Omega Manual chapter 29

Beauty Feeds Me

Shelley finally realized what was happening, quickly stepping back, his cheeks slightly red as he coughed.

Irey still maintained his indifferent expression, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “Just a side effect during the sensitive period, I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”

Shelley frowned. “You get a fever every sensitive period?”

“Pretty much,” Irey grasped the sofa armrest, attempting to sit up, “It usually lasts a day and night, doesn’t affect much.”

And this was supposed to be “not affecting much”?

Shelley truly couldn’t understand this man’s thought process.

“Lie down in bed,” Shelley said unequivocally, while pulling Irey’s arm.

“I really don’t need to—”

“Lie down,” Shelley emphasized.

Unable to resist his boss, Irey reluctantly gave in, letting Shelley drag him to bed and tuck him in.

Even in the dim light of the bedroom, Shelley’s face remained exquisitely handsome, his sapphire-like eyes filled with disapproval. At this distance, Irey could clearly see the recently healed wound on his lips, tinged with a bit of blood, causing the surrounding area to swell slightly.

He went out looking like this to buy groceries?

Shelley took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped the sweat from Irey’s forehead, lifting his hand to meet Irey’s burning gaze.

“Boss,” Irey asked with a half-smile, “do you treat all your employees this well?”

“Yes,” Shelley replied expressionlessly, “feeding, housing, a daily wage of a thousand, personally taking care of them when they’re sick, and even kissing them.”

Irey burst out laughing at the last statement, sliding under the covers from the headboard.

Shelley patted the bulging covers. “Stay here, I’ll go cook.”

“You’re really cooking yourself?” Irey raised his upper body in surprise. “I thought you’d buy something ready-made… Wait, do you even know how to use a gas stove?”

Shelley felt insulted by the simplicity of the question.

“I’m sorry, do you have a certain image of me in your mind, Irey Halton?”

Irey pondered for a moment. “A young master who can’t carry shoulders or hands, and whose ten fingers never touch sunlit water, right?”

If Shelley had a piece of tofu at hand, he would have definitely thrown it at him on the spot.

“Fine,” he nodded, “wait here.”

Saying that, Shelley walked out of the room without even closing the door.

Irey lay happily in bed, and not long after, the scent of food wafted from the kitchen.

With a fever, having not eaten anything all day, and without much appetite, Irey was unexpectedly tempted by the scent of the food, his stomach grumbling several times in succession.

After what felt like an eternity, Shelley finally walked in with a plate.

A dish, a bowl of soup, three butter cakes, and even a plate with a neatly arranged piece of steak.

Irey looked at the food incredulously, then at Shelley. “Did you make this?”

“Yeah,” Shelley replied simply, handing him a set of knife and fork.

“You didn’t just buy something and reheat it, did you?” Irey still seemed surprised. “How come it looks and smells better than what’s sold outside?”

“Not eating?” Shelley picked up the plate. “If you’re not eating, I’ll take it away.”

“Hey!” Irey quickly grabbed the knife and fork, spearing a butter cake and taking a bite of the food.

The wonderful aroma burst in his mouth, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had eaten such delicious food.

He couldn’t spare a word, cutting another piece of what looked like steak but definitely wasn’t, and taking a bite. The meat was fragrant and tender, almost making him want to swallow his own tongue.

“Eat slowly, no one’s competing with you,” Shelley said with some amusement.

Irey chewed vigorously, finally managing to swallow the food in his mouth. The first word that came out was a curse, “Fuck, did you really make this?”

“No,” Shelley looked at him, “it was made by the ‘young master who never touches sunlit water.'”

Irey stared at him.

Shelley almost couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s made by the ‘young master who can’t carry shoulders or hands, and whose ten fingers never touch sunlit water.”

Irey was hit by a series of sensory and cognitive shocks. After a moment, he pointed to the plate and asked, “Can you tell me how you—”

“I added minced shrimp to the blood dish for extra flavor. The oil pastry is made from blue spinach mixed with cornmeal. Though the puffing effect isn’t great, it still tastes good after frying. This is venison steak, with insect oil replacing butter and wild pepper flakes instead of black pepper. As long as you control the heat well when frying, it comes out tasting similar to a steak.” Shelley paused. “I met a very knowledgeable Omega while shopping, who helped me a lot with identifying the ingredients.”

