The Truth of This World

The truth of this world.

You only need to walk a single lap around downtown to see it for yourself.

"This is a bakery. Part of a cell network for manipulating flour prices."

"……."

First stop.

The famous bakery chain that originated in Paris—there's one in every neighborhood.

Not many people who use this place know how terrifying it actually is.

Why so many of them in Korea when Paris itself barely has any?

There's a reason they swarm like this.

The reality behind it is brutally cruel.

They jack up the price of bread in this country and toy with the price of flour however they please.

"This is a chicken place. A facility for brainwashing the entire nation into believing chicken is supposed to be expensive."

"……."

Second stop: a religious facility.

Hindus have cows, Muslims have pigs, and Koreans lose their minds over chicken—there's a reason for that too.

Calling it 'Chi-nim' and worshipping it like a god is basically a cult.

This nationwide brainwashing campaign has deep historical roots and continues to this day.

Fifty thousand stores across the country cooperate in the effort.

"This is a café. An establishment that gaslights office girls into believing they must drink expensive coffee, thereby cultivating kimchi girls."

"Dude."

"Hold on—when I say office girl here, I mean Office Lady, not the massage parlor kind."

"I didn't come here to listen to jokes."

We were walking around the university district.

I was teaching her precious knowledge you couldn't learn anywhere else.

"Are you actually a scammer?"

"What the hell makes you say that!"

"You've been making nothing but weird jokes this whole time."

"How else am I supposed to put it?"

Suhyun complained about my explanations.

She seemed to think I was joking.

I suppose she could see it that way.

Even so, I was being kind enough to explain it to her.

Stripped down to the bare essentials, no less.

"Fine. Let's go eat something at least. I'll take my time and explain it with the patience of a Buddha."

"Okey."

"What do you want?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Hmm…… pasta?"

She pretended to think hard, then gave the most generic answer possible.

A classic college-girl choice.

Even better.

I already had something I wanted to say about that.

Miozio.

We stepped into a nearby Italian restaurant.

"Since I was the one who asked, I'll pay."

"Obviously."

"Ah, okay."

It wasn't particularly to my taste.

Why come all the way to Korea to eat something that isn't even good in its home country?

But if she's paying, what can I do?

Still, it was perfect for a lesson.

I ordered something off the menu at random.

"I want risotto too."

"I'm getting pasta."

"Split them?"

"Sure. I'll take that Amaterasu—or Amatriciana, whatever it's called."

What a ridiculously hard name.

Why use something that isn't Korean or even English in a Korean restaurant?

Obviously there's a reason for that too.

Soon the food arrived.

Just ordinary tomato pasta.

With the food on the table, I began the lecture in earnest.

"This is an Italian restaurant. A place that rakes in outrageous profits by targeting empty-headed suckers with premium marketing."

"……."

I was giving her real knowledge.

Just telling her the truth of this world that most people walk right past without noticing.

"I wasn't going to say this, but—"

"Then don't."

"You're freeloading and saying stuff that kills my appetite. I wanna punch you in the face."

"Good thing I'm not sitting next to you. Arms not long enough, right?"

She glared at me like she'd just bitten into something foul.

Already a blunt girl, and now she was radiating pure chill. Intimidating.

The atmosphere was serious—she seemed genuinely angry.

A scene I simply could not understand.

"Why are you staring."

"Because I just realized how completely stupid this is."

"……Do you actually want me to hit you?"

"Spoons hurt, though."

Kids these days—impossible to figure out what they're thinking.

The spoon in her hand trembled.

I was already uneasy about the way she was holding it upside down.

"I asked you a serious question, you know."

"And?"

"You're just trying to scam me the same way you did with Sora, aren't you?"

"I'm doing my best here. Trying to figure out how to make a civilian's fragile little brain understand."

"!!"

Having lived in America for so long, I sometimes ran into communication gaps when talking to Koreans.

To be fair, it happened in America too.

There were always people who didn't like my way of speaking—the way I only ever said the truth.

Truly a pity.

"Forget it. I'm done eating."

"Why are you getting mad? You're killing the meal."

"The one saying things that kill the meal is you."

She'd been using a light, casual tone the whole time, then suddenly switched to something stiff and formal.

In her own mind, this was apparently a serious matter.

Explaining things at a civilian's level is such a pain.

This was exactly the difference.

Civilians versus investors.

I needed to clear up Suhyun's misunderstanding.

"You free today?"

"I was free until a second ago. Not sure anymore."

"If you've got time to waste, follow me."

"Where."

"My place."

Me—this me—giving a lecture was not a common event.

If I ever did, people on Wall Street would line up for it.

Talent donation.

And it had to be at a certain level. Having to move my body for it after so long was almost too much.

"Your place……?"

"What, you want to go all the way to my parents' house? That's a two-hour trip."

"Well, just for a bit, I guess."

I would show her reality—ingredients and all.

Sizzle……!

Risotto.

Italian-style fried rice.

The cooking method is extremely simple, which means everything hinges on the quality of the ingredients.

"You're cooking?"

"This much is basic."

"Still, the taste…… that restaurant earlier would probably be better."

I was making it myself.

Suhyun's criticism from behind me wasn't entirely without ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠merit, but—

The taste would be whatever it was.

Cooking isn't all about the chef's skill.

You have to try it to know the difference.

I coated the pan with olive oil and sautéed garlic and onion.

Just as they were about to turn yellow—

Sizzle……!

Butter.

Once it melted completely and turned clear and translucent, I dropped the rice in.

Careful not to break the grains.

