The sinking feeling he had earlier only grew worse as he listened to her response. She didn't give him an actual answer to his second question about her favorite food and he knew exactly why. It was because she couldn't. Instead, she tried to fulfil his request by listing the only two things she was allowed to eat back in her world. Whatever the hell fehmabala or mol milk was, they apparently couldn't compare to the unwanted scrapes left behind by the client she served. The slight hesitation in her monotone voice when she mentioned how she never received a single offering of leftovers made him feel as if someone shoved a knife into his chest.

This wasn't something that could be conveniently dismissed as cultural differences between their worlds. There were too many unfortunate implications about her previous life for him to ignore. The relationship between her and her client felt eerily similar to that of a slave and their abusive master. He was even starting to wonder if her overly formal mannerisms and stilted speech was a result of her having to adapt to her role serving her client.

If given the chance, Touma would readily bury his fist into her client's face. Since that wasn't possible and fantasizing about it did him no good, he decided it was best to focus on something a bit more productive.

He walked over to her, his demeaner noticeably more serious. "I've changed my mind. How about instead of us making curry you choose something you want from that recipe book? It can be anything. Pick whatever food looks tasty and I'll personally cook it myself for you to eat."