Omniscient Necromancer POV

"What's your problem?" asked the bald man as he squeezed Rosella's forearm tightly. "My cousin just asked you a question. You didn't have to be so rude."

"That's right! I just asked your name!" The tattooed boy quickly replied.

Rosella didn't seem to be bothered by the man's grip and continued with a serious expression. I bet inside she was torn between ignoring them until they left or taking them down right there—something she could easily do.

I took a deep breath and decided to help her, because if she chose the first option, we would have problems with the Arrows.

However, as soon as I took the first step, I saw Rosella move. I thought she was going to knock both Flechas to the ground, but what she did was bow her head and back.

"I'm sorry for my ignorance! I'm not from here and I'm not interested in romantic relationships!" she exclaimed, loud enough for everyone inside and outside the grocery store to hear.

The man backed away with a weak, frightened smile.

"What strength..." he muttered, looking at his hand that had been detached from his arm.

"Uhhh?! What's your problem, girl? Why did you speak so loudly?" asked the boy, who looked a year or two younger than me.

"You heard the girl," I said, finally stepping in. "It's not that she wasn't interested in you, it's that she's not interested in relationships in general. Now, please, let everyone shop in peace."

Despite what I said, there were only the four of us inside Mrs. Menendez's grocery store.

Still, the bald man finally apologized, took his cousin by the arm, and the two left with another jingle of the bell above the store door.

"I don't know if they decided to leave because of me or because he was scared by your strength when you easily got rid of him!" I said, laughing to lighten the mood for Rosella.

It was then that she again bowed her back, but this time toward me. "I'm sorry about that, Brandon!"

Confused, I scratched the side of my cheek. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

Rosella held onto her pants, looking from side to side. "On the way here, you told me there were a lot of dangerous people. Even so, when that boy approached, I just ignored him and tried to get away. I should have been calmer and responded."

Looking into her eyes, I realized she was blaming herself for me helping her. It made me wonder, "Seriously, what kind of upbringing did she have?"

I waved my right hand in the air. "No need to apologize. I think they would have insisted even if you hadn't tried to ignore them. Men here in Bronxord, especially The Arrows, only listen when other men speak. That's why I thought it would be good to give you a hand."

"The Arrows?"

"Hey, Brandon dear, here's the bread and ground beef you asked for," said Mrs. Menendez, calling my attention back to the counter.

At that moment, I forgot to explain to Rosella who those men were and what gang they belonged to, but she didn't seem to care much about that either, since the smell of fresh bread was what she talked about most on the way to my family's apartment.

When we got home, it was close to lunchtime. We ate the stew my mother had prepared for dinner the night before, and I immediately went to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Rosella was confused about this.

"We just had lunch, and you're already thinking about dinner?" Lying on the sofa with her stomach up, she asked, laughing.

"Isn't that a little greedy?"

I laughed at her question and shook my head. "I want to make something special for dinner tonight, so I need to start now."

"Eh? What are you going to make?" she asked, using her arms to support herself and sit up a little.

"It's a secret," I replied and winked at her with one eye.

Cooking wasn't something I usually did, especially in this world. However, in my other life, it was something I did when I needed to think about something important.

I wouldn't say it was something that helped me decide more easily. In fact, it sometimes got in the way, but it was good to think about something else to distract my mind. It helped clear my thoughts, so that when the important decision was made, I wasn't under the stress of overthinking.

After washing the lunch dishes, I took a few steps to the side and opened the refrigerator. It was an old refrigerator with an excessive number of compartments for all kinds of things.

The eggs had their own place, as did the milk and cheese, and at the bottom of the refrigerator, there was even a contraption that made a shelf rotate.

Sure, not all the shelves and compartments had anything in them, so I made sure to stand in front of it to prevent Rosella from seeing this and feeling guilty for being another mouth for my family to feed.

I took just one egg and an onion. I got the olive oil from the cupboard next to the refrigerator, and from the cupboard under the sink, I took a frying pan.

"Is everything here?" I asked myself, looking at the kitchen counter.

I had half a kilo of ground beef, the baguettes, and the other items I had just picked up.

"All that's missing is salt and pasta... But if I remember correctly, pasta doesn't exist in this world yet," I thought, with one hand on my chin, and looked at Rosella for a moment.

I was happy to see her distracted by a magazine and thought it would be nice to make something that even she hadn't tried yet. However, making the pasta was the easy part of the recipe I had in mind. The real problem was how to make the sauce and...

"I'm already thinking too much..." I whispered to myself.

The right thing to do was to do what I could do first and only then worry about what I couldn't.

So I took the ground beef out of the plastic bag and placed it on the clean countertop. It wasn't much meat, since each pound of meat was worth about ten silver coins, so I needed to make it last for five people.

"I think I have an idea for this," I said.

I grabbed a knife and divided that pile of meat into ten different pieces. They weren't big pieces, but they were enough.

Taking the first piece, I placed it in the palm of my left hand and began to rub it with my right hand. If I used too much force with both hands and pressed down, the meat would become hamburger, but if I made a rotating motion, it would become a small ball, or a meatball!

I was so proud of myself for thinking of this that I was smiling to myself and didn't even notice Rosella's curious gaze on me at that moment.

After a few minutes of rolling the ground beef in the palm of my hand, I managed to make ten meatballs. Not all of them were perfect, but if I wasted time on each one, it would be difficult to finish everything by dinnertime.

So, I put the meatballs on a tray and left them in the refrigerator until it was time to cook them.

"Okay, now I need to start the pasta."

In theory, making pasta wasn't that difficult. Basically, it was continuous dough cut into extra-thin strips, and it was precisely this last detail that made it difficult.

With no practice in Italian cooking, it took me much longer than it should have to make this pasta, and in the end, each strand of pasta looked more like ramen noodles than the angel hair I had imagined in my mind.

I scratched the back of my neck as I looked at it and had an idea. I took a step back and pointed my left hand at the floor, using <Summon>.

After a crimson glow illuminated the kitchen and living room, a Skeleton Soldier appeared.

"Hey, you have the Blade Proficiency skill, right? Cut this until it's extremely thin." I pointed with my chin at the strands of noodles on the counter.

Without thinking much, the Skeleton Soldier immediately raised his sword, and I had to stop him.

"Wait! There's no need to use such a big blade to cut it, and you need to wash your hands too!"

Once again, I didn't notice Rosella peeking at me over the magazine she was reading.

Hours later, as night was falling, everything was finally ready. I took a deep breath, exhausted, and leaned back a little to straighten my spine. Coincidentally, at that moment, I heard the apartment door open and my mother's tired sigh and Marceline's voice.

"Hmm... What's that wonderful smell?" Marceline asked after sniffing the air.

That's when all the nervousness finally hit me. I had made pasta and meatballs in sauce, but was it any good? Would everyone like it? Is this what people call cook's anxiety?