Chapter 113

He has a bad memory.

Sometimes, memories come uninvited, and at the worst, he doesn't know his name.

Sometimes, after a brief numbness, he suddenly remembered that his name was rozim premki.

From the time he was born in the sunshine of the world, he was rozim premki.

He doesn't remember when it happened. It should have been a long time ago, longer than the lives of a considerable number of ordinary people

Whenever he thought of this, he thought of fire.

He likes fire. He likes the creaking sound they make when they burn objects.

He could still smell the leather on his shoulders. Although they were now covered with animal skins, they smelled like ashes.

His shoulders were also much better than he remembered them - they were twice as big.

If he returns to his home now, he looks like a monster.

If I could see my two brothers again, I would probably scare their souls out.

Who are they?

Who are brothers?

He's not sure. Maybe they're dead. Maybe they're just a dream.

He sometimes dreamed of fire - of their glittering appearance.

So all this may be a dream!

He looked down at the job at hand. He was familiar with it because he was good at it.

When working, he neither dreamed nor forgot anything, nor missed the taste of alcohol. He just knew "work".

It's helpful to cheer up and concentrate.

He tossed the pot made of heavy metal up and down.

It's heavy, like a big rock, and it looks heavy even in its huge palm.

He can't remember its raw material. What's its name?

He used to say it, but now he can't remember it.

It's not iron, it's not stone, it's nothing else.

He called it "pot", and everyone else understood what he meant.

This is his job.

He took a deep breath, picked up the pot, put it into the huge stove and turned the firepower to the highest.

Then he began to grease the surface of the pot with a thick layer to make it easier to use.

It took him a long time to do this, and once it even took him two days to be perfect.

He likes to see the smooth pot at the bottom against the fire. It is as smooth and soft as skin, not like his own skin, but like the skin of girls.

Like the skin of those girls in his impression——

What's that like?

Whatever.

Then he picked up the seasoning box and began to work.

It took a lot of time, sometimes even days, but he really didn't notice it, because he had to concentrate, and there was no sun or moon in this place - only fire and heat, and people came and went.

They never look at themselves unless they want to give him a processed ingredient or take away the prepared one.

He doesn't often look at them because he is very happy at work.

Only at this time can he temporarily get rid of his thirst for alcohol.

Various spices from different regions are mixed in his box, which is his unique memory. He calls it GA Li, which sounds like a green thing.

Well, in fact, he thinks there's nothing wrong with green things. At least those farts are more reliable than these stupid servants.

He bent down with his eyes on it, and then poured the seasoning accurate to milligrams into the mixing box.

Well, it smells so comfortable.

It reminded him that he was working now, and he never thought about home and fire when he was working.

If this step goes wrong, we have to start again, but due to a long time of wandering, there are few materials left.

So he can't make any mistakes. Even if there is only one point, even the smallest point, the flavor of spices will be weakened.

Once, after his failure, he beat everyone in the kitchen, including the machine servant.

But his thoughts drifted away again.

If there is no failure, if he becomes the existence he wants to be, he doesn't want the first meal to be flawed.

He thought of the winners and hoped that the dinner would be perfect enough, even though he would never eat it as he had expected a long time ago.

Thinking about it, he continued to work, following the ancient recipe and drawing sacred patterns in the pot.

When the liquid in the pot boiled, he used the secret spices.

When the fragrant powder fell into the pot, the boiling liquid hissed like a snake.

He must also be cautious in this step. If he puts too much, the whole pot will be scrapped, and if there is too little, the taste is not prominent enough.

He urged his hands and feet to be sharp and shake off the spices to half before the twentieth turn.

Soon, the boiling liquid turned into rolling mucus. He lifted the pot from the stove with his big gloved hand.

He took out a plate and made a ball with a spoon.

Watching the dark brown liquid flowing along the edge of the plate, sometimes he would hold it up, face it towards the fire and appreciate what he had made.

Nodding, he picked up a cloth and gently wiped the stains on the edge of the plate.

Then he went to a machine servant, who controlled a cart. He put the dishes on the cart, and then took the second dish.

Other subordinates are also busy, operating their own dishes, but no one is more important than his work, so he can only do it himself.

It made him proud.

Because he will feel that he has become useful, and most of the time is enough to sweep away his heart disease.

Most of the time, he served the astates' canteen

He can often see those tall soldiers, enjoy his delicious food after removing their armor, and praise him.

But anyway, he should leave in the end.

He also knew he had to leave, but he always wanted to stay a little longer, always wanted to stay with these great soldiers for a little longer.

After all, he was so close to greatness——

This is his heart disease.

When he saw those ignorant boys coming to the temporary test base from the college, he recalled the tests he had received and how close he was to success.

He recalled how they strengthened their bodies and the pain of failure.

Although there was no doubt that he would die, he survived.

As a failed product.

How he wanted to die at that time, hoping that they would give up themselves at that time.

The servant's soulless eyes looked at him, and he filled the last dish, then nodded his head and gave it a.

Then the attendant looked away from him and pushed the cart away. The others were still busy.

When he returned to the stove, his assistant gave him a new pot, a pot for cooking.

He looked down at the job at hand. He was familiar with it because he was good at it.

When working, he neither dreams nor forgets anything. He just knows "work".

Simple, serious work.

But sometimes he was worried. Sometimes he would stay up all night or recall things he didn't want to think of.

But he also has a favorite dream.

He had seen the astates walking in the sea of stars, seeing them fighting and fighting.

He is among them, as perfect as they wear.

When he wakes up from his dream, he will always be satisfied.

But he still remembers his failure, but he also remembers that he can give his strength.

Perhaps this is his reward: he can give his strength.

Even in the eyes of others, he sometimes looks like a fool.

But he doesn't know how long he will be here, maybe forever, maybe the end of the world.

He has a bad memory.

His name is rozim premki. He likes fire.

He wanted him to fight, which had been his dream.

But the astats were fighting, and he helped them, and sometimes he felt, maybe——

That's enough.