We couldn't find a proper place to cook, so we had no choice but to borrow the kitchen at Eunbong's Pub.
It was a mess, wrecked by the chickens' rampages and long neglect, but Ms. Ryoshu and Mr. Gregor didn't care in the slightest. They kicked aside the dishes littering the floor and took their places in the kitchen.
" Wait, is it really okay to do this in someone else's restaurant?"
Oh, a sensible question. The problem was that he'd asked it of a bunch of abnormal human beings.
"Who cares about stupid manners like that."
"It's a restaurant that's about to go under anyway, right?!"
Well, there you have it.
No, actually, if things turned out well in the end, the pub owner wouldn't complain, would he? So maybe it didn't matter.
"Yeah, we're supposed to be solving a Distortion, right?"
This time, even Mr. Gregor seemed to agree with Ms. Ryoshu.
...Those two forming common ground feels strangely unsettling.
"Kkokeekekek!!!"
The chickens, furious at the sudden intruders, rushed at us, but...
""Anyone who gets in the way gets cut down!""
The two proud chefs struck back hard, and the battle began.
" They actually seem more in sync now..."
"Yeah. It'd be a lot easier if they were like this all the time."
" ...But you're not fighting?"
"....."
Ah, I'd tried to brush that off naturally, but it failed. Guess I had no choice.
"Go on, hurry up and fight!"
"Yes, sir."
Let's just avoid getting our face bitten off by a raw chicken and ending up looking like Mr. Heathcliff.
The chickens probably weren't that strong anyway, so it shouldn't matter much.
*
The battle was easy, as expected.
Right, I'd even fought that Kromer woman. Losing to these things would be the funniest joke imaginable.
Hm? That...
"Munch, munch..."
"...Ms. Don Quixote?"
"Mm! What is it, Saramago, my good man!"
"Are you perhaps eating something?"
"I was sampling these raw chickens to learn their flavor! I was assigned to this observation log, after all! Munch... Now then, is that all you wished to ask?"
So she was the one in charge of the raw chicken observation log, and she was eating them to write it up?
"Uh... yes. That's all."
To think she was tasting the chickens that had just been running around on the floor a moment ago. As expected, these people are impossible to understand.
Well, they'd handle their side however they wanted. I should watch the important part: the cooking.
"That recipe is just one of those canned dishes anyway, isn't it?"
"There's no recipe that can beat survival cooking."
What a combative way to cook.
Still, it'll probably taste good, right? It's not easy to be that confident and still make something bad.
"Hey, yellow one! Bring me the chicken."
"Huh? Y-yes!"
...So Sinclair's nickname is Yellow One. That's harsh.
"Yi Sang! Sorry, but could you open this can for me?"
"I shall do so."
They called it combative and all that, but the way the kitchen was covered by the sounds of cooking was, in its own way, convincing.
-Tap-tap-tap, boil boil...
The sound of knives on the cutting board, the sound of soup simmering.
Maybe they weren't lying when they said they'd cooked before, because the process itself was passable enough.
...If only they'd put out that cigarette.
" ...Huh?!! Why do I hear the sound of a cigarette burning?!"
"".....""
Say something, you people. I'm the one who has to eat this food.
-Tap, tap.
Oh, Mr. Gregor put it out. As expected of Mr. Gregor. He understands me.
Anyway, with the sounds of various dishes being prepared, cooking time raced toward its end.
*
-Thunk.
"....."
What... is this?
"...Mr. Gregor, may I ask what kind of dish this is?"
"Military survival food... I guess?"
Ah, I see. So "military survival" means the food was made in an extreme environment too?
" So, in the army... do they eat food like this?"
I don't think so, Dante.
If the mess hall food looked like this, people would start skipping lunch from private first class onward, not just the old-timers.
"Boss, didn't you say you lost your memory? Since when did you get so picky about food?"
Mr. Gregor, who usually kept his composure, snapped in an irritated tone.
Well, fair enough. The other side...
"....."
Is this modern art?
That is, yes... a way of saying the plating is incomprehensible.
"....."
Even Dante, who doesn't know much about food, had gone quiet! What are we supposed to do about this!
" Ryoshu, did you perhaps think our goal was not to solve the Distortion, but to assassinate the distorted owner?"
"Shut. Up."
"Shut up, says the clock..."
Ha... Tch. Is it really okay to eat this...
I was supposed to taste it first, and if it passed, send it to the owner of Eunbong's Pub...
"Come on, hurry up and try it. It'll be delicious."
At Mr. Gregor's urging, I reluctantly picked up the fork beside me and took a bite of the chicken—
"Kh..."
Damn it...
"How is it? Tasty, right? That kind of dish-like-not-dish—"
Don't spit it out. Don't spit it out. Don't spit it out. Don't spit it out. Don't spit it out.
"Gulp..."
I swallowed it...
"Haa, hoo..."
Water. Is there any water?
Under Mr. Gregor's expectant gaze, I had no choice but to swallow it, but the complex stench lingering in my mouth made me want to rinse it out immediately.
"....."
...That's urgent too, but for now let's deal with Mr. Gregor, who's staring at me like that.
"If I were to evaluate it..."
