Ark Simulator, don't I have no physical form?

Suri's brow furrowed even more. He was even more confused. Had he said something wrong? What were they laughing at? What were they looking at?

He clicked his tongue impatiently, thinking that women were truly the most incomprehensible creatures in the world. He lowered his head again, trying to continue the game, but the interruption had completely ruined his feel and rhythm, and his character was quickly and tragically killed by the mobs.

The words "GAME OVER" popped up again.

Su Rui's mood plummeted instantly. His face darkened, and he slammed the game console down on his lap, completely losing interest. It was all those two women's fault! So inexplicable!

He looked up and glared at Remian and Fiametta again, his eyes filled with accusation and resentment that "you owe me the game."

Remien received his aggrieved (or so she interpreted it) and annoyed look, and laughed even harder. As she laughed, she pushed her wheelchair closer, her tone coaxing: "Alright, alright, I won't watch anymore. You guys keep playing, we'll talk."

Fiametta quickly chimed in, "Yes, yes, let's talk about our own things!" She tried desperately to bring the conversation back to the previous topic, but her eyes kept glancing towards the corner.

Seeing their blatant attempt to cover up their misunderstanding, Su Rui's displeasure reached its peak. He snorted coldly, grabbed the last bit of jerky he had left, stood up, dusted off his pants, and bluntly said to Mostima, who was still struggling to complete the game, "I'm not playing anymore. It's too noisy."

Then, without even glancing at Remian and Fiameta, he walked straight to the other end of the corridor, his back view screaming, "I'm not happy, don't bother me."

Mostima watched Suri's departing figure, shrugged indifferently, and continued playing her game, humming an off-key tune.

Remy watched as Suri stormed off, shaking her head helplessly, but her eyes were full of gentle smiles. She knew that this young master's stubborn temper had flared up again, and he needed some time to calm down.

Fiameta, watching Suri's retreating figure, then glancing at Mostima who seemed unaffected, and finally at Remian beside her with a beaming smile, felt she had received more information today than in the entire past year combined. This Suri... seems... really... completely different from what she imagined?

This unexpected "observation" under the corridor ultimately ended with Suri unilaterally "quitting" and "leaving." But the seed of curiosity it planted in Fiameta's heart had already begun to quietly sprout. As for Suri, he probably just felt that today was incredibly unlucky; not only did he get his face pinched, but he also failed to finish the game—what a huge loss!

The words "GAME OVER" popped up on the game screen again. This time it wasn't due to external interference, but rather Mostima's overly risky and reckless attempt to defeat the boss without taking damage using the lowest-level minions had failed. Looking at the gruesome death of her character on the screen, she felt no frustration, but instead let out a light, lingering chuckle. She casually handed the now slightly warm game console back to Suri, her relaxed smile, as if she were forever detached from the situation, unchanged. It was as if that brief and strange "game alliance" was merely a wildflower she had casually picked during her long journey, admired, and then carelessly discarded.

Suri took the game console expressionlessly, his fingertips feeling the faint warmth lingering on the casing. He didn't put it away immediately, but stared at the darkened screen for two seconds, the reflection of his slightly furrowed brows and those always somewhat aloof black eyes. That last game, though ultimately lost, Mostima's completely unconventional approach, pushing the game mechanics to their absolute limit, was indeed…interesting. However, this thought was fleeting; he quickly dismissed this insignificant "affirmation" and neatly stuffed the console back into his uniform pocket. At this moment, he was more concerned with the rhythm of the real world—he was bored and felt his social time was severely overdue.

He looked up, his gaze like a precise probe, bypassing Fiameta, who was still laughing uproariously at the anecdote that "an Executor tried to bake a cake using Originium Arts and ended up blowing up half the kitchen," and fixing firmly on Remian. Remian listened patiently to Fiameta's animated description with a gentle smile, occasionally offering a word or two of agreement. Sunlight filtered through the carved details of the corridor, dancing on her light golden hair and aura, creating a serene and beautiful scene. However, in Suri's eyes, this scene conveyed only one message: they had talked long enough, the topic was becoming increasingly boring, and it was time to end this group activity, which he considered inefficient.

