Chicken and Soda: Better Than Sex
That bastard wasn't joking when he said I should major in history.
Savory, salty fried chicken paired with sweet, fizzy carbonated soda. Even in the Joseon era, this combo was unbeatable.
"Hah!" Crunch! "Gulp gulp gulp!" Fizzzz…! "Ahh!"
Having lived two lives, I can tell you: this is sex. How dare anyone compare it to crudely rubbing genitals together?
Chicken leg in one hand, Ramunae bottle in the other. I alternated bites left and right, maintaining perfect political neutrality as I filled my belly.
"Son!"
It was commonplace in the modern world, but not here in Joseon. Mom, who'd been frying chicken with a pleased smile, now glared at me sternly.
"Eat properly! What kind of manners is that while stuffing your face? Show some decorum!"
"Got it, Mom. I'll eat right."
The king himself had sent it down—it was just a drink. What manners? Ah, wait—this was from King Sejong! Made for me to eat! So yeah, eating it with both hands was appropriate. Hell, maybe I should use my feet too.
Of course, I had no intention of actually chowing down on Ramunae on all fours. It'd be uncomfortable, dirty, and I couldn't let the Hwacheok villagers see me like that.
"Aigoo! Tiger-slaying Boy! I'll eat well!"
"Ma'am! We'll handle the frying! Go join the young master."
"How could I make a guest fry chicken?"
A country kid had won an award from the king in Hanyang. No way were they letting that slide. As you can see, the Hwacheok villagers were gathered in our courtyard, frying up chicken.
"…."
Eori snuck up on me as I indulged in my chicken-soda bliss—or rather, my second round of sex. She climbed onto the porch but didn't enter my room.
"Um. M-Master."
"…."
"B-Brother—n-no, O-Oppa."
"Eh? Eori! You too? Come on in and have some chicken. Even after you smacked my head."
"Eeeeng…!"
She made that pouty face at the slightest tease. Thinking of how much she'd suffered over petty things like this, I beckoned her over.
"Eori. Come here. Quick."
"Y-Yes. B-But, Oppa. I-I'm s-sorry…!"
"Sorry? For what?"
"Eeeeng…!"
"No, wait. Here, Eori. Try this. It's delicious."
Pretending not to know only made her think I was teasing, so tears welled up. Before they could spill from those big eyes, I tore off a piece of chicken and held it out.
"…Hah."
Eori sat beside me and took the chicken, munching away with her teary face. It warmed my heart seeing her chew so earnestly.
"There you go. Good girl. Tasty?"
"Y-Yes…! D-Delicious, sir…!"
"Yeah? This is good too. Want some?"
"Y-Yes…!"
This time, with a nasally whine, she took the Ramunae bottle. Watching her press it to her lips and drink, I suddenly realized.
"Whoa! Hold up!"
"Y-Yes?"
"Nah, never mind. You drink it."
I'd remembered I'd already drunk from it, but seeing her so nonchalant hit me with reality. Whatever, I brushed it off. I'm not some kid obsessing over an indirect kiss…!
Gulp gulp gulp.
Meanwhile, Eori drank straight from the bottle just like I had. She clearly had no concept of indirect kisses either.
"Phew…! M-Master. M-More meat…!"
"Huh? Sure. Here."
"Hah. Hee hee hee hee."
After rinsing her mouth with sweet, fizzy soda, Eori dove back into the salty, savory chicken. Her face was oddly flushed. From the earlier tears? Anyway, she should be fine, right?
I fed her bites now and then while eating myself, my mind drifting to earlier events.
Han Myeong-hoe, who'd taken the rice and Ramunae from me, slunk off like his business was done—or like his curiosity about me had vanished.
Apparently, the Crown Prince's orders regarding me were just the Sphinx riddle and nothing else.
Crown Prince. Crown Prince… What the hell was that guy thinking, picking Han Myeong-hoe of all people?
That bastard Han Myeong-hoe better be doing a good job. He can't go taking bribes like last time.
Even as I ate, thoughts of him soured my appetite. But no one else was as suitable to send. He was competent at his job, famous enough that most modern folks would know him, and sharp at seeing through lies.
Han Myeong-hoe would spot right away if that kid recognized him. That'd confirm the kid was a modern reincarnate.
Han Myeong-hoe himself was a kind of test. The Sphinx riddle was the verification.
If they solved it, we'd assume they wanted out and bring them to Hanyang. If not, they'd stay put.
