My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 541 More Shocking Discoveries

The staff members lingered leisurely in their quarters.

Half an hour ticked by before the initial door swung open, allowing someone to re-enter the living quarters hallway. Next came another door. Then three opened simultaneously. They appeared at their individual speeds, a few still clutching bags, others having stowed all belongings within, exchanging looks like those who had separately undergone the identical ordeal and now spotted the mutual realization flashing across one another's features all at once.

No explanations were required. The shared awareness sufficed.

The physical therapist originating from Toronto emerged last. She devoted much of that half hour positioned by the see-through wall, observing the communal zone underneath, the verdant stretch along the bottom floor, the soaring ceiling of the facility arching overhead. Twice she drifted away, sorted a bit of unpacking, then returned each time to the wall.

As she entered the hallway and spotted the rest, she uttered not a word. Most others stayed mute too. They merely clustered in the passage briefly, with quarter doors ajar behind, warm radiance pouring forth, and the enigmatic glow of the hallway unwavering above.

The head chef shattered the quiet. "Bigger than I expected," he remarked.

No one contested it.

Synths had lingered in the hallway right from when staff first appeared, spaced evenly down the passage, displaying no hint of restlessness or glances at devices. With the full group gathered, the primary Synth advanced.

"We will take you to the dining area," it announced, pivoting instantly without pause.

They trailed along the return path, through the living hallway and into the elevator that glided soundlessly, depositing them into a fresh corridor.

This passage spanned broader than the residential floor, boasting identical lofty ceiling and ambient lighting yet proportions carrying a distinct character.

Two minutes of strolling ensued. The corridor curved once, then twice more, until the lead Synth halted before a flush-mounted transparent door in the wall, its borders nearly undetectable, the substance so crystal-clear the interior lay revealed prior to activation.

The door parted seamlessly as they neared.

The dining zone sprawled vastly, mirroring the grandeur of all base interiors. Rows of tables stretched across the expanse, each arranged for four, surfaces crafted from a rich, dark substance that captured illumination softly without blinding shine. Chairs echoed the plush, dark fabric of quarter seating, sunk low and abundantly spacious. Here the ceiling descended below corridor height, lending an unexpected coziness over any sense of confinement.

The distant wall gleamed transparent, matching the quarter viewport material, unveiling the communal space beyond—the greenery tracing the base level, the expansive airy vault ascending above. Vegetation stood out sharper from this vantage than from rooms above, halting several staff in their tracks, irresistibly pulled to the pane just as every porthole had beckoned since orbital departure.

The lead Synth pivoted toward the interior.

"Food is available through the storage wall on your left." It indicated the extended wall flanking the dining area's left. "Every compartment is labeled with its contents. Tap the label to open the compartment. Return it to its position when you're finished. Plates, cutlery, and trays are in the compartments marked along the near end of the wall. You may eat as much as you like."

It retreated once finished.

The staff eyed the wall.

Stretching the dining area's complete length—readily over thirty meters—the compartments sat seamlessly embedded, each bearing precise text labels at eye level. Names stayed straightforward. Categories jumped out instantly—warm items leftward, chilled ones rightward, drinks lining the lower portion of the remote end.

The sheer variety wasn't instantly apparent.

The data analyst from Johannesburg, ever meticulous since the elevator ride, headed to the proximal end first, locating the cutlery sections. He pressed one. It extended fluidly, utterly quiet, holding neatly stacked plates of matching pristine material to the tables. He selected a plate, tray, fork, knife, spoon. He slid the compartment back, and it closed soundlessly.

He proceeded along the wall, scanning labels.

He froze.

He retreated a step, then scrutinized the labels anew with greater care, advancing deliberately from left to right along the wall, absorbing the extent like one overhauling prior expectations.

The head chef shadowed him. He positioned next to the data analyst, perusing labels too, eyes darting swifter, face working hard to maintain composure.

This wasn't just the setup of a kitchen stocked for a month's trial. No, this was the meticulous planning of a place that had pondered deeply, over a long stretch, how to feed folks from dozens of nations, each with their unique dietary habits and restrictions, for an prolonged duration.

West African groundnut stew. Cantonese congee. French onion soup. Jollof rice. Mole negro. Pierogi. Nasi goreng. Dal tadka. Injera paired with three distinct stews, each marked clearly. A dedicated area for special diets stretching its full length—gluten-free, dairy-free, low-sodium, high-protein, renal diet, diabetic-friendly—every option labeled precisely with its own dedicated space.

