CHAPTER 77: SECRETLY COOKING INSIDE MY ROOM IN A MIMIC INN

It was terrifiying, how Marron was getting used to life among mimics. As long as she stuck to the shadows and kept her head down, she managed.

She found out that meetings with the Captain were rare, and only happened when there were announcements.

"Don’t worry, Topsider. Life simple here. You get used to it. Captain will call when need."

Marron asked about any work needed deep in the dungeon, and was met with laughter. "It too dangerous if you no fight. Might run into adventurers."

Now to Marron, that sounded like a great idea.

Hopefully I can meet up with an adventurer and convince them I’m not a mimic.

Getting a new lead gave Marron hope, and in bleak circumstances like this, it was very welcome. In truth, she thought she was insanely lucky. The mimics weren’t aggressive as long as they thought she was one of them.

But she knew she was living on borrowed time. Sooner or later, if she wasn’t careful, they would ask why she never glitched.

Maybe my system has something for that.

There was a ping in her head that seemed like it agreed.

And just like that, eating the rice sludge from hell didn’t seem so bad.

+

Marron shut the door of her stone-walled inn room and let her back press against it. Her legs trembled from holding her disguise all day, but exhaustion wasn’t the only thing buzzing through her veins.

She’d seen it again, the ruined face.

The mimic behind the counter wore her smile like stretched wax, stirring its pot of gluey rice while the others slurped and clapped. It wasn’t just an insult—it was a threat.

If I can kill it... if I can replace it... then no one will ever question me.

Marron crossed to the stone chest where she’d hidden the hot plate and unwrapped it like a holy relic. The glossy surface reflected her lamplight, humming faintly when she touched it. She set the battered iron pot on top, poured in water, and lit the flame. The faint hiss filled the silence.

She worked quickly, quietly, rice measured in a bowl, broth cube unwrapped, shredded chicken stirred in. When the first waft of steam rose, she felt happy tears in the corner of her eyes.

The broth was light but rich, chicken balancing salt, grains swollen to just the right chew. It was warm, alive, everything the mimic sludge had tried and failed to be. Marron scarfed it down, broth splashing her lips.

When she leaned back on the strange soft mattress, the System pinged.

[Recipe Recorded: Chicken Rice Soup]XP Gained: 200

Marron wiped her mouth, setting the pot aside. Her hunger dulled, her thoughts sharpened. She needed a plan.

The mimic behind the counter had already claimed her face. If she let that stand, every bowl of flavorless congee handed out would cement that Marron as the real one.

If I want to win this game, I have to take her out of it.

She blinked, calling the System window again. Her fingers scrolled through the shop’s tabs until one caught her eye:

Situational Skills

[Mimicry Lv.1] — 200 gold"Blend seamlessly with local mimic populations. Subtly glitching face disguises natural features. Increases chances of infiltration."

Marron’s breath caught. Perfect.If she took that mimic’s place and layered this on top, she wouldn’t just blend in. She’d control the dining room.

Her hand trembled as she clicked the "Buy" prompt.

[Mimicry Lv.1 purchased. 200 gold deducted.]Gold Remaining: 1,110

+

A cold ripple swept across her skin. Marron scrambled for the shard of polished stone on her bedside table, watching her reflection blur. Her jawline twitched. Her pink eyes glitched darker for a heartbeat before stabilizing.

She gasped. It worked. I can pass as one of them.

But infiltration wasn’t enough. She needed a weapon. Something subtle, something that would make the false Marron fall apart in front of everyone.

Her eyes slid to her bag.

"Secret rice balls," she whispered.

She set the hot plate back on, working in silence as she cooked fresh rice. Marron didn’t feel like exerting much effort for mimics, and planned to make them into small round balls.

It didn’t take long to form a rhythm. She used her fingers to make an indent in the middle of the ball, then pressed fillings into the center. Bits of salty fried chicken, a slice of processed cheese, bits of spam, and pink crystalized salt were covered by another layer of rice.

The System deducted coins as each filling was neatly delivered on her kitchen table.

[Gold spent: 60]

[Current Gold: 1,050]

Some of them she set aside for herself. For the mimics, she decided to use more than half a teaspoon of pink crystalized salt. If they ate it whole, no one could save them in time.

In no time at all, Marron had two plates full of rice balls: "safe and delicious" ones, and "deadly salty." she wrapped them neatly in cloth, saving a few delicious ones for tonight’s snack.

Better mark the ones that are safe.

She grabbed her pen and made two small marks: one dot for safe, and a line for salty.

Marron cleaned up and let the hot plate cool inside the stone chest. She sat on the edge of her stone bed, pack heavy with rice balls. The dwarven runes beneath the floor pulsed faintly, and a bell (similar to a grandfather clock) rang 12 times throughout the dungeon.

Midnight? This place surprises me day by day.

It was slowly becoming more advanced, which could have been a bad sign. "They must be feeding it more magical items while the cart is brought to the core."

She breathed deep, and knew she had to act.

Tomorrow, the real Marron would walk into that diner.

And she wasn’t leaving without the chef’s face.

+

The diner was quieter today.

Marron slid into a booth near the back, letting her features flicker faintly—skin glitching at the edges of her cheeks, her eyes warping for a heartbeat before correcting. Mimicry was holding.

But the atmosphere was different. Half as many customers as last night. They whispered in borrowed voices, faces sliding like oil. Suspicion hung over the room like thick steam.

Her clay bowl hit the table with a wet slap. The same pale congee, overcooked rice floating in a thin broth. The false Marron ladled it out behind the counter, its ruined face twitching, waxy smile cracking with every stir.

Marron lifted her spoon, but instead of eating, she pushed her bowl forward and sat back.

Then she clapped her hands.

Only once, and loud enough to echo. She already felt the sting in her palms, but ignored it and focused.

Every mimic in the diner froze. Dozens of mismatched eyes turned toward her, faces tilting in jerky unison.

"I’m still hungry," Marron said flatly. She let her glitch shimmer just enough to make her words believable. "And this food bores me."

The silence broke into murmurs. Eyebrows raised, mouths sagged.

The bartender mimic, its form somewhere between dwarf and human, leaned forward on its elbows. "Food... bores? You insult chef?"

Marron held the gaze, letting her lips curl in something between a smile and a sneer. "I fully digested a food critic in Brookvale." She let the words drop like knives. "Need better food."

That landed like a stone in a pond. Ripples of outrage surged across the diner. Mimics slammed their bowls on the tables. Voices collided:

"Critic gets special treatment?""Why not us?""You call chef’s food... boring?"

The bartender slammed a mug onto the counter. "Then I make drink for critic!"

That only fueled the fire. Mimics shrieked in overlapping tones, faces sliding faster and rougher with agitation. "Why only offer drink to critic? Unfair! Not fair!"