I let them soak into the melted butter.

I'd already cranked the heat high, so the temperature was intense.

I stirred the grains gently, coating them as I fried.

Then water.

No—wine tastes better.

"You're putting alcohol in it?"

"Yeah."

"Won't wine make it too sweet?"

"Wine is sweet……?"

That's a home-run level of wrong, right after 'soju is sweet.'

If life is bitter, soju can taste sweet. Fine.

But even if life is bitter, wine doesn't become sweet.

There was a lot she didn't know—just like you'd expect from a twenty-year-old college girl.

Suhyun was still a kid.

Glug glug~

Pinot Gris.

I used a variety with good body and high acidity.

Almost a waste to use it on mere risotto, but—

I'll call it educational expenses.

I let it reduce.

Stirring with a spatula, drawing out the starch from the grains.

This was how delicious risotto was made.

Ending it there felt incomplete, so one more thing.

Drip drip~

I layered white balsamic vinegar as a hidden flavor.

A little more stirring, and the risotto was done.

Clack! Clack!

I plated it.

From a second pan, I added mushrooms and frozen shrimp that had been sautéed to a golden brown.

Finished with Parmesan cheese and parsley.

The key was scattering it evenly across the whole surface, like falling snow.

"Try it."

"Oh…… looks decent, at least."

"Taste is what matters."

"And you're the one saying that?"

A pretty rice cake is also good for hitting people with.

I'd placed the mushrooms and shrimp—the toppings—around the edges.

There was definitely an aesthetic effect.

Not that I'd gone through the tedious handwork just for that.

The moment Suhyun took a bite of the risotto, her eyes went wide.

It would vary by person, but the impact was definitely there.

Risotto ultimately comes down to how well you get the flavor to soak into the rice grains.

Italian-style fried rice.

Naturally, both the process and the goal were completely different from Korean-style fried rice.

"Wow, this taste."

"Good, right?"

"Doesn't seem like much, but—"

"……."

"When you chew, the flavor just, like, explodes?"

Badly made risotto turns into something like porridge.

But well-made risotto—

Captures both texture and deep flavor at once.

Every time a grain broke apart in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mouth, the taste flowed out.

The refined acidity created by wine and vinegar.

The separately sautéed mushrooms and shrimp added a rich depth.

You could pile them on however you liked.

Munch munch!

The girl who'd claimed she couldn't eat because she was in a bad mood seemed to be hungry after all.

She shoveled it into her mouth with enthusiasm.

Only belatedly realizing how greedily she'd been eating, she glanced my way.

Defeat was written in her eyes.

"It's edible."

"If it's good enough for a second helping, you'd eat the plate too."

"I couldn't eat lunch because of someone, you know."

Only after finishing more than half did she start regulating her pace.

It was food worth savoring.

"Hey."

"What."

"Do you have a chef's license or something?"

"No."

"Then…… why are you this good at it?"

If I were a chef at some seaside restaurant, I'd just say "Damn right it's good" and leave it there.

But I wasn't a chef, and—

The important question is why. Why.

Skill enough to convince a prideful customer.

I wasn't some shonen manga protagonist. I didn't have anything like that.

"I used a slightly special rice."

"Is it expensive?"

"No. There's old rice they sell as animal feed. Two hundred won a kilo."

"……."

Extremely old rice.

Cracked and split, with a musty smell.

There's a reason people insist on eating new-crop rice.

But for risotto, the story is completely different.

The flavor soaks in through those cracked gaps.

You don't even have to stir hard—the starch comes out naturally.

"In Italy, they sell this exact kind of old rice as 'risotto rice' and charge a premium for it."

"Oh. Okay."

"And even after hearing that, you don't feel anything?"

"?"

Why an investor's perspective is different from a civilian's.

This wasn't the time to sit there looking like she'd eaten shit just because I'd fed her some animal feed.

In one place ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it's livestock feed. In another, it's treated as premium rice.

That absurd reality.

I'd shown it to her while walking around downtown earlier.

No—we'd even gone to a restaurant and eaten it.

"What do you think the cost ratio was on that pasta we ate?"

"Never thought about it…… maybe thirty percent?"

"Not even ten. If they make it cheap, it can drop to five."

"Then why is it so expensive?"

Something she never paid attention to normally.

Once you know, it feels like you've been scammed.

Suhyun's voice rose.

A plausible name.

A plausible atmosphere.

Just mutter something about it being foreign, and consumers nod along.

"Because people like you buy it."

"……."

"Aigoo, you dumb suckers~ Making money in this world is so easy."

In a way, it was fraud.

But as long as the consumer was satisfied and society accepted it, there was no problem.

Things like that were everywhere in the world.

On the scale of a small restaurant, it might even be cute.

"What if what I just described wasn't a tiny restaurant, but a conglomerate doing it? Would you believe that?"

"A conglomerate?"

"Even more vicious. Once you hear it, it'll leave you speechless."

Surprisingly, people don't pay attention.

They have no idea how thoroughly they're being scammed.

It only works because of that indifference.

The economy.

The world we live in is built that way.

An investor has to see the truth without being seduced by the scam.

"What do you think an investor is?"

"Someone who invests in stocks and stuff?"

"An investor is someone who determines the value of things."

"Value……?"

"The main job is shouting No alone when everyone else is saying Yes."

Whether it's food, gifts, or stocks.

You have to walk a different path from everyone else.

It isn't an easy road.

Sometimes you make the wrong choice. Sometimes the world piles on the criticism.

"So—are you ready to take the red pill of truth?"

It was worth that much.