Starblox sat nestled in the northeast Hightown district of Star-Moon City. The sky was cloudy, the wind brisk—perfect weather for selling food.
Anansi still didn't understand why Puerto Rican rice was on the menu, but if the system told him to sell it, then by the gods, he was gonna sell it. He'd spent all day yesterday pre-prepping the meal for maximum authenticity. The gear in Starblox was top-tier—no matter how often he cooked, nothing stuck to the pans. Magic? Nanotech? No clue. But he appreciated it.
Opening hours were set for 12:00 p.m. The monster invasion had led to a massive conscription effort, sending many men and women off to join the subjugation force. The upside? Families had extra cash to burn—combat pay always boosted the local economy.
What impressed Anansi most about this world wasn't the monsters, or the magic, or the technology—it was the Adventurer's Guild. Not the cheesy kind from manga, but a well-organized, battle-hardened union with logistics, funding, and citywide influence. Even the monetary system felt weirdly grounded. Gold, silver, and bronze coins? Sure. But they were all actually bills—paper money backed by the empire. Gold was worth 100, silver was 20, and bronze was 5. Like some RPG decided to modernize its economy with dollar bills.
As Anansi opened Starblox's front door, he flipped on the cleaning fans and let the system do its magic. He didn't fully understand what powered the building—some hybrid mana-tech core, probably—but it let him do things no restaurant on Earth could. He could keep the AC maxed out, leave every door and window wide open, and not worry about energy loss or pests.
The building was wrapped in an invisible shield that kept out bugs, rats, and even gas-based toxins. Fresh air could flow in, but poison gas, smoke, and pollutants were automatically filtered and vented without choking the residents.
Even weirder? The place was infused with mana. You could feel it in the air—like an oxygenated charge that made your skin tingle and your thoughts clearer.
What Anansi didn't know yet was this:
Mana was everything in Neo Terra.
It wasn't just some energy source. Mana was life, power, heat, magic, blood, growth, decay. It saturated the world like an ecosystem—available to be absorbed by living beings, recycled through nature, even cooked into food. Meat with high mana content could boost recovery. Mana-infused plants made stronger potions or poisons. Hell, some creatures evolved just by eating others with more condensed mana.
And Starblox wasn't just a building.
It was a Mana Domain.
Domains were powerful constructs that controlled the mana flow in a defined space. They shaped the environment, creating buffs for allies, protection zones, healing auras, or other effects depending on the Domain's design and mana density.
Starblox's Domain was passive, but potent. It boosted digestion, improved stamina recovery, and enhanced mental focus—all perfect for adventurers stopping in before or after a dungeon run.
By now, the summer lunch rush was kicking off. The streets filled with office workers, off-duty adventurers, and wandering mercs. Food stalls and trucks started popping open like mushrooms after rain. Bright holographic signs flickered to life all around Anansi's block.
#Fresh Food#Food For all Days#Grill Goddess Daily Specials#Try Our Multi-Culture Menu
Anansi was ready to activate phase two of his plan.
He stepped back inside and took a deep breath. It was showtime.
Transformation Mode: Boss Chef
Old habits die hard. He used to be part of the drama club back in high school.
Anansi's disguise was pure anime madness meets Caribbean royalty: a dramatic look inspired by Superman from Batman Ninja vs. Yakuza League.
His cape was a mix of pirate bravado and Haitian embroidery, laced with ancient sigils and sea serpent scales. Barefoot, shirt nearly painted on, muscles outlined like they were sculpted, his aura turned heads before he even said a word.
Walking out onto the patio dining floor like he owned the damn city, the man they were about to meet took in a deep breath—and roared.
The moment he opened his mouth, he didn't sound like Anansi.
"LISTIN' UP!"
The voice wasn't just loud. It hit like a punch from a heavyweight champ. Deep, raw, and soaked in that smooth Greek-English drawl. It made the wind hold its breath. It rattled utensils on neighboring food trucks. Everyone turned—workers mid-bite, adventurers mid-boast, kids mid-tantrum.
