Investing In My Four Crippled Yandere Wives Get 1000x Returns
Chapter 3|A Meal Worth More Than Gold

Chapter 3: 3|A Meal Worth More Than Gold

Everlyn’s eyes followed him carefully as Allen rolled up his sleeves and surveyed the kitchen — or what passed for one. A rusted stove sat crooked against the wall, a cracked sink dripped in slow, rhythmic plops, and the cupboards, when he opened them, revealed little more than a few cans of preserved goods and a bag of rice that had clearly seen better decades.

"...Not much to work with," he admitted, half to himself.

Everlyn tilted her head, then reached for a small notepad and pen that had been tucked into her apron pocket — clearly a habit she’d developed for exactly this kind of situation. She scribbled quickly and held it up for him to read.

’There’s a market two streets over. Small, but they carry basics. I usually go, but you’re welcome to look.’

Allen studied her handwriting for a moment — neat, careful, precise, much like the woman herself seemed to be. "I’ll head out, then. You should rest. Yesterday wasn’t exactly gentle on any of us."

She hesitated, pen hovering over the notepad again, before writing something else and holding it out.

’You don’t have to do this.’

Allen met her gaze, and for the first time, he let a small, tired smile show. "I know. I want to."

Something shifted behind Everlyn’s emerald eyes — surprise, maybe, or something closer to confusion. She didn’t write anything else. She just nodded slowly and stepped back, letting him pass.

* * *

The market, when Allen found it, was less a market and more a scattering of stalls held together by desperation and duct tape, tucked into the shell of what used to be a proper street corner store. The vendors eyed him with the particular wariness reserved for outsiders — his clothes, though worn from travel, were still a shade too clean for Hegeville, and word apparently traveled fast in a district this small. More than one pair of eyes lingered on him a beat too long, whispers passing between stalls.

’The Veton reject. Word’s already out, huh.’

He ignored it, moving through the stalls methodically, picking out vegetables that still had some life left in them, a decent cut of meat from a butcher who seemed more surprised than annoyed to have a customer, and a few spices that smelled promising despite the shabby packaging. He paid with cash from his own dwindling pocket rather than touch the "charity" check Reginald had thrown at him — that money had a different purpose in mind, one forming slowly at the back of his thoughts.

By the time he returned to the house, arms full, the morning sun had climbed higher, casting long streaks of gold through the cracked windows.

He found all four of them awake now, scattered through the living room in careful, deliberate distance from one another and from him — Myria seated by the window with a book balanced on her lap, Irene sprawled across a windowsill looking bored out of her mind, Vivian sitting cross-legged on the floor with her head tilted, listening to something none of the others could hear, and Everlyn quietly straightening what remained of the furniture.

"I’m making lunch," Allen announced simply, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. "Nothing fancy. Just... something warm."

Nobody answered directly, but he caught the way Irene’s eyes flicked toward the kitchen with poorly hidden interest, the way Myria’s page-turning paused for half a second longer than it should have.

’Progress is progress,’ he thought, and got to work.

* * *

Cooking, it turned out, was one of the few things Allen had ever been quietly good at — a skill picked up out of necessity rather than passion, back when the estate’s kitchen staff had considered him too unremarkable to bother feeding properly most nights. He moved efficiently, chopping vegetables with practiced precision, letting the meat sear low and slow, filling the ruined kitchen with the rich, warm smell of something that hadn’t touched this house in a very long time.

He didn’t notice the system panel flicker into existence at the edge of his vision until it chimed softly.

[Investment Detected: Act of Care — "Preparing a meal for registered dependents."]

[Sincerity: High. Effort: High. Emotional Impact: Pending.]

[Reward will be finalized upon recipient response.]

Allen blinked at the panel, nearly dropping the wooden spoon in his hand. ’So it really does track this stuff in real time.’ He filed the information away and kept cooking, plating the food carefully — four bowls, evenly portioned, steam rising in soft curls.

He carried them out one by one, setting them gently in front of each woman without a word, careful not to hover, careful not to make it feel like he was expecting anything in return. Then he retreated to the kitchen doorway and simply waited, hands tucked into his pockets, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t holding his breath.

Irene was the first to try it — no surprise there, given her restless energy. She lifted the spoon, took a bite, and her expression shifted so fast it might have been comedic under any other circumstance. Her eyes went wide, and though she couldn’t hear the small, surprised sound that escaped her own throat, Allen certainly could.

Vivian followed next, tasting carefully, her calm expression cracking just slightly at the corners of her mouth. "...This is actually good," she murmured, more to herself than anyone. "Didn’t expect that."

Everlyn ate slowly, deliberately, and when she looked up at Allen, there was something warm and unguarded in her eyes for just a moment — gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same careful distance, but not before Allen caught it.

Myria was the last to taste it. She held the spoon for a long moment, studying the bowl with the same sharp, assessing look she’d given him back in the car. Then, finally, she took a bite.

She didn’t say anything. But she didn’t stop eating either, and when she finished, the bowl was empty.

[Investment Finalized: Emotional Impact — High.]

[Reward Generated: +50 Investment Points.]

[Multiplier Applied: x1 (Base) → Total Reward: 50 Investment Points.]

[Bonus Condition Met: All four dependents responded positively within the same act. Bonus Multiplier +2x applied.]

[Total Reward: 100 Investment Points.]

Allen’s breath caught as the numbers scrolled past his vision. It wasn’t a bloodline. It wasn’t a weapon. But it was ’something’ — proof, undeniable and quantifiable, that the systems weren’t lying to him.

’One hundred points from a bowl of stew.’ He almost laughed. ’At this rate, what happens when the multiplier actually kicks in?’

"Are you just going to stand there," Myria said suddenly, breaking the silence, "or is there more?"

Allen blinked, caught off guard by the question — and beneath the flat, clipped tone of her voice, he thought he caught the faintest, almost imperceptible edge of something softer.

"There’s more," he said, and meant it in more ways than one.