The Last Dessert Chef

Capri woke with his stomach grumbling, a dull ache that only reminded him of how empty it truly was. After an entire day of sleeping, his fever had finally broken. His skin still looked pale, and sweat clung stubbornly to him, but the worst had passed.

He dragged himself to the small bathroom, cleaned himself up with the lukewarm water from the narrow pipe, and changed into one of the oversized shirts he found neatly folded in the wooden drawer. It smelled faintly of the herbs stored nearby.

Then came the familiar problem. Food.

The kitchen offered little comfort. Except for three dusty packets of nutrient solution, there was absolutely nothing. Even looking at them made Capri feel queasy. Their texture was strange, their taste artificial, and he could barely swallow them without feeling like he was being punished.

Orange, his round-bellied cat, perched near the counter and stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly wondering why his human hadn't chugged down the usual weird-tasting goop.

"There's this little guy to feed too," Capri muttered, rubbing Orange's head. The cat swatted at him with soft pink paw pads, his fur now slightly rumpled.

Capri sighed, grabbing a woven basket by the door. "Let's go check the garden. Maybe something survived."

The fenced vegetable patch was small, worn at the edges, but decently kept. Some of the crops were still growing plump eggplants nestled in the soil beside sprigs of bright green scallions and a few yellowing cabbages. At the back, a cluster of small tomatoes, still green, hung stubbornly from thin vines. A single carrot peeked from the ground, its leafy top drooping from the weight of last night's rain.

Orange took the opportunity to steal a nibble from a shriveled leaf, looking pleased with himself.

Capri crouched down and gently began harvesting what he could. He picked two eggplants, a handful of scallions, and the carrot, brushing the dirt off carefully. He left the rest to ripen.

Carrying the basket, he returned to the open kitchen attached to the back of the thatch house. It was sparse and cold, with no real seasonings, and the small stove looked like it had seen better days.

He checked his terminal again. Still only 100 starcoins.

Gritting his teeth, he ordered a small pack of staple seasonings—salt, soy paste, dried herbs, cooking oil and a single pouch of cat food for Orange. On a second thought, he added a small bag of rice, since there was none left in the kitchen. He stared at the screen as his balance dropped to zero.

"Zero," he muttered flatly. "We're broke."

Orange gave a bored yawn, his tail flicking against the floor.

Capri chuckled humorlessly. "What a heartless little guy."

The terminal pinged a moment later. The package was on its way, but given this was a low-class planet, delivery still took some time. With nothing else to do, Capri began scrolling.

That's when he saw it: a platform named Pineapple. A live broadcast app. A banner flashed on the main screen "New User Registration Bonus! 1000 Starcoins!"

Capri's eyes lit up.

"Orange… what if we become broadcasters?" he whispered, already clicking through the form. "Look at that! One thousand just for registering!"

Orange licked his paw, completely uninterested.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Soon after, a knock came from the door. A round-headed delivery robot stood outside, blinking at him.

"Mr. Avril, right? Nice to meet you~ AN2900 is here to deliver your order!"

Capri took the box from the robot's little metallic belly and signed on the glowing screen. The robot flashed its puppy-eyed face.

"Please rate five stars~"

Capri laughed and rubbed its head. "Five stars it is."

Once the robot zipped off, Capri placed the box on the countertop and opened it. Inside were neatly packed seasoning packets, a pouch of rice, and Orange's precious cat food.

Capri rolled up his sleeves.

He wasn't just a pastry chef. Cooking was part of the craft too. And right now, he needed something warm, hearty, and gentle for a recovering body.

He sliced the eggplants into soft fans and sprinkled them lightly with salt to draw out bitterness. The scallions he chopped finely, setting them aside. The carrot he peeled and grated, adding a touch of sweetness. He rinsed the rice thoroughly, washing it until the water ran clear, and decided to make a simple rice porridge with stir-fried vegetables on the side.

He set a small pot of water to boil, adding the rice, grated carrot, and a bit of salt. The aroma was subtle but comforting.

Then he lit the pan and added a dash of oil. The eggplants hissed gently as he laid them in. He added a spoon of soy paste and a pinch of dried herbs, letting them simmer until they softened into a glossy, savory pile.

As he cooked, Capri—no, Avril felt something shift.

He was no longer a world-renowned chef. There were no gold plaques, no bustling restaurants, no gala dinners.

But the rhythm was the same. The scent of sizzling vegetables, the smooth weight of a knife in his hand, the quiet focus it was all there. Familiar. Steady.

Orange meowed from the corner, tail twitching, impatient.

"Almost done," Avril said softly, tasting the porridge with a wooden spoon. It needed a touch more salt. He added it, stirred slowly, then turned the heat low.

With the food simmering, he took a step outside. Rain had stopped, but the roof still leaked. He fetched the spare boards from the shed and began patching the worst of it.

Hammering in the boards with care, sweat sticking to his back, he found the motion soothing. Every step was one more mark of survival. Of building something new.

By the time he returned, the house smelled like warmth and salt and something very close to home.

He set the food down carefully, serving Orange his cat food and placing a bowl of porridge and eggplants for himself.

As he sat on the worn mat, a quiet calm settled over him. For now, this was enough.

He was no longer Capri.

He was Avril.

And he would find a way to live again even if it meant starting from scratch.