Neville set the food down on the table in front of the sofa and hesitated.

"Is this better than the dining table?" he asked, suddenly uncertain.

The table seemed too low for comfortable eating while sitting on the couch.

Grayson looked at him with an expression that bordered on disbelief. "You don’t know this table can be adjusted?"

"Adjusted?"

Without another word, Grayson reached under the table’s edge and pressed a button Neville had never noticed before.

The table hummed softly and rose, its height adjusting until it was perfect for eating from the sofa—not too high, not too low.

It was even movable.

Neville stared at the table.

Then at his hands.

Then back at the table.

He had lived in this apartment for nearly a year and a half. For more than a year. And he had never once thought to check if the furniture here had hidden features.

Does this mean that the others have other functions too?

[HAHAHAHA!] Shelly’s laughter exploded in his head. [Host, you’re so—]

’Don’t. Say. A. Word.’

[—I didn’t say anything! (/ω)]

Grayson, mercifully unaware of the system’s mockery, offered what he probably thought was a consoling comment.

"There’s a first for everything."

Neville wanted to throw something at him. Instead, he plastered on a smile and sat down on the couch, leaving a careful distance between himself and Grayson.

"Let’s eat." Let’s forget that this happened.

Grayson settled beside him and looked at the food on the table.

The warm noodle soup steamed gently, topped with julienned vegetables and a soft-boiled egg. The pork belly glistened with a perfect caramelized glaze. The fries sat in a neat pile, and two glasses of citrus juice sparkled invitingly.

"What’s this called?" he asked, indicating the soup.

"Warm noodle soup," Neville repeated, deliberately vague.

Grayson nodded, picked up his chopsticks, and began to eat.

The first slurp of noodles made something in Grayson’s expression soften. The broth was light but flavorful, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables adding a fresh crunch.

It was a simple food, but it was prepared with care.

"It’s good," he said quietly.

"Thanks." Neville felt a ridiculous surge of pride that he immediately kept down. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The clink of chopsticks and the soft sounds of eating filled the apartment.

Then, Neville cracked open the first beer and poured two glasses, the foam rising to a perfect head.

"Here. You have to try this with the pork belly."

This combination never failed him; it was perfect. The crispy-edged pork belly, the cold beer, the warm noodles—each element complemented the others.

"How did you think about putting this together?" Grayson asked, reaching for another slice of pork.

"Figured it would work since they both taste good. Glad it worked." Another half-truth.

The cooking skills had come from countless hours in the system’s training module, where time moved differently, and he could practice the same dish a hundred times before making it once in the real world.

"It’s really good. Thought of adding it to the robot’s menu?" Grayson asked out of nowhere.

Neville thought for a second, then said, "I wonder if it would work? I’ve never really thought about it."

"Then better if you don’t," Grayson said firmly as he chewed on the pork belly.

Neville looked at Grayson in confusion. "Huh? Why?"

Grayson didn’t look at Neville and proceeded to reach for another piece of pork belly. His eyes darkened without Neville noticing.

"Well, it’ll just make you even busier than you are right now."

"I don’t think I’ll be busier than busy," Neville said lightly.

"Still, you shouldn’t. Not like you’re lacking in money." Grayson pointed out, hinting that he already had a considerable amount of money from the AI Compass patent. It would continue to earn him massive amounts of star coins in the future.

Well, since Grayson said it like that. It seemed that juggling around being Grayson’s Personal Secretary and Chef would be harder in the long run. Not to mention, it had been so long, and he just barely raised Grayson’s favorability.

The food disappeared steadily.

Pork belly, fries, noodles, beer.

Grayson discovered that the fries were surprisingly addictive despite their unusual color.

Neville found himself eating more than he had planned. The combination of warm soup and cold beer creates a pleasant buzz in his stomach.

By the time they had finished, the crate was noticeably lighter, and Neville’s cheeks had taken on a faint flush.

He wasn’t drunk since the warm soup had done its job as a buffer. But he was definitely feeling the effects.

A pleasant warmth had spread through his limbs, loosening the tension from a long day of having fun.

Grayson, on the other hand, looked completely unaffected. His tolerance was surprisingly irritatingly high. But internally, something warm had settled in his chest that had nothing to do with alcohol.

He glanced at Neville.

The color on his cheeks, the way his eyes seemed brighter, and the small smile playing at the corner of his lips. The warmth inside him just intensified for as long as he looked at Neville.

Then his gaze unconsciously drifted to the photo album, already hidden under the table.

He recalled Liam’s photo.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

"We should take more photos." Sounding a little expectant.

Neville blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Photos." Grayson nodded toward the album. "Whether with your cameras or our light brains. We should take more."

Something flickered in Neville’s expression—something Grayson couldn’t quite read.

Neville suddenly became slightly uncomfortable and said, "We should minimize taking photos, probably delete some of those, or at least make them solo shots."

"Why?" Grayson went still and looked at Neville, unable to understand why he was saying things like this.

"In case..." Neville shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "In case we find someone we actually like. It would be awkward to keep a couple of photos with someone else, right?"

Grayson’s head felt like it was buzzing, and he began to feel a little dizzy.

Find someone else to like?

His hand tightened on his glass.