Lord of The Red Planet

The waitress placed the menu on our table. Its plastic cover was slightly yellowed and sticky. I opened it.

The pages were filled with pictures of food that were too bright, a little faded at the edges. I didn't recognize most of the names, just rows of complex Mandarin characters.

I pointed to the first picture I saw, something bright red with pieces of dried chili floating on top. Mapo Tofu.

It was the most expensive item on the page. Then my finger moved down, searching for the cheapest. A small bowl of clear broth with a few pieces of green vegetables and white tofu. Vegetable and Tofu Soup.

"This one," I said to the waitress, pointing to both pictures. "And tea."

The waitress nodded without expression, jotted something down in her small notebook, then turned to Belial.

Belial didn't look at the menu. He just pointed to a large picture of beef noodles on the first page.

"One," he said.

Then he closed the menu and placed it back in the middle of the table.

The waitress left.

The restaurant was busy. The sound of chopsticks clashing against porcelain bowls, the loud slurping of noodles, and fast-paced conversations in Mandarin all blended into a constant hum. At the next table, a family—grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, and two small children—was fighting over the last piece of steamed fish. The grandfather laughed, his toothless gums showing.

Steam billowed out from the kitchen, carrying the pungent aroma of ginger, garlic, and sesame oil. The floor was a little slippery from spilled broth. On the wall hung a 2025 calendar with a picture of a fat panda chewing on bamboo.

Outside the window, the snow had started to fall more heavily. No longer a frozen drizzle.

But large white flakes that drifted down lazily, sticking to the windowpane before melting into trickles of water that ran down.

People on the sidewalk were moving faster now, their umbrellas bumping against each other.

The food arrived.

My bowl of Mapo Tofu was placed in front of me. Hot steam rose, carrying a spicy aroma that made my nose itch a little. The color was a fiery red, glistening with chili oil. I took a spoonful.

The tofu was soft, disintegrating on my tongue, followed by a spiciness that hit immediately. But that was all. Spicy. There was no other flavor that followed. No savory taste of minced meat, no complexity of spices that I was used to. Just… heat. Bland.

I remembered the food in the Avanheim cafeteria. The Wyvern meat cooked by the Servant NPCs, where every bite released a different flavor.

I remembered my mother's cooking. Rendang. Opor. Sambal. Food that made you sweat not just from the heat, but from its rich flavor.

This wasn't like that.

But I kept eating. Spoonful after spoonful. I finished it, until the bowl was clean. I never wasted food. I still remembered what it felt like to be hungry.

Then I turned to the soup bowl. The broth was clear. There were only a few pieces of white tofu and wilted bok choy. I sipped the broth.

Bland.

Just the taste of warm water with a very, very slight saltiness. The vegetables were overcooked, almost tasteless. The tofu was the same. Just a soft texture with no flavor.

But for some reason, this blandness… felt familiar.

I closed my eyes.

A small, cramped kitchen. The floor was cracked white tile. I was standing in front of a gas stove, stirring a small pot. It contained only water, salt, and a few leaves of bok choy that had started to turn yellow. I didn't have the money to buy broth or other seasonings. That was all I had.

I poured it into a bowl. Ate it alone at a wobbly wooden dining table. Rice and salty vegetable broth. My dinner. Every day for the last week of that month.

I opened my eyes.

I was still in Shanghai. In a crowded restaurant. In front of me, Belial was eating his noodles with an efficient motion. Not fast, not slow. He wasn't looking at me.

I finished the soup too, to the last drop.

I placed my empty bowl on the table. It made a soft sound.

As a Fallen Angel, I didn't need to eat. Belial, as a Demon, didn't either. Most of the inhabitants of Avanheim lived off the mana energy that was everywhere, inside their bodies. Food for us was no longer a necessity for survival.

But I still ate.

I ate now not because I was hungry. Not for energy. I ate because I could. Because I knew food was supposed to be delicious. Because life, at least the life I remembered, was supposed to be like that. There was taste. There was pleasure. There was the simple ritual of lifting a spoon to your mouth. This was one of the things that made me feel… still human.

I didn't know about the others. Belial, Emma, Asuka, Merlin. Maybe they thought the same way I did. Maybe they were just imitating me. Maybe they found their own pleasure in this act.

I wouldn't ask.

Let it be. Even if they didn't need to eat to live, they needed to enjoy their lives. And food was one of those things. One of the few simple things left.