He strode forward, his steps carrying a unique, slightly oppressive composure, and stopped beside Remian. He didn't speak, but like an iceberg that had suddenly descended, he radiated an invisible aura of low pressure and impatience. His obsidian-like eyes stared directly at Remian, his slightly furrowed brows seeming to say, "Isn't this over yet? How long are you going to wait?"

Remien sensed that familiar, urging aura almost the instant he approached. She looked up, meeting his eyes, which screamed "quick fix," and immediately understood. She smiled gently, like soothing a cat about to pounce, and softly patted the still-enthusiastic Fiameta's hand, interrupting her incessant chatter: "Fiameta, stop for a moment." Then, she turned to Suri, her tone natural and affectionate: "Getting impatient?"

Volume 17, Chapter 1026: It's been so long since we've gotten together.

Suri let out a short, firm hum from her nose, not bothering to utter a single extra word.

Remian was already used to his reaction. She glanced at the sky; the setting sun had painted the horizon a warm orange-red. Then she looked at the two people before her—one was her long-lost comrade-in-arms, Fiameta, with her fiery temper but simple heart; the other was the magical messenger Mostima, who had just had a terrifying "face-pinching" and "game" session with Suri. An idea, like a bubble illuminated by sunlight, rose lightly from the depths of her heart. A smile warmer than the sunset bloomed on her face as she extended an invitation to Fiameta and Mostima, who had already subtly shifted her weight to the back, preparing to disappear back into the shadows: "Fiameta, Mostima, it's quite a coincidence that we've met today. How about we come to my place for a casual meal? Consider it a celebration of the successful completion of my and Suri's mission, and also... it's been a long time since we've gotten together."

The suggestion was like a pebble thrown into a calm lake. Fiameta was visibly stunned, a flicker of unprepared panic crossing her face. Go to Remian's house… for dinner? This meant having dinner under the same roof as Remian, and… that Suri, around the same table? The image was even more impactful than the kitchen explosion she had just recounted. She instinctively glanced at Suri, only to see him with his usual cold, unapproachable expression, which made her heart pound even harder. A mixture of fear, embarrassment, and intense curiosity surged within her. She opened her mouth, momentarily at a loss for words.

Mostima, whose foot had already taken half a step back, froze on the spot upon hearing the keywords "dinner" and "Remian's house." Her usually misty eyes suddenly lit up, like a nocturnal predator spotting its prey, gleaming with shrewd interest. Remian's cooking was renowned in their circle of acquaintances, and dining at her house often meant avoiding the monotonous, cloyingly sweet dishes of the Holy City's canteen, and perhaps even... She glanced quickly at Suri, a barely perceptible smile playing on her lips... to witness some unexpected and amusing events.

“Great! Great! That’s wonderful!” Mostima’s reaction was astonishingly quick. She whirled back to Remian’s side like a gust of wind, took her arm naturally, and spoke with the joy of a child who had received candy. “I was starving! Remian, you have no idea, I’ve been eating those dry biscuits every day while I was in Sargon. I’ve almost forgotten what hot food tastes like!” As she spoke, she kept glancing at Suri’s reaction out of the corner of her eye.

Seeing Mostima's quick and natural acceptance, Fiameta's resolve began to shift. A surge of curiosity ultimately overcame her subtle awkwardness and unease. She wanted to see what Remian and Suri's daily lives were like, detached from their roles as Executors and in combat. Especially Suri… She took a deep breath, trying to make her voice sound calm: "Well… thank you for the invitation, Remian. I hope it wasn't too much of a bother."

With the invitation accepted, the next crucial question arose: who would be in charge of dinner? Although Remian was a good cook, preparing meals for four people (especially one person with extremely picky tastes) was no small task.

Remien turned her gaze to Suri, her lake-blue eyes shimmering with a gentle, watery light, carrying an obvious expectation and a hint of slyness, like "I know a secret": "Suri," her voice softened, like a feather gently brushing against the heart, "you see, we have guests today, and preparing dinner by myself might be a bit slow... Besides, it's rare for Fiameta and Mostima to visit, so we should treat them to something lavish... Could... could you help me out?"

She deliberately used the word "help" instead of "cook," her tone full of negotiation and dependence, even a hint of barely perceptible coquetry. She knew Su Rui too well; directly ordering him to cook would be a recipe for disaster. But by saying "help," and implying it concerned the "decency" of entertaining guests, coupled with her perfectly timed, soft request, the success rate would be greatly increased. More importantly, she knew that although Su Rui outwardly loathed cooking, his almost obsessive precision and pursuit of "efficiency," once applied to the kitchen, often produced astonishing results—provided he "voluntarily" entered that area.