Standing center stage was a 6'3 monster of a teenager, lean and built like he trained with gods. His jet-black hair shimmered with a dark greenish shine, swept back in a wild, messy pompadour that defied gravity and all common sense. His shades sat low on his nose, glinting under the high noon light like they were forged from obsidian.
He wore a sleeveless muscle shirt so tight it might as well have been painted on. The man was barefoot, and somehow that made him even more dangerous. Every step carried weight, presence, drip. The ladies—and a few dudes—couldn't take their eyes off him. Cheeks flushed. Hearts skipped. Grannies held their pearls.
He didn't just look good. He looked dangerous and very, very yummy.
"The name's Kuraku Reddington, boss of this fine establishment—Starblox!" he barked, chest puffed like he was about to go 12 rounds with a King Liger.
And just like that, the crowd melted. The name hit them like lightning. "Kuraku..." they whispered. A name that sounded like a legend, like a myth dipped in espresso and dipped again in rum. How his voice carried across the block, no one questioned. It was the Oyabun effect.
Also there was no Greek accent in this world.
"That's right!" Kuraku snapped his fingers. "I'm the Oyabun of the Reddington Family—the Mad Lad Cook himself! The man who throws hands and throws down whenever I dammed pleased.!"
He spread his arms wide like he was summoning thunder. The cape on his back fluttered—part pirate king, part Haitian warrior god, stitched with golden embroidery and serpentine runes.
"You wanna eat like royalty? Then listen the hell up. We got three items on the menu today, and that's it. Don't ask for extra. Don't ask waste my time tryin' to out deal me."
A pause.
"First up: Seafood Udon. This ain't your average bowl, nah. The sauce is soy, oyster, garlic, and a dash of water—but the kick? That's from my personal seven-spice blend: Shichimi Togarashi—yeah, I made it, and no, you can't find it anywhere else 'cause I don't kiss and tell. My invention my rules. Taste hits like a roundhouse to the soul."
He winked behind the shades. A lie? Absolutely. Shichimi Togarashi is Japanese spice blend. But in Neo Terra, who's gonna check him?
That is one item off his bucket list.
Claim an idea from Earth and pass it off as your and make sweet money.
"We toss in chili flakes, seaweed, sesame seeds, and secret herbs to punch you in the memory lane. Then butter from the legendary Gullen Cow—smooth like jazz, rich like royalty. The noodles? Made from Star Pattaoo starch and Spirit Water, so light they practically float."
His voice dropped, smooth and reverent like a priest at the altar.
"And the meat—ah, the meat. Huntail shrimp, scallops, mussels, calamari, King Lobster, and Queen Salmon. Broth? Straight from the springs of Hollow Mountain, where the water tastes like a damn vegetable garden sang you a lullaby. Finished with eggs, mushrooms, carrots, green onions, fish cakes, ginger, corn, bamboo shoots, scallions, and seaweed. It ain't a bowl. It's a spiritual awakening."
He clapped once, hard enough to echo. "Next up: Griot. Crispy, juicy pork shoulder, marinated in citrus and spice till it dreams in flavor. Fried golden. Comes with Spiced Brown Rice and a tiny flag to mark the battlefield you just conquered with your taste buds."
"And last—we got the Arroz con Gandules.
Slow-cooked rice, pigeon peas, sazon, sofrito, and that smoky pork flavor weaving through every grain like it's whispering your grandma's secrets. Comes with sweet plantains and attitude."
He took a step back, hands resting on his hips like he just challenged the gods.
"That's the menu. That's the dream. That's Starblox. You hungry? Get in line."
The customers didn't know what to excpet from that. A handsome guy shouted at them talking about food they never even heard.
No one moved for ten seconds...
"I would like a Seafood Udon." A voice shook the stumper out of the crowd. They all turned too a girl, high school girl of 15 blushing madly at the cook.