Personally, I'd love one more modern soul here, but I wouldn't ignore their wishes. Especially if they were a stranger.
"Hrm. Prepare to head to the Military Armory."
Lost in thoughts of Han Myeong-hoe, I wondered if those guys were working well. No appetite left anyway, so I stood.
Like any Joseonite without dentists, I brushed thoroughly before heading out.
"…!"
"…!"
Even as dusk fell, light and activity leaked from the Military Armory. The engineers were hard at it, just as I'd hoped.
"Court Lady Kim. Wait a moment."
I stopped the eunuch announcing me and crept quietly to the building door. Grumbling voices filtered through the crack.
"Haa, fuck. That bastard wasn't joking when he said I should major in history."
"It's all your fault."
"Why me? You're the one who teased that history majors only fact-check artifacts at the Bureau of Royal Rites."
"You ragged on him hard when he said he was going to grad school, you prick."
Hearing them trash-talk me behind my back didn't bother me at all. It made me happy. The guys who'd mocked me back home about what I'd eat for a living were now working for me.
"Ahem! Hem!"
"!"
"!"
A loud fake cough cut off the griping. Beaming, I threw open the door myself.
"So, how's the work progressing?"
"Your Highness the Crown Prince! We've been waiting!"
"Accept our bows, Your Highness!"
The same bastards who'd been ripping into me moments ago—Chief Inventor Jang Yong-sil and Engineer Choe Gong-son—hurled themselves into bows.
Suppressing a big laugh, I told the eunuch,
"Court Lady Kim. Step out for a bit."
"Your Highness. How can you speak of meeting alone with His Majesty's officials?"
"It's not alone. Can't you see there are two here?"
"It cannot be allowed, Your Highness."
"Hey! Out with you now!"
"My apologies, Your Highness."
If you're sorry, don't make me sorry—yet Court Lady Kim didn't budge. In the end, I had to chat with my high school buddies in historical drama speak.
"Hrm. So, how fares the work?"
"Our deepest apologies, Your Highness!"
"To what stage has it progressed?"
"Our deepest apologies, Your Highness!"
"Do you all wish to avoid dismissal?"
"Apologies—we remain at your service, Your Highness!"
Chief Inventor Jang Yong-sil swiftly proffered blueprints. A mechanical engineering grad on the cusp of a defense firm job back home, he was helpless before me, the history grad, here in Joseon.
"Hrmm. Will it function properly?"
"We cannot yet say, Your Highness."
Chemistry grad Choe Gong-son, prepping for civil service, was in a similar boat. He stood beside me, pointing out blueprint details.
"Chief Inventor Jang claims this section is thick enough to withstand pressure, but I lack confidence."
"How dare you question its reliability?"
Chief Inventor Jang bristled.
"My design is flawless. Engineer Choe handles gunpowder daily and may not grasp it. I understand."
"Hohoho. Did fiddling with powder earlier make you eat some and go mad? How dare a commoner speak so boldly to a rank 3 noble."
"I see well how Engineer Choe reached rank 3 despite his skills—thanks to a fine grandfather and father, no doubt."
"Hohoho. Your Highness, may I speak with this fool alone?"
"Oh? Engineer Choe reads my mind so well. Your Highness, pray do not refuse my plea."
These two had the same bad blood in Joseon or modern times. Despite the two-year age gap and rank difference here, they bickered without a care, reminding me of high school. It felt good.
"Hahaha. No need to quarrel so."
I set the blueprints—gibberish even after studying history—on the desk. Then I eyed the muskets on the wall.
Matchlock muskets, ignited by touching a lit cord to the pan. Lower misfire rate than flintlocks, supplied to infantry.
Flintlock muskets, with flint and steel in the lock. No cord to snuff out, given to mobile cavalry.
Of course, new weapons alone don't make a strong army. Iron discipline, endless drills, and massive funds do.
The powder they'd burned in training alone exceeded 60% of the nation's, including Indian saltpeter. Other costs went without saying.
Rumors said Treasury Minister Hwang Chi-sin and his crew were dying squeezing budgets. But no choice.
Time was short for us. In original history, over five years remained, but our meddling accelerated King Jin's rampage.
Thus, the incident where he became the culprit hastened too.
The Coup of Tumu. The unprecedented capture of the Ming Emperor.
We were pouring massive Joseon funds into preparing for that—to rescue the Ming Emperor and seize Beijing.