Nathan – POV

  Achoo.

  I blinked. That was odd. I seldom sneezed. Even back in our old damp hut; where mold practically grew its own personality; I rarely sneezed. Was I developing an allergy to something? Dust? Magic? Nobility?

  “May the gods bless you, Lord Nathan,” Mary said sweetly.

  I chuckled. Even here, a sneeze earned divine attention. “Thank you, Mary.”

  With nothing urgent to do, I wandered into the kitchen area of our camp to help prepare dinner. The servants were busy chopping, boiling, and stirring the same stew?based dishes we’d been eating for years. I was about to help peel some unfamiliar root vegetables when something caught my eye.

  On a crate, half?covered by a burlap sack, lay several large tubers.

  I froze.

  No way.

  I stepped closer, my heart pounding. They looked like potatoes. Honest?to?God potatoes.

  Wait… potatoes? Here?

  A surge of excitement shot through me, but I forced myself to calm down. I’d been disappointed too many times before. Ever since I was a baby; dragged by my mother to the tavern where she worked; I’d been on the lookout for familiar fruits and vegetables. Anything from Earth. Anything at all.

  But no. This world had mocked me relentlessly. No tomatoes. No carrots. No onions. Not even garlic. Garlic! How could a world function without garlic?

  “Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

  A bad habit from my military days. My grandmother would’ve smacked the back of my head for blaspheming. Out of instinct, I whispered a quick prayer of apology. My old squadmates always found it hilarious that I prayed after cursing, considering the nature of our profession.

  But the shock of seeing what looked like potatoes had rattled me to my core.

  I needed confirmation.

  “Mary,” I said, pointing at the crate, “what are those?”

  She glanced over. “Oh? Ah. Those are for our horses. They’re called earth apples. A merchant recommended them to your mother as horse feed. They’re very cheap.”

  “Horse feed?” I repeated. “Not for us?”

  Mary giggled. “Of course not, Lord Nathan.”

  I swear they looked exactly like potatoes. I picked one up, turning it over in my hands. The weight, the texture… it felt right. I grabbed a knife and sliced it open.

  My eyes widened.

  This is a potato. A real potato. The kind that could become fries. French fries.

  Hell. Yes.

  “My lord?” Mary asked nervously. “Are you alright? Please be careful with the knife. Do you want me to slice it for you?”

  “Mary,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “please find me some animal fat. Half a bucket. If we don’t have any, ask my mother for coins and buy some. Preferably cow fat. And ask for an armed escort before going into the city.”

  She blinked, confused, but nodded and ran off.

  I didn’t waste a second. I began peeling and slicing the earth apples; no, potatoes; with the precision of a man possessed. The maids exchanged bewildered glances. The young master preparing horse feed? Madness.

  A short while later, Mary returned with a half bucket of lard. Good girl.

  I commandeered one of the fires and set the fat to heat. The maids watched as I dropped the sliced potatoes into the bubbling lard. The smell... oh, the smell; hit me like a punch to the soul. When they turned golden, I scooped them out and sprinkled crushed rock salt over them.

  My masterpiece was complete.

  Before I could taste one, Sebastian, our butler, rushed forward in horror.

  “My young lord! Please do not eat that. That is not fit for nobility nor for humans!”

  “Don’t worry, Sebastian,” I declared solemnly. “This is for the good of humanity.”

  He looked ready to faint.

  But I wasn’t exaggerating. My taste buds had been crying for something familiar for eight long years. Eight years of stews, stews, and more stews. Meat boiled with unidentifiable vegetables. No frying. No grilling. No seasoning beyond salt. And worst of all... no ketchup.

  I picked up a fry, still steaming, and took a bite.

  Holy. Shit.

  It was a french fry. A real french fry. I couldn’t help it... I cried. Tears streamed down my face.

  “Nathan?” my mother’s voice called. “Are you alright? Why are you eating horse feed? Why are you crying?”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  I turned to her, tears still flowing. “It’s delicious.”

  She hesitated, then; because she was a good mother; took one and bit into it.

  Her eyes widened. “By the gods… my baby boy is right. It is delicious!”

  That was all it took. The dam broke. Maids, guards, even Sebastian cautiously approached and tasted the fries. Soon everyone was munching happily.

  My mother pulled me into a hug, smothering my face in her… maternal assets. “My boy is a culinary genius!”

  I struggled for air but accepted the praise.

  That night, everyone enjoyed the fries. Serena, Jack, Christine, Shive; they all praised the strange new food that had apparently been meant for horses.

  I asked my mother why no one had ever thought to fry food.

  “I believe such techniques were closely guarded by the Shaxaian imperial family,” she said. “Why they kept it secret? I do not know. But you re-discovered it, my baby boy.”

  I groaned at her endearing tone, but I couldn’t help smile. However, I couldn't’ help but wonder... no on fried at all? Even from other parts of the world? Surely, someone out there did some frying. It seems impossible that no one did it. Then again, this world is strange for earthly sensibilities.

  Then I heard a familiar ding.

  A system prompt?

  I opened the notification.

  Congratulations! You have rediscovered a lost culinary art!

  You are awarded the title: Master Chef!

  Title Effects:

  +50 Dexterity

  +50 Constitution

  +50 Intelligence

  Another notification appeared.

