Eureka! The Miracle Fry
“Training starts tomorrow, right…?”
“Huh? I was planning to do it after work today. Got something going on?”
I'd asked just in case, but damn, if I'd let him go ahead, it would've been a disaster.
“Uh… I've got potato dish development research at the mess hall today. Pretty wiped out from it.”
The research was the real reason, but I threw in a fake schedule to sell it.
“Potato dish development research?”
His face lit up with curiosity.
Perfect chance to pivot the topic. I jumped right in without a second thought.
“Yeah, gotta find a way to make potatoes palatable for the troops without them gagging.”
“Oh, I heard. The soldiers are stuck eating potatoes for every damn meal.”
Potatoes three times a day.
Just hearing it sounded like torture.
“Unfortunately, yeah.”
“Tough break for you, bro.”
For once, someone got it—my little brother, no less. A swell of gratitude hit me.
That's right, my one and only bro.
Sure, he's dragging me into hellish suffering, but it's gotta be love, right?
“Thanks for saying that.”
“Speaking of potato dishes, I just thought of something.”
“For real? Spill.”
Cooking tip from Derek, whose head seemed full of nothing but swords? I wasn't expecting much, but hey, drowning man grabs at straws.
“You mash 'em up and dip when eating meat. Tastes amazing, I remember.”
“Ah, but that needs meat.”
I could guess what he meant.
Mashed potatoes, probably.
Derek didn't know it, but the reason they taste good isn't just potatoes—it's the butter, milk, and all that jazz.
“Pure potatoes only?”
“Yeah, cheap stuff like that should work.”
“Then besides dipping in salt, nothing comes to mind.”
“Appreciate the thought anyway.”
No breakthroughs, but it aired out my cluttered brain a bit.
“You're busy today, so no helping it. I'll swing by here a bit after 6 p.m. tomorrow.”
“Nah, I'll come to you—I'm the one learning.”
“It's fine. Plus, you can't even enter my area.”
“Huh, yeah, you're right.”
I recalled extra gates even back in other divisions for Special Forces HQ zones.
“Once you nail those potato dishes, lemme taste-test.”
“You got it.”
“Alright, gotta head out. See ya tomorrow.”
I waved goodbye to my long-lost bro and headed into HQ.
“Who was that outside?”
Ciel poked her head out from the control room—must've spotted Derek passing by.
“Training camp buddy.”
“A classmate of Lieutenant Palan Oclo? Noble, then?”
“Yeah, Rahila family—you know 'em? He's the second son.”
“No way…?”
Ciel looked genuinely stunned.
“You're shocked, having an Oclo under you?”
“Nah, it's just… I'm from Rahila County.”
“Seriously?”
I'd pegged her for westerner, but surprise.
“Yeah. Dad was family retainer. Died in a monster subjugation.”
“I see.”
“They paid out compensation, Mom took it and ran off with some guy. I ended up in an orphanage… Overshared there. Forget I said it.”
Her raw backstory hit like a gut punch. I was speechless for a sec.
“But look at you now—Major in the Imperial Army. That's success, right?”
Imperial Major.
Unlike back home, officers here had real status.
A major's upper crust for commoners.
Women aside, a guy could snag the village beauty and live cushy.
“Success? I don't even own a house.”
“Pfft, barracks are free. Buy meat with that cash instead.”
I tossed in a light tease to lighten the mood.
“With all those potatoes piled up? Any solutions yet?”
“Trading company shot it down. Stalled out hard.”
“Tch. I'd help if I weren't swamped. Hang in there. Holler if you need anything.”
She patted my shoulder with sympathetic eyes.
“Thanks for the words.”
Sitting at my desk wouldn't spark ideas, so I grabbed notepad and pen, headed to the mess.
“Holy shit. Finally, real food.”
“Proper meat like this! How long's it been?”
“One company commander shows up, and boom—total game-changer?”
Familiar vibes.
Just like the first meal rollout in 1st Division.
“Meat like this? I'd eat potatoes all day.”
“Right? Hate to say it, but thanks to those rebels. Otherwise, potato hell forever.”
“Army only changes when someone bites it.”
