Have you ever wondered what the food in the world of your favorite novel tastes like? John was about to get an answer to that question when he sat down at a restaurant called Cork's Diner, a local establishment that served mostly middle- to high-class customers.
As soon as Hilda walked into the restaurant, she struck up a conversation with the waitress, who then showed them to a table for two. The chair was made of wood, and since he was eating alone, he occupied the 2-person table by himself. A bit of a culture-shocked for Reeva since he thought they showed him the table for two for Hilda to sit here.
His hand rested on the smooth white cloth that had been prepared beforehand. John was impressed with the design of the place. Taking a look around, he noticed that the building was decorated with ornate wooden furniture and numerous paintings.
As a maid, Hilda was not allowed to share a table with her master; instead, she had to awkwardly stand facing away from the table or be sent to the servant section by her master.
"What would you like to have, master?" Hilda asked.
John looked around the room, confused. He expected there to be a menu to choose from, but that wasn't the case.
"What do you recommend?"
"Since it's still morning, I recommend starting your day with a hearty breakfast of Eyre stew and freshly baked bread. It will give you plenty of energy for the day ahead, Master."
"I'll go with that, then."
John had no idea what Eyre stew was, but he was willing to try it. Hilda nodded and walked over to the nearest waitress, who was on standby, to relay the order. The waitress, dressed in a black and white uniform, then went into the kitchen to place the order.
As John waited for his food, he looked around the restaurant again. The space was divided into different areas, each with varying degrees of luxury. It appeared that a second floor had been set up for important visitors.
With his current status, the first floor was the best he could do. It's the lower end of the high-class section, judging by what people wear.
Even though he wasn't truly Reeva Antores anymore, a hundred stac was still a lot of money.
One stac was equal to 64 coins, and a coin could buy a loaf of bread. By average standards, a person could survive for a whole month on just 1-2 stac. In that sense, John was quite wealthy and could live comfortably for 2-3 years without doing anything as a commoner.
As he enjoyed the ambiance and thought about money, a figure walked past him, then doubled back. The person was accompanied by two servants, one male and one female.
The leading figure, who appeared to be their master, was no more than 15 years old. His face had some sharp features, but it was mostly round.
"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" the young man began, drawing out his words in an annoyingly spaced-out manner. "Why is there a homeless guy in this establishment?"
"....."
Truthfully, John didn't know who this was. His best move was to say nothing.
"Truly, their standards have fallen."
"...."
The young man gave John a playful smile and then invited himself to the opposite side of the table.
"What can I get for you, master?" the butler asked the young man.
"I'll have the usual," the young man replied with a smile, and the butler left. Then he turned his attention back to John, who had been listening to the exchange.
"Quite a nice place, right?"
"It's up there, for sure."
The young man's smile grew wider at John's response. And John knew something was up. He shouldn't have answered that question.
"You know, for a guy who's just been disowned from his family, dining at a place like this is quite in character for you."
John didn't fully understand the game they were playing, but there was definitely something going on.
"Why are you trying to mock a homeless man having breakfast?"
The young man turned to look at his servants.
"You can go. I'll be having a chat with this gentleman over here."
The two servants nodded in unison and left their master to his own devices. The servants had a separate room for dining. It wasn't too far, and it was usually safe to leave their master.
"You made two mistakes there, Reeva, or whoever's in there." The young man stretched his fingers into a V pose.
"First, I'm Duke Tudor's second son, Plutus Tudor, and you HATE my guts." He lowered one of his fingers. "And second, you picked the worst place to be since Reeva hates this restaurant. He said it's too Eastern for him to enjoy the food."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have memory loss."
John replied with a deadpan expression. Either Plutus was bluffing, or Reeva really did hate this place. But John was inclined to believe that Reeva did hate it.
"Oh, come on. Even if someone had lost their memory, I doubt they'd go from avoiding my father's district at all costs to dining in one of our endorsed restaurants."
"Still don't know what you're talking about," John said, still not confirming Plutus's story.
"If you insist." Plutus rested his hand on the table, looking quite smug. John, however, maintained his calm composure. Despite his earlier outburst in the hospital, John had pretty good control of his emotions. He wasn't easily surprised.
"I've only been here for a minute, words sure travel fast."
"Indeed, especially when you know what to look for." A cup of tea was served as Plutus said this. He reached for the handle and sipped the tea, maintaining eye contact with John.
"And you see, lately there have been a lot of heretics around here. Just last month, we caught three, and one of them could switch bodies."
"I got a head concussion and lost my memories." John shrugged. "Nothing more."
"I'm not here to judge you." Plutus reached into his pocket and placed an item on the table. He tapped it and said, "But this thing here is."
A silver gleam reflected the lantern light of the restaurant. It was an amulet in the shape of a sun with a torch handle attached—a Sunlight charm, produced by the Sunlight Church.