  Congratulations! You have been awarded the title: Quaeritor Artium

  Seeker of the Arts

  +50 Intelligence

  I stared at the messages.

  What the hell?

  These stat boosts were insane. And the system had given me a title in Latin. Latin. In a world that shouldn’t know Latin.

  This was concerning. Logic dictated, I should be thrilled. But the ease of acquiring these titles… the suspicious generosity… it made me uneasy.

  Someone...or something was placing their thumb on the scale in my favor. The question is whose thumb is tipping the scale? Why? For what purpose?

  More questions piled up in my head. I sighed.

  Well… if the system deemed me worthy, who was I to refuse?

  Maybe God put me here to rescue this world from its blasphemous culinary ignorance.

  The system’s notification proved to me that frying food was indeed a lost art.

  And if that was my divine mission?

  Then so be it. French fries were only the beginning.

  Dianne – POV

  What is going on inside Nathan’s head? Every time I think I’ve finally grasped the extent of his imagination, he comes up with something new; something strange, clever, or downright miraculous. Today’s miracle? Those thin, golden strips he called French fries. The name alone sounded foreign, almost exotic, but the moment I tasted them, I understood why he looked so smug while presenting them. Crisp on the outside, soft and starchy inside, and the salt... gods, the salt; out a flavor I didn’t even know earth apples possessed.

  He said he could make dips for them. Dips. I don’t even know what that means, but the way he said it made me feel as though I’d soon be introduced to yet another culinary revelation. That’s just how he is. Ever since he was a baby, Nathan has been surprising me, surprising all of us. Not that I mind. It’s simply who he is; brilliant, unpredictable, and endlessly inventive.

  I know a mother shouldn’t play favorites among her children, but if I’m being honest with myself, Nathan is the most gifted of the three. Serena is diligent, Jack is brave, but Nathan… Nathan is something else entirely. As I look around the camp, I see the admiration in our people’s eyes. Even his siblings, who once teased him for being small and quiet, now whisper that he must be divinely blessed.

  What truly catches my attention, however, is the looks several girls give him. I know those looks. I wore those looks once, long ago, when I first met Jakob. But crushes on a seven-year-old boy; correction, almost eight-year-old boy? Christine is already head over heels for him, and Shive… well, Shive is a demoness disguised as a girl, and she’s completely devoted to him in a way that makes me both uneasy and oddly reassured. I just hope he doesn’t grow up collecting girls left and right like some wandering bard. I can only sigh at the thought.

  Then, like a whisper from the gods, an epiphany settles over me. If our plans succeed; if fate is kind; Nathan will become a great lord. Greater than Serena, greater than Jack. Perhaps even greater than Jakob. The thought startles me. What am I saying? Elevating my youngest son above everyone else? Maybe I’m simply overwhelmed by the taste of this new food he created. Yes, that must be it. Just appreciation. Nothing more.

  As I wrestle with my thoughts, Jakob approaches, his expression warm and curious.

  “Love, what do you think of Nathan’s food invention?”

  “It’s simple yet very delicious,” I reply. “Who knew earth apples could be edible for humans? Then again, if a horse can eat it, why not a human?”

  Jakob chuckles. “Interesting logic. If you can ignore the bitterness of grass or the dryness of hay, why not?”

  I laugh at the absurdity of a human chewing on hay like livestock.

  “It was Nathan who told you that, wasn’t it?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “He’s really intelligent.”

  “Yes, my baby boy is so smart,” I say proudly.

  “Frighteningly intelligent,” he adds.

  The shift in tone is subtle but unmistakable. My instincts flare. “What do you mean by that?” My voice tightens before I can stop it.

  He raises his hands defensively. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just… you see how he is. And on top of that, he controls those… things.”

  “So what?” I snap. “He is our boy. Our son. He may be wise, he may be strange, he may command the hordes of the Nine Hells, I still don’t care. He is our son. My son.”

  Jakob gives me that sheepish look he always wears when he realizes he’s stepped into dangerous territory. Perhaps I was too aggressive, but he’s wrong. Nathan needs our support, not fear.

  “You’re right, my love,” he murmurs. “You know me. My upbringing wasn’t ideal. I was always under the thumb of my father and brothers. Always following the superior. Always following orders. And now… I can sense an air of superiority from my own seven-year-old son. It makes me feel pathetic.”

  I soften. I’ve loved this man for years, and I remember the boy he once was; dutiful, obedient, shaped by a family that valued hierarchy over affection. He only learned to break free when tragedy forced us to run, when we lost his parents and everything familiar.

  I cup his face gently. “Listen, my love. Nathan is your son, not your superior. Not your father. Not your brothers. Work with him. Recognize his talents. Learn from him if you must. He is brilliant, and I suspect he will become a powerful mage. That is a blessing, not a curse. Can’t you see it? He always looks up to you.”

  Jakob exhales, tension melting from his shoulders. “You’re right… as always. Forgive this ignorant husband of yours.”

  I kiss him softly, then push him away with a playful scoff. “I knew back then that I was falling in love with an idiot.”

  “Idiot, you say?” he smirks, confidence returning. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward our pavilion with a familiar hunger in his eyes.

  I follow, laughing under my breath. I just hope the children don’t hear us tonight.