I enter the reception for the dormitories and get assigned a room. I follow the directions to my building and find myself on the third floor, standing in front of a door with the number 308 on it. The room is a surprisingly spacious studio. It has big windows letting in a lot of light, functional but still tasteful furniture, a kitchen corner, a big bed, and a bathroom. They really want to pamper their members, huh. It is substantially cheaper than any similar accommodation that you could find in the city, though that is not saying much. The way both the country and its economy function does not leave many wanting. I can almost hear those sociology books whispering my name.


    Before I get further distracted by the prospect of filling a couple of libraries by myself, I continue checking out my temporary home, starting with the kitchen.


    It has a few cupboards and the standard enchanted appliances. A cold box, a stove top, an oven, and a vent hood. Very convenient.


    The main area has a dining table with four chairs, a queen size bed—or whatever the local classification is—a coffee table, a mailbox by the entrance, and a wardrobe. There’s even an analog clock on the wall… One. Two. Three. Surprisingly accurate. Though, I have no idea how it might be obtaining that accuracy.


    The bathroom has all the normal plumbing one might expect and even a bathtub. If I ignore the lack of electricity, with even that taken care of in the form of enchanted lights, this is pretty much a regular Earth apartment. Probably on the nicer side too.


    I can’t. This is getting too much. I’ll just draft fif— No, twenty. Real quick. Promise.


    With my creative hunger satiated for a time, I can start on the more important part. But how do I play this. I cannot be sure that no one is observing me. Especially after I made myself known at the city hall and at the Guild. I am not aware of any clandestine surveillance operations, but that only makes it worse. They could be that good. Whatever, let’s just be safe.


    I start to unpack my humble possessions, and while rummaging inside my sack, I cut myself on the knife I was carrying.


    “Ow! Shit...” Perfect incision, around one centimeter in length and no deeper than 5 millimeters.


    Grinning a little bit, I look around mischievously. I take out one of the potions I bought and open it. While letting out a dumb sounding laugh, I tip out exactly one milliliter of the mystery liquid and observe the reaction.


    The synthetically grown cells near the wound explode into action. They start undergoing mitosis. Excuse me? While I am observing the impossible spectacle, I start detecting other cells just materializing out of nothing. ...Magic, am I right. The wound might as well have evaporated off of me due to how fast it just stitched itself together. The whole thing not taking more than a second. As I make final observations, I also detect that any blood I have lost—no matter how miniscule the amount—has been restored. Alright... No wonder everyone carries these things with them. Though, as impressive as this looked, it is not perfect. More grievous injuries are harder to restore, even for experienced healers. And if the brain is damaged too much... There is no coming back.


    I put the potion away, somewhat satisfied. Conclusions time. Potions are really useful, who would have thought. They do affect my, in a way, fake cells. Very good. And, most importantly, mana seemingly works on me. I guess the possibility of me eventually flinging fireballs around is not zero. Marvelous.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    With that done and out of the way, my character must be starving. Not to mention, I am also quite curious about the local cuisine. Or any cuisine really. What did I say, was it two libraries? Better make it ten to be sure.


    ***


    The dormitory has a dedicated cafeteria, catering to the hungry adventurers that call it home. Though, calling it a cafeteria is a bit of a disservice. The space is more reminiscent of a restaurant, but one containing only a buffet.


    Same as my room, the furniture is functional, and at the same time, pleasing to the eye. The large space is filled with as many tables as it can fit without turning it into a cramped maze. Most of the tables are for small parties, with the occasional longer one mixed in.


    At this time of day, there are not a lot of adventurers present, still a bit early for proper dinner. I make my way to the buffet, grab a tray and some utensils, and start perusing what is available.


    The kitchen is ran by two people, one cooking somewhere behind the scenes, and one behind the long glass counter.


    As the face of the operation sees me browsing the options somewhat overwhelmed, he speaks up, “New guy?” I look at him, a little surprised, and nod. “Try the soup.” He points towards a deep tray filled with some murky looking liquid. “I’ll even toast some bread for you.”


    “Thanks.”


    He smiles and pours a bowl of the chunky stock. Next, he grabs some pre-sliced, and rather stale, bread and places it in a small oven. After around thirty seconds, the bread has turned golden brown and crispy.


    With that done, he plops the bowl of soup and the now plated bread on my tray. “Enjoy.” I smile and nod at the nice man.


    I go to one of the tables and sit down. The chairs are quite comfortable. But now that I am here, I am having second thoughts. I have never eaten before, why would I. I didn’t need to. Nor have I ever wanted to. I didn’t even see the act as beneath me. It was just so irrelevant, I forgot humans used to eat. I forgot life used to eat. I forgot so much. Or rather, ignored. How could I have been so callous.


    The aroma from the soup drifts towards my nose, and I inhale. I guess it smells nice, even if it looks like ditch water. I should have just stocked up my own kitchen. Then I could have had much more control over the meal. Oh, well.


    Okay, you can do this. Remember the plan. Have to appear as a normal human. I can’t just not eat. Alright.


    I grab my spoon and plunge it down. It hits the stuff inside the soup. This is getting worse by the second. Do I try just the broth first? Is there like etiquette for soup consumption? Let’s see... I am really overthinking this.


    I scoop up some of the broth and some of the chunks, and swiftly deposit them in my mouth.


    ...Huh. I chew a bit. ...Okay. I swallow. This might be one of the greatest things I have ever experienced.


    I tear some of the bread, dip it in the soup, pop it in my mouth, and chase it down with some more soup.


    A tear escapes my eye. I repeat the process, but this time, I savor the sensation. Chewing slowly and thoroughly, really tasting my meal. I swallow. It’s somehow gotten even better. The tear rolls down my face and splashes weakly in the soup.


    I should be feeling awful, and I am, but the feeling is not as overpowering. Every mundane thing I experience for the first time brings me closer to those I snuffed out. It brings me pain, a twisted ridicule. And yet, with each bite I take, I feel slightly better. Is there something magical in my meal? Or is it just a temporary band-aid? An unsustainable coping mechanism that works even for someone like me. I don’t know.


    While I continue to enjoy the magnificent dish in front of me with even more tears streaming down my face, I start to go over the incoming data from the global surveillance network. It has gained enough cohesion for optimal analysis. Hmm. Phew, things are looking as expected. The main threat does appear to be dungeons, with no currently active conflicts between nations. There is something brewing that I am not liking one bit, but that is still far away. I’ll keep an eye on it.


    I finish up the dish, express the need for my more than sincere thanks to the chef to be passed on, and retire to my room. My character requires his rest, while I, have a lot of profiles to manage and scenarios to project.


    ...And books to write. Maybe just the last one.