The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky over Norderis with a golden-orange hue. The air, which had been cool earlier, now turned bitingly cold, prompting me to pull the collar of my wool jacket higher. The faint sound of hammering from Grandpa Boris's workshop still echoed in the distance as Min Ji and I walked away, passing through the now quiet main street.
"Too bad we didn't get to say goodbye," I murmured, glancing back.
Min Ji smiled knowingly. "Once he starts working, he's hard to interrupt. He's completely dedicated when it comes to his craft. But don't worry, I left a message with Gareth."
We continued walking in silence for a while, enjoying the city slowly being wrapped in long shadows. Oil lamps along the streets were being lit one by one by the city workers, making Norderis look like a fairytale land under the twilight.
Suddenly, I stopped and pointed toward a narrow road leading to the market.
"Hey, Min Ji… let's swing by the market first, yeah?"
She turned to me, looking puzzled. "The market? What for?"
"I want to buy some ingredients. I'm cooking dinner tonight," I said with a wide grin.
Min Ji frowned. "But… you don't have to cook, you know. There are servants at the house who'll prepare dinner. They even know the menu and schedule already."
I chuckled. "Exactly. That's the problem. I'm so done with rock-hard bread and bland soup every night. My stomach… it's begging for something that tastes like home."
Min Ji tilted her head. "Home food? You mean… Japanese food?"
I shook my head. "Nope. I'm making pasta marinara. Pasta with tomato sauce, garlic, and olive oil. I'm sure the ingredients are easy to find around here."
Min Ji laughed lightly. "You really are odd. But… alright. Let's go to the market."
I gave her a grateful look. We turned toward the still-busy market, where vendors and customers filled the air with chatter and the smell of spices rekindled my fading energy.
"Hmm, which ingredients do you think we don't have at home?"
Min Ji thought for a moment. "Hmm… let's see. If I recall correctly, there's flour, olive oil, eggs, and onions in the kitchen. So, probably just the tomatoes we're missing."
I stopped in front of a modest vegetable stall. A well-worn wooden table was covered with fresh produce—scallions, small purple eggplants, carrots, and of course… bright red tomatoes that instantly caught my eye.
A middle-aged man wearing a leather apron stained with dirt greeted us with a broad smile.
"Good evening! What are you looking for, Sir and Miss?" he greeted warmly.
I stepped closer, pointing at the neatly stacked tomatoes in a woven basket.
"I'd like to buy some tomatoes, sir," I said.
"Alright, how many cans would you like?" the friendly vendor asked.
They don't use kilograms here. So how do I explain this?
I paused, then glanced at the table beside me, where I saw a large metal bowl. Inside it were tiny round grains—maybe beans or wheat—used as weights. Beside it was a similar bowl meant to hold whatever was being weighed.
I walked over, observing the setup with furrowed brows. "Uh… is this… the scale?"
"That's right," the man said proudly. "The standard measuring system of this city. This is called a 'can.' It always weighs the same, thanks to the standard seeds from the Merchant Guild."
I was still confused. A "can"? How many kilos is that? I looked at Min Ji, hoping for an explanation.
She stepped closer and whispered, "If you convert it to our world, one can is roughly one and a half kilos. Kind of like the old 'cupak' measure."
"Oh…" I nodded slowly, then turned back to the vendor.
"In that case, I'll take two cans of tomatoes, please."
The man moved quickly. He placed two can-shaped seed weights on the left side of the scale, then began loading tomatoes one by one onto the right side until both sides balanced. The process felt like some ancient ritual—slow, careful, precise.
"I'll pick the ripe but firm ones for you, sir," he said kindly.
"Perfect. Thank you, sir."
Soon, two cans worth of tomatoes were safely packed into the cloth bag I brought. Their vibrant red color looked delicious.
"That'll be one silver coin, even," the man said.
I handed over the coin and grinned with satisfaction.
"The main ingredient for spaghetti marinara is secured," I muttered.
The sky had darkened by the time we returned to the royal family's house in the southern part of the city. The evening breeze carried the scent of wild roses growing freely in the front yard, and the oil lamps on the veranda were being lit one by one, casting a warm glow on the white stone walls.
Min Ji and I had just passed through the main gate when suddenly we heard hurried footsteps—followed by Clarissa running toward us from the direction of the house, her long hair fluttering slightly in the wind, her brows furrowed and eyes wide.
"AKIRA!" Clarissa shouted loudly.
Panic hit me—was she having cramps from her period again?!
"Eh?! What?! What happened?!"
"You idiot, where have you been?! Charles is awake," she said, slightly annoyed.