"Mm-hm, and?"
"Mr. Gregor."
"Hm?"
"Let's stop cooking from now on."
"What...?"
"Just... think of it that way..."
"....."
Maybe he sensed the sincerity in my pained expression, because Mr. Gregor froze in place with a deeply shocked look on his face.
"Hmph, of course insect cooking would be like that. Let's see if this side is different."
...I wasn't sure I could trust this man either, but unfortunately he was our only hope.
Right, it'll be delicious. The plating is bizarre, but there's no way it won't taste good—
"....."
"How is it? Does it suit your taste?"
"....."
"Hmph, so delicious you can't even speak, I see."
Suddenly wondering if that was really true, Dante walked up to Saramago and tapped his shoulder.
" Hey, Saramago? Are you alive?"
But then...
-Thud.
"Saramago!!!"
...I regained consciousness about thirty minutes later.
*
"....."
What had happened?
What on earth did they make to knock someone out with two bites of food?
Should I really keep trusting these people from now on?
...No, forget that. There were only two applicants to begin with, and if I can't trust those two, who can I trust?
Whatever the case, what we needed was food that could open the heart of the owner of Eunbong's Pub.
The chefs who would make that were...
"....."
Mm, Mr. Gregor was completely out of it. He was beyond recovery.
By contrast, Ms. Ryoshu...
"...Tch."
She was clicking her tongue with an irritated expression, but she seemed more or less normal.
That's a relief. If both of them had quit cooking, that would've been a problem.
Haa... For now, let's liven up this sagging atmosphere.
"All right, all right. I'm the one who collapsed, but our request still isn't solved. Let's keep going."
"....."
For now, that dazed-looking Mr. Gregor definitely didn't seem fit to keep cooking, so we'd need to pick a chef again.
"Hey, Saramago. Are you... okay?"
"...I'm fine."
I couldn't exactly say I was fine, but I wasn't at the point where I couldn't move.
My tongue was still numb, but a little water should fix that.
...I really didn't want to do this, but from now on, I should check for possible side effects before eating anything.
Maybe I'd been too discouraged after confirming the last side effect. If this were the old me, I would've checked long ago.
"Hoo..."
Oh, Mr. Gregor's mind had come back.
"So... it really was that bad?"
"...Yes."
My palate might be too refined, but I can at least judge the taste of an ordinary franchise chicken.
Which means, no matter how you look at it, Mr. Gregor's cooking was below standard.
"All right, all right... then let's assign roles one by one. I don't think I can do it, so..."
Mr. Gregor said that with a pitiful expression.
Ugh... now I feel guilty for no reason.
"Mr. Hong Lu... have you ever been in a kitchen?"
"Ahem...!"
"Well, there wasn't really a kitchen in my room. When I was young, I did sneak into the grand dining hall on the second floor of the house to get snacks, though."
Then Hong Lu was out. I wasn't even expecting much.
...Wait, a room, not a house?
"AHEM!!"
"Next, Yi Sang..."
"Isn't he the one who ate expired milk with everyone a few days ago and was the only one whose face was perfectly fine afterward?"
Ah, was that when? Right, I'd heard everyone except me and Faust had eaten it.
"Uuuuuum... it had a sensual scent that seeped all the way into the lungs."
Yi Sang was out too. An impressively bizarre palate. That was expected as well.
"Ahem!!!"
...Ever since Ms. Don Quixote started choosing roles, she'd been coughing deliberately.
She wants to be assigned, doesn't she?
"Don Quixote, have you had throat trouble since earlier?"
"Would it not be best to entrust this to me?"
Don Quixote said that to Mr. Gregor with an uncharacteristically shy expression.
"Don Quixote... this isn't a time for children's games."
"I am no child! And the other team is even letting Sinclair cook, so why won't you let me do it here!"
"Hm?"
Was that so? I'd been so focused on one side that I'd forgotten to look at the other.
"The chicken was cut too unevenly. Cut it straight. Keep your back straighter too."
"Y-yes!"
"Kid~ Isn't this a little too bland? I'd prefer it a bit sweeter."
"S-sweeter? Where was the sugar again..."
"From Faust's perspective, the heat should be turned up stronger."
"That won't do. Your knife work is already hopeless."
...Seeing this makes me think not choosing a side was the right call.
No matter how I look at it, if I'd gone over there, wouldn't I be the one doing that instead of Sinclair?
"Everyone, why not help directly instead?"
As expected of Ms. Ishmael. She's the only one who'd think of that.
"Hmm... Sinclair does seem trustworthy enough... and a young master's palate would probably be picky..."
...Mr. Gregor's words just now confirmed that no matter which team I'd joined, I would've ended up with that role.
Dodged a bullet there.
"Wait, why is nobody telling me to cook? Look, I can at least do eggs—"
Mr. Heathcliff started to complain, but—
"Ack! Hot, damn it! Why is the frying pan already heated? I nearly died from the heat!"
...he only managed to burn his hand like an idiot.
Will this team be okay...?
========================
The website for reading paid chapters is available on my Patreon. The number of chapters on Patreon: 195
Link: patreon.com/UltraMagnus_T