Transmigrated? My Cheat is a Random Dice?!

In the heart of the grand Avarion Kingdom, in the middle of the busy morning bustle, a small shop let out a sweet, inviting aroma.

A worn wooden sign above the old door, with faded carvings, read: "Cookies of Happiness."

Warm morning sunlight streamed through the glass window, lighting up rows of jars filled with neatly stacked cookies behind the wooden counter.

Behind that counter, a man with messy jet-black hair, Desmond, jolted awake from his sleep. He woke up breathing heavily, the hazy remnants of his dream still clinging to his mind.

He stood up right away, his body stiff after sleeping on a hard chair. His fingers, still tingling from sleeping awkwardly, curled and stretched.

A long sigh escaped his lips as he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool morning air.

He raised both arms high above his head, stretching his back until a satisfying crack echoed from his spine. His muscles ached slightly but felt much looser now.

"Good morning, my dear Desmond," a playful voice echoed in his mind, accompanied by a light, teasing giggle.

Hearing that made Desmond's lips curl into a smile.

"Morning," he replied shortly.

Desmond looked around his shop. Everything was just like yesterday: the jars of cookies, the cold oven, and the sweet scent that never really left, even when the shop was closed. He let out a quiet sigh.

He walked to the front window and pulled the curtains aside. Outside, the street was already coming alive. Merchants were opening their stalls, wooden carts rolled slowly by, and the laughter of children drifted from somewhere down the road.

It was a peaceful sight. A sight he wished could last forever. A view he had created for himself to help him forget.

"It's time to start," he muttered in a slightly hoarse voice. He needed to prepare the dough, bake the cookies, and refill the empty jars.

Inside the quiet "Cookies of Happiness" shop in Avarion, Desmond began preparing the dough. His hands, once quick to wield a wand, now clumsily measured flour and sugar.

A large bowl sat on the clean wooden table, next to the other ingredients: softened butter, eggs, and a bottle of vanilla extract.

"Alright, Clara," Desmond whispered softly, his fingers starting to mash the butter with a fork. His face grew serious, brows furrowed every time the lumps of butter refused to break apart.

A gentle, familiar, and melodic voice rang inside his head. Only Desmond could hear it. It was Clara, his beloved.

"Don't forget, Desmond, the butter needs to be soft and pale. You don't want your cookies turning out as hard as rocks again, do you?" Clara teased, Her tone was playful. Desmond could almost see her faint smile in his mind, a vision so real it made his heart ache.

Desmond let out a low, exasperated grunt.

"Yeah, yeah. Easier said than done. Why is making these cookies harder than fighting a forest monster?" He stirred more vigorously, frustrated by the butter's stubborn lumps.

"That's because monsters don't have feelings, Desmond. But these cookies… they need love and patience," Clara said, her soft giggle like little bells chiming in his head.

Desmond let out a quiet chuckle.

He focused harder, his face growing increasingly serious as he worked on the cookies.

"Remember, I always told you that every cookie should carry happiness. How can they bring happiness if you're making them with such a gloomy face?"

A faint, rare smile appeared on Desmond's rigid face. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. You always nagged about that."

He started adding sugar slowly, beating it into the butter until the mixture turned soft and creamy pale. The process was slow, but he knew Clara would scold him if he rushed.

"Good! Now, the eggs, one by one. Mix them well each time you add one," Clara instructed brightly, her voice so full of life it felt like she was standing right there, whisk in hand.

Desmond cracked an egg with one hand, a skill he'd mastered after breaking countless eggs, and dropped it into the bowl.

He stirred slowly, making sure it was fully blended. "You know, Clara, this feels so strange. Making cookies together with you like this."

"Strange? How?" Clara asked, her voice curious.

"Well… like… like we're really here together," Desmond replied, his eyes staring blankly into the bowl of dough.

"But you–"

"I know," Clara cut in softly.

"But isn't this beautiful? We're still living our dream, Desmond. Our 'Cookies of Happiness' shop. Even if I can only help you from here," she added with a gentle warmth, though he could hear the longing in her tone.

