The Matter of Me Being Picked Up and Adopted by Talula Chapter 5

Don't think about "what you can do for others," but rather "what you should do for yourself."

Orson thought of Talula, FrostNova, Sasha, Ino, and Patriot.

He was probably the only one who knew the future fates of these people. In other words, if there was anything in this world that could change their predetermined destinies, it could only be himself.

If Talula had been changed, perhaps Kazimierz City wouldn't have been destroyed, and tens or hundreds of thousands of people wouldn't have died.

If FrostNova had been changed, perhaps she wouldn't have died in the players' arms with regret and relief.

If Faust and Mephistopheles had been changed, perhaps these two brothers wouldn't have had to walk down an irreversible wrong path.

If Patriot had been changed... hmm, this old guy would still need to start with his daughter.

And these "ifs" could only be made reality by himself.

Don't think, "I should protect these people," but rather, "If I stand by and do nothing about what only I can do, my conscience will be condemned."

Only then would the goal become firmer and clearer—

"Alright, I've decided! I'll put Talula aside for now and start with Ino! A little white-haired kid like a weak bottom, they shouldn't be too difficult to train—ah."

"—"

Orson uttered words that were perfectly fine in context but extremely bizarre when taken out of it. And as fate would have it, Talula happened to lift the tent's entrance curtain.

The two made eye contact for a brief moment:

"I was wrong, I was wrong, Sister Talula!? Aaaah, it's burning, it's really burning!? Listen to me, I'm not a pervert, I swear!"

Talula swung a fiery fist, while Orson cried out in pain and begged for mercy.

After being roasted to a reluctant medium-well, Orson could finally converse normally with Talula, who had calmed down.

It couldn't really be called "normal," as the two had already gone through the "My wife..." incident and the closet incident, making their current relationship very strange.

The strangeness here wasn't the "more than friends, less than lovers" kind, but the kind where "it wouldn't be surprising if Talula punched through your chest while you were walking."

After the initial commotion, Talula showed no further unusual behavior towards Orson. They simply chatted about the camp's infrastructure, including whether they were getting along with the people around them.

As they made awkward small talk, a few Infected individuals also came over to talk to Talula.

"Talula, didn't you go out today?"

"Mm, I take a little break occasionally. What about you guys?"

"We're checking if the previous traps caught anything. You guys chat first, little brother Orson, keep up the good work and try to become a proper person again soon!"

"I appreciate the sentiment."

Orson, the prisoner subordinate, expressed his thanks kindly.

Talula even smiled and joked while talking to others. This demeanor was completely different from the Talula Orson remembered from chapters 1-7.

But the most important thing wasn't Talula's uncharacteristic kindness, but the faint, almost imperceptible [noise] behind this amiability.

Although he still didn't know what these [melodies] meant, Orson had gradually come to understand that these melodies might reflect the singer's state of mind.

So then... what did the sound he was feeling now, like a taut, about-to-snap guitar string, signify?

A guitar string that could snap at any moment, harsh and dissonant noises hidden within the rhythm—all these melodies indicated that the girl in military uniform before him might not be as calm as she appeared. In fact, she was probably on the verge of a breakdown.

"That's enough small talk. Don't do anything out of line. Sasha and Ino think highly of you, so keep up the good work."

Talula ended the conversation and prepared to leave. As Orson watched the dragon girl's retreating back, he took a deep breath...

"Um, I don't have anything to do right now anyway, can we act together—Aieee!?"

Orson flinched and pulled his head back mid-sentence. Talula's gaze, which was 30% surprised, 30% confused, 40% curious, and the remaining 90% murderous, was too overwhelming.

Orson could understand, after all, this man was the one who called her "wife" upon meeting her and was extremely clingy with her.

But even so, Orson had to brace himself. Perhaps he was the only one who knew Talula's mental state was unstable. If that was the case, then this was his job!

"I really don't have any weird thoughts, Sister Talula!"

"Sister Talula...? Never mind, I understand. But you'd better not get your hopes up. I don't have any marching or reconnaissance missions today, so I'll only be doing ordinary work."

"Isn't that better? If we actually fight, I'll just run away."

"..."

Talula experienced a roller coaster of emotions, finally deciding not to bother with this "future dead man."

"Then please guide me today!"

Orson enthusiastically expressed his gratitude for not being killed by Sister Talula, and then followed her into a distinctive-looking room with a chimney.

Based on Orson's years of architectural experience, he deduced that this was the command center.

As the leader of Reunion, Talula's daily work should normally involve such things.

Directing the overall strategy on the sand table, contemplating the next liberation route on the map of Ursus, personally interviewing Infected individuals to find like-minded people.

Although he knew nothing about these things, he had played StarCraft and Red Alert, so he knew a little about military strategy.

For example, base trading, base trading, and base trading.

He was overthinking it; he wasn't there to interfere with Talula's work, but to find a way to alleviate that taut, about-to-snap [melody].

