Limited Time Only

Limited time only. What seductive words. I don't even know what it is, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but it feels like something I have to buy right now. Are you really going to miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance, you fool? It's not coming back if you don't act now? The devil's whisper, tempting you. A marketing ploy that preys on people's primal anxieties, drawing them in. Truly devilish.

"Okay, ramen noodles go over here! Be careful with the eggs—they break easily!"

"Utensils can go in that pile over there!"

"Space the tables out nicely!"

This spot was just outside Harten village—right near the entrance, to be precise. The Berry Merchant Group's crew, who'd arrived a step behind Dapam, were bustling about. There wasn't enough space inside the village for a proper shop, so they'd set up out here instead. Even better. Anyone heading into Harten would have to pass right by the restaurant.

Crunch!

"Timber! Get out of the way!"

"Whoa! Hey, Tteoksoon-i! Warn a guy ahead of time!"

"Hehe, sorry. Ma'am—er, Lady Molrangkau."

"My apologies on her behalf, ma'am—er, Lady Molrangkau."

"...You two are doing that on purpose."

"Heh heh heh."

"Hee hee hee."

I nodded as I watched the outdoor eatery taking shape. Just like before, we'd keep it simple—enough tables and chairs for people to sit and eat comfortably. Luckily, the Berry Merchant Group had rented us tables and chairs at a bargain price. No need for a tent in this cold region; it wouldn't rain anyway. Snow would actually be a bonus. Nice ambiance.

"Hmm... Limited time only..."

I rubbed my lips, finalizing my thoughts. Companies didn't advertise "not every day~" for nothing. It was damn effective. Stick up flyers saying "closing end of the month," and crowds swarm like clouds. I'd do the same. But unlike those shops that drag it out into next year, I was dead serious: just seven days.

No half-measures. Short and intense! Pin it down to a hard deadline ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and maximize the hype. Make 'em itch so bad they can't wait. Just seven days! Not eight, not nine—seven!

Boldly announce the limit and open shop. Food-craving folks would come rushing like their feet were on fire.

"......"

I glanced at Dapam, collapsed under a distant table. He twitched now and then—still alive, at least. Despite everyone's warnings, he'd scarfed down three bowls of ramen in a row, spewed fire from his mouth, and gone down heroically.

Sigh. Told him to quit while he was ahead. Tsk tsk.

As I shook my head at the wriggling merchant, Molrangkau approached.

"Hura."

She was in her disguise spell, naturally.

"Magic circle's all set. Take a look."

"Oh, yeah?"

I looked up at the sky on her cue.

Whoosh!

High above, fiery letters blazed in brilliant display, filling the heavens.

"...Isn't it a bit big?"

"You said bigger the better."

"Yeah. Perfect. Even visible from Yuten village."

The world's largest, flashiest sign. The message burning below it was simple. Short slogans worked best, after all.

I stood up. Looked like we were just about ready.

"Alright, let's get this started."

Time to open for business.

"Heh heh heh..."

Molrangkau eyed me with clear disapproval.

"...Villain."

"Mmm! Knew I made the right call coming here."

This was the Log Cabin Smile inn in Yuten village—the very place where the Crying Priest and Hura had nearly stayed.

An elderly gentleman muttered to himself as he ate.

"Just as the rumors said."

Myeongran Jeot Konan, member of the Gourmet Association and known as a restaurant hunter, savored his meal with endless admiration. It'd been ages since he'd had such a satisfying bite.

The bearded innkeeper's dishes were top-notch. True to its reputation as one of the north's top ten, it exceeded expectations.

"Sir, how's the food?"

The bushy-bearded owner brought out another dish and asked.

Myeongran Jeot Konan gave a thumbs-up without hesitation.

"The best!"

The owner beamed.

"Honestly, not top ten—top three, even."

"Haha, thank you."

"Another beer, please."

"Right away."

The bearded owner shuffled back to the kitchen, grinning ear to ear.

"One fresh draft! Ice cold!"

"Yes, sir!"

"I'll bring it myself!"

"Got it!"

He whistled happily while waiting for his beer.

Yep. Those other guests were the weird ones.

The owner took immense pride in his daughter, the inn's head chef. His hobby? Asking diners how the food tasted. Every single one smiled and said "delicious." Seeing those smiles was his sole joy.

But not everyone smiled like that.

He recalled the group from a few days back: a hulking hunter with a massive harpoon, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his slimmer silent partner, and a man and woman in black suits.

As usual, he'd asked how the food was. The rote "delicious" came back. But their faces? Not so much. Especially the suited pair—pouting as they poked at his prized chef's dishes. It shocked him deeply.

The pro in him kept a straight face, but it gnawed at him.

Now, though, he was over the moon.

Even a renowned gourmet raves like this. Those guests must've had weird tastes. No way my daughter's cooking falls short. It's the best. Has to be.

People obsess over one bad review more than a hundred praises. He'd fretted if his pride and joy—the inn's signature cuisine—wasn't all that. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But Myeongran Jeot Konan's genuine praise melted it away.

The owner brought the frosty draft with a grin.

"Fresh beer, chilled to perfection!"

"Set it here."

"On the house."

"Pardon? Free?"

"You enjoyed it so much."

"Aigoo, thank you."

"Thank you. Enjoy!"

Myeongran Jeot Konan sipped his beer with a smile.

