Chapter 31

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: penny

Chapter: 31

Chapter Title: The Mayor's Encouragement

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Finally, the fateful day dawned.

D-Day. Judgment Day. Festival Day.

Before opening time, a massive crowd had already gathered in front of Insimdang. Citizens properly hooked by my aggro.

Even various broadcasters had flocked in, making it perfect for the opening.

"Heh heh heh. Look, Seria. My perfect plan."

"Yes. You've succeeded in gathering people, at least. Probably on the same principle as flies swarming, though."

"That's what success is called! No matter the process, only the result matters! Well, in this case, the worse the result, the better! Anyway! Behold! This is my power, my charisma, my..."

"Be quiet, Mayor. Just watch silently."

We watched the scene happily from beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of the second-floor office.

Ding.

With the clock signaling noon, the door opened.

People poured into the shop with cheers.

They gasped in admiration at the beautiful breads Sugar Girl had made overnight.

"Insane... This is all bread?"

"I thought it was a jewelry store. Is it really okay to eat?"

"Look at this cake! It's like the Milky Way itself!"

They loaded trays full of bread, paid, and took big bites.

It was right then.

The world stopped.

At least, that's how it looked to me.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expressions of everyone chewing bread froze simultaneously, like a well-rehearsed play.

Brows furrowed, lips twitched, pupils shook.

One child spat out a macaron from his mom's hand and burst into tears.

A burly man dashed to the trash can mid-bite of his croissant.

A young woman glared at the cake slice she'd elegantly forked, her face in utter disbelief.

One single emotion rose on their faces.

Rage at the 'tastelessness'.

"What... What the hell is this taste?"

Starting with someone's mutter, the shop turned into pandemonium in an instant.

"Why does the bread taste like grandma's denture cleaner?"

"This croissant... It's like chewing wet straw. And it's soggy."

"Sweet, bitter, sour, salty, and... my tongue's going numb!"

"My money! My twelve thousand won!"

The furious citizens started hurling breads back onto the trays.

A few days later.

The world on the monitor was ablaze.

Blazing.

Absolutely blazing.

The flames of fury toward me, Lee Garam, were devouring the vast online plains.

Public opinion was plummeting worse than planned.

Approval ratings probably punching through the floor toward Earth's core.

My three-letter name was being torn to shreds amid all sorts of abuse and mockery.

Citizens' rage pierced the skies, impeachment buzz spreading like wildfire.

But.

Why.

"This sucks."

I'm not happy at all.

No, I'm pissed. Really pissed.

Why does this great journey toward my honorable(?) impeachment feel so gross?

Think about it. Yeah, this isn't the picture I wanted.

Aah. I get it.

This isn't the kind of failure I wanted.

Yes. Failures have their own class.

The failure I pursued was noble, elegant, infused with philosophical thought—a 'noble failure', so to speak.

The scenario I envisioned was to provoke 'cultural backlash against arrogant bread threatening rice'.

'How dare it insult Koreans' soul food, rice?'

'Wheat flour from the West daring to invade sacred rice territory!'

'The mayor ignoring tradition and shaking foundations—step down immediately!'

I wanted that kind of refined, philosophical criticism.

But what is this now?

'Taste terrorist.'

'Sewer poison alchemist.'

'Power to turn bread into food waste.'

Being treated like a lowlife scammer selling trash for money!

I'm not just some ordinary scammer! My failure isn't that cheap!

No class. No class at all.

My self-destruction must be art. A meticulously calculated aesthetic demolition.

This is just like stepping in dog shit on the street.

Dirty, smelly, nothing but humiliating.

Hurts my pride.

Even villains have villain pride.

But how, just how bad does it have to taste to get this reaction?

"I need to check it myself."

Seeing is believing. Tasting beats seeing.

The appearance was perfect. Croissant baked to appetizing golden perfection.

Nom nom.

"Urk... Gack... Urgh..."

I saw it.

The moment the bread piece hit my mouth, my consciousness transcended space-time, flying to the universe's edge.

Primordial chaos. All mixed in a cosmic mess.