"Huh?"

Orson nodded to himself, then was suddenly hit in the face by two white objects thrown by Talula. Picking them up, he realized they were a pair of arm sleeves.

"First mission: Cooking."

Talula had put on an apron over her military uniform at some point, and was holding a cleaver and potatoes.

"?"

Orson took two steps back, looked at the sign on the building, and then noticed it read "Kitchen."

07. Sister Tal, what are you doing, Sister Tal!

Today's Menu: Cabbage, Potato, and Corn Stew

"Hmm, surprisingly simple recipe."

Talula glanced at the ingredients on the cutting board, nodded, and rolled up her sleeves, ready to get to work.

"...Ah, this."

Orson, standing beside her, was completely dumbfounded. He blinked occasionally to prove he wasn't in some alternate reality.

Although Talula and Orson at this moment were vastly different from the "Tyrant of Reunion" in his memory, Orson still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

That powerful, terrifying, tyrannical, suffocating Infected leader—was currently in the kitchen, cooking herself.

Not only that, but her cooking skills could only be described as tragic.

"First step, peel the potatoes—"

"Why are you reaching for the sword at your waist when we're talking about peeling potatoes!"

Orson loudly complained about Talula's attempt to peel a potato with her greatsword, then pointed to the cleaver on the cutting board.

"Didn't you say to do it in a way I'm good at?"

"The premise is that it's within the scope of 'kitchenware'..."

Talula sighed and picked up the cleaver to start peeling the potato.

During this process, Orson just watched, dumbfounded. He watched as Talula peeled a potato with skin on it, and turned it into a single french fry.

"Strange, are potato skins really this thick?"

Talula, holding the french fry, pondered thoughtfully.

Orson didn't know if he should comment. If he did, he'd probably become fuel for their next meal.

After tossing the french fry into the pot, Talula consulted the menu for the second step: husking the corn.

"More difficult than I expected... FrostNova and Alina made it look so easy...?"

Due to insufficient ingredients and a desire for everyone to have corn, she needed to husk it before putting it in the pot, but Talula was clearly stuck on this step.

"Try twisting in different directions with both hands?"

Orson demonstrated from the side. After all, having lived here for over half a year, Orson's farming skills had reached a proficient level.

"..."

Talula glanced at Orson, changed her technique, but still couldn't successfully rub off the kernels.

"..."

Although her expression didn't change, Orson could clearly feel her anger level rising.

"Um, calm down, how about I do it, Sister Tal? You go to the next step?"

"I'm not angry. Why would you make that judgment?"

"How should I put it... well, you made a lot of popcorn."

Orson pointed to the corn in Talula's hand. The few kernels she had managed to rub off had all bloomed like flowers under the high heat.

"..."

Talula put the corn into a winnowing basket, silently got up, and went to check the next step on the menu.

After Orson finished husking Talula's portion of corn, he wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up. Just then, he saw Talula throw an entire washed cabbage into the pot.

"Plop!"

The stew pot, along with Orson's worldview, violently collided.

What should have been a 20-minute stew took an hour with Talula's "help," with 45 minutes of that spent by Orson cleaning up her messes.

"...To each their own."

Staring at the stew, which in the end looked decent, Talula quietly uttered these four words.

"Perhaps I'm not skilled at Ursus cuisine."

"You can mess up stew this badly, Sister Tal, you're probably not skilled at carbon-based lifeform cuisine AAAAAAA!"

Orson's words were cut short as he was once again hit in the face by popcorn.

After lunch was settled, Orson carried two sets of fishing gear, and he and Talula headed to a frozen river.

It looks like the next task is fishing.

Orson took out an ice drill, but before he could even step onto the ice, Talula stopped him.

The Sarkaz girl walked onto the frozen river, crouched down, and gently placed her palm on the ice.

Hiss—

After a burst of mist, a hole the size of her palm was burned through the ice.

"You don't have to thank me."

Talula's tone held a subtle pride, while Orson blinked in place, still holding the drill.

It seems the twenty-four filial exemplars didn't lie to me. Lying on the ice to get carp is theoretically feasible—as long as the person lying down is a Sarkaz who can breathe fire.

Skipping the hole-drilling phase, the two sat on separate stools by their respective holes, cast their fishing lines, and began to fish.

Initially, Talula's mood was stable, but when Orson caught his fifth fish and Talula had caught nothing, the Infected fighter silently stood up from her chair. Without a word, she stood beside Orson, staring intently at him.

"...Um."

"—"

"Uh, Sister Talula...?"

"—"

"Alright, alright, I'll switch spots with you!"

The silent pressure made Orson break out in a cold sweat in the freezing weather. He could only get up and give his fishing spot to Talula.

The two switched places, but the result remained unchanged.

Talula stared at Orson catching fish with a dark expression and no words. Orson also had a dark expression, praying that these gilled creatures would stop biting his hook.