Episode 19

Eleanor had been happily cooking, completely immersed in her world of spices, aromas, and rapid Spanish chatter—

Until Clara walked in.

At first, Eleanor barely registered her presence.

She was too focused on seasoning everything just right, ensuring that UltSans didn't start throwing in any of his weird magic nonsense into her cooking.

But then—

It happened.

Clara grabbed him.

Pulled him.

And then—

The kiss.

Eleanor's hand froze mid-stir, her spoon hovering just above the pot.

Her eyes widened slightly, her lips pressing together—before a small, amused smirk curled at the edges.

And she watched.

Did she interrupt?

No.

Did she say anything?

No.

She simply kept stirring, pretending like she wasn't watching her daughter kiss this poor man like a starving wolf finally sinking her teeth into its prey.

But inside?

Oh, she was taking notes.

The way Clara held him—desperate, full of frustration.

The way UltSans froze, completely stunned—

And then, the way he responded, steady, firm, as if she were something fragile.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Then came the whispered threats, the breakdown, the exhaustion.

Eleanor watched it all.

She watched as UltSans effortlessly lifted Clara, bouncing her slightly in his arms like he was comforting a child.

And finally—

She watched as Clara fell asleep in his hold.

Eleanor raised a brow, lips twitching slightly in amusement.

Then—casually, she turned back to her food, stirring once again.

And with a knowing, teasing tone—

Eleanor: "Pues mira eso… Ya se me adelantaron. Y yo que pensaba que aún faltaba para los nietos."

A small, soft chuckle escaped her.

UltSans, who had turned slightly toward her, gave her a flat, unamused stare.

UltSans: "Pero ese niño no era acaso tu nieto? Además, que ni siquiera somos novios. Cómo que vamos a llegar a eso de rápido a darte nietos, ánda ya, énga."

Eleanor shrugged, completely unfazed.

Eleanor: "Oye, no me mires así. Qué quieres que diga? Si se duerme sobre ti así de rápido, significa que confía en ti~."

UltSans sighed deeply, shaking his head.

UltSans: "Anda que, anda que... Anda que vaya que cómo sois... La voy a dejar en una cama, céntrate en la cocina, que no se queme nada, entendido?"

Eleanor simply waved a hand dismissively.

Eleanor: "De acuerdo. Pero vuelve pronto, que aún tienes que ponerte a preparar mucho, terminar esa tortilla de patatas, esa paella, y cortar ese del jamón ibérico."

UltSans rolled his eyes but started walking out of the kitchen.

UltSans: "Sí, sí... Ahora vuelvo."

And with that—he left, carrying Clara effortlessly in his arms.

The moment UltSans was gone, Eleanor let out a low hum, stirring the food absently as her mind spun with thoughts.

This was interesting. Very interesting.

She had known Clara was stubborn.

Had known that her daughter always had an issue with opening up, trusting people, or even admitting when she wanted something.

But this?

This was different.

She hadn't just seen Clara break down.

She had seen her cling.

Cling to someone—desperately.

And that?

That meant something.

And UltSans?

He had barely reacted at first.

But when he did—

Oh, when he did—

It had been gentle, controlled.

There was no awkward hesitation, no resistance.

Just acceptance.

As if this wasn't the first time he'd seen someone collapse like that in his arms.

As if comforting a broken woman was second nature to him.

How very, very interesting.

Eleanor's smirk widened slightly.

She stirred the food once more, tasting a bit of the broth before nodding to herself.

She would have to see how this played out.

Would have to push things just a little further.

Clara was too stubborn to let herself accept what was happening.

And UltSans?

He was too used to being detached from people.

But the way he held her, the way he responded to her, the way he allowed himself to be pulled into this?

There was potential.

And Eleanor?

Oh, she wasn't about to let that go to waste.

A little push here, a little nudge there—

And maybe, just maybe—

She'd be getting those grandkids after all.

UltSans continued carrying Clara upstairs, his steps steady, calculated.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he turned right, heading down the hallway.

The corridor was silent, dimly lit, and empty—

Except for one single door at the very end.

His bedroom.

Upon reaching it, he adjusted Clara slightly in his arms, shifting her weight for balance.

Then—with slight difficulty—he pushed the door open.

The room was just as quiet as the hallway, dim but comfortable.

UltSans stepped inside, moving carefully.

With gentle precision, he placed Clara onto the bed, her body sinking slightly into the soft mattress.

She barely stirred.

Her breathing was slow, steady—deep in exhaustion.

UltSans watched her for a moment.

