The Value of Outdoor Cooking
One by one, my companions reached out and tapped me as I wore the black cap.
The only person whose face twisted in panic was Yui.
"No! Stop!"
Examinee Giselle has escaped the Tag Game.
"I-I'll give you as much money as you want! Name your price!"
Examinee Son Ocheon has escaped the Tag Game.
"Please don't leave me behind!"
Examinee Isabelle has escaped the Tag Game.
My companions cleared the game in rapid succession. Right beside them, Rockfell—the pathetic pushover of an NTR target—bowed deeply in silent gratitude before lightly tapping my shoulder.
Examinee Rockfell has escaped the Tag Game.
Her paralysis finally wearing off, Yui came stumbling forward in sheer desperation. Watching her scramble like a clown, I flashed a mocking smirk and patted my own chest.
Examinee Orknodi has escaped the Tag Game.
"Wait!"
"No way~"
You have removed the Black Cap.
The single-use qualification for Black Cap Instructor has expired.
The hat dissolved into motes of black mist that scattered across the air. With it dissolved Yui's venomous little schemes, along with her fragile hopes of passing the exam.
"Consider this Dorothy's payback," I chirped.
"Why are you doing this?!" Yui shrieked, veins bulging in her neck. "It's not like I ever did anything to you! She's just some worthless country bumpkin from the middle of nowhere! You could've just turned a blind eye and taken the cash!"
"Well, you see," I replied in my sweetest child voice, tilting my head, "if I have to spend my time at an academy, I'd much rather share a classroom with good kids than rotten ones."
In short: justice served.
I figured the reward would be something like that. But what on earth was a pint-sized little girl—not even close to an adult—supposed to do with favorability points from a male character? Above all else, my soul was that of an adult man. No matter how petite and fragile my current vessel was, the sheer thought of raising favorability with a dude and getting into romantic shenanigans made my stomach churn. Just imagining it gave me the creeps!
"Thank you for your help," Rockfell murmured, breaking the silence. "However... I must..."
"You're going to rescue Dorothy?"
Rockfell bowed his head low, unable to meet my eyes.
"I know full well I have no right to ask this after you saved my skin. It may sound shameless, but if you could allow me to postpone repaying this debt just a little longer..."
"It's fine."
"...Are you certain? In my home forest, I was known as the 'Fierce Beast of Gale.' If you had my blade at your side—"
"You couldn't even protect your own girl, so what kind of hot air are you blowing?" I scoffed. "Mister, you're the weakest one standing here."
"...Right," he whispered, shoulders slumping as if struck by a physical blow. "For someone who failed his closest friend to speak of strength is utterly hollow."
"If you get it, hurry up and get lost."
"Thank you. I will never forget this kindness."
He had no idea where Dorothy was, and the path ahead was undoubtedly teeming with other examinees waiting to ambush him. Whether Rockfell could pass this exam alive, let alone ever repay the favor, was anyone's guess.
"Hey, squirt," Son Ocheon rumbled, scratching his hairy chin. "Ain't you being a bit too soft-hearted with that fellow?"
"Doesn't matter. Whether he gets forgiven or not is Dorothy's call anyway."
Rockfell was the type of guy who would dig his own grave of misery and stew in self-loathing even if left completely alone. In the original plot, Yui would've walked away scot-free, married up, and lived comfortably without facing an ounce of karma. If letting Rockfell loose could make her suffer just a little more, cutting his leash was a small price to pay. It felt slightly like stepping onto Rockfell's NTR recovery route, but so long as I didn't feed him any affection, that route was dead in the water.
Not that Dorothy or I would ever take back a loser like that.
Besides, there was another practical reason.
"It's not like we're hurting for points, right?"
Every single one of us had comfortably cleared the qualifying threshold of fifty points. We had slipped free of all the tag game's restrictions, meaning there was zero incentive to waste stamina brawling with petty small-timers.
"So, what's for dinner?" I asked, looking up at our resident chef.
"Grilled mushrooms," Isabelle answered promptly.
"Sautéed in butter, of course," Giselle added with a shrewd grin, sliding a golden block of butter from his spatial magic backpack.
My mind was officially made up. If I ever had to date a guy in this world, Giselle had secured the number one seed.
Irene, daughter of the Northern Grand Duke, operated on an entirely different level compared to the sheltered noble daughters flooding the testing grounds.
"Ouch! Ugh, these brambles on the ground prick so much!"
"Don't even lean against that tree! The bark is coarse, and it snagged my dress—look, it tore right down the seam!"
"Wah! I don't even want to get into the Upper Class anymore! Can't I just forfeit and drop down to the Lower Class?"
