Concessions in Heaven (1)
"Fascist pig bastard, no surprise he's chugging shitty whiskey."
Real men drink Captain Q, but that pig was clearly all flash—no substance—sipping on Dalmore 18. Whiskey, and of all things Dalmore? My hands trembled, my balls went numb from the sheer pickiness of it. I nearly scrapped my standing orders and yelled to drag that pig fucker into the kitchen and burn him alive.
Dalmore doesn't count.
The world's most worthless booze is leftovers from someone else's glass. Once it's lost its value, toss it all in the trash. I leisurely took the menu from the busboy who'd rushed over.
"Hmm, hey, busboy. What grain liquor pairs with fire chicken carbonara? Hit me with the daily rec."
"Since you usually enjoy whiskey, Your Holiness, how about Snow Plum, with its sweet plum aroma that tingles through your whole body? One sip gets you drunk on plum blossoms, two sips ignite a mystical inner fire like entering samadhi, and by the third, you'll feel like wandering alone through a snow-covered winter mountain."
"Not a bad combo. But it's not enough. They say fusion's all the rage these days—shouldn't there be some phoo-woo-jian dish to match the fire chicken carbonara perfectly?"
"Si. We anticipated that, so the kitchen masters are already frying up hot bling poringkle chicken, and our skilled waitresses are prepping scallion pancakes with their expert touch. To prevent your divine insight from being clouded by a single flavor, we've also prepared garlic dipping sauce and organic radish chicken kimchi."
"Thorough preparation. Your loyalty speaks for your faith, and the devotion nurtured by that faith is no smaller than anyone else's."
"Grazie. If you'd like to order more, please use this exclusive kiosk for Your Holiness. Also, note that kitchen break time is from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. daily."
About 20 minutes after the busboy finished his duties and left, the properly crafted leader's special feast was finally set before me. I picked up my chopsticks like some Italian local and twirled up a big bite of fire chicken carbonara. The glossy oil, spicy fire chicken sauce, balanced with cream and cheese—it had this weird magic that drove women wild. Food I'd normally ignore, but since it wasn't my dime, worth a try.
"Slurrrrrp!"
I'd meant just one bite, but like some slurper who inhales half the noodles in one go, I devoured it heartily—and damn, I truly tasted the essence of fire chicken carbonara. The aroma was spicy-sweet and rich, but when it hit the tongue, not that hot. The cream and cheese mellowed it like soft yogurt, less sting.
The real deal came next. As I stuffed my mouth full, the fire chicken sauce—waiting patiently all this time—finally bared its claws. Caught off guard by the heavy uppercut, I nearly choked, but channeling the Volcanic School's teaching of conquering strength with softness, I quelled the mouth riot with a sip of Snow Plum.
This time, more carefully. I mixed the chicken and bacon bits—well-soaked in fire sauce and cream cheese, sprinkled with parsley—with the noodles. Didn't six-pack master Kang Ho-dong say it? "He who masters the noodles masters the world." I'd gathered every ingredient in this bowl into one—that was world domination right there.
Chicken and bacon chunks nestled perfectly amid the tangled noodle ball. Last time I'd slurped noodles like a chump, but now? Different story.
From now on, I live for me.
With renewed resolve, I crammed noodles and meat into my mouth, rolling them calmly like a wine sommelier, chewing with my jaw. Then—unbelievable umami exploding everywhere! Humans can't live on rice, bread, and noodles alone. We need meat. Veggies? Optional.
Well done, fire chicken carbonara. Go extinct all vegans.
Tears of emotion, another Snow Plum palate cleanser, then I grabbed the hot bling poringkle chicken. Breast meat's for psycho gym rats obsessed with shredding; wings with barely any meat are for chicks. True man that I am, I seized a leg and tore in savagely—like gnawing my parents' tits as a kid.
Fire chicken carbonara was great, but for Korean taste buds, chicken reigns supreme. One word for this flavor?
"Chew-gasm heaven, baby."
If emotion could be music, an orchestra would be blasting the roof off right now. Not like I'd been starving, but why did my body orgasm so easily? Considering my usual diet of ramen and soup rice, totally makes sense. Jerk off daily three times, tolerance builds—no big thrill. But after three months dry, first wank hits like pure dope. Same principle.
Enlightened to worldly truth, I realized I could be a real cult leader without anyone's backing. But seeing all, knowing all? Not always great. Gotta rip this absurd, dissonant world and create anew—but preconditions are a bitch.
Ripping the world? That's election law violation.
Gold chariot homecoming's too much—silver one's fine. Same here: play cult leader for New Millennium Salvation Society, but no real messiah ambitions.
Crunching chicken kimchi dipped in garlic sauce wrapped up Leader Han Guwon's holy feast. Somehow knowing I'd finished, the busboy ghosted in to clear plates. But he seemed miffed at having to bus again without a proper break.
"Your Holiness, you ate unusually fast today. Like someone starved for days, wolfing it down..."
"Huh?"
I smashed his head with the Snow Plum bottle.
"S-something's wrong! Call the High Priest now! You think you'll get away with this to me?!"
"Shut your trap! Do you even know how many and deep are the sins you've committed?!"
"Drag that bastard to the repentance chamber!"
"Hear us, brothers and sisters! This insolent sinner not only trespassed into the holy sanctuary where the Savior resides but dared lay hands on His sacred flesh!"
As burly followers dragged Park Sim-man out like a dog, hundreds gathered in advance let out a chorus of boos.
The followers lined up on both sides as if it were natural, slapping cheeks and spitting as Park Sim-man passed. Drowned in slaps and spit from all directions, he went half catatonic, forgetting to resist. Just moments ago enjoying Sharon pussy, now top dog to arch-traitor—major shock.
"W-wait... I'm your leader..."
"Eek! Sisters! He just eye-raped me!"
"Perverted scum! Where you staring with those eyes?!"
"The cross... the cross knows the truth."
"That demon-tongued fiend has lusted after countless sisters—his sins outweigh eons. Fry his tongue like green onion pancake!!"
"Right!"
"Right!"
Right my ass, you crazy fucks, Park Sim-man desperately held back the urge to scream, frantically rolling his eyes for his one ally to save him. He spotted the High Priest looking suspicious amid the crowd, but the man vanished before the plea. Regret hit—should've warned him sooner. Watching devotees fixate on his pain and death, he realized he was sinking into despair's swamp. Too late to escape.