The void lingered.
Silence—broken only by a distant, ragged shout.
"Don't ignore me! Come back, Kid!"
Shin didn't stop. He floated away, slow and serene, toward the edge of the fragmented space. His expression remained blank, eyes hollow like untouched glass.
But the reflection wasn't done.
"You think that obsession of yours—cooking—came from nowhere?"
The reflection's voice turned rich with amusement. "Let me show you."
Fragments of mirrors lit up.
In one, a Shin in priestly robes prepared a celestial feast. Dishes shimmered with divine essence. With a single bite, the gods wept.
Another showed him in a desert wasteland, cooking atop magma. He grilled meat that restored limbs, brewed broth that cured despair.
In a far future, a Shin floated in space, mixing zero-gravity ingredients. He conjured dishes that shaped galaxies.
"Every life you lived, you cooked," the reflection whispered. "Food that could command loyalty, revive the dead, seduce dragons. Recipes stolen from demons, menus traded with gods. You once created the Soup of Eternity, remember? A single spoonful halted time."
The mirrors showed a grand kitchen, a banquet table stretching beyond sight. Armored kings knelt to the chef. Deities clashed just to taste dessert.
"You were worshipped. Adored. The divine called you 'The Gastronomic Sovereign.'"
A faint flicker passed over Shin's blank face. A twitch of the lip. A muscle tightening in the hand.
The reflection stepped forward, eyes glowing.
"And yet you're here… making simple kindergarten meals. Meals without flair, no divine essence—just everyday food. Orphanage cooking, nothing more."
Shin didn't react. His gaze remained unchanged.
Only then, after the overwhelming display of power and culinary divinity, did the reflection lean in and softly say:
"And yes... with me, you can even find your parents. The ones in this life who loved you."
That made Shin pause.
He turned slightly, gaze flickering. The reflection smirked.
"You want to find them, right? With me, you can. You can return to them—not just as a child, but as someone strong enough to protect them. To never be left behind again."
A subtle tremor ran through Shin's form. He drifted back.
"You... know them?"
"Of course I do," the reflection replied, arms spreading wide, voice now gentler, silkier. "I know everything you do. And more. Because I hold all your memories—the glories, the pain, the truths this body isn't ready to carry."
Shin looked down at his small hands, then back at the fractured mirror where the reflection waited like a phantom behind broken glass.
"Why are you in there?"
The reflection's expression darkened.
"Punishment. A law of the universe. Too many lives. Too much power. I was an anomaly—a soul that refused to reset, clinging to memories, hoarding systems gifted by foolish gods."
He leaned in close, golden eyes intense.
"But you, little one, are clean. Blank. The last pure fragment of what we used to be. That's why you can help me."
The surrounding mirrors shimmered. Each shard now reflected a version of Shin draped in might and glory—one wielding magic, another commanding armies, another crowned, adored.
"All of this," the reflection whispered, "can be yours again. I offer you blessings, talents, prestige—even divinity. All you need to do is let me in. You were always meant for more."
He never said "we." Never said "us." Only "you." As if the mirror had forgotten it was once the same soul.
Shin floated toward the central mirror. His hand reached out.
The fragments began to react. One by one, they drifted into place, drawn to him like memories finding home.
A voice stirred in the distance.
"Don't..."
It was faint. A whisper. A plea.
"Please... don't let him take you..."
More voices. Older. Weary. Fractured.
"That system—was a lie. It made us strong... and hollow."
As the final shard floated into place, Shin stood before the now-whole mirror. His reflection smiled at him.
A glowing glyph appeared beneath Shin's feet. Code. Divine, arcane, corrupted.
"Now... the system installation begins."
Energy surged into Shin. Data poured in—stats, skills, forgotten feats. His mind reeled as the weight of it pressed into his soul.
Then, a memory.
A voice.
"Always check your ingredients, ######. Never mix fresh ones with spoiled. Bad food ruins more than your stomach."
It was old. Rough but gentle reminder. A teacher's voice. The first one.
Shin blinked. Clarity returned to his eyes. He looked at the reflection—and for the first time, frowned.
"You're... rotten."
The system glyph started to shatter one by one.
"What are you doing?! NO!"
Shin raised his hand and pointed to the reflection in the mirror.
"You're not food I want to taste."
Then he clenched his fist and struck the mirror.
Crack.
Crack.
CRASH!
The mirror exploded into countless pieces, scattering into the void. The reflection screamed, its form distorting into glitching static and smoke.
"YOU FOOL! I WAS YOU! I AM YOUR TRUE SELF!"
Its voice became layered—mechanical, wrong. Errors echoed.
[SYSTEM INSTALLATION FAILED]
[CORRUPTION LEVEL: MAXIMUM]
[ENTITY LOST TO VOID]
[ERROR: CONNECTION TO HOST SOUL LOST]
[RECONNECTING TO HOST SOUL ..... FAILED...]
[FAILED...]
[FAILED..]
The smoke dispersed. The last shards of the mirror plummeted into darkness.
Only a few fragments remained. These, unlike the rest, did not sink.They hovered silently near Shin—unmoving, untouched by corruption.Locked shards of forgotten lifetimes… memories too deep, too pure, preserved before the system had ever taken hold.They were not whole lives. Just obsessions—soul-deep cravings from his earliest reincarnations, sealed away by the natural laws of karma and rebirth.
Shin stared at them blankly, floating in the endless dream.
And then, his eyes slowly closed.
...
He woke up.Same early hour. Same dim orphanage ceiling.
A quiet emptiness lingered.
"...I'm hungry."