Sure enough, the moment Suri heard that he was to be involved in kitchen chores, his brows furrowed instantly, his face turning frosty, and his eyes sharp enough to kill. He almost blurted out the classic "Trouble!", but his gaze fell upon Remian's expectant eyes, which seemed to sparkle like stars, then upon Fiameta's shocked expression of "How could he possibly agree?", and Mostima's mocking smile, as if she were enjoying the spectacle and saying "I knew this would happen"...

A complex mix of emotions welled up inside him. Should he refuse? And then watch Remian toil away in the kitchen, only to have her serve up another table of Sarkazan food he couldn't stomach? Or worse, let these two uninvited women laugh at Remian? Another thought, however, was more persistent: if he intervened, at least he could ensure the food tasted normal, meeting his demanding standards. And… looking at Fiameta and Mostima's incredulous expressions, as if his presence in the kitchen were some kind of unprecedented event, a wicked urge to shatter their preconceived notions quietly surfaced.

A few seconds passed in silence, seconds that felt like an eternity to Fiameta. Just when she thought Suri would reject her without hesitation, and the atmosphere was about to plummet to freezing point, Suri, in an extremely strained tone, as if each word was squeezed out from between her teeth, filled with deep resentment and humiliation, uttered two syllables sharply and rapidly:

"……what ever."

The moment he finished speaking, he seemed to be stunned for a moment, and then his ears turned red rapidly at a visible speed, but he quickly turned his face away to hide this unnaturalness.

Upon hearing this near-miraculous promise, Remian's face instantly lit up with an incredibly radiant smile, like sunshine completely dispelling the dark clouds and illuminating the entire corridor. She had succeeded!

Volume 17, Chapter 1027: Be Quiet

Fiameta and Mostima were completely stunned.

Fiameta: He...he actually...agreed?! That Suri...is going to go into the kitchen?! To...to cook for us?! Is something wrong with this world?!

Mostima: Interesting! So interesting! Looks like tonight's dinner is destined to be legendary! Worth it! This trip back was totally worth it!

"That's wonderful!" Remy Ann almost clapped her hands with joy. She pushed her wheelchair and smiled at the two guests who were still in shock. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go back! Let's see what kind of 'culinary skills' our young master Suri will display today!"

The setting sun cast long shadows of the four people on the ancient stone steps. Suri led the way, his pace quick as if fleeing something, but upon closer inspection, his back seemed to lack its usual coldness, instead carrying a hint of… resigned helplessness and a subtle, knowing anticipation—a quiet expectation only he knew—of his impending “control of the kitchen.” Fiameta and Mostima followed behind, their emotions a jumbled mess, a mixture of trepidation about the unknown dinner and intense curiosity about the unimaginable possibilities that lay ahead. Remian, meanwhile, smiled at Suri, her heart filled with anticipation and a sweet, mischievous satisfaction. This unexpected gathering was about to unfold a unique and unforgettable chapter in the kitchen, this new “battlefield.”

Upon returning to Remian's cozy and inviting apartment, Suri seemed to shed an invisible armor, heading straight for the kitchen. This space wasn't merely a workplace for him; it was more like a private sanctuary where he could temporarily escape the outside world and focus on creation and control. He removed his slightly restrictive uniform jacket, casually draping it over the back of a chair, revealing a close-fitting black tactical vest underneath, outlining his sleek, powerful physique—not burly, but with a smooth, explosive physique. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, revealing his fair yet muscular forearms, brimming with astonishing strength, his movements as swift as if preparing for battle.

Remien pushed her wheelchair to the kitchen door, her face still showing the joy of successfully inviting him and a hint of curiosity. She instinctively wanted to slide in and help, at least wash the vegetables or hand him something—after all, she still felt a little guilty about letting Suri be responsible for dinner for four people.

However, just as her wheelchair reached the threshold, Suri stopped her with an unequivocal gesture.

"Get out." His voice was concise and cold, carrying a focused and unyielding authority befitting someone in work mode. He didn't even turn to look at Remian; his gaze was rapidly and precisely scanning the ingredients in the refrigerator, his brain working like a high-speed computer, instantly completing ingredient assessment, menu design, and workflow planning. "It's crowded here."

