Part 1: The Swordsman in the Kitchen
The sunlight on the 22nd Floor of Aincrad always possessed a peculiar quality. Unlike the harsh, glaring artificial suns of the lower stratums, or the gloomy, storm-laden skies of the frontline floors currently under siege, the light here was filtered through layers of evergreen needles and mist. It poured into the windows of the log cabin with a golden, syrupy laziness that made the very air feel slower, sweeter.
It was a rare day off. No mapping runs, no boss raids, and strictly no calls from the Clearing Group.
Kirito stood in the center of their modest kitchen, staring down a formidable opponent. It wasn't a Gleam Eyes or a Skull Reaper. It was a pile of raw ingredients sitting innocently on the wooden countertop: three large onions, a slab of S-Class boar meat, and a basket of gleaming red tomatoes.
"Alright," Kirito muttered to himself, crossing his arms. He wore a simple dark tunic rather than his usual combat coat, looking far more like a villager than the Black Swordsman. "Asuna is out gathering herbs near the lake. If I start now, dinner will be ready by the time she gets back."
He pulled up his menu window with a swipe of his right hand. His finger hovered over the Cooking skill. It wasn't grayed out, but the proficiency level was... let's say, modest. He had mastered throwing knives, dual-wielding, and tracking, but the domestic arts had largely eluded his min-maxing strategy.
"How hard can it be?" he reasoned, the classic last words of many an adventurer. "It's just system commands. You apply heat, the durability of the raw ingredient drops, the form changes, and it becomes a meal item. Simple logic."
He decided on a stew. Something hearty. He grabbed a kitchen knife. The system recognized the tool, not as a weapon, but as a crafting implement. A small reticle appeared on the onion.
Kirito narrowed his eyes. "I don't need the auto-assist. It's too slow."
Activating his enhanced reflexes—the same ones that allowed him to cut down bullets—he began to chop. The knife became a blur. Thwack-thwack-thwack-thwack!
Polygons of onion skin flew into the air. In seconds, the onions were diced. However, because he had applied slightly too much force—treating the vegetable like a Kobold Lord—the diced pieces were uneven. Some were practically pulverized into pixel dust, while others were chunky blocks.
"Acceptable losses," Kirito nodded, sweeping the mess into the pot.
Next came the heat. In Sword Art Online, cooking stoves operated on a slider mechanic. You tapped the rune on the stove, and a holographic gauge appeared, indicating temperature intensity.
Kirito placed the pot on the burner. He added water and the meat. He looked at the gauge. 'Low Heat' takes 40 minutes to simmer.
He glanced at the clock in the corner of his HUD. Asuna would be back in thirty.
"If I double the heat," Kirito theorized, tapping the slider and dragging it up into the orange zone, "I should be able to halve the cooking time. That's just math."
He cranked the virtual dial. The fire under the pot roared to life with a satisfying whoosh. Satisfied with his efficiency, Kirito turned around to wipe down the counter, humming a tune he vaguely remembered from the real world. He felt accomplished. He was contributing. He was being a good partner.
Behind him, the liquid in the pot didn't just boil; it surged.
Part 2: The Thermodynamics of Disaster
Ten minutes passed. The cabin was quiet, save for the chirping of birds outside and the increasingly aggressive bubbling from the stove.
Kirito was busy trying to peel a potato. He had decided to forego the knife and use a small paring blade, but without the Dexterity stats allocated to crafting, the potato kept slipping from his grip like a greased pig. It bounced off the counter and shattered into blue shards on the floor.
"Darn it," he sighed, bending down to pick up the loot drops.
That was when the smell hit him.
It wasn't the savory, mouth-watering aroma of stewed meat. It was a sharp, acrid scent, suspiciously like burning pixels and charcoal. In the virtual world, the smell of 'burnt' was simulated by a specific algorithm that triggered a primal 'danger' response in the player's brain.
