CHAPTER 82: THE LIEUTENANT’S TEST

The mimic wearing a scarred soldier’s face ignored them. Instead, his steely gaze remained on Marron, like a merchant checking for fish bites on saltwater pearls.

Ding!

[Scan Complete: Mimic Lieutenant]

Level: 35

Rank: A+ (Paranoia)

Traits: Relentless suspicion, adaptive pattern recognition, intolerance for lies.

Notes:Passing his test will lower paranoia significantly. Failure will trigger instant exposure.

Marron swallowed the lump in her throat.

I’ve never seen a monster with an A+ in paranoia before.

She thought the beastkin had been cautious with her, even wary. But this monster weaponized his paranoid state and had risen above it.

Oh, of course. Marron bit the inside of her cheek. Someone like him? He’s probably sniffed out a hundred liars, and studied a hundred cons.

But those were Savorian tricks, and she wasn’t from this world.

She had, however, killed one of his chefs.

Unfair,

she thought bitterly. But then again... the last Marron died here. I stepped into her shoes. Why would he trust me?

The Lieutenant leaned forward, fingers tapping once against the table, sharp as the click of a lock closing.

"You cook again, in front of me. From scratch."

The mimics around him perked up, their flickering faces twitching with a grotesque kind of glee. There would be spilled blood, or brilliance on display. Marron smirked with a confidence she didn’t feel.

"Fine," she said, raising her chin. "But if you’re watching closely, you’d better keep up. My hands move fast."

The room stirred with amusement, the crowd murmuring in overlapping voices stolen from strangers.

"Chef bold."

"Chef not afraid."

"Lieutenant will see."

"We eat tastier food!"

But inside, Marron’s stomach churned. Every step, every cut, every sprinkle would be dissected under the harshest gaze she’d ever cooked for.

I can’t risk anything fancy, she thought. No sabotage, no traps. Just something safe. Something honest. If I show him perfect balance, maybe it’ll satisfy him enough to drop suspicion.

Her System chimed again, text scrolling across her vision.

[Recommended Dish: White rice with herbs and a tuna omelet.]

It is filling, balanced, and low-sodium.

If executed flawlessly, suspicious palates will be suspended for one meal.

Marron exhaled slowly.

If executed flawlessly. Some god or her mother must have been looking out for her, because the last time Marron cooked that specific dish, she had been out of a job and down to her last couple of dollars.

After I made that tuna omelet with rice I asked my mom to pick me up, because I’d gotten laid off at the beginning of the month. She never told me how to prepare for that scenario.

She remembered how, tearfully, she apologized to her mother for failing her. And her mother’s warm voice had just said, "Why? It’s not your fault you were laid off. I’m sure you did everything you could, little star."

A simple and honest dish.

"Then watch," she said aloud, stepping to the stove.

The mimics crowded around the counters, their glitching faces leaning in to observe. The Lieutenant remained at the table, hands folded, eyes never blinking.

She grabbed a small pot and poured her rice in, and filled it with clean water. Then she placed it over the stove. Next to it was a pan over the flame. Marron poured in a light glug of oil and watched it shimmer in the dim light.

The mimics’ eyes shone. They had never been treated to cooking with a bit of theatrics before. She smiled and grabbed a steel bowl, cracked two eggs, and whisked it well. When she saw the foamy bubbles, some green parsley was sprinkled in.

The eggs sizzled as it met the pan, and she waited for it to dry before adding a can of tuna, the juice drained. As the omelet cooked, she lifted the pot lid to check her rice. Even in another world, the scent of freshly cooked rice was comforting.

Paired with the smell of parsely, it brightened the air considerably.

The very atmosphere grew lighter, and the mimics’ noses twitched.

"What is... that smell?" one whispered.

"Warm forest," another said. "fluffy and green."

"Mmhm," Marron said happily. "White rice with herbs tastes amazing."

With practiced flicks of her wrist, she folded the omelet over itself, soft layers cradling a molten core. Only when that was done did she fluff the rice in the pot.

Her mother had been the star of the kitchen, but her father was the master of preparing perfectly fluffy rice--without a rice cooker. She had few memories of him, but right now, Marron heard his voice:

Respect the grain, my girl. It’s one of the most important parts of your dish.

She obeyed.

Then it was time to plate.

Marron grabbed a plate and added a cup of white rice. Beside it was her tuna, nestled in the middle of a fluffy yellow blanket, speckled with green parsely. To finish her rice, she garnished it with some more parsley.

The mimics leaned closer, their voices a strange chorus:

"Smells new."

"Different texture."

"Not like sludge."

"Color..." one whispered."Yellow thing...looks soft..." another murmured, their face glitching as if trying to replicate the word itself.

No sabotage. Just a perfect plate of food.

She turned, holding it toward the Lieutenant.

"From scratch," she said, her voice steady. "Every step in full view. Taste, and judge."

The room fell silent again.

The Lieutenant rose from his chair with deliberate calm. Each step he took toward her seemed to press down on the room’s air, a gravity that made even the boldest mimics twitch uneasily.

He stopped in front of her, scarred face unreadable. His gaze dropped to the dish, then back up to her.

"You think this will satisfy me?"

"Yes," Marron said simply.

The Lieutenant reached out. His fingers curled around the spoon.

One bite.

That’s all it would take.

He dipped into the rice first, scooping herbs, tuna, and perfectly cooked grains into a balanced bite. He raised it, lifted it to his lips—

And paused.

Again.

Marron’s chest tightened, her breath stuck in her throat.

You’re stalling again? I can’t believe this.

The Lieutenant’s eyes locked on hers.

"You eat first."

Ding!

[Warning: Paranoia remains high. Compliance required.]

Marron sighed. Fighting me to the bitter end, I see. Fine. I’ll make you finish every last crumb.

She took the spoon from him, scooped up a bite of rice and tuna, and ate it without hesitation. It had the barest hint of salt, and each component was perfectly cooked.

Her tongue sang with the warmth of herbs, the salt of tuna, the tender grain.

She swallowed, smiling faintly.

Then she held the spoon out again.

"Your turn. Or I could finish this right now, really. I’m happy."

The Lieutenant stared at her for what felt like an eternity. His scar twitched once, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he dipped into the omelet. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of eggs and herbs. He raised it, opened his mouth—

And the kitchen seemed to hold its breath.