Chat Group Crossover: My System Simulates Infinite Anime Worlds — Chapter 80

Chapter 80: Can I Say I Saw Nothing?

Dawn had barely broken when Nagumo was already in the kitchen. He moved with a practiced efficiency, orchestrating the morning meal. The simple porridge he was simmering, along with the pan-fried buns he was arranging, seemed to shimmer with an almost magical quality, as if they possessed a sparkling special effect.

A delicate twitch of her nose gave her away. Drawn by the irresistible aroma, Cecilia emerged from the first-floor guest room—which had all but become her own.

“Nagumo, what are you making today? It smells incredible.”

Nagumo glanced over, his hands pausing mid-task. He set down the tongs he was holding and turned his gaze back to the stove. “Ah… you might want to check your clothes first.”

“My clothes?” Cecilia tilted her head in confusion. Her gaze drifted downward. A moment later, a deep crimson blush flooded her fair cheeks. She had forgotten to fasten the top buttons of her pajamas.

Cecilia fumbled with the buttons, her fingers clumsy with embarrassment. Peeking up at Nagumo, who was now calmly placing the golden-brown pan-fried buns on the dining table, she mumbled, her face still burning, “You… you saw, didn’t you?”

Nagumo met her gaze directly, his emerald eyes unwavering. “Is there any way I could have missed it?” he asked, a simple, unadorned question that carried no judgment.

Cecilia’s face was now so red it could rival a tomato. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

“Alright, don’t be so flustered,” Nagumo said, his voice perfectly calm. “Just be more careful next time. Come on, let’s eat. After breakfast, I’ll take you to the mall. We agreed last night you needed to buy some things, remember?”

Cecilia remained silent, her mind still reeling from the mortifying exchange. She moved as if in a daze, subconsciously walking to the table and sinking into a chair, her head bowed low.

Seeing her frozen in embarrassment, Nagumo simply picked up a pan-fried bun with his chopsticks and gently guided it to her lips.

Instinctively, she bit down. A searing burst of flavor erupted as the piping-hot meat juices flooded her mouth.

“Ah—hot, hot, hot!” she squeaked, her breath coming in short, sharp puffs, but she refused to spit out the delectable morsel.

After a few seconds of frantic fanning, the initial heat subsided. She began to chew, her eyes slowly narrowing into crescents of pure bliss. The flavor was so exquisite it filled her with a deep sense of happiness.

Without even realizing it, Cecilia had devoured the entire large plate of pan-fried buns.

When she finally came to her senses, she found a bowl of century egg and lean meat porridge sitting before her, its faint, appetizing aroma wafting up to her. She couldn’t resist. Picking up the white porcelain spoon, she began to take small, delicate sips.

Meanwhile, Nagumo had just finished a single bun. He took out a notebook and began to carefully record the dish’s shortcomings, followed by several detailed plans on how to transform those weaknesses into strengths. He jotted down notes on potential pairings for next time—seasonings or vegetables that could elevate the dish further.

But he soon hit a wall. Though his mind conjured countless theoretical combinations, his own sensory palate was the bottleneck. He lacked the firsthand experience of a truly exhaustive range of flavors. There was only so much he could do. He wrote down a few more pairings, balancing not just taste but the potential medicinal properties of the food.

A thought, both absurd and practical, crossed his mind. Perhaps he ought to pay a visit to the legendary Shennong and sample the hundred divine herbs himself. That would certainly remedy the deficiencies in his sense of taste.

The notebook in Nagumo’s hands, from this day forward, would become the first draft of what could only be called the Myriad Races Cookbook.

After they were both full and satisfied, a sudden warmth spread from Cecilia’s stomach, surging through her entire body. She immediately sat cross-legged and began to circulate her energy, practicing the Evergreen Technique. A soft layer of green light, pulsing with vitality, enveloped her.

Nagumo casually tossed the notebook into his storage bag. He glanced at Cecilia, who was now deep in her cultivation, and waved a hand. A stream of spiritual stones flew from his bag, instantly arranging themselves into a Spirit Gathering Array around her, enriching the ambient energy.

The potent meal had triggered a breakthrough, and her true cultivation level was now on full display: the 24th level of Qi Refining.

It was hardly surprising. The buns had been filled with the meat of an eighth-rank demonic beast. Nagumo’s preparation method was admittedly crude; he used his overwhelming Magnetic Field Power to violently purify the berserk demonic energy from the meat. A significant portion of the spiritual power was lost in the process, but it hardly mattered. Cecilia had been eating meals like this twice a day, every day. Her cultivation was naturally soaring.

Observing her over this period, Nagumo had come to a few conclusions. Cecilia was incredibly intelligent, yet also remarkably simple and pure-hearted. She also had a tendency to become completely devoted to a single focus. And really, who could find fault with a girl whose mind was entirely filled with thoughts of you?

Nearly half a day passed. Cecilia’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She saw Nagumo nearby, casually scrolling through videos on his phone, and an embarrassed smile touched her lips.

“Nagumo, I’m sorry.”

Nagumo put his phone away and waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t need to apologize. Cultivation is important. However, you should probably linger in the Qi Refining stage for a while longer. Stabilize your foundation before you even think about breaking through to Foundation Establishment.”

Though a thousand questions bubbled up in her heart, Cecilia simply noted that he hadn’t asked any of his own. Her eyes curved into happy crescents, and she nodded emphatically, her voice soft. “I understand.”

Hearing that gentle voice and seeing her trusting expression, Nagumo felt a flicker of concern. He worried she’d be too easily deceived by the outside world. She was so much more pleasant than those seven rebellious disciples of his from the simulations; they weren’t even in the same league.

With their morning routine complete, Nagumo prepared to head out with Cecilia. As for their transportation? He wheeled out his small electric scooter. He had considered taking his Mengdeng 125, but ultimately decided against it.

Of course, this was no ordinary scooter; it was a modified, high-performance version. Besides, Nagumo was planning to buy a proper motorcycle today. He’d passed the license test long ago. He did possess a far more convenient mode of transport—the stone wings—but using them was out of the question. They were simply far too conspicuous.

Moments later, they were on the street.

Cecilia settled onto the back of the scooter, sitting sideways in a prim, ladylike posture. She wrapped her arms securely around Nagumo’s waist, resting her cheek against the fabric of his back as the wind whipped past, teasing strands of her long, green hair.

She watched the world blur by, her gaze shifting from the scenery to Nagumo’s broad, dependable back. A soft smile touched her lips. This kind of life… it wasn’t bad at all.

From a discreet distance, Mimon Ryoko lowered a pair of binoculars, a half-eaten wafer biscuit in her other hand. A grin she couldn’t suppress tugged at her lips. She was, for all intents and purposes, a “shipper.”

Ever since her initial investigation, she’d been keeping tabs on the “progress” between the two—not that there was much to see.

That student, Nagumo, was a complete block of wood when it came to romance. And Cecilia, bless her heart, wasn’t much different.

Still, Cecilia’s cultivation had skyrocketed in just a few days. She must have been consuming some incredible spiritual supplements, a fact that would raise red flags for any ordinary person.

Connecting the dots—the supplements, the recent events in the city—Mimon Ryoko entertained a bold hypothesis. Could Nagumo be the disciple of that mysterious black-robed figure who had appeared recently?

She had briefly considered the possibility that Nagumo was the figure, but she’d dismissed it. The probability was astronomically low. It was as likely as being reborn with the knowledge of a winning lottery number—and even then, you had to understand something about the world: a person with no connections or power could never actually claim the prize.