His reasoning was straightforward. The kitchen wasn't particularly spacious, and Remian's wheelchair would indeed be a bit cramped, affecting his fluid and efficient cooking. But the deeper reason was that he enjoyed the feeling of solitude and absolute control. For him, cooking was a unique way to relieve stress. Transforming raw ingredients into a delicious and visually appealing dish through precise knife skills, just the right amount of heat, and accurate seasoning brought a sense of creative satisfaction and absolute control over the outcome. This was similar to the efficiency and precision he pursued when handling documents or fighting, but without the bloodshed and smoke, and with a touch more of the everyday.

Remien was taken aback by his almost dismissive attitude, but looking at Suri's profile, which had already entered "culinary god" (or rather, "kitchen tyrant") mode, she knew he meant what he said. She smiled helplessly and obediently stepped back, completely relinquishing control of the kitchen to Suri. Leaning against the doorframe, she softly instructed, "Then... call me if you need any help. Don't overwork yourself."

Suri gave a muffled response through his nose, indicating he had heard. He slammed the refrigerator door shut, already holding several key ingredients: a piece of poultry with beautiful marbling and evenly distributed fat, several Siesta potatoes fresh from the refrigerator, their skin still glistening with moisture, a handful of vibrant green, incredibly tender vegetables, and his usual basic seasonings—salt, black pepper, and a few dried herbs—all the simplest types that bring out the natural flavors of the ingredients. He deliberately avoided any sauces or spices with a noticeably sweet taste.

His movements were swift and decisive as he skillfully began processing the ingredients. The water gurgled as his long, slender fingers deftly washed the vegetables, water droplets splashing onto his pale hands, reflecting the light with a strange beauty. Next came the chopping. He picked up a kitchen knife, his wrist steady, his cuts precise and swift, the rhythmic "thump, thump, thump" sound continuous. Potatoes were quickly transformed into even, almost translucent shreds, each one seemingly measured with a ruler; poultry was neatly sliced ​​into uniform pieces with clean edges; vegetables were also cut into perfectly shaped pieces. The entire chopping process flowed smoothly, possessing an almost artistic rhythm and power, a stark contrast to his usual lazy and apathetic demeanor. He pursed his lips slightly, his eyes focused, even revealing a hint of… enjoyment? Enjoyment of this process of transforming disorder into order, roughness into refinement.

Remien watched from the doorway for a while, and once she was sure that Suri was completely absorbed and at ease, she turned around and went to the living room to entertain Fiameta and Mostima. Soon, their hushed conversation and occasional soft laughter filled the living room.

The kitchen fell silent for a moment, save for the sounds of running water, rhythmic chopping, and the soft sizzling of oil in the pan. Suri enjoyed this moment of solitude, this feeling of being in complete control. He was about to soak the shredded potatoes in water to prevent oxidation before starting to heat the pan—

Just then—

An extremely subtle, almost imperceptible spatial fluctuation, like a pebble thrown into still water, quietly rippled behind him. This fluctuation was so subtle that Su Rui would have been almost unable to detect it had his perception not far surpassed that of ordinary people.

Su Rui paused almost imperceptibly as he was about to add the shredded potatoes. His usually half-closed black eyes instantly sharpened like a hawk's, and the gentle aura he exuded due to his focused cooking vanished, replaced by a cold wariness. But he didn't turn around immediately; instead, his fingers tightened slightly on the spatula, and his aura suddenly turned colder, as if a calm lake had frozen over.

Volume 17, Chapter 1028: Is cooking boring?

Almost simultaneously, a warm and soft body, seemingly boneless, silently pressed against him from behind. Two arms, like vines, naturally encircled his lean yet powerful waist. A unique scent of Mostima, a mixture of dust, faint gunpowder smoke, and some exotic spices from a distant land, instantly enveloped him.

"Little Suri~ Cooking alone is so boring, isn't it? How about I help you out?" Mostima's voice was laced with laughter, like warm breath brushing against her ear, lazy and affectionate, with a hint of mischievous smugness. She had clearly used some kind of advanced Originium Arts to sneak into the kitchen so mysteriously without being noticed by the two people in the living room.

