After sending Django off, Leon waited until Red Star Farm was empty again before calling out to the system.
“Alright, System big guy, time to get to work. These small barrels are all on you to combine.”
The system didn’t respond, but the little barrels began to merge on their own. In the end, forty small barrels condensed into twenty combined barrels. The once-cramped space suddenly felt much more open.
“Reliable!” Leon praised the system, then began hauling the barrels to the kitchen.
After all, the wooden cabin he lived in was too small to hold many barrels.
The kitchen, however, was different. It was spacious, with plenty of empty areas. Apart from the dining table in the center and the sink, gas stove, and cabinets along the north wall, there was no other furniture.
The east and west walls had ready-made space—more than enough to line up twenty-one barrels.
The twenty combined barrels filled both sides of the kitchen. As for the extra twenty-first barrel, Leon put it to the right of the door to keep the arrangement symmetrical. It was a little out of place, but it looked far better than having one side longer than the other.
Once the barrels were in place, Leon rummaged through the wooden crates for coconuts and cactus fruit. Luckily, he had gone to the desert a couple of days ago to pick a fresh batch. Otherwise, he really wouldn’t have had enough to fill all the barrels—maybe he would have had to make do with potatoes.
Sure, brewing potato juice was a bit low-class, but leaving the barrels empty was even more unbearable for Leon.
Fortunately, he had just enough coconuts and cactus fruit to fill all twenty-one barrels, with some left over.
As for juice, Leon wasn’t planning on using these barrels for that. For now, the combined barrels were reserved solely for anything marked with the “fruit” label—brewing fruit wine was their true destiny.
And in a while, the rhubarb he bought from Sandy would be ready to harvest. That counted as a fruit too.
This root crop might be important in Chinese medicine, but in Europe, it wasn’t just eaten as food—it was even classified as a fruit. Who could you complain to about that?
Not that it mattered. As long as the system labeled it a fruit, it could be made into rhubarb wine. Wine was wine, and it was going to be sold anyway. Who cared what it tasted like? Maybe there was even someone out there who’d like it.
Once all the barrels were filled, Leon finally had a moment to catch his breath. He checked the time—it was already eleven-thirty. Setting up these barrels had taken an hour and a half.
If he hadn’t been obsessing over perfectly aligning them along the same X-axis, he could have finished much earlier. But Leon had a bit of OCD, and maybe that was just the curse of most Stardew Valley players—crafting setups always had to be both space-efficient and aesthetically pleasing.
Taking pork out from the chest, Leon decided to make red-braised pork for lunch. He didn’t have all the proper spices, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker. This wasn’t about authenticity—when you were starving, all that mattered was making something delicious.
It wasn’t like this world had food police to correct him.
In addition to the pork, Leon sliced up some potatoes to fry into chips as a snack.
But just as the chips came out of the pan, before he could sprinkle on some pepper salt, a small hand darted in, snatching one and popping it into its owner’s mouth.
“Crispy, but no flavor,” came the verdict from Abigail.
“Of course there’s no flavor without seasoning.” Leon was already used to Abigail’s uninvited visits. After sprinkling on some pepper salt, he handed her another chip. “Here, try it now.”
Abigail didn’t take it with her hand—she simply opened her mouth, waiting to be fed. Leon was tempted to shove the chip down her throat for a deep-feed, but worried she might choke, so he obediently held it to her lips.
Abigail leaned forward and took it, rolling it into her mouth with her tongue. The crunching sound followed, and her eyes brightened noticeably.
“Mmm, much better. Not bad.”
Seeing her satisfied, Leon popped a chip into his own mouth and asked, “So, what brings you here?”
“Lunch freeloading,” Abigail replied matter-of-factly.
“Just lunch freeloading?” Leon raised an eyebrow.
“And to ask if you know who ‘SL’ is on the high-score list for the Prairie King’s Big Adventure arcade machine in Gus’s Stardrop Saloon.” Abigail narrowed her eyes, staring at Leon like she had already uncovered the truth.
Leon shrugged. “It’s Sophia’s. You know Sophia, right?”
“Of course. I saw her in town last night. If not for that pink hair, I wouldn’t have been sure it was her,” Abigail said, then asked, “How close are you two that she even put your initials on the record?”
“Because we cleared it together. She gave me part of the credit,” Leon explained.
“Then why didn’t you team up with me for Prairie King’s Big Adventure?” Abigail shot back.
“You never asked me. Besides, that was my first time playing it. I’m usually too busy making money to play games.”
“So you gave your first time to Sophia?” Abigail smirked.
“My first time playing Prairie King’s Big Adventure—make it clear, or people will misunderstand.” Leon rolled his eyes. “Didn’t know you could be this suggestive. What, been secretly reading dirty books?”
“Please. Don’t you go online?” Abigail scoffed.
“The internet is for learning and broadening your horizons—not for watching nonsense. Next time, don’t watch that junk… unless you invite me,” Leon teased.
“Ah! I learned those lines from an online chatroom! I’ve never watched that stuff!” Abigail’s face turned bright red as she lunged at Leon in outrage.
“How would you even know what I meant if you’ve never watched it?” Leon grinned wickedly. “Don’t be shy, we’re friends—let’s watch together next time.”
“Get lost!” Abigail finally snapped, pouncing on him and smacking wildly.
Unfortunately for her, Leon’s evasion skills were maxed out. Dodging like a pro, he continued teasing her. “Learned this move online too?”
“I’ll kill you!” Abigail tried faster strikes, but still couldn’t land a hit.
No matter how she tried, her palms always stopped just short of touching him—frustratingly close, yet never connecting.
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