"Bet."
Kuraku Reddington rolled up the sleeves he didn't have, cracked his knuckles, and flexed—just for the hell of it.
He spun around to the prep station like a DJ about to drop heat. First thing: broth. The base of everything. Without that, you just got wet noodles.
He snatched a bottle marked "HV Extract" off the rack and poured a single dark glug into a steaming pot of distilled mana-water. The Hollow Vegetable extract came from crops only grown underground—pale white roots with empty cores that sucked up trace nutrients from leyline soil. The flavor was light, airy, but deep… like sipping on starlight if it had umami.
He stirred it slow, real slow, letting the colors swirl like galaxies in the pot. The moment the heat kissed the extract, the entire street block took notice.
The broth whispered promises. Caramel, sweet wind, something green but warm. Thanks to Starblox's Mana Domain filter, every note of scent was boosted, cleaned up, and magnified—like a sound system for flavor. You didn't just smell it. You heard it. People stopped mid-step. Heads turned. Mouths opened like windows in spring.
Next, he prepared the seafood. Each type in its own pan. Shrimp first—peeled, deveined, and tossed onto a hot pan slicked with Star-Cow butter. The heat sizzled on contact. The shrimp curled quickly, releasing a pop of briny sweetness as they seared.
Next, he prepared the seafood. Each type in its own pan. Shrimp first—peeled, deveined, and tossed onto a hot pan slicked with star-cow butter. The heat sizzled on contact. The shrimp curled quickly, releasing a pop of briny sweetness as they seared.
He turned to the scallops—thick, cold, and trimmed. He added them to another pan. No seasoning yet. Just sear, one side, then the other. When the edges browned, he added a few drops of spirit rice wine to deglaze, producing a sharp hiss and a cloud of fragrant steam.
Mussels and calamari came next. The mussels opened with the heat, their juice combining with garlic and seaweed oil already waiting in the pan. Calamari rings went in last, lightly coated in starlight salt. He tossed them just long enough to soften.
All of it—cooked separately, timed precisely.
In the meantime, he flash-boiled the noodles. They were thick udon strands made with star patatoo starch and spirit water. They held their shape even under heat, turning glossy and pliant in seconds. He removed them with long chopsticks and dropped them directly into a wide ceramic bowl.
The broth had deepened in color. He strained it once, removing vegetable bits, then poured it generously over the noodles. The rising steam carried the scent far beyond the patio, through the street, down the alleys.
Each portion of seafood was then placed carefully on top. Shrimp in one quadrant, scallops beside them, calamari spiraled like rings of smoke, mussels on the rim. A butter-glazed slice of King Lobster meat rested across the center. A cube of grilled Queen Salmon crowned the dish.
He added the toppings without hesitation: halved boiled eggs with golden yolks, sliced fish cakes, bamboo shoots, thin mushrooms, corn kernels, shredded seaweed, carrots, and green onions. A final drizzle of Shichimi togarashi oil across the top gave the surface a faint reddish gleam.
One bowl, full and balanced. Flavor layered over flavor. Color against color.
He wiped the rim, set it on a serving tray, and moved to the next order.
"Done."
The smell of broth and buttered seafood hung thick in the air. Nearby customers took slow steps forward, watching in silence. They hadn't tasted anything yet, but their mouths had already started watering.
He turned and set the bowl down with a smirk. "Here ya go, sweetheart. First one's always on the house."
The girl stepped up, still red as a Cherubi. She took the bowl, trembling. Her friends crowded behind her.
She grabbed chopsticks, took a bite—
—and froze.
Her eyes widened. Her knees buckled slightly.
"…I can taste… like… the ocean cried into a dream," she mumbled.
Then louder: "OH MY GOD."
The crowd roared. Phones were already out. Livestreams popped open. Anansi stepped forward, arms spread.
"Welcome to Boss of Cooking, y'all. This only the first course."
He always wanted to say that.