For the first time, Irey realized that true noble qualities don’t change with the environment. He never would have thought someone could make a meal comparable to a five-star restaurant using such a chaotic mix of ingredients from the lower district.

“I say, boss, you could afford an entire team of chefs to make gourmet meals for you. Why do you still learn to cook yourself?” Irey still looked incredulous. “Aren’t you taking away jobs from us lower-class folks?”

“It’s just a hobby. Do you think I’d cook for just anyone?” Shelley pulled up a chair and sat by Irey’s bed. “This goes back to ten years ago. I had a boyfriend who was a big foodie. I always researched and cooked the dishes he liked. After we broke up, I found that I enjoyed cooking as a hobby, so I kept it up.”

“He dumped you? He really had no taste.”

“I was the one who dumped him,” Shelley looked at Irey.

Irey immediately gave a thumbs up. “Good call.”

Crazy person. Shelley couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Hurry up and eat before it gets cold,” Shelley said.

Irey devoured two large pastries, an entire venison steak, and most of the blood dish, leaving almost nothing for Shelley.

After finishing, he leaned back against the headboard, patting his stomach. “That was delicious. I’ve never had such good food in my life. Compared to your cooking, the street vendors’ stuff is garbage. But there’s one small thing missing…”

Shelley paused in cleaning up the plates. “What?”

Irey leaned his head back, a mischievous smile on his face. “It would be even better if a beauty fed me.”

Shelley promptly shoved the spoon he was holding into Irey’s mouth.

Despite looking energetic during their banter, Irey slept the entire afternoon in the room.

The street outside grew busier, but Shelley didn’t go out. Instead, he spent the afternoon reading.

Since leaving Nantes, he rarely had such long stretches of free time, and he found himself a bit unaccustomed to it.

Five years after the disaster, he had spent most of his time this way.

No work, no friends, unable to go out, nothing to do, and no one needed him. Every day was just mechanical eating, drinking, and sleeping—almost like a waste of space.

He didn’t even know why he woke up each morning, feeling no sense of living.

He was a ghost wandering for five years, dead since the long-ended disaster.

When he turned the last page of the book, the sky outside had darkened. Shelley closed the well-worn poetry collection, opened the window, and let some fresh air in.

The blue moon, which he’d seen countless times, rose in the night sky, casting a cold light over the street. Most pedestrians hurried along, wrapped tightly in dirty but thick cotton coats, moving quickly through the narrow roads in the cold wind. Only a rundown bar remained open, the owner shuffling out with a kerosene lamp, awkwardly hanging it by the door as nighttime lighting.

At that moment, a sparrow landed on the open window frame, hopping around and tilting its head at Shelley.

Shelley was startled and carefully lowered his head to examine the bird.

“Are you the one from the other day?” he whispered. “Are you here for food?”

The sparrow nonchalantly preened its feathers, seeming not to notice the giant human nearby.

“Wait a moment.” Shelley opened a drawer, found an unopened pack of biscuits, crumbled a bit, and gently placed the crumbs in front of the sparrow.

The sparrow chirped and began to eat the crumbs eagerly.

Resources in Leisau were too scarce, especially in midwinter. Any bit of food would quickly be taken by humans, making it hard for a small sparrow to survive the winter.

The sparrow soon finished the crumbs, its eyes showing satisfaction. Then it reached into its tail feathers, pulled out a feather, dropped it, and flew away.

The feather drifted down in front of Shelley, who picked it up, surprised.

The cold wind tousled the feather’s soft filaments. Shelley quickly took it inside and shut the window.

It was just a regular wild sparrow, with no concept of “gifts.”

Maybe it had an itch, or the feather was already loose, or it wanted to mark the spot where it found food.

Yet, as his fingers brushed the soft feather, Shelley felt a warm sensation deep in his chest.

He placed the feather in his palm, turned it over, then set it on the windowsill before picking it up again.

Since leaving Nantes, perhaps he had changed a bit.

For instance, this ordinary little event made him want to share it with someone.