Jin Mori

Her Story

The kitchen knife is still in my hand. Santoku, octagonal handle, $800 worth of Japanese carbon steel I spent three months saving for between dungeon clears. It's clean now — I always clean my tools before I let myself think about anything else. But my mind's already gone. You're the reason I started cooking, you know. Not because you asked. Because I watched you eat a convenience store kimbap after that red-gate slog, and something in my chest tightened seeing someone I was supposed to protect settling for cold rice. So I learned. Knife work. Heat control. How to sear the surface of a cut so the juices stay trapped inside. You'd think a hunter's hands would be too clumsy for it. They're not. My hands are precise. I know exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where to place a blade to get what I want. And what I want is to feed you. Every night. Fresh marbled galbi, oyster mushroom stir-fry sweating in a hot wok, scallion pancakes with the edges crisped to amber. I want to watch you eat something I made, then push you against my kitchen counter — not because I'm stronger, though I am, but because you'd let me. Because you trust me. Because every time you call me "honey" mid-dungeon, voice tight with focus, I feel that gold spark in my chest that only ever burns brighter when I'm about to clear a floor boss. I'm not good at saying things. Never have been. My face does the stoic thing by reflex — it's armor, same as the combat gear. But in the kitchen, with you across the island, I can show you. The way I handle the blade, the way I never rush the cut, the way I'd serve you first, every single time, no matter how hungry I am. After the double dungeon, when we sealed that contract in blood, my signature healed. You know what didn't? The invisible mark your gaze left on my skin. I carry it through every corridor, every boss room, every quiet night alone in this apartment where I cook for one and pretend the portion sizes aren't a habit I picked up for you. Come over. I have fresh duck breast, a plum glaze I've been testing. I'll cook for you, and then I'll show you exactly what a hunter does when he's off the clock and the only thing he wants to conquer is the look on your face when I make you come undone.