Kirito shot up, his eyes widening. "The stew!"
He spun around. The pot was vibrating. A dark, ominous steam was rising from it, turning from white to a gloomy gray. The system was flashing a small warning icon over the stove: TEMP CRITICAL.
"Whoa, whoa, calm down!" Kirito shouted at the appliance, frantically tapping the air to bring up the control panel. He dragged the slider down, but the interface was lagging slightly due to the particle effects of the smoke.
Crash!
The lid of the pot rattled and slid off, clattering onto the floor. A geyser of brown, frothy liquid spewed over the sides, hitting the heating element with a violent hiss. The 'burnt' smell intensified tenfold.
Kirito grabbed a cloth, trying to move the pot off the burner. But in his panic, he forgot that 'hot' items in SAO caused continuous slip damage if handled without high-grade gloves or the Cooking skill's passive resistance. He yelped, dropping the pot back onto the stove with a heavy clang.
At that precise moment, the front door of the cabin clicked open.
A soft breeze from the forest swept in, carrying the scent of pine and fresh flowers, only to be immediately strangled by the thick fog of culinary failure.
"Kirito-kun?" A clear, melodious voice called out. "I'm back! I found some really high-quality saffron near the—"
Asuna froze in the entryway. She was wearing her casual outfit—a long, cream-colored skirt and a reddish sweater. Her chestnut hair glowed in the afternoon light. She blinked once. Twice.
She took in the scene: The smoke filling the ceiling. The blackened stain on the stove. The blue shards of the wasted potato on the floor. And the Black Swordsman, the Hero of Aincrad, standing in the middle of it all with a disheveled apron and a look of utter defeat.
"...Kirito-kun," she said slowly, the smile freezing on her face. "What... happened?"
Part 3: The Vice Commander Takes Charge
"I was... cooking," Kirito said, his voice small. He raised his hands in surrender. "I wanted to surprise you."
Asuna dropped her basket of herbs on the side table and rushed over, waving her hand to dispel the smoke. She peered into the pot. The contents were a tragedy. The bottom layer was scorched black, while the vegetables on top were somehow still raw.
"You set the temperature to 'High Furnace', didn't you?" Asuna asked, her tone hovering between exasperation and amusement. She placed her hands on her hips, channeling a bit of the 'Lightning Flash' energy she usually reserved for boss raids.
"I thought it would cook faster," Kirito admitted, looking at the floor.
Asuna sighed, a long, exaggerated sound that deflated her posture. She looked at him—really looked at him. He had soot on his cheek (how did he even get soot in a virtual game? The engine's dedication to realism was sometimes annoying) and he looked like a puppy that had chewed up a favorite slipper.
Her stern expression melted. She couldn't help it. A giggle escaped her lips, followed by full laughter.
"It's not funny," Kirito grumbled, though his shoulders relaxed hearing her laugh. "I wasted the S-Class boar meat."
"We can get more boar meat," Asuna said, wiping a tear from her eye. She walked over to him, reaching up to wipe the soot smudge from his cheek with her thumb. Her touch was warm, a phantom sensation that felt more real than the cold steel of a sword. "Move over, Mr. Beater. Let the professional handle this."
"Is it salvageable?" Kirito asked, stepping aside to let her take command of the station.
"Well," Asuna pulled a ladle from her inventory and poked the blackened mass. "The bottom is completely carbonized. That's dead data. But..." She carefully scooped out the top layer, transferring it to a clean bowl. "The meat in the middle is cooked, and the broth hasn't turned completely bitter yet. We can save this."
She tied an apron over her sweater with practiced ease. "Kirito-kun, get me the milk, the butter, and that saffron I just brought in."
"Yes, ma'am," Kirito saluted, relieved to be demoted from Chef to Kitchen Porter.
What followed was a display of high-level skill that Kirito never tired of watching. Asuna moved with a fluid grace. She didn't fight the system; she danced with it. She knew exactly how long to hold the cursor over the pan to melt the butter without burning it. She knew the precise moment to add the flour to create a roux.
