The journey back to the Kitchen at the End of Reality was punctuated by three things: Gary's increasingly dramatic sneezes ("I think I'm allergic to destiny"), the can opener's refusal to stop singing Queen songs (it was currently stuck on the high note of "Galileo"), and Yamete's growing suspicion that GLich-chan was deliberately leading them in circles.
"We passed that sentient fire hydrant four times," Yamete grumbled as they rounded yet another corner in Glitchvale's ever-shifting back alleys.
GLich-chan floated ahead, her glow flickering mischievously. "It's not my fault the city keeps rearranging itself like a nervous Tetris player." She paused to kick a pebble, which promptly turned into a very confused frog. "Besides, we're here."
Before them stood the familiar floating pantry door labeled "Employees Only," though someone had crossed out "Employees" and written "Mostly Just Cleaver" in what appeared to be barbecue sauce. The door now hung slightly ajar, emitting pulses of light that throbbed in time with the can opener's off-key warbling.
Gary gulped audibly. "Last time we were here, I lost three good napkins and a piece of my soul."
Yamete pushed the door open—
—and immediately had to duck as a flying meat cleaver embedded itself in the wall where his head had been.
The Kitchen at the End of Reality was in chaos. What had once been an orderly (if surreal) culinary space now resembled the aftermath of a food fight between gods. Floating islands of broken cookware drifted through a storm of flour and spices. The Soup—that mysterious cosmic broth—bubbled violently in its central cauldron, sending up geysers of liquid that solidified into random objects midair (a hatstand, a bicycle tire, something that looked suspiciously like Gary's long-lost cousin).
And at the center of it all stood Chef Cleaver, wielding two ladles like nunchucks, his apron now reading "Kiss the Cook (OR ELSE)."
"YOU," he bellowed, spotting Gary. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"
Gary recoiled. "How is this my fault? I haven't even been here!"
Cleaver flung a ladle at him like a throwing star. "YOU LEFT THE FREEZER DOOR OPEN LAST TIME!"
As Gary dodged (the ladle instead hitting a floating meat grinder that began weeping audibly), GLich-chan floated forward. "Okay, time out!" She gestured at the apocalyptic kitchen. "What in Gordon Ramsay's nightmares is happening here?"
Cleaver wiped his brow with a dishcloth that screamed when touched. "The Soup is overcooked! The cosmic balance is ruined! And it's all because—" He pointed dramatically at the Really Big Spoon, which had begun orbiting Gary like a vengeful moon. "Someone didn't stir properly!"
The spoon pulsed angrily. "USER 'GARY' WAS TOO BUSY TRYING TO RECYCLE ME TO PERFORM BASIC CULINARY FUNCTIONS."
Yamete pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let me get this straight. The fate of reality hinges on... soup etiquette?"
Before Cleaver could respond, the can opener chose that moment to hit a particularly screechy high note—and the entire kitchen shuddered. The Reality Cores, which had been floating peacefully near Yamete's backpack, suddenly shot toward the cauldron like magnets to a fridge.
"Oh no," GLich-chan whispered. "They're going to—"
PLOOP.
All three cores vanished into The Soup.
For one terrifying second, nothing happened.
Then the cauldron exploded.
What erupted wasn't just broth—it was reality itself. The liquid hung in the air like a frozen firework, each droplet containing swirling galaxies, fragments of memories, and what looked suspiciously like deleted scenes from their adventures. Gary yelped as a passing globule of liquid showed an alternate version of himself wearing a tiny crown made of bottle caps.
Cleaver fell to his knees. "The Soup... it's decoupling!"
Yamete grabbed the Really Big Spoon before it could flee. "Okay, new plan! We stir it back together!"
GLich-chan caught the can opener mid-aria. "And you—" She jammed it into the spoon's handle like a key into a lock. "—are going to help."
What followed was the most high-stakes cooking session in existence. As Yamete and Gary (reluctantly) stirred the unraveling cosmos, GLich-chan and the can opener worked feverishly to debug the soup's corrupted "recipe."
"More salt!" Cleaver yelled.
"That's black holes!" Yamete protested, dodging a floating nebula that smelled like burnt toast.
Gary, meanwhile, was having an existential crisis. "I think I just saw my birth! And also the time I ate that questionable sushi! They're connected!"
The kitchen shifted around them—one moment a homey cottage, the next a spaceship galley, then a dystopian food court. Through it all, the spoon and can opener whirred in unison, their combined energies slowly, painfully coaxing the rogue Reality Cores back into alignment.
Until—
BLORP.
With a sound like the universe's stomach growling, everything snapped back into place. The Soup settled into its cauldron, now glowing with a gentle light. The kitchen's floating debris rained down harmlessly as shredded cheese and confetti.
And floating above it all were the three Reality Cores—now fused into a single, pulsing super-core.
Gary broke the stunned silence. "So... does this mean we won cooking?"
Before anyone could answer, the disco ball that had been lurking near the ceiling (and had been conspicuously bad at blending in) finally dropped its disguise—revealing Sigma in full "evil chef" regalia, complete with a hat that read "Kiss the Admin."
"Not quite," he sneered, brandishing a whisk like a weapon. "Because I'll be taking that—"
The Really Big Spoon suddenly launched itself at Sigma's head with the force of a thousand slighted kitchen utensils.
THONK.
Sigma went down like a sack of potatoes.
The spoon hovered triumphantly. "USER 'SIGMA' DETECTED. PROTOCOL 'STOP BEING A JERK' INITIATED."
GLich-chan blinked. "Well. That happened."
Yamete stared at the unconscious admin, then at the glowing super-core, then at Gary—who was currently trying to drink the now-stable Soup through a bendy straw.
"...Can we *please* go home now?"