Running A Food Stall In A Horror Game

It was mealtime. The diner was crowded. Everyone was eagerly awaiting their food.

I was in the kitchen cooking. Adrenaline drove me in the rush to fill orders. The next second, I was pulled into an S-Rank Supernatural Map.

[Identity: Linnet Graves, age eighteen, food stall owner, Pine Grove.]

[Talent items: A set of F-Rank kitchen utensils (upgradeable), ability to create culinary concoctions that even ghouls can taste.]

Screens displaying my in-game identity and talent items floated before my eyes.

Meanwhile, there was already a huge audience watching the livestream. They were waiting for the action to start, and I was the unlucky soul picked to play in this horror game.

When they saw that I was only eighteen and possessed only the lowest-ranked talent items, everyone’s eyes nearly popped out.

[She’s done for! She’s a newbie, AND she got sent to an S-Rank Map! She’s going to die in ten seconds flat.]

[Wow, she sure is unlucky. What’s she going to do with a saucepan and spatula? Is she going to throw them at the ghouls?]

[No way she’s surviving this. The other four players have a better chance of winning.]

[Good luck, Lin! I believe that you can survive!]

The comments were flooding in. The discussion only grew more heated.

I gripped my kitchen utensils and remained where I spawned, lying on a thin bedroll in a hut. I trembled while reading the game’s guidebook.

[Play your character well, and don’t reveal your identity as a player to the ghouls.]

[There is a safe time period every day from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. Unless you enter a danger zone, ghouls will not attack players during this time.]

[If you survive five days, you will win the game and be rewarded.]

I put the leaflet down, feeling ill at ease. My hands were sweating.

It was a horrible situation to be in. The game had not even started. No matter which way I looked at it, I had no chance of winning.

The lights in the hut suddenly flickered erratically. An anguished scream came from the outside.

[Number of survivors left in the map: 4]

Someone was already dead at the start of the game. I huddled deeper into my bedroll and felt even less confident.

The night was getting darker. I closed my eyes, still feeling anxious.

The next morning, I woke up before the sun rose.

Since my only hope of survival was a well-played role play in this session, it made the most sense to start preparing the food for my stall, like the hardworking small-business owner I was.

After I got into the kitchen, I learned that this food stall sold sourdough bread.

It was plain, old, boring sourdough bread.

I picked up one of the loaves and put a bite in my mouth. It was dry and tasted overwhelmingly sour. It was awful.

If I served these to the ghouls, would they go berserk and lodge a violent complaint?

Frowning, I spat the bread out and started scanning through the leftover ingredients in the kitchen.

There were fresh herbs, tomatoes, garlic, and even sandwich meats.

An hour later, I fetched a fresh batch of focaccia from the oven.

After taking a few deep breaths, I took all the food to the food stall with trembling hands.

It would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. It was unlikely for any customers to even get interested.

“Focaccia for sale! Fresh, tasty focaccia sandwiches for sale!” I called half-heartedly from behind the counter.

The town was quieter than the grave. It would be surprising if someone suddenly showed up so early in the morning for focaccia.

“Give me one of those focaccia things.”

My first customer was a pale-looking youth. He was tall and seemed decent.

Unfortunately, there was a huge and bloody hole at the base of his skull. It looked terrifying and pitiable.