Risk Level 5: Arachne (2)
Rattle-rattle-rattle... creak... The tough wire groaned as if it might snap at any moment. In the darkness, those ominous red points drew steadily closer, neither fast nor slow.
"Ugh... ahhh..." My hands and feet were pinned. Whether from the webs I'd brushed against while being dragged inward or from the strands that already carpeted the floor, I couldn't move. The space was pitch black, something unknown kept approaching, and my limbs refused to obey. On top of that, a series of sharp cracking sounds echoed the wire's straining, sending a chill racing across my skin.
I was unmistakably terrified. My breath came in short, panicked gasps, as though someone had clamped a hand over my mouth and nose. The fear spiked into something raw and blinding as those red points drew right up to my face, locking my body rigid.
Then—
Ding!
"Huh...?"
My terminal must have slipped out of my pocket during the fall. Its screen lit up, announcing an incoming message. The notification itself wasn't helpful, but the sudden glow cut through the suffocating dark.
"...Chef?"
"Ah, Counselor... so it was you."
Those red eyes took me in properly. I saw her clearly in return. Besides the pair of eyes that formed her face, three smaller pairs dotted her forehead—eight crimson points in total. I finally understood what I'd been staring at.
She had simply been descending from the ceiling, blinking curiously to identify the intruder. Even so, the strange black sclera and those vivid scarlet irises made my pulse spike despite how many times I'd seen them before.
"Sorry if I startled you. With this many eyes, my vision isn't actually very good."
"No, no. I cut a hole in the door without warning, so I can't complain about being caught like this."
Tap-tap-tap... Once she confirmed it was me, her wariness faded. She lowered her legs onto the floor around me. The sound of those dark-blue, razor-tipped limbs settling lightly near my body was far more menacing than I expected—even now that I knew she meant no harm.
"Should I turn the lights on first?"
"That... mm, would you help me?"
Her slight hesitation made me wonder if she'd deliberately kept the containment room dark. The kitchen had always been dim, and checking on her condition was part of the reason I was here anyway. Once my heartbeat settled, I accepted a little help from Mini Undine and freed myself from the clinging webs. Picking up my terminal, I used its glow to scan the surroundings and finally understood why she'd asked for assistance.
"The lights aren't broken. You covered them."
"Yeah... I feel calmer when it's dark around me."
There had never been ceiling fixtures. After we moved aside the web-draped table lamps one by one, enough light finally filtered through to let me breathe easier.
"Ung-ssi, are you all right over there?"
"Yes, for now."
Thanks to the light I could answer the masked clown peering through the hole in the door, then turn back to Arachne and properly greet her face-to-face.
"It's been a while, Chef."
"...Yeah. It has."
Maybe if I closed the door like this, he would come find me... but now that he actually has, I just feel even more pathetic...
Deliberately...? Had Arachne shut herself in on purpose? Yet the view outside the containment room and the current state of the kitchen—thick with webs, gloomy and dangerous—didn't quite match that impression.
"..."
I had to choose my words carefully. She might think I was probing or wary. I needed a safe topic, quickly.
Her skin was pale with a faint bluish cast, her ash-gray hair tied back in a loose ponytail. It looked paler than before, and her hair seemed hastily gathered rather than neatly arranged. Her clothes were nothing more than a single tank top over her upper body.
"Are you hurt anywhere—"
She flinched. The movement was obvious across her bare shoulders. Now that I looked closer, her complexion seemed worse than usual. She wore an expression of discomfort she was trying to hide, and her gaze kept sliding away. The threads she normally controlled like extra limbs lay tangled and neglected everywhere. Something was clearly wrong.
"Chef, I—!"
Grumble...
"Ah."
"Oh..."
The bold declaration I'd been about to make died the moment my stomach growled. Come to think of it, I'd only eaten a single piece of lunchbox before rushing here.
"...You're hungry, aren't you?"
"Well... yes, I suppose I am."
"Hehe, good."
Unexpectedly, she smiled and turned toward the sink, her massive spider lower body shifting with a series of joint clicks. I looked away for a second, then hurried to stand beside her.
Half-prepared ingredients sat on the counter. She picked up a potato, turned it over in her hands, glanced around the kitchen, and let out a small sigh before looking at me.
I hadn't done anything wrong... had I?