"And you can't even taste my masterpiece," Desmond joked, though he knew his cookies were far from perfect. He started adding flour bit by bit, folding it carefully into the dough.

"I can taste them through your imagination, Desmond. And trust me, my imagination says your cookies are still way too salty," Clara teased, making Desmond grunt.

"You… you're still the same," Desmond shot back, his smile widening.

He began kneading the dough, savoring the feel of it between his fingers. It was an intimate moment, as if they really were in the kitchen together, sharing laughs and small talk.

Desmond could almost see Clara standing beside him, her long red hair flowing down her back, smiling softly at his clumsy efforts with the dough.

They kept chatting, about little details of baking cookies, about old memories, and about small, simple hopes.

Clara reminded Desmond about the secret recipe they had once tried, and how they burned an entire batch of cookies because they were too busy gossiping about their leader.

Sometimes Desmond blushed when Clara pointed out his clumsy mistakes.

"Remember when your Polaris power was so strong that it burned our cookies," she teased.

Just thinking about it made Desmond's twist in embarrassment, and he told Clara to stop bringing it up.

But then there were moments when Clara praised him for the smallest improvements in his cookie skills.

"Alright! All done! Perfect dough!" Clara cheered happily, like she'd just finished some grand mission.

Desmond nodded, satisfied. "Just need to bake it. Then… we wait for customers."

He looked at the bowl of dough, then glanced out the shop window. People were starting to gather, and the smell of pastries from the next shop meant it was getting closer to midday.

"The first customer will come soon, Desmond. I know it," Clara said with confidence. "And I know your cookies will make them smile."

Desmond let out a small laugh. "I hope so. At least they won't start coughing like yesterday…" He began cutting the dough into neat shapes and placing them on a baking tray.

Watching Desmond focus so sincerely on his work. Even if imperfect, filled Clara with a warm wave of affection

"Desmond," she whispered quietly, her tone more serious.

"Why haven't you taken the medicine they gave you last week? Maybe if you drink it…you'll start getting better. Look at yourself… you don't look like the man I fell in love with anymore."

Desmond paused, the tray still in his hands. He knew exactly what Clara meant.

He didn't want to take the medicine because… he felt fine now. He was content with this life with Clara. He had plenty of money saved from his old missions, enough to live here quietly until the end of his days.

He had long forgotten what his life used to be like, the faces of his family, and the smiles of his friends. He could only hope they were living happy lives without him.

Desmond let out a dry laugh. "And what did the man you fell in love with look like, anyway?" he asked.

"He definitely didn't look like this. Your eyes now… they're so sunken. You used to look so cool and badass," Clara replied, half-laughing.

Desmond smiled. "So… do I have to become that cool, badass guy again? Just so you'll fall for me all over?"

"No need. I still like you just the way you are… just… not as much as I liked you before," Clara admitted with a playful giggle.

Desmond chuckled. "So that means I really do need to get cool and badass again, right?"

"No… It's not that I don't like how you look… I just don't like seeing you like this. Stuck like this," Clara said softly, her tone turning serious.

Desmond slid the tray into the old oven, his eyes fixed intently on it.

Open Polaris Path. Conduction Plus. he whispered in his heart.

"You're amazing, Desmond. How can you master all five Polaris Paths?" Clara praised, her voice full of admiration.

After Desmond spoke what sounded like a spell, the oven's inside heated up instantly, making the cookies start to bake.

The sweet scent of cookies began to fill the entire shop.

"What do you mean?" Desmond asked.

"...You being amazing as always?"

"No… before that."

"Oh… I mean you hardly ever leave this shop anymore. And when you do, it's only to buy ingredients. I've told you so many times… Desmond, you need to find a new life. You can't stay here forever," Clara said, her voice growing more serious.

Hearing that, Desmond fell silent. He didn't know how to answer.

Unnoticed by him, the cookies in the oven had already begun to burn.