I stared at it, jaw slack in the most baby-like way possible.
“…Basic Cooking. Really?” I grumbled to myself. “I’m not even allowed to touch fire without adult supervision, and the system thinks I’m ready to sauté vegetables? What’s next, ‘Pot Stirring Lv 02’?”
Still, I couldn’t deny it felt good. Dexterity, Intelligence, Wisdom—those were creeping higher little by little, and now I actually had two skills sitting proudly in my Cook Job screen.
Cook Lv 05 - Skills
Knife Handling Lv 11 (21/100 EXP)
Basic Cooking Lv 01 (0/100 EXP)
For the first time, I felt the tiniest spark of progress that wasn’t a joke.
“…Alright, system,” I sighed, leaning back in my blanket. “You win this round. I’ll play along with your kitchen grind. But don’t think I’m settling for cutting onions forever. This is just step one.”
For obvious reasons, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near knives. I was a baby, after all. Elaine had the common sense not to let her toddler swing around sharp objects like some unholy mix of chef and assassin.
So for years I was stuck watching. Watching Elaine cook, watching my Knife Handling skill crawl upward, watching the Cook Job drip-feed me bonuses like a leaky faucet. Progress was there, sure, but it was slow. Painfully slow.
Only when I turned three did opportunity finally present itself. Elaine had fallen asleep one afternoon, utterly exhausted from work. Her soft breathing filled the little house, and for the first time, I realized no one was watching me.
The kitchen was quiet. The knives gleamed faintly in the firelight. My small hands trembled as I pulled a stool over, climbed up, and grabbed the smallest blade in reach. A single carrot sat on the cutting board, practically inviting me.
“Alright, let’s see if all those system numbers mean anything,” I muttered to myself.
I lined it up, raised the knife, and chopped.
The blade slid through smooth, clean, precise—better than I had any right to expect. I blinked at the perfect cut staring back at me.
“…Okay,” I admitted. “That was disturbingly good for someone who’s never touched a knife in this life.”
The system chimed almost instantly:
(Knife Handling +6 EXP)
My eyes widened. “Wait—what? That’s from a single slice? And when I just watch Elaine, I barely get two points in the same time…”
I tested it again. Chop. Another sliver of carrot, perfect.
(Knife Handling +6 EXP)
I grinned. “Three times more efficient. Watching was useful, sure—but practicing was a whole other world.”
For the first time since reincarnating, I felt genuinely excited. Progress wasn’t theoretical anymore—it was tangible. Real. The blade in my hands wasn’t just a tool for vegetables. It was proof.
“Finally,” I thought, setting the knife down carefully as Elaine stirred in her sleep. “I’ve confirmed it. I can grow faster. I don’t have to wait for others to feed me scraps—I can carve my own path… starting with carrots. Hooray!”
When Elaine finally stirred awake, Ludger had already cleaned up his little experiment—knife back in its place, carrot slices neatly stacked like nothing ever happened. By the time she stretched and rubbed her eyes, he was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, the very picture of innocence.
Elaine wandered into the kitchen and blinked at the cutting board. The vegetables were neatly chopped, far cleaner than her usual half-drowsy work. She tilted her head, tapping her cheek.
“…Did I chop these?” she muttered. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall. “I don’t remember…”
For a moment, Ludger froze. His heart pounded in his little chest—surely she would figure it out, surely she’d notice.
Then her eyes drifted to him.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Ludger had his finger halfway up his nose, excavating with the seriousness of a miner on overtime.
Elaine’s confusion vanished in an instant, replaced by maternal exasperation.
“Ludger!” she scolded, rushing over. “What did I tell you about that? That’s dirty!”
The boy froze mid-dig, caught red-handed in the most humiliating way possible. His attempt at a poker face didn’t help; he looked every bit the guilty toddler.
Elaine gently tugged his hand down and sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you?”
