Frontier Chef: My Cooking Skills Are Broken-Chapter 2: Welcome Host

[ Ping! ]

[ System fully activated ]

[ Welcome host to the world of Pangaea Prima ]

[ You have two new notifications, would you like to view? ]

Ezra scratched his chin, wondering if there was some kind of caveat. As if he hadn’t agreed to its terms and conditions on a whim just an hour ago.

"Sure."

[ Event Summary ]

> x1 Coastal Pincer Crab (★) Killed

> +75 Frontier Tokens

[ You have leveled up: 2 ]

He sat on the dead crab, thoughts settling in.

’There has to be more, right?’

Then he saw it at the corner of his eyes. A notification icon with an exclamation mark.

"Status."

[ Status ]

> Level: 2

> HP: 210/210

> SP: 180/180

[ Status Effects ]

> Sunburn (Minor) — HP regen slightly reduced

’Even the sunburn counts... Fuck me.’

His skills came next. A list of names with levels sitting at zero.

[ Skills are developed through practice and use ]

’Are you reading my mind?’

[ Bzzt ]

’T’fuck does that mean?’

The golden texts stacked on each other.

Culling Arts was the knife skill, while Ember Arts was combat heat. Both sat at Lv. 0.

On the other hand, Palate Arts was food-specific.

Of course, Appraisal sat on its own, still at Lv. 0 since the beach.

The details and such were grayed out, locked until who knows when.

He dismissed the screens and looked down at the crab. His hands were still covered in its organs.

Wiping them on the sand made it much worse.

The top shell was the problem, that much he knew. Ridged orange plating that his fist had barely dented during the fight. Ezra considered grabbing its ass again, but that would bring it dishonor in death.

Instead, Ezra tried prying at the seam where shell met underbelly, and his fingers found a gap. It cracked, but only partway. He wedged deeper with both hands, one foot braced against the body.

The shell tore free with a wet snap that sprayed him across the chest.

Beneath the armor, the meat was dense and whiter than its underbelly. Thick white fibers layered over each other, glistening with fluid. The claws were sealed tight, but that just meant more ways to test his strength.

He smashed one against a boulder three times before it finally split along the joint. The claw meat inside was the size of his forearm. He grinned.

’Gotcha bitch.’

"Appraisal."

He waited patiently for the text.

It came.

[ Coastal Pincer Crab (Raw Claw Meat) — Common ]

> Profile: Premium cut. High protein density. Degrades rapidly once exposed.

’Simply put, I have to cook it right now.’

He pulled out every piece he could reach, tearing through connective tissue with his fingers, piling the meat on the flattest rock nearby. Bits of shell cut into his palms in two places.

Four years ago, he wouldn’t have done this. Ezra had been a lump on a mattress watching anime at 3 a.m. because leaving the apartment required a reason he couldn’t make up.

Then he’d booked a flight to nursing school, the first real decision since dropping out, and the plane had crashed into whatever the fuck this was. He looked at his bloody hands and the pile of raw crab on a sun-heated rock.

’Nursing school would’ve been boring anyway.’

He needed fire, and the palm trees were green wood. Useless for friction. But Ember Arts had a root technique already available: basic heat generation through the palms.

His hands were already facing the rock. He focused the way he had with Appraisal, minus the voice. Intent was enough.

Warmth bloomed at the center of his right palm. Faint at first, then slowly building at the base. A low heat spread across his skin that seemed as natural as sweat.

’It’s a dial. Depending on how much I push...’

The glow on his palms turned faintly orange at the edges, heat radiating in waves that warped the air. The rock beneath his hand darkened with absorbed heat. At this rate, the meat would char before he could end with anything edible.

He eased back and found the middle range. Even at low output, his SP ticked down with every pulse. A slow leak he could manage.

’SP regens fast when I’m not using it. In theory, I can pulse Ember at intervals and never run out.’

His skin was already tight across his shoulders. The sunburn was its own problem. Whatever HP he lost from it wouldn’t come back quickly.

Ezra wiped sweat off his forehead.

’That’s assuming whatever I encounter won’t want to eat me.’

Ezra pressed both palms near the surface of the rock, an inch above the meat, and the sizzle was immediate. A sharp hiss that sent steam curling into the suffocating air. The smell followed half a second later.

It was crab definitely, but drenched in a sweetness that reminded him of bubble gum.

Palate Arts kicked in without him asking. It didn’t speak in words; that would be too convenient.

It was more like a certainty settling into his hands.

The meat wanted thirty seconds of high heat on each side, then sustained low warmth until the fibers tightened. The knowledge seeped out through his head and lingered on his tongue.

He dialed up for the sear. Both palms flared and the meat’s surface crackled, juices pooling on the rock in bubbles.

Flipping the pieces with his fingertips, he yanked them back. Burns on top of cuts now.

The second side seared faster because the rock was already holding heat. Brown spots formed where the meat pressed flat against stone, so he pulled back the intensity to the low range.

The remaining coconut half sat within arm’s reach. He tilted it over the meat and let the water trickle across the surface. It hit the hot rock and steamed on contact, coating the crab in a thin glaze that thickened as the sugars reduced.

He kept his palms steady until Palate Arts told him it was done.

’Finally.’

He bit into the first piece. The sear cracked between his teeth, dense and sweet. Ocean-salt and a hint of caramel with a smokiness from the Ember Arts that no wood fire could have given it. Technically, he used his own sweat as fuel.

Ezra closed his eyes.

He’d watched hundreds of cooking videos, thousands even. Mukbangs, street food compilations, Michelin reviews. Even abridged ones with the Asian dude with the fake accent. He’d eaten grocery store crab exactly twice, both times microwaved.

He ate the second piece.

Then the third.

[ Ping! ]

[ Meal Consumed: Ember-Seared Coastal Crab with Coconut Glaze ]

[ Effects Applied ]

> +30 Max HP | +4 Fire Attack

> Passive: Bludgeoning (Physical hits inflict blunt trauma)

> Duration: 1 hour

[ Event Summary ]

> Crafted: Meal (★) x1

> +75 Frontier Tokens

’Making a monopoly with crab-infused sweat is up there with my dumbest ideas to date. But if the buffs scale with ingredients...’

He looked at his knuckles.

Still raw from punching the coconut and cracking crab shell.

He ate every piece. The sun had started its slide toward the waterline, light shifting from overhead white to long amber.

Ezra sat with his back against a boulder, stomach full for the first time since he’d woken up on this beach, buff timers ticking down in the corner of his vision.

Then a scream carried from somewhere past the treeline.

A woman’s.

His head turned before his brain caught up. The jungle was a wall of overgrowth on top of more overgrowth. Whoever screamed was deep in it.

The voice didn’t come again.

He waited against the boulder and listened. Waves against the shore. Insects droning somewhere in the ferns.

The air had changed. The beach was the same beach, but the afternoon sat heavier now, pressing against his naked body like pincers around his waist.

Ezra watched the treeline for another moment.

The voice came again, muffled but clear enough.

Help me.

Someone help me.

[ Quest assigned: Help the poor woman ]