Reborn with Steve Stand-Chapter 857: wtf is happening (2)
From a certain perspective, the kitchen was an extremely dangerous place in Fang Mo’s domain.
After all, he had so many misfit creations under his belt—like that “Old Feng” who always tried sneaking poison into food.
Besides him, there were those who constantly wanted to stir-fry rice, roast skewers, lay eggs, slice watermelons, make grilled flatbread, or wrestle / eat bananas in there. Even Fang Mo felt stressed, let alone Charles, who was about to worry himself bald.
After evaluating all these headaches, Fang Mo issued a command:
No one was allowed into the kitchen.
He figured that would eliminate all hidden dangers, but ironically, he overlooked one particular freak among his arsenal—that crappy poop-sword.
Realizing this, Fang Mo felt his physiology responding:
“Blluurgh!!!”
He never imagined he’d one day produce that same retching noise so reminiscent of those old, cursed “Ba Eights” [a comedic reference]. It was like hearing the horror of a “ba-sound music box.”
“Hey, hey… Boss, don’t puke!”
Laevatein clearly hadn’t grasped the situation: “That was lovingly made by Neutron-loli.”
“Hahaha!”
Meanwhile, Shizhenxiang’s grin was broader than ever.
“Aren’t you supposed to help out your boss?”
Fang Mo snapped, glaring at her. “Somebody hold her down while I conjure a Tinkers’ Construct Crusher to shred her—”
“No, no, Boss!”
Shizhenxiang’s smile froze; she frantically waved her arms in protest: “It wasn’t me who made that cake. I never touched it. I only made the aloe juice once they’d finished baking. That’s all!”
“Really?”
Fang Mo eyed her suspiciously.
“Really, truly!”
The brown-haired girl nodded vigorously. “I swear, if I’m lying, I’ll never be able to go to the bathroom again!”
“…fine.”
Hearing that, Fang Mo relaxed a bit, though he couldn’t help staring again at the glass of “juice.” A thick, translucent mass of goo, reminiscent of half-congealed egg whites stirred with glue. It was unbelievably sticky, maybe even impossible to tear apart once you started drinking it, so you’d have to swallow an entire cupful in one go. And that was only if the texture were the only problem—unfortunately, Shizhenxiang had apparently added something so pungent it smelled fishy, dyed a brownish color.
“Could you tell me…”
Fang Mo was silent for a while, finally asking, “…how exactly you made this stuff?”
“Huh? You mean this aloe juice, Boss?”
Shizhenxiang blinked, apparently confused.
“Yeah, that.”
Mǎyù Líng interjected: “Whatever it is, it’s making Boss retch and that’s saying something. He’s the guy who can drink Juicy Berries [a comedic reference]** without even flinching…”**
“Precisely.”
Laevatein nodded. “He’s the guy who once juiced up Concentrated Berries to sip!”
“This is just standard Indian-style cuisine, though.”
Shizhenxiang tilted her head. “I checked Charles’s aloe plant, broke off a few leaves, tossed them into a cup along with some spices, then I stirred it with a…plunger. That’s all.”
“Hold on…”
Eyes wide, Mǎyù Líng was aghast: “A…plunger? Seriously?”
“And where’d you even get that plunger from?”
Laevatein demanded, confused.
“I made it myself,”
Shizhenxiang said matter-of-factly. “We’re all weapons, right? Carving a bit of wood is no big deal.”
“…and the ‘spices’ you put in?”
the rainbow-haired Planet-Eater Shovel was plainly at her limit.
“Let me think.”
Shizhenxiang wracked her brain, counting on her fingers: “Curry, black pepper, coal dust, onion juice, sugar, salt, white wine, chili powder, mint, garlic powder, cinnamon, coffee grounds…”
“Boss, might as well shred her.”
Mǎyù Líng turned to Fang Mo, exhausted.
“Hey, come on…”
Shizhenxiang objected, sipping from her own aloe concoction, looking indignant. “I like making Indian dishes, so what? Are you guys prejudiced against me? This world is so cruel! One day, everyone will eat my cooking!”
“Could you please spare me?”
Fang Mo rubbed his temples. “I have zero interest in Indian cuisine…”
“Oh, you don’t have to eat it, then.”
Shizhenxiang hesitated. “But maybe your friends would like it!”
“Now that might be possible.”
Fang Mo mused. “I do have plenty of friends. A certain ‘someone’ with a letter ‘Luo’ in his name [a pun or reference]** absolutely loves eating everything my weapons cook.”**
“Too bad about the other cake, though…”
Longbow of the Heaven murmured, petting the dull-faced Neutron-loli.
The ash-gray watermelon-loli kept silent, but she was clearly upset.
“It’s all right. We can just make another cake.”
Planet-Eater Shovel comforted, glancing around until she saw a potted plant. Strolling over, she chopped the plant at the root and carried the whole pot back, flipping it upside down over a tray.
The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.
“Here we go: potted ‘cake.’”
She declared proudly: “Still hot, Boss. Enjoy!”
“?”
Fang Mo stared blankly at the block of soil. A potted plant, sure, but…where’s the cake?