Su Rui's body instantly stiffened like iron! A surge of rage mixed with a sense of territorial invasion and extreme nausea rushed to his head like magma! He almost reflexively shoved this reckless woman away with a sharp elbow strike, or slapped her face with a scalding hot spatula!

But just as his muscles tensed and his murderous intent was about to spill out, a glimpse out of the corner of his eye caught the perfectly evenly sliced ​​potato shreds on the cutting board, the perfectly marinated poultry in the bowl beside it, and the hot oil in the pan that was beginning to smoke. The string of reason snapped sharply in his extreme anger—if he acted now, not only would his dinner, which he had just begun to enjoy in the creative process, be completely ruined, and the carefully prepared ingredients would be wasted, but it would also alert Remian outside, leading to an uncontrollable chaos. And he hated chaos, and even more so, he hated having his carefully planned, subtly satisfying "creation" disrupted by such tedious harassment.

A powerful sense of self-control, like a cold rope, forcefully suppressed his dissatisfaction and the urge to pin someone down. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to suppress the anger that was about to overflow, pushing it back to the deepest part of his heart. He ignored the warm body pressed against his back, the arms wrapped around his waist, and even the irritating breathing beside his ear. He was like a precision machine suddenly fitted with "attachments," trying to restart and continue the previous program. With slightly stiff movements, he poured the shredded potatoes into a strainer to drain, then turned around, preparing to put the poultry into the pot.

However, the way he turned around clearly carried a force as if he wanted to shake off the "foreign object" behind him, and the sound of the spatula colliding with the iron pot also carried a suppressed, cold, and violent aura.

Mostima seemed completely oblivious (or perhaps utterly unconcerned) to Suri's simmering rage and aloof, icy aura. Seeing that Suri didn't immediately push her away, she instead pressed her advantage, gently resting her chin on his slightly thin yet well-defined shoulder, her cheek almost brushing against his neck. She could clearly feel the boy's taut, cheetah-like muscles and his slightly accelerated heartbeat due to restraint, which made her smile even brighter, as if admiring an interesting toy.

"Wow, the potato shreds are so finely cut! Your knife skills are better than many restaurant chefs!" She seemed genuinely offering her "help" by commenting, but one hand restlessly traced a light line across his firm abdominal muscles, with a teasing undertone. "You're in great shape too. Little Suri, you must work out a lot, right? That core strength, wow..."

Su Rui's temple throbbed! His knuckles, gripping the spatula, turned white from the force, and his fingertips even trembled slightly. He struggled to suppress the urge to pour a pot of hot oil behind him, squeezing out a few cold, icy words through clenched teeth: "Take your dirty hands away. Get out."

His voice was extremely low, carrying a heavy, almost tangible warning, like the deathly silence before a blizzard.

Mostima, however, seemed to have heard something amusing and chuckled softly. Instead of letting go, she tightened her embrace, pressing herself even closer to his back, almost feeling the tension in every muscle. "Don't be so fierce~ I just wanted to help you. Look, I can even get you the spices, okay? I promise I won't grab the wrong one~" she said, her free hand actually reaching over his shoulder to precisely reach the spice rack beside him and pick up the black pepper grinder he needed next, her movements so natural and practiced that it was as if she were the master of the kitchen.

Suri: "..." He felt like he was suffocating. This feeling of being forcibly "helped" and "harassed" was more disgusting and irritating than facing a swarm of rampaging Originium Bugs. He abruptly raised his hand and snatched the grinding bottle from Mostima's hand, the movement rough and filled with obvious disgust. "I don't need it," he said through gritted teeth, the voice squeezed from deep in his throat, then ignored her, forcibly blocking her presence from his perception and focusing on the cooking in front of him.

He poured the poultry chunks into the hot oil with a sizzle, oil splattering and releasing an instant aroma. He skillfully tossed and turned, ensuring each piece of meat was evenly heated until it turned a beautiful golden brown. During this process, he tried to regain the calm focus he had earlier, attempting to use the changing ingredients and the pervasive aroma to counteract the distractions behind him. He told himself that this was simply a necessary step in completing a meal, and that the "things" behind him could be ignored.