Soldiers talking bold—no one batted an eye, even at the edge.
“Sir!”
“Sir!”
Supply troops saluted as I approached the serving line.
“No major issues?”
“None, sir. Reactions are great.”
“Good work. Mind if I use the cooking setup?”
“It's basic, but go ahead, sir.”
“Nothing fancy. Just do your thing.”
Got the okay and slipped into the cooking area.
Yeah, real bare-bones.
1st Division's was decent; this was rougher.
Normalizes next week, though.
Dozens of cookware sets should be en route by wagon now.
Key's these.
I picked up a potato from the crate, inspected it.
“Mass-producible dish from these…”
Racking my brain, a soldier staggered by with a huge tub.
“Need a hand? Looks heavy.”
“N-no, sir.”
Mouth said no, but he'd drop it any sec.
“Here, I'll grab the other side.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Gripped it, heaved.
Heavier than it looks.
Even two-handed, arms burned.
“Here?”
“Yep. One, two, three.”
Set it down on cue—heavy bastard.
“Thanks to you, sir, no spill.”
“Why'd you refuse help at first?”
“H-ha… It's my job.”
“Bull. What's inside, anyway?”
Casual curiosity.
“Lard from lunch roast pork.”
He popped the lid—grease solidifying fast.
“Ah, lard… Wait.”
Lightning strike.
“Lard” clicked, and boom—idea.
French fries. How'd I miss this?
Even potato-haters devour 'em. Miracle food.
If I nail it, troops'll love it.
“Got any cooking oil on hand?”
“Oil, sir?”
“Yeah, like 2 liters.”
Tempted to use this lard, but hygiene no-go.
“Oil? We got tons. No meat to fry lately.”
Sad truth, but fine.
If my plan works, we'll burn through it quick.
“Grab a pot, oil, and meet me at the fire.”
“Yes, sir!”
I directed him, grabbed potatoes, hit the cutting board.
As thin as possible.
Not a knife whiz, but sacrifice speed, I can slice thin.
Slice, slice! Slice!
Franchise-fry thickness, piled on a tray.
“Got it, sir. Now what?”
“Oil in the pot, heat it up.”
“Uh…?”
Frying ain't big here—sounds insane to them.
“Just do it.”
“Roger.”
Simple order; he fired it up.
Bubble bubble.
Industrial setup? Heated fast.
“Ready. Got a strainer?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hand it over.”
Loaded my precious slices, dunked 'em.
Sizzle-crackle.
That electric sound—like Korea for a sec.
“Sir, what cooking method is this?”
“Frying. You'll flip when you taste it.”
“Crisps the outside in oil, sure, but fully submerged…?”
Unbelieving stare.
Fair. No experience? Looks gross visually.
“About done. One bite, mind blown.”
Not a pro, so I gave it extra for safety.
Tap! Tap!
Shook off on pot edge, transferred golden fries to tray.
“Try one.”
“This?”
“Yeah. I'll go first? Damn, these are good.”
Fresh potatoes, clean oil—duh.
Crunch.
Teeth hit, shell shattered—almost lewd sound.
Perfection.
Potatoes reborn.
New world.
Had to salute my genius linking waste lard to fries.
“Good?”
“Can't eat enough.”
“Your turn.”
He hesitated, popped one.
Crunch.
Same zing. Froze till he swallowed.
“Gulp… Sir, what is this?”
“Mind-blowing, right? Pro tip: sprinkle salt. Even better.”
I dig cheese powder for 500 won extra, but that's overkill here.
“This is… revolutionary. Potatoes and oil alone, this good?”
Shell-shocked face.
Couldn't help grinning.
“Sir! What're you doing here?”
Victory—time to share recipe. Then Sergeant Major Colton arrived.
“Potato R&D. Wanna try?”
“This… potatoes?”
Pointed at the golden batch.
“Yep. Sliced and fried in oil.”
“Fried in… oil? Pardon?”
“Just eat.”
Experience beats explanation.
“A-alright.”
Colton hesitated like the soldier, then bit.
Moments later.
Seven-year vet Colton bulged his eyes, bellowed.
“Eureka.”