Fishing by the stream, where the water runs deep and the fish are plump, brewing spring water into wine... Ahem, got off track. But seriously, the fish here are huge. I can’t tell how they taste—they’re nothing like fish from my old world. I’ll just have to guess based on looks.

Lott catching fish? I overestimated him. One strike from him splits the current clean in half. The fish would’ve turned to dust before hitting the water. So, I had to handle it myself. Where else would dinner come from?

Hey! You there! Freeze spell! Try running again~ Running? I grinned happily at the ice block bobbing up, a big frozen fish trapped inside. Magic really is convenient. A simple Freeze spell can catch fish or even make ice cream. In battle? It could shatter foes by freezing them solid. Way better than that flashy, useless Battle Aura.

I found a fancy cookware set in the Dark Lord’s treasury. Some wasteful idiot used rare mana-conducting metal for heat-conducting pots. If alchemists saw this, they’d rip out their decades-old beards in rage. With proper tools, I skipped roasting fish—it’d smoke too much and give us away. Instead, I’m making a fish-and-mushroom stew.

Well, my dad’s super lazy. He hates cooking. Even boiling noodles turns into gluey mush. So, I learned kitchen arts early, tagging along with my all-capable mom. Out here in the wilds, I can still feed myself. Especially with these perks—high-end cookware and full spices.

Honestly, the Dark Lord’s treasury is a junk pile. No real combat gear. Just weird stuff—like a crystal toilet—all overpriced and useless for serious business. Name anything unrelated to fighting, and it’s probably here.

Speaking of which, I sent the Hero off to gather mushrooms a while ago. I wonder if he’s run into anything fun. Many fairy tales start with girls picking mushrooms. Picture this: a creepy old guy napping in the bushes. The mighty Hero, sent by the Dark Lord to forage, muttering: “One, two, three, three, three… four, five…”

That’d be hilarious. I chuckled out loud at the thought.

“Whoa, you’ve already started cooking!” Lott emerged from the forest in a flash. He sniffed the air, eyes closing in bliss. “Smells amazing.”

“Did you expect me to wait for you?” I rolled my eyes and held out my hand. “Mushrooms?”

“Here.” He dropped a cloth bundle into my palm. “Only these common edible ones. Foraging isn’t like storybooks—no fresh rain to help.”

I weighed it. Decent amount. I peeked inside—no weird look-alikes mixed in. “Good job. This’ll do.” I’d sent Lott because he’s lived here long enough to tell safe mushrooms from poisonous ones.

“Where’d you get this cookware? Looks super fancy!” He circled my makeshift stone stove, whistling in awe.

“Chef buff. Projects cookware anytime, anywhere.” I washed the mushrooms, sliced them, and tossed them into the pot.

He clearly didn’t buy my nonsense. Instead, he lifted the lid, eyeing the whole fish inside. “Uh… you didn’t gut this, did you?”

“Clueless,” I teased smugly. “Stick two twigs through the gills, twist like this, then yank. Guts pop right out.” I mimed it vividly. But Lott just stared, utterly blank-faced. I sighed. “Forget it. You’re hopeless.”

Still… I couldn’t let him off easy. I slid a small bowl onto the rock before him. “Try this. It’s delicious.”

“This…” He frowned at the thumb-sized clear crystals. “What creepy thing is this?”

“Just taste one~” I coaxed, placing a bowl of fish soup beside him. “It’s not poison. Eat it, then sip the soup.”

After hesitating, he plucked one up, popped it in his mouth—and froze. I pressed a finger to his lips.

“So salty!”

“Don’t spit. Savor it. You’ll taste the depth.”

“But—it’s really, really salty.” His face scrunched up comically.

“It’s salt!” I burst out laughing. “Lingering aftertaste, right?”

“Ugh!” He spat it out, yelping, “Way too salty!”

I nudged the soup toward him. “Joke’s over. Compensation—drink first.”

“Another trap? Last time was salt. Now poison?” He eyed me warily. “I know you want to off me and escape.”

“Am I that cliché? Poisoning a Hero?” I glared, hurt by his suspicion.

The aroma won him over. He sipped—and melted into a blissful smile. “Tastes… surprisingly good.”

“Of course. A guy like me—elegant in halls, skilled in kitchens, master of arts—is rare. How about joining me?” I batted my eyelashes, winking.

“Is this a confession?” He grinned slyly.

“Die! I’m a guy. Why would I like you?” I almost whipped out a whip, but spared him for the soup’s sake. “I meant as my follower.”

“You lack even what a futanari has,” he sighed. “Just be a cute girl and marry someone like me—or me directly.”

“Drop that hopeful look.” I folded my arms coldly. “You’re a good man. After all… you drank the oversalted soup.”

He froze solid. “I knew it—why did it get saltier…”

“Hard to measure salt. But you worked hard, and I didn’t want you waiting for a reboil. So I numbed your taste buds first with salt, then gave you broth to tide you over.” I smiled sweetly. “Aren’t I thoughtful?”