Warm hospitality from the owner, too.

"Heard the rumor?"

As he quenched his throat and ate on, chatter from the next table drifted over. Merchants, by the look.

Inns were hubs for gossip. Myeongran Jeot Konan perked up his ears—might catch something good he missed.

"Heard there's an insanely tasty new spot in Harten?"

"Harten? Why open a restaurant in such a remote dump?"

"Who knows. Eccentrics pop up sometimes."

"Heh, come if you dare, huh."

Intriguing. Oh ho. Eccentric's just another word for genius.

Myeongran Jeot Konan leaned in unconsciously.

"Weirder part: everyone's bawling their eyes out after eating."

"Why?"

"Some say too spicy, others nostalgia. But all agree: haven't had anything this good in ages."

"Hmm... no ordinary grub. What's on the menu?"

"Homemade fire ramen, they say."

"That skilled? Who's the chef?"

"Name... too long, forgot."

The merchants' talk cut off abruptly.

Huh? Why stop?

"Uh..."

They stared at him. Myeongran Jeot Konan realized he was half-sprawled in mid-air.

"Ah, sorry. Side cramp—stretching. Yeah."

"......"

"......"

"Ahem. Carry on."

He sat properly and resumed eating. The merchants picked up.

"Sounds too good. Gotta try it sometime."

"If you want it, go now."

"Why?"

"Owner says seven days only. Ironclad."

"What? Really?"

"Told ya, eccentric. Might shutter tomorrow."

"What?!"

Myeongran Jeot Konan shot up.

"You should've led with that!"

"...Pardon?"

The merchants gawked blankly.

"Innkeeper! Bill!"

The bearded owner hurried out, wiping his apron.

"The check?"

"Yes! Quick!"

"Er... you left a lot. To-go?"

"No need. Emergency. Just the bill!"

"Ah, okay."

The owner finished up and watched Myeongran Jeot Konan bolt in a daze.

"Aigoo. Shouldn't have said anything."

"Yeah. Finish eating at least."

The owner asked the merchants.

"Any idea why he dashed off?"

"Talking about the new Harten spot. He overheard."

"...I see."

The owner eyed the abandoned food.

...Why does it remind me of those guests?

They'd poked at his daughter's cooking too, left tons behind—like they'd tasted far better.

His mood soured. He cleared the table forlornly.

…….

"Huff—pant... there it is."

Panting heavily, Myeongran Jeot Konan reached the north gate out of the village.

He looked up. A sign blazed into view—far flashier and bigger than any he'd seen.

"...That!"

Sleek—only the essentials. Confidence in the food, or you couldn't pull it off.

His restaurant hunter's instinct screamed: jackpot spot. Don't miss it.

Plenty of folks trudged toward Harten, mesmerized by the fiery sign.

"Outta my way!"

With ramen-fueled zeal, Myeongran Jeot Konan swung his staff like lightning, charging through the fierce blizzard nonstop.

KABOOM!

"Get lost!"

Yelp!

Stout monsters guarded the path to Harten, but none could stop the food-blinded old man.

Finally, the massive ice wall zone. A passage cleaved through the center.

-Pretty sturdy. Who busted this?

-Village NPCs said the Crying Priest took down the Ice Devil.

-Probably her.

"Move! Outta the way!"

But that wasn't his concern.

"Raaagh! Nothing blocks my path!!"

Battered and bruised, he arrived at the restaurant.

"Huff—pant—gasp..."

"Welcome."

A black-haired waiter in crisp black suit greeted him politely.

"F-fire ramen. One."

"Yes, sir. 3 silver."

"Here."

"This way to your seat."

Even with the abrupt order, the waiter calmly led him.

Crunch—crunch—

To a table amid the vast white snowfield.

"Food will be out shortly."

"Ah, yes."

"Enjoy."

The waiter's impeccable etiquette—perfect angles, flawless manners—left Myeongran Jeot Konan stunned. Service like high-end fine dining, in this remote mountain hamlet?

He scanned the surroundings from his seat. The pristine snowscape felt otherworldly, like dining among stars.

"Whew... stunning view."

Not crowded yet, thanks to his haste. Tables floated like islands on the snow, evoking meals on clouds.

"Wasn't Harten supposed to have eternal blizzards year-round?"

Yet now, only gentle breezes cooled his sweat. Perfect etiquette plus surreal scenery brewed a mystical vibe. Like stepping into a fairy tale. Or someone's dream.

No ornate indoor grandeur—just open sky outdoors. But infinitely more enchanting.

"Ahh—even the fanciest decor can't rival nature's beauty."

Enlightenment flickered through his mind. He marveled at the mystery chef's artistic flair.

Before it slipped away, he whipped out his notebook and jotted it down.

"Your order."

This time, a black-haired waitress in black suit brought a silver pot. Silver pot in this luxe setup? The mismatch amused him into a smile.

"Opening the lid now."

"......!"

But his grin vanished the instant she lifted it.

"...Gulp."

The pot's aggressive aroma assaulted his senses like a brutal punch.

"Enjoy your meal."

The waitress bowed gracefully and withdrew, but he barely registered it. Eyes locked on the ramen.

Crimson broth like molten lava. Glossy yellow noodles coiled moistly within. A dainty egg perched atop. Scattered green onions finely chopped.

With trembling hands, Myeongran Jeot Konan gingerly picked up his chopsticks.