"What?! Seriously?!" I instinctively stepped forward, almost dropping the shopping bag I was holding.
Min Ji immediately patted my shoulder. "Come on, let's go!"
The three of us jogged into the house, hurrying down the hallway toward Charles's room. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, I could see candlelight illuminating the room.
As soon as I entered, my heart leapt.
Charles was sitting up in bed, his white hair slightly messy, his face pale but his eyes wide open. He was sipping water from a cup held by a servant. When he saw me enter, he turned his head… and gave me a weak smile.
"...A-Akira?"
I couldn't hold back my smile. "Charles!"
I rushed to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at him closely. "You're finally awake. How do you feel?"
"Weak... like I just got jumped by five guys at once," he said softly, making me chuckle.
Min Ji and Clarissa stepped inside and stood not far from the bed. Charles glanced around. "We... made it to Norderis, huh?"
I nodded. "Yeah. After the teleportation incident, Princess Laura brought us all here. You've been unconscious for quite a while. We were all worried."
"Teleportation… oh right... back then, we…" Charles furrowed his brow, trying to recall. "Then I remember a flash of light… and after that… darkness."
"Don't worry about that now," I said, gently patting his shoulder. "What matters is that you rest. Focus on getting better."
Charles closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Thank you, all of you."
Min Ji stepped closer, her voice gentle. "Do you want us to call a healer to check your condition?"
"Ah… no need. I think I just need some food and sleep to recover," Charles replied.
Then Charles looked at me seriously. "Akira… while I was unconscious, what's happened?"
I took a deep breath and started explaining everything—our arrival in Norderis, the state of the city, and my crazy plan to build a mechanical clock. Charles listened in silence, occasionally nodding.
When I finished, he stared at me for a long time… his expression suddenly turned sour.
"You're seriously insane, you know," Charles said flatly.
"Mechanical clock?" Clarissa and Laura looked confused.
I shrugged. "Well, better than sitting around doing nothing."
Charles laughed again, then leaned back against his pillow. "In that case... hurry up and help me recover. I want to see just how insane your ideas really are."
I grinned. "You got it."
"Ah, the sun's almost down. I better start cooking dinner," I said as I stood up again.
"Oh, you're actually making that pasta?" Min Ji asked.
"No need to cook, Akira. The servants already prepared tonight's meal," said Clarissa.
"Let's just say I'm tired of the food here. Anyway, I'm heading to the kitchen. Let me know if Charles needs anything," I said as I walked out of the room.
Alright, time to make some pasta. This dish is actually pretty simple to make. Back in high school, during home economics class, I used to cook this often because it was easy.
This noble house is massive, and if my architect's instinct is right, the kitchen must be in the back, near the courtyard.
Bingo. As soon as I found a large wooden door with the smell of wood smoke and lingering broth, I knew I was in the right place.
I pushed the door open slowly. Creak...
Inside, the kitchen was spacious, with long stone tables, red brick hearths, and rows of hanging metal utensils swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. The smell of leftover soup and baked bread still lingered in the air.
A female servant, who was stirring something over the stove, turned in surprise when she saw me enter. She almost dropped the wooden spoon in her hand.
"S-Sir?! I'm so sorry! Is dinner late?! I—I thought it wasn't time yet—"
I quickly raised a hand, smiling casually. "Oh, no, no! I came here on purpose. I want to cook tonight."
The servant looked confused. "Cook… yourself?"
"Yeah. I just... miss home cooking. So I figured, why not make it myself?" I lifted the cloth bag full of tomatoes.
The servant still looked unsure, but eventually nodded. "In that case... I'll clean this part of the kitchen for you, sir."
The kitchen table was cleared—time to make pasta.
I poured some flour onto the stone countertop—a big handful—forming a mound with a well in the center. Then I cracked three eggs into the well. Using a fork I found in one of the drawers, I started stirring slowly from the center, mixing the flour and eggs until it started to come together. Once it was cohesive enough, I used my hands—kneading the dough until it was smooth and elastic.
After about 10 minutes, the dough was ready. I wrapped it in a clean cloth and set it aside to rest.
Next, I took the fresh tomatoes I bought earlier, washed them in a basin of clean water, and chopped them into small pieces. I found some garlic and oil on the spice rack. Not bad—this noble kitchen was pretty well stocked.
Over the warm stove, I sautéed the chopped garlic in a bit of oil until fragrant. Then I added the chopped tomatoes.
Ssshh...