With that, the mystery of the neatly diced vegetables was solved in her mind—by dismissing it entirely. To her, the idea that her three-year-old son had snuck into the kitchen and done the work himself was absurd. Nose-picking was far more believable.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, tying her apron. “It’s my day off, so I’ll make something nice for dinner.”
Ludger plopped back against the stool, pouting as she bustled about the kitchen, humming softly. He was both relieved that he hadn’t been caught and vaguely insulted by her conclusion.
After all, he thought sourly to himself, being mistaken for a snot-picker was hardly the proper cover identity for a secret knife-handling prodigy.
Name: Ludger
Level: 03
Class Master: [None]
Job Master: Elaine (Cook)
Health: 60/60
Mana: 110/110
Stamina: 70/70
Strength: 05
Dexterity: 12
Intelligence: 12
Vitality: 06
Wisdom: 12
Endurance: 07
Luck: 05
Cook Job – Lv 12 (1,240/1,600 EXP)
Bonuses per level: +1 Dexterity, +1 Intelligence, +1 Wisdom
Cook Skills
Knife Handling – Lv 15 (860/1600 EXP)
Basic Cooking – Lv 13 (450/1300 EXP)
Fire Control – Lv 12 (390/1200 EXP)
Seasoning Sense – Lv 11 (710/1100 EXP)
Food Preparation – Lv 14 (975/1400 EXP)
By now, Ludger’s stats had grown far beyond the “useless baby” stage. Dexterity, Intelligence, and Wisdom especially reflected the endless hours of watching, sneaking, and practicing under Elaine’s shadow. His Cook Job, once a joke to him, was now stocked with skills sharp enough to rival seasoned apprentices.
Knife Handling was his pride: smooth, precise, and fast, the blade felt like an extension of his hand even though he was barely tall enough to reach the counter. Fire Control gave him steady hands at the hearth, while Seasoning Sense sharpened his tongue and nose to pick out subtleties most adults missed. Basic Cooking and Food Preparation tied it all together, forming a foundation solid enough to carry him toward something greater.
And yet, as Ludger scrolled through the glowing blue menu in his mind, he couldn’t help but smirk.
“Not bad,” he thought. “Three years old, and already a kitchen prodigy. But let’s be real… I didn’t reincarnate just to become the world’s deadliest sous chef. This is only the beginning.”
By the time Ludger’s Cook Job had reached its higher levels, he had also confirmed another crucial detail about the system. Aside from the fixed bonuses he earned with every Job level, he also received ten free points per personal level-up. Unlike the Job bonuses, these points could be distributed wherever he wanted.
Naturally, Ludger wasn’t going to waste them blindly. One by one, he spent his early points across different parameters, testing carefully to see what each one did.
He started with the basics:
Vitality: Every point added ten points to his maximum health. But there was more—he noticed he rarely caught colds, his body felt sturdier, and his cuts healed faster than before. It wasn’t just numbers; it was genuine physical resilience.
Wisdom: Predictably, it increased his mana by ten points. Yet, Ludger also realized his thoughts became sharper and calmer. It was easier to focus, to spot details in recipes or conversations he might’ve missed before. His memory even seemed to improve, as though the stat was smoothing the edges of his mind.
Endurance: Each point raised his stamina by ten. Beyond that, he could push his body longer without tiring. His small arms didn’t ache as quickly, and his legs carried him further without wobbling. Even chores like climbing stools or sneaking around at night became less of a strain.
Encouraged, he pushed on with the others:
Strength: Increasing this didn’t just make his childish punches hit harder; it made lifting objects easier. Jars, stools, even heavier pots that should’ve been too much for a boy his size—suddenly, they were manageable.
Dexterity: This was one of the most immediately noticeable stats. Every point made his movements smoother and more precise. His knife work became sharper, his handwriting neater, and even balancing on uneven stools less dangerous.
Intelligence: Beyond being a raw number for “smarts,” Intelligence helped him process complex ideas. Whenever he experimented with recipes, or when he tried to reason through how the system worked, everything clicked faster with higher Intelligence.
