"What?"
"Food?"
If Stana's feelings had been tangled before, now she truly didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.
Only then did she realize: the man's gaze hadn't been fixed on her at all — he had been staring directly at the loaf of bread in her arms.
For a fleeting moment, the urge to laugh bubbled up.But just as quickly, it gave way to a quiet ache in her chest.
Pierre, oblivious to her subtle reactions, asked again:
"Madame, would it be possible?"
As if perfectly on cue, his stomach growled audibly.
Stana chuckled softly at the timing."Of course," she said, a smile tugging at her lips."But… it hardly seems fair to trade just a piece of bread for your perfume."
She hesitated, then added:
"I live just up the street, in that building.If you don't mind, you could come with me — I can give you the bread, and make some soup as well."
Mind?He could've wept with relief.
When you're parched and starving, the idea of warm soup sounds like heaven.
What's gotten into me?
Ten minutes later, Stana was still asking herself that question as she stood peeling potatoes in her kitchen.
Why did I invite a complete stranger into my home?It wasn't like her at all.
Distracted, she kept sneaking glances toward the living room.
It was quiet.
She paused, her eyes drifting naturally toward the man sitting on her couch.
Pierre was calmly surveying the space.
The house was tastefully decorated — you could tell at a glance that the woman had either come from money, or at least once lived more comfortably than most.
To one side of the fireplace stood a bookshelf, filled with novels; on the other side, a piano sat untouched, now coated in a fine layer of dust.
Above the mantle hung framed photographs: pictures of Stana smiling beside a man in uniform — most likely her husband.
A soldier, then.Pierre nodded inwardly.No surprise there — nearly every man of age had been swept into the war.
He let his eyes wander for a moment, but soon his focus returned to one pressing concern:
When's the food ready?
Even hunger, however, couldn't push aside another growing worry.
Identity.
He was a foreigner, walking around wartime London without any documents.
To the authorities, there could only be one explanation:Spy.
Which meant arrest. Possibly worse.
And that would be the end of this time-travel journey — before it had even started.
He needed a story.A believable one.
How could he explain his presence here?How could he obtain legal identity?
The wrong answer could get him killed.
Honestly, he muttered to himself, if I had to get thrown through time, couldn't it at least have been to somewhere safer — or richer?
While those questions swirled in his mind, time passed quickly.
It wasn't until nightfall that Stana stepped out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with a few simple dishes.
"Dinner is ready," she said softly.
"Thank you, Madame," Pierre replied with genuine gratitude.
Seeing the warmth in his expression, Stana smiled without meaning to.Though somewhere in her chest, a quiet pang echoed.
So it really was just the food.
Pierre reached for the bread first. The aroma of warm wheat and just a hint of bacon drifted upward.
He bit into it — and nearly groaned out loud.
So this...This is what joy tastes like.
Of course, anyone would've thought the same after a day with nothing to eat.
There was mashed potato too, and a few other modest dishes.It wasn't much, given the times — but to Pierre, it was a feast.
While he ate, Stana finally spoke:
"Sir...You're French, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," Pierre said, pausing briefly."But how did you know?"
"Before the war," Stana said, "I lived near the Mediterranean for two years.Spaniards are usually a bit shorter, and the locals tend to have darker features.You didn't look like either — so I guessed you must be French."
Pierre laughed lightly."Madame, you're remarkably perceptive — one guess and you nailed it."
"But…" she added, "why would you trade something as valuable as that perfume... just for a bit of food?"
There it was.The question she'd been holding in.And maybe something else, too — a note of quiet curiosity… or hope.
"I only just arrived in Britain," Pierre said smoothly, already prepared for this.
"Just arrived?"Stana blinked.
"No," he corrected, adding a tired sigh for good measure."I escaped from France."
Her expression shifted.
"Escaped? From France? How?"
She leaned in slightly, interest piqued.
Pierre began spinning his tale without missing a beat:
"Years ago, my family fled France for Vienna, trying to escape the chaos.Before the war started, I returned to France for school.But soon after I arrived, war broke out.Then France surrendered, and things turned bleak — especially for someone like me."
He gave a helpless shrug.
"It took me months to get out.I slipped into Spain and eventually found a spot on a fishing boat headed to Britain…"
As he spoke, he thought of the little bottle tucked in his coat.
Smiling, he gently shifted the conversation:
"Still, I must've had some luck — to meet someone as kind as you on my first day here.If not, I'd probably still be starving out there."
He placed the bottle of perfume on the table between them.
"This was a gift from a friend back in France.And now, Madame, I'd like you to have it — to thank you for your kindness."
"You really mean that?"Stana's face lit up with surprise.
"Of course.Thank you for welcoming me."
Without hesitation, she reached for the bottle, cradling it carefully in her hands like something precious.
"Thank you," she murmured, the sincerity plain in her voice.
At that moment, the translucent screen returned.
[Second transaction detected.]
The system — again?!
Wait, this counts too?Does that mean I get more experience?
His eyes lit up, waiting eagerly.
Sure enough, new lines appeared:
[This transaction involved active decision-making and value exchange.You are now eligible to unlock the skill: 'Psychology.'Would you like to learn it?]
"Learn! Definitely learn!"Pierre didn't hesitate.
Another skill unlocked — this system just kept giving.
When the words [Psychology Learned] blinked across the screen, he grinned.
Even this?Even something like this could trigger a skill?
He could already tell — in this strange new life, every little edge counted.
And right now, the future was starting to look… interesting.