The Last Dessert Chef

The soft ticking of a wall chrono echoed faintly through the pristine silence of the Imperial Galactic Military Office. The faint hum of the air regulators blended seamlessly with the rustle of shifting holographic documents. Everything within the room—its disciplined design, clean edges, and muted palette reflected the man who resided in it.

Commander Zayde stood tall beside his desk, posture perfect, uniform flawless. The tailored black-and-silver of his military coat gleamed beneath the soft overhead lights. His gloves were as immaculate as the polished insignia on his collar, and his boots gleamed like obsidian mirrors. His ash-gray eyes moved methodically across the floating interface, absorbing tactical reports and fleet status updates without so much as a blink of boredom or distraction.

He rarely let anything interrupt his focus.

But today, a small, curious box sat on the edge of his otherwise spotless desk.

"You're sure this is it?" he asked without turning his head, his voice clipped and composed.

Standing across from him with rigid posture was Second Lieutenant Silas Trenn his trusted adjutant and aide. His cheeks held the faintest hint of color, which clashed with the otherwise emotionless sharpness of his military stance.

"Yes, sir. Priority package. Cleared through the military logistics channel under your authorization. Contents match the requisition: two sealed jars labeled 'milk pudding'."

Zayde's eyes finally moved to meet his. "And the origin?"

"Registered sender: civilian name Avril. Location: T-397 Beta, Low-Class Agricultural Planet, Outer Border Region. The address is tied to a decommissioned estate retrofitted with outdated tech modules. There are no red flags, no criminal history, and no known affiliations."

A pause.

Then Silas added hesitantly, "Sir… if I may explain how this came about…"

Zayde tilted his head just slightly. Permission granted.

"I was testing the Pineapple Platform's recent neural calibration update last night. You know, the one for real-time sensory data through broadcasts. I filtered for new streamers to test the signal range. That's when I stumbled across… well, his room."

Zayde raised a brow. "A broadcast?"

Silas looked vaguely embarrassed. "Yes, sir. It had no title, no tags. Completely obscure. I clicked because… well… there was a cat in the thumbnail."

Zayde blinked. Slowly.

"…And?"

"I stayed for the pudding," Silas admitted, now clearly flushed. "I thought it would be silly. But the moment he started cooking, the air changed. It was quiet. Gentle. The kind of stillness you don't really see anymore. It felt... warm. Honest."

"You sent the link to me."

"I did. On impulse," Silas admitted. "I thought... maybe you'd want to see it."

Zayde's silence stretched, unreadable as ever.

"I should not be getting a demerit for watching a civilian broadcast during my off-hours… correct?"

"No," Zayde answered flatly.

Silas sighed in quiet relief.

The door chimed.

A sleek, matte-black delivery drone hovered in with a low mechanical purr. "Package for recipient ID V001106. Contents: Perishable. Handle with care~" it chirped in a chipper tone before presenting its tray with robotic reverence.

Zayde approached the bot and accepted the parcel with surprising care. His gloved hands moved with steady precision as he unlatched the insulated container. A faint hiss released a mist of chilled vapor as the seal disengaged—along with a soft, lingering scent of vanilla and milk that gently filled the room.

Inside, two jars nestled within shock-proof foam. The dessert shimmered slightly beneath the office light—milky white with a delicate, ruby-colored berry placed like a jewel atop each one.

Silas leaned in slightly. "It looks even better in person…"

Zayde did not respond. Instead, he retrieved a spoon from the drawer, peeled the lid from one jar, and sat. His movements were slow, deliberate—ceremonial, almost. He didn't usually eat outside of scheduled meal times. Especially not food from civilians. Especially not sweets.

But this wasn't about nourishment.

This was something else.

He dipped the spoon into the pudding. It cut through the surface like silk. The first taste was soft and cold. The sweetness arrived like a whisper—light, mellow, balanced by the warmth of real vanilla and kissed with a tiny hint of sea salt that grounded the flavor.

The taste lingered on his tongue longer than expected—mild, smooth, subtly sweet. Unexpectedly pleasant.

He blinked once, slowly, but made no comment.

No expression crossed his face. No reaction revealed what he thought.

Just silence.

Wordless, he took another spoonful.

Silas, watching his silence, took that as unspoken permission and opened his own jar.

The spoon trembled slightly in Silas's grip as he took a bite.

"By the stars…" he whispered. "It's… incredible."

Zayde remained still, only the rhythmic tapping of the spoon against the glass jar betraying the quiet intent in his thoughts.

A moment later, he set the empty container back inside the delivery box. His gloved fingers paused on the handwritten label.

"Thank you – Avril"

The letters were slightly crooked. Unrefined. Personal.

Zayde turned away from the desk and approached the large window of his office. Beyond the reinforced glass lay the stars—cold, brilliant, and untouchable. His voice was calm when it came.

"Continue monitoring his broadcast. Discreetly. No interference."

Silas blinked. "Yes, sir. Should I prepare a contact file in advance?"

"No." Zayde's voice remained steady, cool. "Not yet."

"…Then how should we log him in the system?"

Zayde turned slightly, the faintest flicker of thought crossing his gray eyes.

"Civilian. Potentially gifted. No threat classification."

"Understood."

Silas hesitated again, then smirked faintly. "Sir… may I ask… did you really send two galaxy stars last night?"

Zayde turned his gaze on him, expression unreadable.

"…Is that relevant to your duties, Lieutenant?"

"…No, sir."

"Then don't ask unnecessary questions."

Silas straightened with a sheepish nod. "Right. Of course."

As the door hissed shut behind him, silence returned.

Zayde returned to his desk. The terminal screen remained active in the corner, still paused on the Pineapple Platform. A small glowing icon pulsed gently in the corner—Replay: Available.

He didn't move at first.

Then slowly, his finger reached out and tapped the button.

The screen lit up with soft kitchen lights. Gentle music played in the background. And then—

"Good morning, everyone. I'm Avril and today, I'll be making something sweet."

The boy's voice was quiet. Warm. Inviting.

In the cold stillness of his military office, the sound filled a space Zayde hadn't realized was empty.

He leaned back in his chair.

And watched.