Mostima seemed to have noticed his strategy of "nonviolent non-cooperation." She stopped trying to "help" him carry things and changed her approach. She quietly hugged him, like an extremely clingy cat, pressing her cheek against his back, even feeling the slight undulation of his muscles from the stirring. She stopped speaking, only occasionally letting out a very soft, satisfied sigh, or unconsciously drawing circles on his waist with her fingertips.

Suri's face remained dark throughout, as if he were completing an extremely difficult and unpleasant side task. He forced himself to ignore the "burden" and distractions behind him, focusing all his energy on controlling the heat and judging the timing of seasoning. His movements remained fluid and precise, the seasoning accurate (only salt and black pepper were added to maximize the aroma of the meat), and the heat control was just right, as if Mostima's presence was merely an unpleasant background noise. Only his increasingly cold eyes, his tightly pursed lips, and the oppressive atmosphere around him that seemed to solidify and lower the temperature of the kitchen several degrees could reveal the torment and restraint he was experiencing.

When the poultry was fried to perfection, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, he set it aside. Next, he stir-fried the shredded potatoes. He heated the oil, added minced garlic and sautéed until fragrant, then added the drained shredded potatoes and stir-fried them quickly to ensure they were crisp.

Volume 17, Chapter 1029: The Silent Pendant

Throughout the process, Mostima was like a silent pendant, clinging tightly to him. Even when he needed to make large movements to stir-fry, it would move along with him like a piece of chewing gum, but it always managed to maintain its balance skillfully without interfering with his core operations.

This bizarre "collaboration," unfolding in a cramped kitchen, involved extreme harassment from one side and extreme patience and focus from the other, lasting for nearly half an hour. It wasn't until the last stir-fried vegetable dish was finished and plated, with four dishes—each a feast for the eyes and the palate, their presentation even displaying a minimalist Suri aesthetic—neatly placed on the counter, that the kitchen was filled with a pure and enticing aroma that made one's mouth water.

Suri snapped off the stove, and the kitchen fell silent instantly. He turned around abruptly and, with all his might, almost roughly pushed Mostima, who was still clinging to him, away. His voice was cold enough to crack steel, filled with the annoyance of finally being free: "The food is ready. Get out."

Mostima stumbled slightly from the push, but wasn't annoyed at all. Instead, she chuckled and straightened her slightly disheveled clothes, took a deep breath of the aroma of the dishes, and exclaimed sincerely, "Wow! It smells so good! Just from the smell, I know it must be delicious! Little Suri is amazing!" After saying that, she slipped out of the kitchen like a gust of wind, once again using Originium Arts, as if she had never been there.

Suri stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving violently. It took him several seconds to finally calm his surging anger and the intense discomfort of being violated. He glanced at the meticulously prepared, near-perfect dish on the counter, then at his arms and back, aching from prolonged tension. His face was so dark it could drip water. The creation of this meal, which should have been a peaceful moment for him, had been crammed with this awful incident. He swore that the next time Mostima stepped foot in this house, he would make her regret ever having legs!

The kitchen was filled with an irresistible aroma. Four dishes were neatly arranged on the counter, their colors enticing and steaming hot. Suri stood to one side, his face still somewhat gloomy. He took off his slightly oil-stained apron and tossed it aside, his movements still carrying a lingering irritation from Mostima's harassment. He needed some space to calm himself and didn't want to touch the dishes again.

He walked to the kitchen doorway, facing the living room, and called out in a tone that was as calm as possible but still revealed a hint of impatience: "The food is ready. Come and get it."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly into the living room. Remian, Fiameta, and Mostima, who were talking in hushed tones, all stopped upon hearing it.

Remianne was the first to react, and a joyful smile immediately appeared on her face. She pushed her wheelchair toward the kitchen: "It's here!" She had already smelled the aroma and was filled with anticipation for Suri's cooking.

Fiameta quickly stood up as well, her face showing a mixture of nervousness and curiosity. She still couldn't quite believe that the cold-faced, devilish Suri had actually cooked? And it smelled… actually pretty good?

Mostima was the most composed. She stretched, a mysterious smile on her face that seemed to indicate she had everything under control, and followed slowly behind. When she glanced at Suri in the kitchen, there was still a hint of lingering amusement in her eyes.

The three of them arrived at the kitchen door and their eyes lit up when they saw the dishes on the counter.

