The Gluttonous Hunter's Kitchen

The screech of tearing metal echoed through the ventilation shafts, vibrating in Rafael’s teeth. He curled tighter into the dark, cramped confines of the school locker, his knuckles white as he gripped the rusted shelf above his head. Outside, the world was ending in screams and the wet, rhythmic thud of inhuman claws striking linoleum.

"System, please," Rafael whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the darkness. "Anything. Just give me something to fight with. A blade, a shield, even a shitty club. Just… anything."

The air in the locker shivered. A translucent blue interface flickered into existence before his eyes, bathing his terrified face in a cold, electric glow.

[ System Awakening Initiated… ]

[ Class Assignment: Cook ]

Rafael stared at the words, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Cook? Are you kidding me? Everyone else is getting 'Soldier,' 'Mage,' or 'Brawler.' I’m stuck with… a kitchen duty?"

[ Class: Cook (Unique) ]

[ Ability: Culinary Enhancement. You possess the innate power to infuse consumables with temporary stat boosts based on the essence of the materials used. ]

"You’ve got to be joking," Rafael hissed, tears stinging his eyes. "There’s a Feral Stalker tearing the gym apart five yards away, and you want me to… what? Bake it a cake? This is a death sentence."

He slumped against the metal back panel. The irony was suffocating. He had spent his entire life dreaming of being a frontline defender, a hero who could hold the line. Instead, the universe had relegated him to the pantry while his classmates were likely dying in the hallways.

"Great. Just great," he muttered, closing his eyes as the sound of frantic footsteps approached. "I’m going to be the only corpse in this school who died wearing an apron."

His hands brushed against something hard and cold in the corner of his pocket—a jagged, pulsing remnant he’d scavenged from a minor breach in the science wing earlier that day. A Level 1 Feral Heart. It felt warm, radiating a low, throbbing hum of raw energy.

"Might as well," he whispered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "If I’m going to be a loser, I might as well have a final snack."

He focused his intent on the heart. The interface pulsed.

[ Material Detected: Feral Heart (Low Quality) ]

[ Processing… ]

[ Skill Activation: Culinary Enhancement. ]

His fingers glowed with a faint, amber warmth. He squeezed the heart, feeling it dissolve into a fine, concentrated paste that coated a discarded, half-melted energy bar he had fished out of his bag. The smell hit him first—savory, rich, and impossibly invigorating.

"Wait, is this actually working?" he asked the empty locker, his voice cracking. "It’s supposed to be a piece of rubbery junk, but it smells like a five-course meal."

The locker door groaned. A massive, blood-stained hand ripped the vent cover clean off, the metal shrieking in protest. Rafael scrambled backward, his breath hitching, but it wasn’t a monster that tumbled in.

It was Kirill.

The star quarterback was a mess. His uniform was shredded, his face coated in grime and dried blood, and his eyes were wild with exhaustion. He collapsed, panting heavily, clutching his side where a deep gash leaked dark fluid.

"Hey, kid," Kirill wheezed, his eyes scanning the cramped space. "Don't scream. Just… just tell me you’ve got something. Anything."

Rafael stared at the hero of the school, stunned. "Kirill? You’re… you’re bleeding out."

"Yeah, no kidding," Kirill gasped, his head lolling against the locker door. "I burned my mana trying to hold the stairwell. I’m empty, man. My stamina bar is red-lining. If I don't get a boost in the next five minutes, I’m done for."

"I don't have a weapon, Kirill," Rafael said, holding the energy bar tightly. "I got the worst class imaginable. I’m a Cook. I’m useless."

Kirill let out a ragged, hollow laugh that turned into a wet cough. "A Cook? Seriously? Well, isn't that a kick in the teeth. Give me that—whatever you’re holding. I can't die hungry, right?"

"It’s just a snack, Kirill. It’s not going to fix your side," Rafael said, though he hesitated.

"Doesn't matter. My stomach is eating itself," Kirill growled, reaching out with a trembling hand. "Pass it over. I’m fading fast."

Rafael handed the bar over. Kirill snatched it, his movements clumsy, and shoved the entire thing into his mouth. He chewed once, twice, and then stopped. His eyes widened, the glaze of fatigue momentarily vanishing.

"What in the hell is this?" Kirill muttered, his voice barely audible.

"It’s just an energy bar with some… monster bits, I guess," Rafael shrugged, feeling his face heat up. "I told you, it’s nothing."

Kirill suddenly bolted upright, his breathing steadying. The color rushed back into his face. He stared at his own hands, then down at his side. The gash hadn't vanished, but the dark, necrotic edges were receding, replaced by healthy, knitting skin.

"Nothing?" Kirill stood up, his posture shifting from a broken man to a predator regaining his strength. He turned to Rafael, his gaze intense. "My stamina bar just filled to the brim. That wasn't just 'nothing.' That was a god-tier boost."

Rafael blinked, looking at his own palms. "It… it did?"

Kirill grabbed his collar, pulling him close, his expression a mix of bewilderment and desperate hunger. "Kid, you better start talking. That snack just turned my blood back to fire. Where did you get that, and more importantly… how many more of those can you make?"