Chapter 30

How to Care for Wild Birds

Morning arrived quietly at Moo66.

The red pillars still held the last shadow of night, and the glass windows reflected a world that always felt half like a home, half like a stage waiting for the next scene.

Usinomics stood outside with a small inventory of bird supplies.

Perches.

Feed.

A birdbath.

And several little feeding stations that looked simple at first glance, but in Moo66, simple things were rarely just simple things.

They were invitations.

So Usinomics placed two wooden perches near the building, careful to give them space. One stood near the darker wall, where the red accents glowed like tiny warning lights. The other faced the garden, where flowers leaned together as if whispering about new visitors.

At the center of the flowerbed, Usinomics installed a small birdbath.

It looked peaceful immediately.

A shallow circle of water.

Flowers on every side.

A tiny sanctuary beneath the strange, cinematic architecture of Moo66.

Then came the feed.

One station near the garden.

One near the perch.

One close enough to observe, but far enough not to frighten anything with wings.

Usinomics stepped back, folded their arms, and studied the scene.

“There,” Usinomics said softly. “A proper welcome.”

For the rest of the day, nothing happened.

Not one bird.

Not one flutter of feathers.

Only the wind moving through the flowers and the distant shine of the parked car outside.

But Moo66 had its own rhythm.

Some things did not arrive when called.

Some things arrived when they decided the place was safe.

The next day, Usinomics returned.

And the birds had come.

They were already there, standing proudly on the perches as if they had owned Moo66 long before Usinomics ever arrived.

Round-bodied, sharp-eyed, perfectly balanced.

They did not look lost.

They looked established.

One bird sat near the lamp, chest lifted, tiny feet gripping the perch with the confidence of a gatekeeper. Another stood on the second perch, staring forward with the calm authority of a royal inspector.

Usinomics froze.

The birds froze too.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Usinomics slowly raised the binoculars.

Through the lens, the world sharpened.

The little bird’s face filled the view.

It was watching back.

Not casually.

Not accidentally.

It had noticed everything.

The posture was too perfect. The gaze was too direct. These were not careless creatures. These were wild birds with survival written into every feather.

Usinomics whispered, “You saw me first, didn’t you?”

The camera came out immediately.

There was a rule.

Each wild bird that visited the home could only be photographed once.

One bird.

One photograph.

No second chance.

Once captured, the image would automatically be saved to the album, and a bird card would be added to the collection.

The card looked like a Polaroid from another life.

Small.

Precious.

Proof that the visitor had truly come.

Usinomics took a careful breath.

No sudden movement.

No rushing.

No greedy burst of pictures.

Wild birds in this world were fast. Too many attempts, too much pressure, and they would vanish into the air before the lens could find them again.

The trick was patience.

Distance.

Zoom.

Focus.

Then one clean shot.

The shutter clicked.

The bird remained still for half a second longer, as if judging whether the photograph had been worthy.

Then it turned its head.

The card appeared in the album.

Usinomics smiled.

“One.”

The second bird was harder.

It stood near the flowers, almost hidden by the garden’s bright colors. Red and yellow blossoms crowded the frame, and the bird’s small body blended into the living scene like a secret.

Usinomics adjusted the angle.

The focus slipped.

Adjusted again.

The bird looked straight into the lens.

Click.

Another card.

Another memory.

Another small victory that could not be converted into dollars.

Acorns, yes.

Dollars, no.

That was the law of this world.

Usinomics lowered the camera and laughed quietly.

“Of course. Everything becomes acorns eventually.”

The birds did not answer.

They simply remained there, fully at home.

And somehow, that made Moo66 feel more complete.

After the photographs were safely stored, Usinomics went inside.

First, handwashing.

Then gargling.

A traveler could welcome wild birds, collect cards, and chase mysteries across Moo66, but basic hygiene still mattered.

The kitchen waited beneath the glow of the red-and-black interior.

Three stoves.

Three pots.

Three chances to do something correctly.

Usinomics stood before them like a serious chef preparing for a televised final round, even though the only recipe truly available for repeated cooking was still coffee.

Coffee again.

Always coffee.

The white pot with the wooden handle sat beautifully on the stove. It was not only practical; it had the kind of design that made a person want to buy three colors just because the world allowed it.

Moo66 cookware came in cheerful shades.

Blue.

Red.

White.

Green.

Soft colors.

Bright colors.

Tempting colors.

But almost never black.

That remained disappointing.

Usinomics stared at the pot.

“One day,” they said, “I want pure gold cookware.”

The stove clicked on.

Three burners glowed.

Steam rose.

Timing mattered.

That was the problem.

Coffee was simple, but Moo66 had a strange way of making simplicity dramatic. Miss the moment, and the result became a suspicious drink with an unsettling presence. Technically drinkable, perhaps. But the recovery value was only one percent.

One percent.

That was not coffee.

That was a warning.

Usinomics focused.

The first pot finished.

A cup appeared.

Star Rank 1.

The second pot finished.

Another cup.

Star Rank 1.

The third pot finished at exactly the right moment.

Star Rank 3.

Usinomics stared at it with admiration.

“So you do exist.”

The ranking was still random.

Or perhaps it only seemed random because Usinomics had not yet understood the hidden rhythm.

That was how skill worked in Moo66.

At first, everything felt like luck.

Then, slowly, patterns emerged.

And one day, after enough failed attempts and strange drinks, Usinomics would probably become the kind of person who could make only the highest rank.

Not because the system became easier.

Because obsession had a way of turning mistakes into technique.

The Star Rank 3 coffee went into storage.

Precious things belonged somewhere safe.

The lower-rank coffee went into the backpack.

Travel coffee.

Emergency coffee.

Coffee for quests, wandering, and sudden bad decisions.

When the kitchen was quiet again, Usinomics looked toward the window.

Outside, the illuminated JAZZ sign glowed against the dark structure of Moo66.

The letters looked elegant.

Confident.

Like music that already knew where it was going.

Usinomics stood still for a long moment.

“I can’t play well at all right now,” they murmured. “But someday… maybe I’ll be able to play jazz.”

The thought stayed in the room.

Soft.

Impossible.

Beautiful.

Later, Usinomics opened the music sheet.

Star Rank 1 practice.

The easiest level.

The kind of level that should have been harmless.

And still, Usinomics made a mistake.

One wrong note.

Just one.

But the whole melody changed.

The sound bent awkwardly, stumbled, and collapsed into something unintentionally funny.

Usinomics laughed.

Not because it was good.

Because it was honest.

Music was merciless that way.

One note could change everything.

One mistake could reshape the entire song.

And perhaps the world was the same.

One person.

One careless action.

One wrong choice.

One moment out of place.

Everything could shift.

A peaceful garden could become a sanctuary.

A wild bird could become a memory.

A cup of coffee could become medicine, failure, or mystery.

A single note could ruin a song.

Or begin a new one.

Usinomics closed the music sheet and looked once more toward the glowing JAZZ sign.

Moo66 was quiet now.

The birds had been fed.

The cards had been collected.

The coffee had been brewed.

The strange drink had been avoided.

For today, that was enough.

Usinomics leaned back and let the silence settle.

It had been a good day.

To Be Continued in Chapter 31