The pan-fried poultry chunks were golden brown with slightly charred edges, exuding a rich meaty aroma; the stir-fried potato shreds were distinct and translucent, garnished with a few minced garlic cloves, looking refreshing and delicious; the vibrant green vegetables remained tender and fresh; and there was a simple mushroom soup, its broth clear and its aroma enticing. There were no fancy platings, but each dish conveyed a sense of "just right" refinement and precise control over the heat.

"Wow! It looks delicious!" Remien exclaimed sincerely, her eyes filled with pride and tenderness as she looked at Suri.

Fiamet couldn't help but swallow hard, muttering softly, "...It seems...he really can cook."

Mostima leaned right up to the dish, took a deep breath, and exclaimed dramatically, "Mmm! This aroma is amazing! Little Suri, you've been hiding your talent!"

Suri showed no reaction to their praise, and even frowned slightly at Mostima's closeness, taking a half step back to create some distance. He pointed to the kitchen counter and said succinctly, "Take it out." Then he picked up two bowls of rice and walked out of the kitchen, heading straight for the dining table.

Remien smiled and shook her head, then joined Fiameta in bringing the dishes to the table one by one. Mostima also helped fetch some bowls and chopsticks.

Soon, the four of them sat around the dining table. The seating arrangement was subtle: Suri naturally sat right next to Remian, shielding her with his body; Fiameta sat opposite Remian; and Mostima sat with a grin diagonal opposite Suri, a position where she could clearly see him but wouldn't be too close to provoke a direct reaction from him.

The atmosphere at the table was somewhat strange. The dishes emitted an enticing aroma, but apart from the clinking of bowls and chopsticks, no one spoke for a moment.

Remy, as the hostess, broke the silence first. She picked up a piece of poultry, put it in her mouth, and savored it. Her eyes lit up, and she turned to Suri, her tone sincere and sweet: "Suri, it's really delicious! The cooking and seasoning are just right, the meat is tender and juicy, not dry at all."

Su Rui was engrossed in eating, and upon hearing this, he only let out a very soft "hmm" through his nose as a response, but the speed at which he ate seemed to slow down slightly, and his ears turned a barely perceptible blush. Remian's affirmation always easily touched the softest part of his heart.

Fiameta also cautiously tasted a bite of the shredded potatoes. They were crisp, refreshing, and perfectly seasoned. A look of surprise appeared on her face. She couldn't help but pick up another bite with her chopsticks and whispered to Remian, "Really...it tastes much better than what the cafeteria makes."

Mostima, on the other hand, ate with much more gusto. She ate heartily, nodding repeatedly and praising indistinctly, "Mmm! Delicious! It's a shame that Suri's cooking skills aren't used to running a restaurant!" As she spoke, her eyes would occasionally glance at Suri, with a mixture of admiration and teasing.

Suri ignored their comments, focusing intently on finishing the food in his bowl. He ate quickly, but not roughly, with a military-like efficiency and neatness. He was clearly satisfied with his work (despite the unpleasant process), eating each bite with exceptional care, as if completing an important task.

After a few bites of food, their stomachs felt warm, and the atmosphere at the table gradually became more lively. The conversation naturally began.

Remian started the conversation first, smiling at Mostima: "Mostima, you mentioned eating scones in Sargon. Are there any other interesting foods there?"

Volume 17, Chapter 1030: Dessert

Mostima immediately perked up, swallowed the food in her mouth, and began to describe it vividly: "Yes! The desert tribes of Sargon have a kind of sand lizard meat that is roasted with special spices. It tastes very special. Although it is a bit dry, the more you chew, the more fragrant it becomes! They also make a wine from a kind of cactus fruit. It is sweet and sour, and it has a strong aftertaste..." She described the local customs and exotic foods of various places in a vivid way, and occasionally added exaggerated gestures, which made Remien and Fiamet listen with great interest.

The conversation quickly veered away from food. Fiameta joined the chat, complaining about the hardships of living and sleeping outdoors with Mostima: "...The most outrageous time was when she insisted on seeing some 'once-in-a-millennium meteor shower,' and ended up taking us to a desolate mountaintop where there wasn't a soul in sight. It was freezing cold at night, and we had to huddle together in a tiny tent for warmth, eating only compressed rations!" As she spoke, she glared at Mostima, but besides the complaint, her eyes seemed to hide a hint of...accustomedness? Or perhaps, some strange bond?