"Could you help me a little more? Even so, I can't cook in a place this messy."
"Of course. It's your request, after all."
Together we spent a long while gathering the webs that had accumulated during meal prep and dumping them into the trash tray. Her legs didn't stick easily to the adhesive strands, so I mostly handled the lighter pieces while she managed the heavier work. Every so often the sound of her joints cracking made me glance over, but eventually the kitchen regained something close to its usual state. With the lamps uncovered, light now reached the corners, making everything feel a little brighter.
"Then... I'll whip up something simple. Could you wait over there?"
"Ah, let me help too."
"You've already helped plenty. Besides, preparing one dish is easy enough with just these two hands."
She gathered a few ingredients and began cooking, but something about her movements felt off. Normally she used her threads like piano keys, directing everything with subtle flicks of fingers and legs. Watching her grip a knife and light the stove by hand felt strangely unfamiliar—even though it should have been ordinary.
"You can't use your threads anymore?"
She flinched again.
"Last night they started tangling... and now they won't come out at all."
"That... sounds serious."
"It is. At this rate I won't be able to prepare meals for everyone. But I can still manage yours, so don't worry."
As she spoke, the scent of stir-fried vegetables began to fill the air. She was making fried rice... or perhaps an omelette rice, judging by how finely she'd chopped everything.
"I wasn't always able to do those fancy techniques from the start. It's been a while since I held a knife and pan myself. It feels nostalgic."
I was still worried about her condition, but it was hard to steer the conversation while she was cooking for me. Better to eat first and talk afterward. Besides, seeing her cook so carefully with her own two hands... she looked almost like a new bride. After watching her bustle through countless dishes every day, witnessing this single, earnest effort up close felt especially moving.
"I can feel you staring."
"Ah, no. I was just thinking how happy your future husband will be."
"Huh? Happy...?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"He'll get to eat delicious meals made with this much care every single day."
"...!"
Clatter...! The pan she'd been skillfully tossing over the flame jerked. Her voice trembled as she asked,
"Do you... really think so?"
Only then did I remember the team leader's warning: never mention children—especially Harpia, born between Harpy and me—to any other female subject. I hadn't brought up children at all, just the idea of a husband and wife forming a family, yet it still felt like I'd made a terrible mistake.
Denying it now would probably make things worse, so I nodded carefully and answered in the most neutral tone I could manage.
"Your cooking really is delicious. Thanks to you, I haven't once had to eat lunch outside since I started working here."
"Arachne..."
"...?"
She seemed more concerned about the address than the compliment. I'd called her "Chef" back when I didn't know her name, and she'd liked it so much... but now—
"Right now I'm only preparing your meal personally. So... you don't have to keep calling me Chef."
"Then would you prefer I call you Miss Arachne?"
"...Yeah."
The light from the stove might have been playing tricks, but it looked as though a faint blush had risen on her cheeks.
"...Someone who can't even prepare meals for everyone else doesn't deserve to be called Chef. That's all it is."
Good. That reason doesn't sound too strange.
"..."
I could tell through our mental link that she'd only come up with the excuse after the fact, but I pretended not to notice. Right now, the important thing was the omelette rice.
While we'd been talking, she'd already finished stir-frying the rice and shaped it neatly on a plate. Now she stood beside a small pot where thick brown sauce simmered. She must have lit that burner while working with only her hands—another reminder of how capable she still was.
She poured beaten egg onto the heated pan, and just as the edges began to set, she used a quick wrist snap and chopsticks to roll it into a perfect cylinder, browning only the outer surface. There was no doubt about it—this was the kind of runny omelette rice Yerin had insisted I try at the staff cafeteria.
"...Gulp."
The sound was a little loud. She let out a soft laugh while I cleared my throat and reached for the spoon. I didn't need a knife; cutting open the omelette was part of the service she was providing.
"Here... sorry for the wait."
She placed the omelette atop the fried rice, drizzled sauce around the plate, and finished with a sprinkle of parsley. Only then did she pick up the knife and slice the omelette open. Golden, creamy egg flowed out like a blanket, covering the rice beneath. Steam rose gently from the warm interior.
"...Thank you for the meal."
I gripped the spoon tightly and silently praised myself for skipping the convenience-store lunchbox. Counseling could wait until after dinner.