29. Usual Breakfast
"Good morning," I said as I stepped into the kitchen, drawn by the delicious aroma wafting through the air.
My stomach twisted in anticipation, reacting instinctively to the mouthwatering scent.
I vaguely remembered catching a glimpse of an announcement just before I fell asleep last night. That was the first thing I tried to confirm upon waking—whether the Star Stream was still there.
But nothing showed up. I checked multiple times, just to be sure, but the result was always the same.
The Star Stream was gone. Only my system remained.
With that, I gave up the search.
As expected, I must've imagined it. I've seen so many alerts and notifications lately that my mind probably just filled in the blanks.
With my curiosity fading, my physical needs quickly took over—especially with the delicious smell of bacon and eggs filling the house. Without wasting any more time, I freshened up and made my way to the kitchen.
I found my parents in their usual spots—Father seated comfortably with a cup of coffee in one hand and the morning newspaper in the other, while Mother was busy at the stove, preparing breakfast.
Yes, we have servants and even professional chefs in the house. But Peytra insisted on preparing breakfast herself, at least when she wasn't too busy. That, and this cozy room itself had been built at my suggestion.
Our home includes a grand dining hall—elegant enough to host over ten guests in luxury—and a large, fully equipped kitchen where the staff usually works during events or gatherings. But alongside those, there's this medium-sized room: a warm, modern space with a dining table for four and a kitchen area designed more like a family nook than a mansion facility.
It was styled to resemble a modern open kitchen and dining area. The idea behind it was simple—Mother enjoys cooking and never minded having people around while she did so. However, the past "me" had pointed out that the servants would probably feel too tense preparing meals next to the lady of the house. And so, this private space was created—for her comfort, and to allow her to cook in peace without unintentionally intimidating the staff.
Mother, who had initially thought building another room like this was a needless expense, quickly withdrew her objections. Just seeing her beloved family gathered around the dining table, waiting patiently for her to prepare breakfast, made every penny—and every effort—feel worth it. It gave her a sense of fulfillment that made cooking for us all the more rewarding.
Mother stopped humming as soon as she heard my voice. She turned around, giving me a quick once-over.
"You finally woke up!" she said, a mix of annoyance and relief in her tone.
"You slept like a log all day. You even missed dinner. If I hadn't heard you mumbling in your sleep, I almost would have taken you to the hospital yesterday."
"I slept that much? No wonder I feel so refreshed and light," I said, making a triumphant fist pump.
Mother rolled her eyes and asked, "Are you hungry?"
"Very. Make it double—no, triple—what I usually get," I replied eagerly, then moved to sit beside my father.
"Good morning," I greeted, but noticed a deep frown on his face.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Ah, good morning," he said, his tone serious. "There was a massive gas explosion in Tingen City." He explained what he had read in the newspaper. "The blast was so intense that some witnesses described a spear of light radiating from the center of the explosion. Are you heading out today?"
"Yes, I still have college," I answered.
"Then be careful on your way," he warned.
"Okay," I said, though my mind was already racing as a new memory surfaced—the time Klein left his first persona. Which meant… things were about to get dangerous here.
I sighed, but Mother arrived with breakfast, quickly lifting my spirits.
"Chris," Peytra suddenly called out. "Your ear…"
Following her cue, I reached up and touched my ear, surprised to find the bullet hole completely gone. To make sure I wasn't mistaken, I checked the other ear as well—both were intact, as if nothing had ever happened.
Seeing my confusion, Father chimed in, "It must be because of the church."
Mother quickly nodded in agreement, and with that explanation, they both dismissed the oddity, while I remained baffled.
When I first returned, some of the wounds inflicted by that man were still bleeding. Thankfully, I wasn't wearing the same torn clothes; I just had to be careful not to stain my good ones. My regeneration closed the wounds fairly quickly, but regrowing a lost part like my ear should have been impossible—at least at this stage, my regeneration wasn't that advanced. After all, if I took off my shirt now, the scars were still clearly visible across my torso.
So what on earth had happened?
Did I get rejuvenated when I crossed into another world? But then, why am I still injured when I come back?
Does it only work when I'm going out, not returning? So, could I survive if I went there badly wounded beyond saving?
Or is it something else entirely?
I'll have to investigate this later.
Unable to hold back any longer, I devoured my breakfast like someone starving for years.
Then, a system notification popped up in front of my eyes:
[Constellation 'Demon-Like Judge of Fire' has expressed interest in sampling the food.]
Gkhhh!
Suddenly, a piece of food got stuck in my throat.
Cough, cough.
My parents quickly rushed to help.
"Geez, eat slower," my mother scolded, though a smile tugged at her lips. She was more exasperated than angry.
Meanwhile, I was just staring dumbfounded at the notification window.
What the f**k?!
***
Meanwhile, a gentleman had just arrived at Backlund. Brown eyes, slightly long black hair, an average-featured face adorned with a few stubs of facial hair, and a lean yet moderately muscular build.
A new detective had come to the Land of Hope, the capital of Dust.
His name was Sherlock—Sherlock Moriarty.