The head chef paused before that final section for a beat.

Then, in a soft murmur to no one specific: "They thought of everything."

The data analyst touched a compartment—jollof rice, the sign indicated—and it glided open. Inside lay a sealed, warm container. As he nudged it up a bit, the seal popped, and the aroma hit him even before the lid came fully off.

With the compartment exposed and its scent wafting through the dining space, a strange sensation stirred in his chest that he couldn't pinpoint right away.

He'd savored jollof rice from his mother's hands, Johannesburg eateries, market vendors, and pals who insisted theirs was the ultimate recipe. He harbored strong views on it, held with conviction.

The aroma filling the air now didn't match any exact one he'd tried previously, yet it rang so true that it screamed the creator of this dish hadn't merely approximated.

He ladled rice onto his plate, grabbed an extra scoop since the first seemed too skimpy, and slid the compartment shut into the wall.

He shifted to the adjacent area, piling on grilled veggies and proteins. At the end, he spotted the chilled drink holders and snagged a bottle of icy water. He arranged it all on his tray, headed to a table, and took a seat.

He forked up some rice and halted mid-chew.

Another forkful followed, this time with sharper focus.

It wasn't an exact twin to any he'd had before. Still, it came remarkably near. Spices blended just right. Rice texture spot-on. That faint smoky note lingered perfectly in the backdrop.

He laid down his fork and eyed the meal briefly.

Nearby, others started settling in. The Atlanta nurse had discovered the Southern breakfast zone and bore a tray heaped with far more than he'd apparently planned.

He plopped down opposite the data analyst, glanced at his plate, said zilch, just dug in—and his face in those opening bites conveyed volumes beyond mere words.

The head chef claimed the table's end spot. He'd selected the smallest amount of anyone, a precise serving from three zones, eating like a pro appraising, not just devouring.

He masticated thoughtfully. Reflected. Bit again. Fork down, gaze drifting to the compartment wall across the space.

Two decades plus two years in the kitchen had taught him plenty about mass-scale institutional grub—the shortcuts forced by bulk, longevity, the chasm between ideal cuisine and what mass production churned out.

This didn't taste like institutional fare.

It evoked dishes crafted masterfully, deliberately tuned to their true flavor profile, by hands that grasped the divide between mass-producing and truly cooking.

His eyes lingered on the wall another instant. Then his plate. Then, addressing the group without pinpointing: "Why did they hire us?"

The query hung there, unanswered by all.

The physical therapist glanced up from her meal. She'd chosen a Thai green curry smack in the wall's center.

"Maybe the food isn't the point," she offered. "Maybe the point is the people eating it."

No quick retorts came.

The head chef met her eyes, then dropped back to his plate.

"Fair," he acknowledged, and continued eating.

The table populated as more team members arrived tray in hand, each navigating the wall similarly—first hesitation, dawning grasp of the variety, selection made, inaugural bite, the telltale look afterward.

The table brimmed full. A second one started crowding. The dining zone now hummed like a true one—clinking plates, shuffling steps, the unique soundscape of folks sharing a first meal together.

At the remote end of the primary table, one of the translators had positioned herself. She selected bites from three distinct zones—items from each of the three lands where she'd dwelled the most—and savored them one by one, refusing to blend flavors, navigating her plate's divisions with the precise care of someone executing a secret ritual.

She offered no verdict on her findings. Nevertheless, she consumed it all.

The data analyst hailing from Johannesburg cleared his rice, pondered grabbing another serving, and chose to do so. He returned to the wall, pinpointed the slot, and scooped up seconds. While heading back, he checked the label figures—he'd only glimpsed a portion of the wall's immense inventory during his first sweep.

He resolved in his mind to explore its complete expanse before the trial commenced.

He settled back into his seat and continued eating.

Once the meal concluded, tranquility enveloped the dining space. Trays were restored to their proper slots. Individuals wandered toward edge chairs in the room, the clear wall revealing the communal area below, and chats that ignited over the food now flowed onward.

Half an hour slipped by.

Suddenly, the lead Synth emerged at the entrance to the dining area.

"Orientation will begin shortly," it announced. "Please follow me."

They collected their belongings and stood.