Then—he pulled the bedclothes over her, making sure they were properly tucked.

A final adjustment.

A quick check to ensure she was comfortable.

Once satisfied, he turned away.

But instead of walking back downstairs—

He simply vanished.

A flicker of red particles—

And in the next instant—

He was back in the kitchen.

Eleanor was still at the stove, tasting the broth, humming to herself in thought.

But the moment UltSans reappeared—

She smirked slightly, as if she had been expecting him to show up exactly then.

UltSans clapped his hands together.

UltSans: "Alright. Chef's back. Let's finish cooking the things. First things first—"

He stepped forward, eyeing the food on the stove.

UltSans: "Terminar la paella, mientras que la tortilla de patatas se sigue calentando…"

His gaze shifted toward the counter.

UltSans: "Y luego, para lo último, nos ponemos a cortar el jamón ibérico a mi manera, que para algo soy español y sé cómo hay que cortar las tiras de jamón."

Eleanor chuckled softly, shaking her head.

Eleanor: "A ver, a ver… Veamos si realmente lo haces como un buen español."

She gestured toward the knife and cutting board, waiting to see if he was as skilled as he claimed.

Because one thing was for sure—

Tonight?

She was going to test this man in more ways than one.

Eleanor wasn't just watching.

She was studying.

Every movement.

Every reaction.

Every small detail.

UltSans had proven capable, calm, and surprisingly patient—but how far did that patience go?

She had seen how he handled Clara.

How he responded to Melissa's nonsense.

How he moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, not just as a guest, but as someone who had done this a thousand times before.

But there were still things she needed to know.

How well did he truly cook?

How much did he really know?

Would he let himself be distracted?

Would he crack under pressure?

Or was he as collected as he seemed?

So far—he had passed every silent test she threw his way.

But now?

Now, she was going to push further.

Would he be able to handle a real Spanish kitchen?

Would he actually cut that ham the right way?

Or was he just all talk?

Eleanor smirked, subtly rolling up her sleeves.

Time to find out.

Time passed as they cooked, working in sync.

The kitchen was alive with movement—

Spices were added, mixed, adjusted.

The paella simmered, soaking in the rich flavors, before being placed in the oven for the final touch.

The potato omelette—large and golden—was finished, still resting in the pan, the heat keeping it warm and perfect.

Eleanor had to admit—

UltSans knew what he was doing.

And now?

Now, it was time for the real challenge.

UltSans lifted his right hand, a faint red glow flickering in the air.

And then—

With a quick motion, two large Iberian hams appeared, landing on the counter with a solid thud.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed one in each hand, placing them down with practiced ease.

Then—

Two blades materialized.

Long, sleek, glowing a deep red.

The blades weren't ordinary knives.

They pulsed with energy, humming faintly, their edges sharper than anything a normal kitchen could ever have.

UltSans, as if it was nothing, handed one to Eleanor.

UltSans: "Alright, caution with that. It's far sharper than anything you've ever seen. Or imagined."

Eleanor took the knife, examining it carefully.

Her eyes flickered with intrigue.

But she didn't hesitate.

Instead—she gave him a knowing smirk.

Eleanor: "Vamos a ver si realmente puedes cortar como un español de verdad."

UltSans leaned slightly over one of the hams, studying it, lining up his first cut.

UltSans: "Muy bien, una vez que ves por dónde vas a cortar… Las tiras de jamón tienen que ser de muy pequeño tamaño."

He lifted the knife slightly, making a clean, smooth cut.

The blade sliced effortlessly.

The piece fell perfectly onto the plate.

UltSans didn't even pause.

His voice remained calm, steady, instructing.

UltSans: "Entre uno y dos centímetros de largo, dos y tres centímetros de ancho, y con un grosor de dos centímetros."

Another slice—perfect.

The pieces of ham began piling onto the plate, uniform, precise.

His movements were sharp, calculated, flawless.

He wasn't rushing.

He wasn't sloppy.

This?

This was someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

UltSans grinned slightly.

UltSans: "Tenemos tiempo suficiente para cortar ambos jamones mientras que se calienta la paella."

Then, with a glance toward Eleanor, his smirk deepened.

UltSans: "Y lo que cortes, déjalo en ese gran plato, que hoy… vaya cenita os vais a meter..."

Eleanor chuckled, shaking her head.

She had expected competence.

But this?

This was beyond what she expected.

And she wasn't about to admit that just yet.

Instead—

She simply picked up her knife—

And started cutting.

But now?

Now she was going to see just how far she could push him.