Chapter 99| Herb Roasted Chicken Rice

Chapter 99: Chapter 99| Herb Roasted Chicken Rice

Room 714. 4:15 PM.

Zane pushed through the door and stopped.

Pris was sitting on Dex’s chair.

Not standing. Not dropping something off. Actually sitting. Her legs crossed, back straight, a container of food balanced on her knee with the comfortable energy of someone who had been here long enough to stop being a guest.

She looked up when he came in.

"Oh," she said. "Zane."

"Pris," he said. He looked at the room. Dex’s laptop was open but Dex wasn’t in it. Gerald wheezed. "You’re here alone?"

"Dex was here a moment ago," she replied. "Went to pick something up. He’ll be back soon."

"Ah." Zane dropped his bag and sat on his bed. He glanced at the container on her knee. Something that smelled considerably better than anything the cafeteria had produced recently. "Looks like you’re eating something good."

Pris looked down at the container like she’d briefly forgotten it existed.

"Herb roasted chicken rice," she said. "Made it in the girls’ dorm kitchen earlier." She held it up slightly. "Was going to let Dex have some when he gets back."

Zane looked at it.

The smell was doing something considerably more interesting than anything the cafeteria had managed in seven weeks.

"You cook?" he asked.

"When the cafeteria stops being worth it," she said. Which by her expression had been sometime in the first week.

Zane looked at it.

Then at her.

Pris was — he realised he’d never properly registered her outside of squad context and probably wouldn’t have had reason to. Tall. Long leggings under a casual gown that sat comfortably on her frame. The kind of outfit that said she’d dressed for comfort and had achieved it. She carried herself with the specific unbothered confidence of someone who had made peace with every aspect of her appearance a long time ago and had moved on to more interesting things.

She caught him looking.

He looked at the wall.

"You can have some if you want," she said. Without ceremony. Just offered it the way she offered everything, directly and without making it a thing.

"I’m alright," Zane said.

"You haven’t eaten since lunch," she said. "It’s 4:15."

He looked at her.

"How do you know when I ate," he said.

"Dex mentioned you skipped the cafeteria yesterday too," she said. "You’re going to run yourself into the ground before the NSA assessment."

"I ate," Zane said. "Don’t mind Dex. He’s being a jerk."

Then Zane stared at her.

’She knows about the assessment,’ he thought. ’Of course she does. Dex knows everything and Dex talks to Pris.’

Pris looked at him with the flat expression of someone who had heard people defend themselves from Dex’s observations before and had developed her own filing system for it.

"He’s usually right though," she said simply.

Zane opened his mouth.

Closed it.

She held the container out toward him.

He took it.

The herb roasted chicken rice was significantly better than anything the cafeteria had produced in seven weeks of daily exposure. The kind of better that made you reconsider what you’d been settling for and feel slightly betrayed by every meal that hadn’t been this.

He said as much.

Pris looked at him with the flat expression of someone who already knew this and didn’t need the confirmation but appreciated it anyway.

"The cafeteria uses pre-seasoned stock," she said. "Cuts corners on everything. You can taste where they stopped caring."

"Where did you learn to cook," he said.

"Home," she said simply. Then after a pause. "My mother was convinced nobody would marry me if I couldn’t feed them properly."

Zane looked at her.

She looked at the container.

"She wasn’t wrong," she added. Without self-pity. Just the fact of it stated plainly.

"You’re an A-rank hero," Zane said. "I think cooking is secondary."

She looked at him.

Something shifted in her expression. Not dramatically, just the specific adjustment of someone who had received something unexpected and was deciding what to do with it.

"You’re nicer than Dex," she said.

"Everyone is nicer than Dex," Zane added.

She almost smiled. The corner of her mouth pulling slightly. Restrained, like smiling too fully was something she did in private.

They sat in the room. Gerald wheezing. The Tuesday afternoon campus running its quiet outside the window.

"The assessment," Pris said eventually. "Are you prepared."

Zane looked at the container in his hands.

"Working on it," he said.

She held his gaze.

"Dex said you’d say that," she said.

"Dex says a lot of things," Zane said.

"He’s usually right," she said.

Zane looked at her.

’She’s actually a good person,’ he thought. ’Under the flat delivery and the composed energy. She just came to a first year’s dorm room with homemade herb roasted chicken rice and sat here waiting for Dex to come back like it was the most natural thing in the world.’

’Family now,’ she’d said when she brought him the cake after trials.

’She meant it,’ he thought.

The door opened.

Dex came through carrying a bag from somewhere with the specific casual energy of someone who had gone to pick something up and had taken slightly longer than announced.

He saw Pris.

Then Zane.

Then the container in Zane’s hands.

"You gave him my herb roasted chicken rice," Dex said.

"I made it," Pris said. "I decide who gets it."

"I live here," Dex said.

"And?" Pris said.

Dex looked at Zane.

Zane held up the container slightly.

"It’s good," Zane said.

"I know it’s good," Dex said. "That’s why I’m upset."

He dropped his bag and sat on his bed and looked at the container with the specific grief of someone watching something they’d been looking forward to disappear in real time.

Pris stood up. Reached into the bag she’d brought and produced a second container. Set it on Dex’s desk without ceremony.

Dex looked at it.

Then at her.

"You brought two," he said.

"Obviously," she said.

Something passed between them that Zane filed under things that existed before he arrived at this room and would continue existing after he left it.

Gerald wheezed.

At 8:30 PM his communicator beeped.

He was lying on his bed with the daily quest completed and the Tuesday evening settling around him when the notification came through.

One message. Maren.

—Found a place for Thursday. I’ll let you know the details tomorrow. Bring the ingredients yourself. I’m not sourcing food for you to cook for me.

He read it.

Then read it again.

’She found a place,’ he thought. ’And she’s already telling me to bring my own ingredients.’

’Completely consistent,’ he thought. ’Utterly predictable. Still somehow making him smile reading it at 8:30 PM on a Tuesday.’

He typed back.

Noted. Something with rice.

Her reply came in thirty seconds.

Obviously.

He put the communicator face down on the desk.

The system surfaced.

『 System Note: Thursday is confirmed. The system notes the host is smiling again. 』

’I’m not smiling,’ Zane thought.

『 The host’s face says otherwise. The system has sensors. 』

Gerald wheezed.

Dex laughed at something across the room.

"Time to head back," she said. No ceremony. Just the flat announcement of someone whose internal clock had gone off.

Dex looked up from his laptop.

"You don’t have to," he said.

"Girls dorm closes the common areas at ten," she said. She picked up her bag. Looked at Zane. "Don’t stay up too late."

"I won’t," Zane said.

She gave him a single nod. Walked out. The door closed behind her.

Dex stared at the door for a moment.

Then went back to his laptop without comment.

Gerald wheezed.

Zane looked at the ceiling.

’Thursday,’ he thought.