Luck: This was harder to measure, but Ludger wasn’t stupid. After investing a few points, he noticed small coincidences: fewer kitchen accidents, ingredients lasting a little longer than expected, even avoiding being pinched by the tavern’s old ladies when he really didn’t want it. Luck wasn’t reliable, but it was there.
Through trial and error, Ludger confirmed that the system wasn’t just a set of floating numbers—it was a finely tuned machine. Every stat point made a tangible difference in his daily life, not just on a screen.
By the end of his experiments, he leaned back in his little chair, arms crossed like a tiny professor, satisfied with his findings.
“Vitality keeps me alive, Wisdom makes me clever, Endurance keeps me going. Strength makes me strong, Dexterity makes me smooth, Intelligence makes me sharp, and Luck… well, Luck makes life less miserable.”
It wasn’t the most glorious set of abilities, but it was a foundation. A solid start. And Ludger, stubborn as ever, planned to use every scrap of it.
All of this was fine and all—his sharp knives, steady hands, and growing Cook Job—but Ludger knew deep down it wasn’t enough. Cooking was useful, sure, but it wasn’t the kind of life he had imagined for his second chance. He wanted more than diced carrots and simmering pots.
He needed answers. He needed growth. Most of all, he needed to learn how to unlock other Jobs , and eventually his very first Class.
The problem was, the system wasn’t exactly handing out instructions.
One evening, after making sure Elaine was fast asleep, Ludger tested a theory. He set up a stool, pulled one of the smaller kitchen knives into his grip, and lined himself up with the wooden wall. If chopping vegetables had given him Knife Handling, maybe throwing knives would open something new—like Weapon Mastery, Combat Training, or even some flashy offensive skill.
He steadied his breath, threw with all the precision his boosted Dexterity could manage, and— thunk.
The blade hit the wall, slid, and clattered to the floor.
He tried again. Thunk. Clatter.
Again. Thunk. Clatter.
After ten attempts and nothing but noise for his trouble, the system still hadn’t acknowledged him. No new skills. No hidden class. Just a few scratches in the wall and the creeping dread of being caught vandalizing the kitchen.
Ludger sighed, shaking his head. “Of course. The system doesn’t care if I throw knives for fun. It probably wants me to actually learn the art from someone who knows what they’re doing. Just like it gave me Cook from Elaine…”
That left only one option: Masters.
If he wanted to grow beyond cooking, he’d have to find people who could teach him. Swordsmanship, magic, craftsmanship—whatever the world had to offer, he would need to learn it through them.
The thought stirred something restless in his chest. Cooking was fine, but Ludger hadn’t been reborn just to become the world’s youngest sous chef. He wanted firepower, freedom, and control over his own growth.
“Fine,” he thought as he carefully returned the knife to its place. “If the system wants masters, I’ll find them. And I’ll learn everything they have to give.”
The kitchen fell silent again, but in Ludger’s mind, the next stage of his life had already begun.
Ludger had already decided—he wasn’t going to ask for handouts, and he wasn’t about to weaponize his fake toddler charm just to make people bend over backward for him. If he wanted to grow, then he’d earn it.
So, he set his sights on the tavern.
At first, he just watched, biding his time in the corner as usual. But when the rush came—voices shouting for ale, chairs scraping against the floor, and the clatter of dishes stacking higher than anyone liked—he made his move.
Quietly, he waddled from his basket toward the dining area, tiny feet carrying him with more determination than grace. When customers left, he’d drag himself up onto the benches, wipe the tables with a rag, and collect the dirty plates, bowls, and spoons. His arms ached from the effort, but he pushed on, balancing piles of dishes far too big for someone his size. Once in the kitchen, he’d deposit everything into the sink with a grunt before heading back out again.
It took a while for anyone to notice. The kitchen staff were too busy, the servers too frantic, and Elaine too focused on her pans to pay him much attention.