Mostima retorted with a grin, "That meteor shower was spectacular! You might only see it once in your life! What's wrong with compressed rations? Paired with such a beautiful view, they're a delicacy!"

Their conversation swam freely, ranging from desserts (Remien mentioned a nice new dessert shop in Laterano, which Fiametta doubted, thinking it would still be too sweet) to funny and embarrassing stories from wilderness camping, and even some bizarre encounters during missions. Laughter frequently erupted at the table, mainly from Remien and Mostima, with Fiametta occasionally chiming in, creating a relaxed and enjoyable atmosphere.

Suri sat quietly beside Remien, like a silent yet highly pervasive iceberg. He neither participated in the conversation nor looked at them, focusing solely on his meal, occasionally taking a sip of water. He ate quickly, but not in a wolfish way; rather, there was a peculiar rhythm to his eating. Remien would occasionally casually place some of his favorite dishes into his bowl, which he would silently eat, without any expression of appreciation, but without refusing either.

He seemed completely shut out of the outside world's noise, immersed in his own world. But upon closer observation, one would notice that his downcast eyes would occasionally flicker slightly at an interesting topic, or when Mostima recounted a particularly thrilling experience, his chewing would slow down almost imperceptibly. He was like a high-performance receiver, silently receiving and processing all the information around him without emitting any signals. This state of being "detached" yet "fully in control" was perhaps what made him most comfortable and at ease.

Mostima refrained from any further attempts to "tease" Suri during this time. She seemed to know when to stop, or rather, she found it more amusing to watch Suri's awkward "earnestly eating" at the dinner table than to directly provoke him. She would only occasionally steer the conversation towards topics that might interest Suri, such as some rare gun modification technique or a region known for its dangerous creatures, then observe with great interest Suri's almost imperceptible subtle reactions.

The dinner proceeded in a peculiar atmosphere—on one side, three women chatted casually and cheerfully, their laughter ringing out; on the other, Suri silently and efficiently finished her plate. An invisible boundary seemed to exist between the two, yet they coexisted in a strange harmony. Remian's gentle gaze frequently drifted between Suri and her friends, her heart filled with peace and contentment. Fiameta gradually relaxed, beginning to think that perhaps…eating at the same table with Suri wasn't as terrible as she had imagined? And Mostima, as always, enjoyed this subtle and intriguing balance.

For Suri, despite the somewhat bumpy process, being able to quietly enjoy the food he had cooked, with Remian sitting beside him and listening to (though not participating in) some not-too-boring small talk, seemed... not bad at all? At least, it was much more comfortable than dealing with those formal social occasions. As for that annoying Mostima... as long as she didn't cling to him anymore, he could temporarily treat her as background noise.

Dinner drew to a close in a strangely harmonious atmosphere. The four dishes were almost completely devoured, especially in front of Suri, whose bowls and plates were practically sparkling clean. He put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth with a napkin, his movements carrying a sense of shrewd satisfaction. Although the process had been somewhat tumultuous, seeing his carefully prepared food completely eaten (mainly by himself and Remian) finally eased his tense expression, which had been tense all evening, and even subtly revealed a hint of…satisfaction?

Remien ate to her heart's content, her heart filled with satisfaction as she looked at the soft lines of Suri's profile. She was about to say something in thanks when she saw Suri stand up and silently walk towards the kitchen.

Fiameta and Mostima watched his retreating figure with some confusion. Fiameta whispered to Remian, "Where...is he going?" Was he still hungry?

Remy was also a little puzzled, but she was already used to Suri's actions, so she just smiled and shook her head: "I don't know, maybe she went to get something."

Not long after, Su Rui returned from the kitchen. He carried a tray with four small, delicate white porcelain bowls filled with a clear, slightly yellow broth. Floating in the broth were several evenly sized, brightly colored pieces of fruit—orange-yellow mangoes, tender white pear flesh, pale pink peaches, and a few bright red strawberries. The broth looked very refreshing, without any thickening, only a faint, natural fruity aroma and a very subtle sweetness.

Suri placed the tray in the center of the table, then sat back down in her seat, still expressionless, as if she had simply completed a necessary procedure.

"Dessert after dinner." He uttered the four words succinctly, his tone as flat as if stating an objective fact.