Just as Michael expected, it was still early in Aurora.
There was warm food in the pot, but no one else was home—only him and his undead.
Already used to this, Michael quietly made a plate of food for himself.
With his current stats, he didn't need to eat every day. Food was no longer essential like it once was. Even if there was a need—it had to be after days of abstaining or after intense exertion.
Also, ordinary food that common people ate did little for him.
Even monster meat or supernatural ingredients had to be consumed in large quantities or be of sufficiently high grade to make any real difference.
Still, Michael ate.
A foodie didn't need to be hungry to eat. Besides, enjoying Aunt Mia's cooking was a small way to still feel connected to his family.
With his growing power and responsibilities, he found himself drifting—no matter how much he resisted. The bond was still there, but the time spent together was fading.