The first people to catch on weren’t the staff—it was the customers.
“Oi,” one man muttered, nudging his companion as Ludger marched past with a stack of dirty spoons clutched to his chest. “Who’s the pipsqueak?”
Another leaned back in his chair, brow raised. “Kid shouldn’t even be walking around in a place like this. Did somebody lose him?”
Laughter trickled through the room as more pairs of eyes followed the little figure hustling from table to table, wiping, gathering, working with a focus far beyond his years.
Back in the kitchen, one of the servers finally stopped mid-step, blinked, and pointed. “Uh… since when do we have a tiny busboy?”
Elaine turned just in time to see her son balancing a precarious tower of plates, waddling determinedly toward the sink.
“Ludger…!” she gasped, half horrified, half dumbfounded.
He ignored her, stretching onto his toes to tip the dishes into the wash basin, then dusted his hands like a miniature veteran of tavern life. His expression was proud, stubborn, and utterly unbothered by the dozens of eyes staring at him.
The tavern buzzed with murmurs. Some people laughed, some frowned, and a few even humored him. But one thing was certain: everyone had noticed the boy who refused to just sit quietly in the corner.
To everyone’s surprise, Ludger didn’t make a single mistake. No plates slipped, no drinks spilled, no tables left sticky. His movements were small and clumsy, yes, but he was careful—stubbornly so. By the end of the rush, he had wiped down nearly every empty table and stacked more than a few loads of dishes into the basin.
The kitchen staff exchanged glances. At first, they had been ready to shoo him away, but as they watched him work, their frowns softened. The boy wasn’t a distraction. If anything, he was saving them a bit of time.
“Well…” one of the older cooks finally muttered, scratching the back of his head. “He’s not causing accidents. And it’s better than lettin’ him sit around staring at walls all day.”
A server shrugged in agreement. “Healthy kid like that—if he’s got the energy, might as well use it. Keeps him out of trouble.”
Even the tavern owner, a gruff man with a voice like gravel, grunted his approval. “As long as he doesn’t scare off the customers, I don’t mind. Little worker’s got spirit.”
Elaine, on the other hand, had been frozen with worry at first. Her instinct was to swoop in, pick Ludger up, and put an end to his antics immediately. But when she saw him moving so naturally—wiping down tables with determination, balancing plates with more care than some adults—her heart softened.
She realized, with a pang, that she’d been too overprotective.
Her son wasn’t fragile porcelain. He didn’t need to be wrapped in blankets every hour of the day. He was growing, stronger and sharper with each passing week, and her fussing wouldn’t stop that.
So, she let him be.
Of course, she didn’t completely relax. From the shadows of the kitchen doorway, Elaine’s green eyes followed him wherever he went. Every trip across the tavern, every time he climbed onto a chair, every dish he carried—she was there, silently watching, ready to step in at the first sign of danger.
But Ludger never gave her the chance. He worked with the single-minded focus of someone determined to prove a point, and in the end, even his mother couldn’t deny it.
Her little boy wasn’t just surviving in the tavern—he was finding his place in it.
At the end of the week, when the tavern quieted down and the staff were dividing their earnings, Ludger was surprised to see a coin pressed into his tiny palm.
A silver coin.
“Payment for the little helper,” one of the servers said with a grin.
Elaine received her usual five, and that’s when it clicked. If she was worth five and he was worth one, then maybe—just maybe—he was being scammed.
Still, Ludger didn’t mind.
“No one in their right mind would pay serious money to a kid my size,” he thought as he turned the coin over in his hand, its cool surface gleaming in the candlelight. He had only been working during the busiest hours anyway, darting around to clean tables and carry dishes when the staff were swamped. A silver coin was more than generous for what he did.
He tucked it away, quietly starting a savings pile. While the coins grew slowly, Ludger’s real focus was elsewhere. Every shift, while Elaine worked and the tavern buzzed with life, he studied the customers.