Boundaries of existence and non-existence crumbling, all meaning and value vanishing into the void abyss.

My tongue witnessed the universe's end.

Cosmic horror of Big Bang and Big Crunch exploding in my mouth simultaneously.

Sweet, salty, sour, bitter, umami.

All tastes in existence chaotically writhing like amoebas, ravaging my senses.

[Cthulhu... fhtagn... R'lyeh... wgah'nagl...]

Unintelligible words echoed directly in my brain.

Something sticky and slimy coiled around my body.

Thousands of tentacles wrapped me, shaking my existence's core.

My mind grew hazy.

This is not food.

Forbidden knowledge one shouldn't comprehend.

Cosmic horror manifested as taste.

Formless terror in the shape of taste.

I'm getting messed up!

My taste buds...! My sanity...!

"Hahk... Hek... Haaaaahk!"

Everything's spinning.

Tongue's numb.

No, beyond numb. All my taste buds screaming in collective suicide on my tongue—horrific sensation.

Click.

Slither.

Seria, who had approached unnoticed.

"Mayor. Your face looks like a sewer rat that fell into the sewer. Is the bread from yesterday still brewing an elixir in your gut?"

She looked at me with her usual pathetic gaze.

"Reporting, Mayor. First analysis report on Insimdang's failure factors. First week's sales exceeded expectations, but revisit rate was 0.2%. Online negative sentiment at 98.7%, top keywords: 'tasteless', 'waste of money', 'scammed'."

"Failure? That's too violent a word! Isn't this just... an ongoing process or something?"

"What process justifies 98.4% of customers suspecting acute food poisoning, demanding refunds, and crashing the viewer complaint board with curses at you?"

"......"

"Your personal SNS is flooded with hate mentions like 'Did your tongue die?' and 'Stop messing with taxes'. Congratulations, Mayor. You've finally found a way to connect with the public. Though it's mostly one-sided hate."

That annoying mouth.

Spot on.

Too correct, which pisses me off even more.

"It's like someone defecated on my artwork! A blemish on my great scenario!"

"Oh, art. Your head must always be staging some unknowable avant-garde. Hard to understand world."

Seria subtly pushed a drink my way. Chamomile scent tickled my nose. Silent pressure to calm down.

"What do you think the cause is?"

Cause analysis.

Right, the cause. What is it?

Sugar Girl's ability is real. Her sugar and confections were artworks themselves. So why is the bread like this?

"Sugar Girl."

Seria answered without hesitation.

"She's the problem. Precisely, her artistic temperament."

"Artistic temperament?"

"Yes. Per the report, she ignores recipes entirely. Flour-sugar ratios, kneading time, fermentation temp—all decided by that day's 'mood' and 'inspiration'. Baking is science, Mayor. Not art. Handing science to an artist naturally yields industrial waste."

Indeed.

Plausible analysis.

That girl ranted about bread's greatness, yet ignored basics.

"Plus, she's a villain. Barely graduated middle school mandatory ed. Zero experience baking for sale. Sugar Girl isn't a trained patissier. She's a villain. Destroying cities is her specialty, not bakeries."

Ah.

Right.

Forgot that for a sec.

The partner I scouted wasn't a Michelin chef but a city-wrecking villain.

Her education: middle school grad. Baking: self-taught. Culinary knowledge: YouTube and comics.

My grand plan had fatal flaws from the start.

"...Gotta go see her."

I stood up.

Can't end my great impeachment project as 'food waste fiasco'.

For my honor. No, my pride, I must fix this.

"You're going yourself? Doesn't seem like something you stepping in will change."

"No. This is my issue. For completing my project."

Insimdang ()

Benevolent heart, hall.

Fascade like a fairy tale gingerbread house. Breads in the showcase were artworks each. Croissants like butterfly wings about to fly, scones sparkling like jewels.

But no customers inside.

Empty space filled only with sweet sugar scent... and heavy silence.

And at the silence's center, she was there.

Kitchen corner. Sugar Girl had dough on the board.

No, not just placed.

Thwack!

Punched it with small fist.

"Die..."

Curse leaked from her lips.