Outside, the snow was falling more heavily. The sky had turned a dark gray, even though it was still daytime. The world outside the window looked like a black-and-white photo sprinkled with white dust.

In the middle of the crowded sidewalk, I saw him.

A small child. Maybe first or second grade. He was wearing a dark blue uniform, short pants, and a bright yellow helmet that was too big for his head. A red, box-shaped school bag was slung over his back. He was walking alone, holding a small transparent umbrella in one hand. His face was red from the cold, his breath forming a small cloud in front of his face.

He wasn't running. He was just walking with small steps, his eyes looking straight ahead, past the rushing adults around him.

It was like seeing myself.

A wide, empty asphalt road. The afternoon sun was scorching. I was walking alone. My red-and-white uniform was dirty from playing soccer at school. My red shorts felt itchy. Sweat dripped down my temples. There was no one. Just me and my long shadow on the hot asphalt.

I saw other kids. They were being picked up. One was on a motorcycle with his dad. One was getting into her mom's car. They were laughing.

I just kept walking. Home was still far.

Sometimes it rained. I didn't have an umbrella. I just ran, hugging my heavy bag to my chest. My uniform was soaked. Cold.

I looked back at the little boy outside the window. He had stopped at a red light. Standing silently among the impatient adults. He was alone. Just like me.

I put down my chopsticks.

I just stared out the window. The sky was dark. The snow fell without stopping.

I didn't know how long I had been lost in thought.

I was jolted from my reverie and looked at the people around me.

At the next table, the family was still laughing, now fighting over a piece of cake. In another corner, a few men in suits were discussing something over a laptop, their faces serious. Near the door, a young couple whispered and smiled, their hands clasped under the table.

The hum of voices. The steam from bowls. Life.

I yawned. A strange sleepiness suddenly hit me.

Boring.

So boring.

The thought came out of nowhere, uninvited. A cold whisper in my mind.

Should I just destroy this restaurant?

I glanced to my left, to my right. No one was paying attention to me. Belial was still focused on his noodles. The waiters were busy bustling about. Everyone was trapped in their own little world.

It would be so easy. One thought. One small spell.

I lifted my right hand slightly under the table, hiding it from view. The tip of my index finger was raised. I muttered very softly, almost without a sound.

The air at the tip of my finger felt cold. Thick. Then, a ball of water the size of a small meatball formed, floating and spinning slowly there. Its surface rippled, reflecting the restaurant lights in tiny, shattered glimmers. Inside, I could feel the compressed energy, ready to explode.

I looked at the ball of water. So small. So calm. But enough to bring this entire building down.

I wondered what their faces would look like if the roof suddenly collapsed.

Suddenly, I noticed it.

A pair of small eyes were staring back at the water ball.

I slowly lifted my head.

A little boy—one from the family at the next table—had slipped away from his seat and was now standing silently beside my table. His round, black eyes were fixated on the spinning ball of water at the tip of my finger. His face showed no fear. Only pure amazement. His eyes were sparkling.

I froze.

With a quick, awkward motion, I clenched my fist. The water ball burst without a sound, leaving only a cold, wet feeling in my palm. I quickly hid my hand under the table.

The little boy didn't move. He just lifted his head, looking straight into my eyes.

"哇,好厉害!再来一次,那是魔术吧?我想看."

His voice was a soft whisper in Mandarin, but his excited tone was loud enough for me to hear. I didn't understand the words, but I understood the hopeful look in his eyes and his wide smile. Wow, that's amazing! Do it again, that was magic, right? I want to see.

I was silent for a moment. Then I raised my index finger to my own lips.

"Shhh," I whispered back, almost without a sound.

"It's a secret."

I winked at him.

He looked at me with his round eyes for a few seconds. Then, he nodded very seriously, as if he had just received the most important mission in the world. He placed his small index finger on his own lips, mimicking my gesture.

"Shhh."

Then, before his mother noticed he was gone, he turned and trotted back to his table, as if nothing had happened.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

Across the table, Belial lifted his head from his now-empty noodle bowl. He looked at me.

"Is there a problem, My Lord?"

I shook my head.

"No," I said. "Nothing."

I glanced at the next table. The little boy was back in his seat, now being coaxed by his mother to eat his vegetables. He wasn't looking at me anymore.

As if the moment had never happened.

I looked at my palm, which was still slightly damp.

For some reason, I smiled.