My Parasite Skill System

In the residence, I thought and I thought. And right now, I walked and I walked.

I mean, one must comprehend me. Heading out was the right call, I was sure.

In the first place, would I be thinking, and thinking again? Thinking had started to become painful and much tiring. My brain wasn't up to doing that anymore.

I'd had enough of thinking … and I believe this feeling of tiredness was rightly justified and appointed.

And so, I came to think: why?–I'm bored, and I just figured the outside world actually existed.

Now, now: should we ask why or where would I be walking?

This isn't a real question, since I already knew the answer: it was all about 'where,' not 'why.'

I had many reasons to be walking, so asking 'why?' would simply be a fool's work. And I'm no fool, mark you. Nothing of the sort.

And rather, now, why not ask 'where?'

Walking and walking, again and again. That's what I chose over thinking.

And I'm doing that, as we speak. Out in the street. Because I thought of doing it and felt like it.

The outside world welcomed me again. It occurred to me I could simply go there. I who was so bored and desperately craved for entertainment–now that the Playground had gone away in the distance, or that I rather had gone away, in the moving distance–suddenly realize the following: wait–can't I go outside?

The outside world was to be free.

And I was looking out for a treasure. A treasure that should be mine. A treasure that will be mine.

So I set off down the track. Going out of home and following the path that princess' carriage must've followed.

After the outside, and his very broad and general way of welcoming me; it didn't take long before the street, alongside the many passersby treading on it, welcomed me too.

And as it was starting to get cold and fresh, outside, I welcomed them all, too.

All of the outside.

Be it the cobbles of the main path, where carriages and people did go about their busy lives. The walking creatures, who were all humans for most of them.

The fresh wind coming down on me stroking my uncovered legs and neck. My newly obtained short and shoes. The few coins of silver I'd stuffed in this very short's large pocket.

The sun, as it was dangerously and still much burningly falling onto the horizon … and every other aspect of 'this' outside.

I welcomed it all, I welcomed it all.

This was my way. And it'd been long since I'd set off down the track, vigorously taking my no longer to be bared toes upon the many cobblestones.

We had asked questions, beforehand. Why out? Answered. Why out? Answered, too. Where to, now?

Well, why don't you look and see for yourself?

Following my strong sense of smell would never be the wrong thing to do. Because, following it … for a long, long time, I finally got to sit my butt on that stool.

A commercial alley–that's about where to. Or partly about it, rather. This commercial street being about the same (or maybe a little tinier) as the one from back in my place of birth. Very loud (especially to me) and kind of naturally crowded.

I had really gotten far away.

"What will I serve ya?" one voice interrogated me from behind the oh-so-familiar wooden counter.

"Mm-hm," and I went on nodding to myself … eerily sniffing around in the air, in a so much unsettling way that it instantly put off that man, standing with both elbows down on the counter. "That really is about the same fragrance. There's so doubting it no more."

Recoiling, and shaking his head in what would seem to be disgust … or just amusement–"What'll ya be served, young customer?"

"Please, one bowl of noodles, Sir."

"Aye, aye! Coming right away, son!"

Arming himself with thick motivational energy, he got himself to work behind his counter.

Such an interaction made me smile. Because seeing the other stools lining up next to mine on both sides, empty as they were, I was one customer for this workman.

Whistling a (horribly both awful and awfully whistled) tune … my bowl of noodle didn't take long before showing the tip of its nose.

And breathing of its sauce and vapors, drool accumulated in my mouth when I nodded to the laborer of noodles. I let him know it smelled good and would certainly taste even better.

Paying him off in advance with however many coins of silver I'd grabbed from the pouch fastened to my belt, "Thanks for the meal! You keep the change~"

And when my stomach ordered "growl!!!" I understand I should be eating at once.

Digging within the bowl, what followed was but pleasure and contentment manifesting itself deep in me.

Unhurrying myself in my affair with that bowl, I took no more than five minutes in order to finish it.

During those five minutes, the cook–or no, the chef–before me had had enough time to thank me countless times, even though he was obviously embarrassed doing it, and treasured the coins I'd gotten him.

And following his way, I treasured the bowl of noodles he'd also gotten me.

Suddenly, no more noodles and no more sauce left in my bowl, "Hm!–thanks again for the meal, Mister–oh?"

"Don't go thinking you're gettin' away right now, son. 'Course I'll serve ya another bowl!"

"Oh! Do that, yes."

And here we go again.

This was another bowl for me.

Got me kind of scared when I thought I wouldn't 'be gettin' away right now.' Turned out after he'd so violently snatched away my bowl he presented another of the same noodles in front of me, immediately.

"Ohhh … I thought you were making this one bowl for yourself, Mister."

"Enough talk–dig in, why don't ya!"

"Yes, Mister."

Slurping many noodles, even when I was full of noodles, already, the taste of them wasn't any lesser.

Beautifully done, chef. Beautifully done.

In the same fashion, I had eaten again.

Did I want another bowl??

"No."

Was 'ya' sure?

"No. Uh–yes. I mean, yes."

And when I swore I'd simply misspelled that–'NO!' he insisted.

That was yet another bowl for me, heh.

I accepted since he insisted so much. But did I give him that much, though? Obviously, he was behaving this way because he felt like he owed me something, hm.

It left me thinking I should probably inquire about stuff while I could. Since he so much wanted to repay me, he'd be answering me. Well.

Meanwhile, he hadn't prepared in advance another bowl for me; so he had to get down to it at once.

And thinking what I thought … I hesitantly asked – he hardly understood my questions, but upon many repeating and rephrasing, he would each time answer, filling me in about many topics:

"What is a kingdom, Mister?"

A piece of land (country, state) ruled over by a king or queen.

"Is the princess title that big of a title, in this kingdom?"

Of course it was. Anyone of our kind hardly ever even gets to exchange a few words with one.

"Where is the princess' home? Where should she actually be finding herself, right now?"

In the castle.

And there still were many questions for that professional noodle maker. My mind overflowed with them.. Thankfully, I'm sure he'd reply to them all.