“Eat up!”
the young Shovel insisted, digging out a handful of soil and shoving it into her mouth: “If you guys don’t want it, I won’t hold back.”
“Girl, you have a serious fetish problem.”
Mǎyù Líng was floored. “We’ve only got eight weapons in total, Shizhenxiang is already the ‘poop fiend’—how come you’re also chowing down on weird stuff?”
“I’m not eating poop…”
Shovel retorted mid-chew.
“Eating dirt is basically the same,”
Tethys giggled behind her hand. “Dirt is jam-packed with organic matter, which might very well include feces, or else how do you get ‘organic fertilizer?’”
“So by that logic, if you eat intestines, you’re also eating poop?”
Shovel shot back, unruffled.
“Fun fact: soil contains way more microbes than intestines.”
The Light Sword added amiably. “Plus a load of parasitic eggs…”
“You guys are just messing with me.”
Shovel frowned, swallowing her anger. “Fine, I’ll eat a rock instead.”
“Wait, you said you’re gonna eat…‘poop-rock?’
“…You—”**
“Alright, enough!”
Seeing another argument brewing, the Longbow of the Heaven interjected, stepping in. Among these swords, she was the peak of beauty and power. A pair of pure white wings gently spread as she shielded Shovel:
“Don’t hassle her.”
“She’s the Planet-Eater,
the Bow went on gently. “Her nature is to devour entire worlds. She knows the Master likes this planet a lot, so she’s doing her best to restrain herself.”
“She’s a star devourer, huh?”
the other swords muttered among themselves, “What is she, Marvel’s Fifth Great Being?”
“Fang Mo, you inside?”
Before they could continue discussing, footsteps echoed outside. Then with a creak, the door opened.
“Huh?”
Fang Mo glanced over, seeing Logan. Because the door was ajar, Logan had simply walked in.
“Hey, Wolf Bro.”
Mǎyù Líng waved.
Immediately, the Longbow of the Heaven—who’d just played big sister—panicked, jumping behind Fang Mo.
“…Evening, everyone.”
Seeing the crowd of swords, Logan’s eyelids twitched. He forced a polite smile and looked at Fang Mo:
“You got a minute?”
“Something up?”
Fang Mo was about to ask, pushing away the dirt “cake.”
“I was walking by and heard you mention me,”
Logan said. “You brought up ‘someone with Luo in his name’? I should clarify, my name is Howlett, not sure about that, but you said you’d invite me to eat something, right?”
“Eat this heap of—”
Shizhenxiang nearly spoke up, but Fang Mo pressed her down immediately:
“I didn’t mean you,”
he brushed Logan off. “I meant someone named ‘Ronan.’ He’s famously crazy about my weapons’ cooking…”
“Oh, I see.”
Logan shrugged. “Actually, I’m here for something else.”
“Mm?”
Fang Mo arched a brow.
“I watched your talk show on TV.”
Logan began, “Much as I hate to say it, the mutants’ status has really changed a lot. So I guess…we’ve fulfilled the mission of ‘Days of Future Past.’”
“Looks that way,”
Fang Mo agreed. “So…?”
“When are you returning everyone’s memories?”
Logan asked, straight to the point: “Charles, Erik, and the rest of the X-Men. You said you stored their memories, right?”
“Yep, I sealed them all.”
Fang Mo nodded, drawing out his golden Holy Grail. “Alright, in that case, I’ll give them back.”
“Wait a sec.”
Before Fang Mo could start wishing, Logan suddenly furrowed his brow.
“What now?”
Fang Mo paused, hand holding the Grail in midair.
“That cup of yours…
Logan peered closely, wearing an odd expression. “It looks different?”
Indeed, Logan wasn’t imagining things.
The Cup Fang Mo held had changed drastically from before. Initially, it was a typical gold chalice, something from the Fate universe’s “Holy Grail,” combined with the [Bleach] “Hōgyoku.” You’d see just a golden goblet with a bluish-black gem near the base.
Now? Different story.
It had grown quite a bit, no longer a mere wine glass but more like a small pot or large metal washbasin, all cast in gold. And on this enlarged chalice, six suspiciously bored holes had appeared, each leading into the cup’s interior but showing only an impenetrable darkness. Who knew what they were for?
“Oh, that.”
Fang Mo sounded calm. “It’s still the Wish Machine, but I felt that only allowing one person at a time to wish was too low-class.”
“So…?”
Logan sensed a bad omen.
“So I gave it an upgrade!”
Fang Mo exclaimed with pride. “Now it supports joint operation. Up to six people can wish simultaneously—how cool is that?”
“…”
Logan was speechless. Right now, all he could think was how Fang Mo always managed to produce something that made him see stars.
“You just said you’d return Charles’ memories.”
Fang Mo continued unabashed: “Perfect timing for a co-op summon! The two of us worked on reversing the future together, so the rescue is also a group effort. Tsk, I’m pumped! Hurry on over—”
“Could you not tarnish their memories?”
Logan forced out through clenched teeth.
“Don’t worry, they won’t know,”
Fang Mo assured him.
“That’s not the point!”
Logan snapped. “I’ve been trying to help you act like a normal person. Why won’t you ever listen!?”
“I do listen! That means you got what you wanted, right?”