Streeetch—

Pulled cruelly with both hands.

"Die... just die...! You tasteless flour lump... useless thing...!"

Stabbed it!

Punched again!

"You idiot dough! Dumb dough! Why won't you do what I want! You useless flour lump!!"

Curse at the dough.

Oh dear.

Condition worse than thought.

Fully in menhera mode.

Approached her back as quietly as possible.

Leaned in, flicked tongue at her nape.

Lick.

"This taste...! Dark chocolate...!"

"......!"

Twitch.

Hm. This bitter-yet-sweet flavor. About 72% cacao dark chocolate.

"Stressed out, huh. Very bitter."

Normally, she'd scream here.

'Kyaaah! You perv! Crazy?! Why lick someone's nape!'

Fierce resistance and sugar punch incoming as standard.

But no reaction.

Just head down, shoulders trembling.

"......"

Not satisfying.

Reaction too lackluster.

Like flat cola. Soggy fried shrimp.

Banter basics: ping-pong. I throw WWE, opponent must slap back hard for the picture to complete.

"Why... why won't it go my way..."

She muttered.

"With my ability... I could make anything... just think and desserts popped from my hands..."

Ah.

What development is this?

Why is a patisserie kitchen so gloomy and damp when it should be sweet?

Menhera.

Truly incomprehensible. Brain structure seems from another dimension.

Positive and negative circuits directly wired, minor stimulus blows emotional fuse? Or emotion regulator is gluten-free weak durability.

"I... maybe I have no talent..."

Sugar Girl's voice soaked in tears.

"Superpower awakening... maybe just an excuse... I was doomed to fail anyway... blamed the world... resented people... that's why I became a villain..."

Tearful self-deprecation.

Tired repertoire now.

I stared at the dough she'd tormented.

Something off.

Color. Texture. Smell.

"You idiot? Why not use your ability!!"

Her shoulders jolted big.

"That's... um..."

"Sealing your strongest weapon to fight? Planning to be brave citizen A charging armed thugs barehanded?"

Sugar Girl mumbled without lifting head.

"People... might hate it... bread with my power... might feel gross... monster-made bread... no one would eat..."

Aah, indeed.

That was it.

Pathetic thinking.

I scoffed.

"So what if you're a monster?"

"...Huh?"

"If people hate it, what then? You're a villain anyway. Used to being hated. Now cosplaying good girl?"

Provocation.

Clear provocation.

But she doesn't need warm comfort now.

Cold reality check.

And grit to break through it.

"Your power is you. Denying it denies your whole life. The sweetness born from those hands is part of you. Bread without it can't taste good! Soulless bread!"

Tear-streaked Sugar Girl's face.

"You tormented people with your power, true. But not anymore. Now make them happy. Make the world smile with your sweets. That's the only path for villain Sugar Girl to rebirth as patissier Sugar Girl!"

"But... still... doesn't it feel... gross...?"

"Ha! Gross? Tasted great to me? Honestly, I like your power. Imagine the depth in bread. Drooling just thinking."

I grinned.

"Plus, you're cute. Monster? So what. Tasty cute monster gets everything forgiven."

"...C-cute... monster...?"

"People open wallets for cute monsters. That famous pocket monster game! All monsters, but cute so everyone catches 'em!"

Sugar Girl's eyes shook.

"Yes. Your power is your essence. Your personality. Bread's key recipe. Don't hide it. Flaunt it. Shout 'This is the world's sweetest bread by villain Sugar Girl!'"

She was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠silent long. Just stared blankly with teary eyes.

I wiped her flowing tears.

Tasted again.

Lick.

"Milk chocolate. Feeling better?"

Sugar Girl's face exploded raspberry candy red.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing! You perv mayor! Stop eating people's bodies without permission!"

That's it.

This reaction.

Sugar Girl shoved me away with flushed face, returned to the board.

Punched new dough vigorously.

Thwack!

But no more anger or sadness in the sound.

Hope. Passion. Confidence.

"Alright! You rice-for-brains mayor! Now I'll show you what Sugar Girl's bread really is!"