24 Curry

There was still a week before high school started for Haruko, but she did not dilly-dally in pre-studying the material she was required to study for the next three years.

As such, after the scrumptious breakfast, she left hurriedly to start studying. The water had barely stopped dripping down from the tap when she took out her studying materials and sat on the same table she just ate at.

Meanwhile, Plato was still enjoying his breakfast. The food slid down his throat like it was made of liquid, and his face never deviated into an expression of joy or fondness of the food.

It was half past nine when the last bowl had been placed on the drainer. The skin on his hands was scrunched up from excess exposure to water, as he casually wiped it on a nearby towel. His apartment didn't have a dishwasher, after all, and he could only hand-wash the plates.

After that, Plato started looking around for things to do. His hands reached for a broom placed near the kitchen, but he belatedly realized that the floorboards had no trace of dust on them.

'It seems like having Haruko around might not necessarily be a bad thing…'

Plato was once again at a loss for things to do. He switched locations to his bedroom, and rhythmic, non-stop footfalls could be heard from outside as he paced around. His mind couldn't help but wander back through his memories, through the numerous battlefields he had experienced.

The strong smell of iron permeated through his nose, as if he had been transported back. Screams of beast and men alike echoed in his ear canals. The calm and peaceful sight of his bright and shiny room was replaced with a dark red sky, and even redder streams of liquid on the pitch-black ground. The faint cackling of fire could be heard, as the subtle snaps of dry wood symbolized the destruction of the forest just beyond them.

He didn't need to turn his head to know what was happening. He could tell. His comrades were being murdered, and it was as if his feet had grown roots – he was unable to move to help them. An all-too-familiar feeling permeated through his body like a tumour; fear.

The brave men, who had accepted him as a member of their century just a few days back, were being slaughtered in front of him. His first deployment. The first organized beast attack he had the 'pleasure' of experiencing.

He knew very well that this seemingly vivid scene was just a flashback. But even so, no matter how much he tried to calm himself down, two streams of clear liquid flowed down his cheeks. The drops of tears fell incessantly on the tatami mats.

The scenes flashed by in his mind, almost as if they were recorded by a high-definition camera. Every detail was captured perfectly. The scent of blood, the nicks on his sword, the dents on his comrades' armours – everything.

These were scenes that would torment him until the end of his days. At this moment, it was as if they were trying to flee his mind and imprint themselves on something material.

His feet had long since become idle. His mind was revolving faster than it had ever before. Inside his mind, the scenes he had just experienced melded together until it formed something that could be considered a feature film.

An urge to write down what he saw in his mind's eye welled up within him, and forcefully took control of his body.

He rushed out of his room and fumbled around, looking for his laptop. He ignored the strange gaze that Haruko was shooting at him, and returned to his room.

There, his hands moved so quickly and furiously that only afterimages were left. The originally blank word document that was open on the screen of his laptop was soon filled to the brim with words.

*****

Five and half hours later, on the stroke of 4pm, Plato's hands stopped their movement. His eyes contained shock and wonder, as if the 200,000 or so words he had just typed were done unconsciously.

Every word was well thought out, and the flow was extraordinary. There was evidently no need to edit such an amazing piece of work. Plato had managed to surprise even himself. Although he knew well that the Intelligence boost held ridiculous potential, he didn't think that he would be able to write non-stop for five and a half hours.

Granted, the content was something that he had experienced personally, and retained a crystal-clear memory of. Therefore, it wasn't surprising that he was able to regurgitate it out. The surprising thing was the level of eloquence and literary attainment that his piece had reached.

Reading over it, Plato was extremely satisfied with putting his experiences on paper. This was just the first volume, and it revolved around his early life before the Great Calamity, and then his subsequent wanderings around the world following the Advent.

Granted, there were some… "artistic" embellishments to make it sound better, but all in all, it stayed true to what happened.

At first, Plato had only intended for it to be a release from his trauma. Having been surprised at his own literary standard, he started entertaining the idea of publishing it as a fantasy series. That would not only give him some funds, it would also "educate" people about the Beast Emperor.

