Cheese Fries and Life's Curse
“The powder sprinkled on top of the french fries is cheese powder—nutty and perfectly salty.”
“So this is that cheese french fries trend sweeping the capital lately.”
From what Eden knew, it wasn't exclusive to this place.
“Exactly. Major Palan, the inventor of french fries himself, would be thrilled if you enjoyed it.”
“Y-yeah... Looks delicious.”
It was a combination that couldn't possibly taste bad.
“Enjoy your meal.”
The server bowed politely and returned to the kitchen.
“Why the long face?”
“Well... Honestly, I had no idea french fries were even being sold.”
“Ah, it's the latest craze. Word is, the princess featured them as the main dish at her last banquet, and that's what made them blow up.”
Damn that woman.
Using someone else's invention without permission—what a piece of trash.
“What's with the expression? You profited from it, didn't you?”
“P-profited...?”
“You really know nothing, Major. The french fry fad boosted the Oclo Trading Company's reputation and sales through the roof.”
This was news to him—completely serious.
“How does that even connect to sales...?”
“What am I, a newspaper? Do I have to spell everything out? Such a hassle.”
“I'll look into it when I get back.”
No, if you're not gonna explain, don't bring it up.
Just a total jerk.
“Fine, whatever. Since it's out there—the princess introduced them at the banquet as a dish you developed thinking of hungry soldiers. Pretty heartwarming story, right?”
Eden's words made Palan's fist clench involuntarily.
That goddamn thief.
It might seem grateful at first glance, but it was absolutely, utterly not.
I was planning to monopolize and sell them myself, and she pulls this?
With the princess saying that, he couldn't claim rights to french fries anymore.
The moment he tried to make money off them, the “for hungry soldiers” story would turn into a lie.
“Th-that's... so thoughtful of her.”
“Your face doesn't match your words.”
“Just feels like outright theft. I had plans, you know.”
“Think positive. Now poor folks can enjoy tasty food too, and you got your second-class medal bumped up to first-class.”
“Yeah... Guess that's the way to see it.”
At this point, Eden's take was probably the best.
Yeah, good things are good things.
Why didn't history's greats patent their discoveries? They released them freely.
He was the same.
Crunch!
Finishing the chat, he popped a piece of french fry into his mouth.
The crisp fry and cheesy aroma exploded on his tongue.
This place nails it.
Fry skills on master chef level.
The calamari fries next to it must've been inspired by the french fries.
Frying was a universal cooking method for any ingredient.
Fried chicken's coming next, no doubt.
If he had time, he'd dive into the food business full-time—but no such luxury.
“Have a glass.”
“Thank you.”
He took the wine Eden poured and sipped it with the fries as a chaser.
Pretty strong stuff.
Gulp! Gulp!
Unlike his cautious self, Eden across the table was downing it like water.
“S-Sir, drinking like that could end badly.”
“Today's wine tastes especially sweet, don't you think?”
No. It's bitter as hell.
Sweet booze meant you were already drunk.
Of course, Eden's tolerance was no joke—this wouldn't faze him.
“Something bothering you?”
“You really have a nose for it.”
Eden shook his head, smirking self-deprecatingly.
What's up with this guy?
No girlfriend, yet he looked heartbroken.
“What do you think life is, Major?”
“Life?”
Sudden deep question.
Tough for some, but Palan had his answer ready.
“A curse, isn't it?”
“A curse?”
“An inescapable one, despite knowing the end—brutally vicious. That's my take.”
Not expecting the pessimism, Eden eyed him curiously.
“Didn't think a noble who's succeeded would say that.”
“Success? Not my goal—especially not as a soldier.”
“Too bad. A curse, huh.”
Eden poured another glass, gazing at the ceiling.
“Looking at it now, yeah. Life's a curse.”
No, that's just my opinion.
Felt like he was taking it too personally.
“Just one view.”
“I know. Man, I'm beat today. Got anyone precious to you, Major?”
“Precious...?”
Another tough one.
Parents first, but not life-risking level.
They were Palan Oclo's blood, not his.
“Mother, maybe.”
Couldn't say none, so he picked top of the list.
“Father must be sad.”
“Never got much affection from him growing up.”
“I see.”
“You, sir?”
“One person. But I said some harsh words today. Probably won't see them again.”
Sighing deeply—Palan got it instantly.
This guy's got a girlfriend.
Odd since skipping the banquet.
Went on a date and got dumped.
Smart woman, whoever she was.
“Aigoo, hang in there.”
Even a toxic boss deserved consolation after a breakup.
“Plenty of fish out there—half the world's women. Shake it off, find someone better.”
Sincere pep talk, but Eden's eyes went weird.
“Not like that, Major. Mind your words.”
“Y-yes...? Sorry.”
Can't even comfort the bastard.
Impossible to please.
“So, any word on my next posting?”
No point dwelling—steak arrived, time to pivot.
“Lots of buzz about it. Plenty want you.”
Damn opportunists.
Proven talent—they'd snatch and exploit him.
“Good news: His Majesty values your supply company work over combat feats.”
“His Majesty...?”
Why was the emperor involved in a major's transfer?
“The french fries. He tried them at the princess's banquet.”
Palan nearly gaped, hand to mouth.
Praise the princess—goddess after all.
Not a thief cat, but a fortune-bringing sparrow.
“So, supply...?”
“Think we'd waste your talent on cooking? Tch.”
“Then what?”
“Overall logistics management, from provisions to supplies. His Majesty isn't satisfied with current standards.”
“Is that so?”
Makes sense—anyone with eyes couldn't be.
Emperor noticed, huh.
Thought he was too high up, but no.
“First option: logistics role. Second: 3rd Division infantry battalion commander. The one from our op—spot's open.”
“I prefer the first.”
No brainer.
Infantry commander? Instant death wish.
After losing Yalk Island, they'd push west hard.
“That so?”
“Yes—logistics lets me shine fully.”
“Infantry suits you better, in my view.”
“You seem extra tired today.”
Only exhaustion explained that nonsense.
“Special Forces pushed hard too. You impressed in the op.”
“H-ha... Damn it all.”
West and Special Forces.
Forces bent on ruining his life.
“Don't sweat it. No Special Forces this time.”
“Right...”
Relief mixed with dread.
This time only—next who knows.
“Anyway, one of those two.”
“Timeline?”
“Orders by week's end, latest. Can't idle in wartime.”
“I'll prepare.”
Cold reality closing in.
“Hitting my rank already. Might get leapfrogged.”
“Hoping to stop here.”
Major discharge.
Sounds solid.
Feels like I've done enough.
Climb higher?
Too deep in.
“Don't stand out then.”
“No, sigh...”
Words failed him.
Eden pondered, then spoke.
“Major, I'm aiming high.”
“Promotion hungry?”
“Why work hard otherwise?”
“Fair point.”
True, but unexpected.
“Not sure how far, but I'll push.”
“Why so driven?”
“Survival. You wouldn't get it.”
Casual tone, but instinct screamed lie.
Stars and nobility, huh.
Stars fueled military ambition.
Obvious first thought.
“Whatever the reason, good luck.”
“You cheering me? Wonders never cease.”
“Work that hard—no promotion would suck.”
“True enough.”
“Missed the list due to Intelligence, but merits recognized, right?”
Landing op merits—Eden's were top-tier, if not his level.
“Of course. Fast-tracks my lieutenant colonel.”
“Congrats. Shame about the banquet—Intelligence sucks for that.”
Casual remark.
Silence fell again, oddly.