The Incubus System Chapter 1374. Weird Noodles
The Incubus System Chapter 1374. Weird Noodles
“Done,” I announced proudly.
I slammed the plates on the table with the flair of a master chef who just conjured magic out of thin air. The noodles sizzled a little, steam rising dramatically like they wanted to impress someone. A swirl of garlic, soy, mystery seasoning, and probably too much chili filled the air. Yeah, it was strong. A little smoky. Okay, a lot smoky.
I stood back, hands on hips, and nodded to myself like I’d just solved world hunger.
Two plates. One for me. One for Celia, even though she wasn’t here. It felt wrong not to make her one, you know? Even if it got cold. She deserved a plate. Especially after all the cooking she usually did for me. And yeah, alright, this was my first real attempt at noodles. Not the instant kind. Not the ‘throw it in a mug and hope it cooks’ kind. Real ingredients. Real effort.
The table was set. Forks? Check. Napkins? Kinda. The good plates? Well… the clean ones.
I turned, grinning.
And was immediately greeted by five simultaneous faces of pure horror.
Puriel frowned with angelic disapproval so strong I think the air actually dimmed. “Are you… sure you can eat this?” she asked, voice cautious. “Because this doesn’t look like human food.”
Buni hopped onto the chair, staring down at the dish like it was a crime scene. “This looks like poison on a plate.”
Red sniffed it once, then backed up like it growled at him. “You’re going to eat this?”
Rave cawed softly and turned his head sideways like the sight of my noodles offended his aesthetic sensibilities. “You’ve committed war crimes against symmetry.”
Shadow didn't say anything at first. He just stared. Then muttered, “Celia’s dishes are better than this. By miles.”
I looked at my masterpiece.
Okay… yeah.
Visually?
The noodles were kind of terrifying.
Some of it was a little burnt. Not too bad, but enough to make the edges crunchy in a way they definitely shouldn’t be. The sauce had congealed into something thick. More of a glaze than a broth.
The side toppings? Well, they weren’t exactly uniform. Some cuts were thin, others looked like I’d hacked them with a spoon in the dark. One of the eggs was a little too runny, and the other was basically boiled into rubber.
I blinked at the two plates. One for me, one for Celia. I imagined what she’d say if she saw this.
She’d probably smile. Tease me. Ask what I was trying to cook and then end up remaking it while pretending she liked mine.
I sighed and rubbed my neck. “It’s edible,” I muttered defensively. “I mean, I put spices and everything. It smells like fried rice, okay?”
Red sniffed again. “Smells like regret.”
“Watch your mouth,” I said. “I can cook.”
“Barely,” Shadow drawled.
“But I can!”
They all stared.
“Fine. You know what? Screw you guys.” I grabbed the fork, twirled a bite of the burnt glazed noodles, and shoved it in my mouth.
And yeah…
It was kinda wrong.
Like, technically edible. But it had no idea what it wanted to be. The noodles were chewy but not in a good way. The sauce tasted like my favorite fried rice got confused halfway through its identity and decided to try being a teriyaki-glazed mishap. It wasn’t bad, per se. It was… complicated. A dish going through its own existential crisis.
Still.
I was hungry. And it was warm.
I chewed, forced a swallow, and stared straight ahead like a soldier accepting his fate.
“See?” I said, mouth full. “Edible.”
Puriel blinked slowly. “That’s a very low bar.”
“Low bar’s still a bar,” I muttered. Took another bite.
Shadow made a gagging noise and jumped off the fridge. “I’ll be by the window if you start vomiting.”
Rave flew over to him. “I give it four minutes.”
Red padded beside me, sat like a good boy, and tilted his head. “I still love you, but I can’t support this.”
“Love is conditional now?” I asked.
“When you cook? Yes.”
Buni hopped closer, sniffed the plate, and nearly fell off the table. “Okay, I think it moved. I swear it twitched.”
“It didn’t move,” I groaned. “That was the steam.”
“Steam doesn’t wiggle.”
I took another bite, slower this time. And yeah… it still wasn’t great. But you know what? Something about making it myself, standing at the stove while they bickered, while Puriel watched me like I might combust… it made it feel better.
Puriel sat across from me, watching me struggle with my own food. “You don’t have to eat it.”
“I kinda do,” I said. “It’s the one thing I could control today.”
She blinked. Her expression softened.
Red laid his head on my foot. Buni curled beside my plate like a guard bunny. Rave and Shadow sat above, quiet for once.
The room felt warm. Even if the food tasted like confused fusion garbage.
I sighed, slumped back in the chair, and chewed.
Yeah… still bad.
Still chewy in the wrong places, too spicy in the middle, too bland around the edges. Like I’d somehow seasoned it in concentric flavor zones. But it was food. Warm. Mine. And for all its crimes against presentation and taste buds, I made it with my own two hands, and something about that gave it a little dignity.
Even if everyone else acted like I’d committed culinary war crimes.
The house was calm again. The kind of post-chaos lull where everyone had said their piece, no one had died, and somehow I didn’t have another divine creature breathing down my neck.
The plates scraped quietly as I picked them up, still steaming slightly, faint trails of burnt soy sauce smeared along the edges like battle wounds. My fork clinked against the ceramic. The one I made for Celia sat untouched.
I made my way to the sink, the sound of water rushing in the pipes grounding me.