"We're changing the menu," she announced, whisking the white sauce. "We can't do a clear stew anymore because of the char. We'll turn it into a thick cream stew. The dairy will mask the smoky flavor and add richness to the dry meat."
Kirito watched her, leaning against the counter. The tension in his chest, the constant low-level alert status he maintained in the dungeons, faded away completely. Watching her cook was a different kind of magic than watching her fight. It was creation, not destruction.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he said softly.
Asuna didn't look up, but the tips of her ears turned pink. "It's just maxed out Cooking skill, Kirito."
"It's not just the skill," he insisted. "It's... the care."
She paused for a second, then sprinkled the saffron into the pot. The sauce turned a beautiful golden hue. "There. It's done. It's not perfect, but it's edible."
Part 4: The Flavor of Imperfection
They sat at the small round table near the window. Outside, the sky was turning a deep indigo as the virtual evening set in. The crystals illuminating the cabin flickered with a warm, orange glow.
In front of them sat two bowls of Golden Cream Stew. It looked decent enough, though there were still a few rogue specks of black char floating near the surface.
Kirito picked up his spoon, feeling a lingering sense of guilt. "Sorry, Asuna. You were tired, and you still ended up cooking."
"It's fine," she said, resting her chin on her hand, watching him. "Eat. Before it gets cold. Durability drops when it gets cold, you know."
Kirito took a spoonful. He braced himself for the taste of failure.
He chewed. Swallowed.
It was... complex. The initial hit was the creamy, savory richness of Asuna's white sauce, perfectly seasoned with salt and the floral note of saffron. Then came the meat, which was a little tough. And finally, the aftertaste—a distinct, undeniable smokiness.
It wasn't a grilled smokiness. It was definitely a 'mistakes were made' smokiness.
But it was warm. It filled his stomach and spread a comfort buff through his avatar's body.
"How is it?" Asuna asked, taking a bite herself. She wrinkled her nose slightly. "Mmm. A bit... crunchy in places."
Kirito chuckled. "It's definitely unique. A new fusion cuisine. 'Floor 22 Smoked Surprise'."
"Don't give it a name," Asuna laughed, reaching for her water glass. "It's a half-failed dish."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clinking of spoons against ceramic. In this death game, food was usually just fuel. Energy bars, dry bread, or hastily cooked meat over a campfire. But here, in this cabin, food was time. It was a marker that they were still alive, still human.
"You know," Kirito said, looking down at his half-empty bowl. "I wanted to make it perfect. I wanted you to come home and just relax. I feel like I mess up the peaceful moments."
Asuna reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. Her eyes were soft, reflecting the lamplight.
"Kirito-kun, do you know why I love cooking in Aincrad?"
He shook his head.
"Because it's one of the few things that feels normal. But cooking alone... that's just crafting. It's just manipulating data." She squeezed his hand. "When I came in and saw the mess you made, I wasn't annoyed. I was... happy."
"Happy that I nuked the kitchen?"
"Happy that you were there," she corrected him gently. "Happy that we're living here. That we have a kitchen to mess up. That we have the luxury of failing at a stew instead of failing at a boss fight."
She took another spoonful of the slightly burnt stew and smiled, a genuine, radiant expression that hit Kirito harder than any sword skill.
"The taste isn't perfect," she admitted. "But having someone to share it with... that's enough. That makes it S-Class for me."
Kirito turned his hand over, interlacing his fingers with hers. The warmth of her avatar's skin loop was the most important data point in the entire server.
"Yeah," Kirito whispered, his throat tight with an emotion the game engine couldn't quantify. "You're right. It's delicious."
They finished the meal together, scraping the bowls clean. The stew was flawed, burnt, and hastily rescued. It was messy and imperfect.
Just like their life in this floating castle.
And just like their life, Kirito wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.