"It smells good," she said.

He stepped aside and gestured inward.

"Come in."

She moved past him into the room. Close enough that the dusty rose top brushed his arm in the doorway. The faint scent of whatever she’d used after her shower mixing briefly with the smell of the food.

He closed the door behind her.

She stepped inside. Looked at the counter properly. The cooktop. The pan. The two plates. The oil she’d left that had apparently been necessary.

Her eyes landed on the oil bottle sitting beside the cooktop. "You used the oil."

"I couldn’t find it at first." He moved toward the counter to check the rice.

She tilted her head slightly. "It was right there."

"It was behind the cooktop." He didn’t turn around.

A beat of silence. Then the sound. The short involuntary exhale. Not quite a laugh but close enough.

"Sit down," he said. "Food’s going to get cold."

She looked at the cooktop. Then at him. The corner of her mouth pulling slightly.

"Sit down," he said. "Food’s going to get cold."

She set her bag down and sat at the small table he’d arranged with the two chairs. He brought the plates over and sat across from her.

She looked at her plate.

Then at him.

"I’m judging this," she said.

"Obviously you will," he replied.

She picked up her fork. Took the first bite.

He watched her face.

The neutral expression held for exactly two seconds.

Then the corner of her mouth. Not the smirk. Something more genuine. The specific expression of someone whose expectations had been exceeded and were annoyed about it.

"I know." He picked up his fork without looking up.

Her eyes narrowed slightly across the table. "Don’t be smug."

"I’m not being smug."

"You have the face." She pointed her fork briefly in his direction.

"I always have a face." He finally looked up. "It came with the body."

She stared at him for one second.

Then the sound. The short involuntary exhale before she could stop it. She covered it quickly. Not quickly enough.

He filed it.

They ate.

The room running its quiet around them. Thick walls. Half drawn blind. The Thursday evening campus doing its thing outside while inside it was just the two of them and food he’d cooked and infrastructure she’d arranged and oil she’d thought of that he hadn’t.

’She planned this more thoroughly than I did,’ he thought.

’Yeah,’ he thought. ’She really did.’