The sizzling sound filled the kitchen, followed by a mouth-watering aroma. I added some salt, a bit of black pepper, and—jackpot!—a dried bay leaf in a small jar. I thought to myself: what other herbs from my world could also be found here?
"There it is. The love-spice of the Mediterranean," I murmured with a satisfied grin.
I kept stirring gently, letting the tomatoes break down into a thick, bright red sauce with a rich aroma.
The rested dough was now soft and pliable. Unfortunately, there was no modern pasta machine here, so I looked around for an empty glass bottle. Found one. Good enough to use as a rolling pin.
I rolled the dough out on the table as thin as I could, then folded and sliced it into long strips.
"Fettuccine, Akira-style," I said with a little laugh.
I boiled water in a large pot, added salt, and cooked my handmade pasta for a few minutes. Once it was al dente, I strained it using a clean cloth, then spooned on the fragrant marinara sauce and gently mixed it in. I poured the leftover sauce into a glass jar.
The sweet, tangy aroma of tomatoes and herbs filled the kitchen.
I looked at my finished dish, plated on a simple ceramic dish.
"Handmade pasta marinara, by a homesick scientist."
With a satisfied smile, I carried the plate out of the kitchen, ready to serve it for dinner.
"Sir, allow me to take the food to the dining table," one of the servants offered.
"Oh, no need. I'll carry it myself. But please bring me a fork," I requested.
"As you wish, sir."
I carried the plate of marinara pasta to the dining room. Clarissa, Min Ji, and Laura were already seated, waiting patiently for dinner to be served.
"Well? Is it done?" Clarissa asked, curious.
"Of course. I can cook, you know," I said proudly as I sat beside Clarissa—there were no other seats left.
The servants came and began serving the evening meal. It looked like tonight's menu was the usual rock-hard bread and creamy chicken soup. The servant I spoke to earlier also handed me the fork I'd asked for.
But without so much as a "may I," Clarissa suddenly snatched my pasta and took a bite.
"Hey!" I cried out in protest.
After the first bite, she fell silent. Then her eyes widened slightly. She chewed quickly and swallowed.
"…This… is delicious," she said softly, as if unwilling to admit it.
I turned to her with a proud smile. "Of course it is. That's marinara sauce—my signature recipe. I picked the tomatoes myself at the market." Well… technically the vendor picked them for me.
Clarissa set down her fork for a moment and looked at me, this time with a teasing gleam in her eyes.
"So… turns out you're a pretty good cook, huh? You'd make a great housewife."
I froze for a second. Min Ji turned quickly, as if sensing incoming danger. Laura looked intrigued, raising an eyebrow.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Clarissa smirked, leaning back in her chair. "I mean… just look at you. Cooking, picking tomatoes, stirring sauces… You look more like a kitchen maid than a warrior. Or a man."
The table fell completely silent.
Min Ji glared at Clarissa, brow twitching. "Clarissa…"
But I spoke up first. "So now being able to cook means I'm not a real man?"
Clarissa shrugged. "I'm just saying what I see."
I slowly set my fork down. "Alright. Maybe if I fought with frying pans and saucepans, you'd be more impressed?"
Laura choked a little at the end of the table and quickly reached for her drink.
Min Ji raised her hand, her voice calm but firm. "Can we please have a dinner without you two sniping at each other?"
Clarissa folded her arms. "Tell him, not me. I wasn't the one who started it."
I pointed at her with my fork. "She started it!"
Min Ji lightly tapped the table, enough to get both of us to stop.
"That's enough. Akira, your food is great. Clarissa, your sarcasm is unnecessary. This is a dining table, not a debate stage. Laura is here—please show some manners."
I turned and smiled slightly, relieved. Clarissa huffed softly, but her expression softened. She picked up her fork again and started eating the bread and soup.
"…But seriously, if you keep making food like that, I could get addicted," she muttered without looking at me.
I replied under my breath, "Let's hope that's the first thing you get addicted to besides always being right."
Laura stifled a laugh. Min Ji just shook her head and resumed eating with a patient expression.
My stomach was finally full. That pasta was crazy delicious. But I couldn't enjoy this sense of satisfaction for too long. As soon as the last dish was cleared by the servants, I stood up quickly—so quickly my chair scraped the floor with a screech.
Laura looked up, surprised. "Eh? Akira? Where are you rushing off to?"
I turned quickly. "I've got something to do. A sketch."
"A sketch?" Laura raised a brow. "Are you going to paint a landscape?"
I chuckled. "No, no. It's… a mechanical clock."
Laura looked puzzled. "A clock? You mean like an hourglass that talks?"
I waved my hand casually. "Ha! You'll see tomorrow, okay? It'll all make sense."