While it was uncertain and rather risky to portray a real threat as a work of fiction, it was still better than nothing. At best, it would be adapted into a film or TV series, and then it would seem more "realistic" in the view of the masses.

Alas, it was still very far into the future. For now, Plato had to deal with his rumbling stomach and sore fingers.

Plato walked out of his now dark room, and was greeted with the smell of curry. The spicy yet sweet fragrance wafted into his nose from the kitchen, where Haruko was standing attentively.

There was a massive mess surrounding her. There were roughly chopped up parts of carrots, potato skins that contained more of the flesh than skin, and whole layers of onions. A knife was stabbed at a dangerous angle into the chopping board.

On the stove, there were two pots. The one on the right had black smoke coming out of it, and it looked like something that belonged to an oil refinery.

The one on the left exuded a beautiful aroma that would make anyone salivate, and was obviously the source of the curry fragrance in the air. It was overpowering enough to cancel out the dark magic cauldron on its right-hand side.

Plato looked at Haruko with a strange gaze, obviously amused at her attempt at cooking. His eyes lingered a bit on her figure, which was covered with baggy clothes and an apron, and couldn't help but sigh. He was by no means perverted or a lecher, but that didn't stop him from admiring beauty.

At the very least, according to Naofumi's memories, this female cousin of his could be considered a beauty. Not on the level of Ashikage Junko, but still up there.

Plato wanted to use this opportunity of "co-habiting" to get used to the beauty standards of Earth. He knew that it would take a long time though.

While he was lost in his own thoughts, Haruko seemingly noticed his gaze and swivelled her head around. Her cheeks were slightly pink, most probably from embarrassment.

"What are you looking at?" She said, with a mosquito-like voice.

"Have you been living on the landlady's food ever since you moved in?" Plato replied, ignoring her initial question.

"So what if I have? I don't know how to cook!" This time, she sounded aggrieved. Plato's tone made it sound like he was looking down on her and scolding her, instead of the curiosity and concern that he had wanted to convey.

"I can see that. Why did you suddenly want to cook anyway? In the first place, where did you get the ingredients from?"

"I bought them, obviously. What, did you expect me to hand pick them from the farms?"

Plato could tell that his cousin was in a bad mood, presumably because she had failed in cooking. Although he didn't know what her end goal was, it was always a good thing when children wanted to become independent. He wanted to encourage such behaviour in this immature cousin of his, so he naturally had to placate her, lest she give up entirely.

"You know that's not what I meant. If you want to cook, then I can teach you. I've been living on my own all this time, after all."

Plato's words seemed to prick at Haruko's heart like a needle would. As she recalled Plato's circumstances in his youth and what her own parents had done, she suddenly felt like her own grievances were nothing but child's play. Her watery eyes looked guilty and were filled with remorse.

"I-I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry about? There's nothing that you should be apologizing about."

He didn't know that his casual words would trigger Haruko to almost cry. Living alone wasn't anything special to him, but he forgot to take into account the fact that Haruko's parents had done something horrible to the previous owner of his body.

Even so, Plato felt that Haruko's character was praiseworthy. She had gotten anxious when she thought that Plato was recalling bad memories, and apologized for making him do so.

It was a grand example of 'the emperor is not worried, but his eunuchs are worried to death'.

It was as if Haruko was the one who was an orphan. This kind of empathy made Plato feel touched, as he reached out his hand to gently stroke the top of Haruko's head.

"Alright, stop crying. You're not responsible for what happened back then, and I honestly don't care much about it nowadays. There's no need to get sad over something like that."

Faced with Plato's 'forgiveness' and sincerity, Haruko turned her head to wipe away the tears that had semi-formed on her glistening eyelashes.

When she turned around, she was no longer crying, but she also wasn't her usual, boisterous self. She raised her head and stared straight into Plato's eyes. Her brown eyes reflected Plato's generous and fatherly figure, and determination whirled within them.

Her small and pink lips were bitten on by her white teeth in a moment of hesitation, and when she finally opened her mouth to speak, a burning smell drifted into the noses of the two people present.

"AH! The curry!"