Without explaining further, I walked quickly out of the dining room, heading down the long hallway toward the small library on the west side of Laura's estate.
The room was quiet when I entered. The walls were lined with wooden shelves filled with books and scrolls. A large writing desk stood in the center, lit by a gently swaying oil lantern.
I sat down and pulled a roll of old parchment from the bottom drawer. It was large—nearly a meter wide. The surface was rough and yellowed with age, but still good enough for drawing.
Carefully, I took a quill from a small pot on the desk—made from a trimmed raven feather, classic. I dipped it into some slightly thick black ink.
My first stroke on the paper was slow and hesitant. But once the outer circle of the clock formed, my hand began to flow more confidently. I drew the outer casing first—a 25 cm diameter circle—then marked slots for the numbers.
Next, I started drawing the inner parts: the main gear, the central shaft where the hands would be mounted, the spiral spring as the power source, and the escapement mechanism—a device to regulate the movement of the gears.
Thin lines shaped interlocking gear wheels. I added tiny arrows and annotations in the local language labeling the components: main wheel, step regulator, drive spring, and central axle.
Sometimes I paused to rub my chin, then resumed drawing in quick strokes. The air grew colder as night deepened, but I barely noticed.
After nearly an hour of work, I put the quill down. Before me lay the full blueprint of a small mechanical clock—about the size of a regular wall clock. Even though it was just a sketch, I could already imagine the "tick-tick-tick" sound of the moving hands.
Leaning back in my chair, I exhaled deeply, a small smile forming on my lips.
"Tomorrow… we start a revolution in this world."
Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. I turned—wondering who it was. They were holding a plate with a lit candle. As I got a closer look, I saw it was Clarissa.
"What is it? If you came to mock me, save it for tomorrow," I said curtly, still a little irritated.
"What are you drawing?" Clarissa asked nosily as she leaned in to see my sketch.
"A mechanical clock, why?" I turned to her. Her white hair, usually tied in a braid, now hung loose and a bit messy from the night breeze, giving her silhouette a much softer look than usual. She wore a thin nightgown layered with a wool robe—not the usual Clarissa.
"A clock… mechanical?" Her eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Something to measure time. But not with sand or sunlight. This uses gears, springs, and tension," I explained.
"And why are you going through all this trouble to make it?" Clarissa asked softly, like the gentle air drifting through the night.
"So that people can still tell time even after the sun goes down," I said.
She didn't say anything, just stared at me—or more accurately, looked at me differently than usual. No sarcasm. No bite. Just a quiet, oddly warm silence… and for some reason, comforting.
"My stomach…" she suddenly spoke.
"Huh? What's wrong with your stomach?"
"It hurts," she said, holding her abdomen.
"Oh." I nodded slowly. "Probably just a cold. Rub on some herbal oil and you'll feel better in the morning—"
"Not that kind," she cut in quickly—almost whispering.
I tilted my head, still not getting it.
Clarissa lowered her head, hiding her face behind her hair. Then, in a voice barely audible, she said, "I think "she's" here again. I want that herbal drink you made me back during our last trip…"
Still confused, I opened my mouth to ask—and then stopped. A few seconds later, it clicked.
"Oh… ohhh." I nodded slowly, finally understanding.
"Alright, wait here. I'll make it for you." I got up to leave, but she gently tugged on my shirt sleeve.
"D-don't leave me alone," she said softly.
So I brought her with me to the kitchen. I held the candle while Clarissa walked behind me, gripping my shoulder. What was this—some kind of romantic comedy scene? I never knew a girl's emotional shifts during her period could swing this fast.
I began boiling water and grabbed some ginger and turmeric from the supply box—we had collected them during our travels. I crushed them and placed them in a mug. Once the water boiled, I poured it into the mug, then added some honey for sweetness.
"Here," I said, handing her the full cup of herbal tea.
"T-thank you." She took a sip. "It's warm," she whispered.
I gave a small smile. Just as I was about to return to my room, she tugged on my shirt sleeve again.
"Please walk me to my room," Clarissa requested softly.
How can you be afraid of the dark when you're a vampire? It makes zero sense—completely illogical. But still, I walked her to her room anyway. It wasn't far—maybe about 20 meters from mine.
"Thank you for walking me," she said as she opened her door.
Before she could step all the way inside, she turned and said, "Tomorrow morning, please make that pasta again, okay?" Then she closed the door.
W-WHAT IS WITH THIS SUDDEN CUTESY BEHAVIOR?!?!
---
(The next morning, I made her another plate of marinara pasta.)