All they had done was walk, jog, catch their breath, and rest under the shade. Yet the woods were already echoing with the pathetic groans of pampered young ladies. Watching their spoiled display, Irene couldn't help letting out a weary sigh. No wonder conspiracy theories about affirmative action quotas circulate every single year during admissions.
Did their families just buy their exam tickets on the black market? The sheer waste of coin made her stomach turn. If that fortune had been sent north instead, how many heavy fur coats could have warmed the freezing border garrisons? How many fresh, gleaming broadswords could have replaced the notched, rusted blades held by her frostbitten soldiers?
"U-Um, Lady Irene? Aren't you feeling hungry at all?"
"...Do not mind me."
One of the slightly more perceptive young ladies had spread a delicate blanket over a nearby boulder, mimicking Irene who sat cross-legged atop bare stone with only her traveler's cloak beneath her. The girl looked as if she wanted to join Irene in foraging for wild edible roots, but unfortunately for her, Irene had arrived prepared.
◈ A culinary weapon designed to destroy taste buds.
◈ Bereft of flavor; exists solely to pack maximal caloric density into minimal volume.
It was a block of dense, grayish paste resembling compressed sawdust. Irene let a dry morsel soften against her tongue with saliva before crunching down with stoic resolve, grinding it between her molars only when she could no longer bear the texture.
"Eeeek! P-Please, take my emergency snacks! Don't put yourself through such an awful meal!"
"I appreciate the sentiment, but no thank you."
"Please, I insist! Watching you chew that with a face like you're only eating to survive is physically painful to look at!"
How could she know whether that kindness masked a lethal dose of poison? Irene did not hand out trust easily. The memory was burned into her mind—the freezing frontier village in the Northland where hospitable settlers had served a piping hot feast, only to reveal themselves as fanatical agents of a vile demonic cult. Though fortune had preserved her life, half her unit had perished that bloody evening. From that day forward, she never accepted food offered by an outsider's hand.
She had learned firsthand that tasteless, miserable Type-A military rations were infinitely preferable to a poisoned banquet. Naturally, she doubted these naive socialite butterflies possessed the cunning to orchestrate an assassination, but trauma was not so easily reasoned with.
Besides, I'm used to awful food. It's not like the others are feasting on delicacies out here anyway.
These aristocratic heirs surely had gourmet travel preserves stamped with their family crests tucked in their luggage, but nobody would dare burn through such precious stores this early. In their bid to conserve rations, most were likely nibbling on whatever random wild greens and berries they could scrounge from the underbrush.
Bitter dandelion leaves.
Stinging nettles bristling with micro-thorns.
Buckthorn berries guaranteed to cause violent diarrhea.
Numbing, intensely astringent wild nutmeg.
It was almost comical watching them meticulously pick out the most inedible, revolting flora in the entire forest and share them like precious treats. Irene felt a surge of pride in her younger self for memorizing southern botany guides out of sheer paranoia. If only these young ladies spent half the time they waste on seasonal ballgowns and ballroom steps learning how to identify edible plants.
Compared to their forage, my combat rations are practically a victory.
Just as Irene took comfort in that thought, a rich, fragrant aroma drifted across the breeze, seizing her nostrils with merciless force.
Sniff. Sniff.
Unconsciously following the scent, she crept quietly through the trees until the distinct hiss of a hot skillet reached her ears.
Ssssszzzzz—
Mushrooms. Fat, earthy caps sizzling in a pan—and undeniably glazed in rich, melted butter.
That is completely unfair!
Here she was, choking down chalky survival paste like a dutiful soldier, while somebody nearby was enjoying a gourmet forest skillet that smelled like heaven itself! Tears of sheer indignation threatened to prick at the corners of her eyes, but Irene clenched her jaw and forced them down. A proud daughter of the Northern Grand Duke could never stoop to begging for table scraps.
"Lady Irene...?" The noble girl who had been tailing her whispered in disbelief. "Did you walk over here because you wanted some mushrooms?"
Though she had told herself she didn't care about the opinions of pampered weaklings, being caught red-handed sniffing around food was mortifying. Irene immediately feigned an expression of cold professionalism.
"I was merely scouting to ascertain which competitors have secured sustainable food sources."
"Aah... Truly remarkable, Lady Irene! Everyone else came sprinting over just because their stomachs were growling! The difference between common folk ruled by instinct and a truly rational commander like you is staggering!"
Does this girl have a future as an imperial sycophant? Irene wondered dryly. She certainly possessed an uncanny knack for flattery.
"In that case, you won't need to eat any, Milady!"
"...What do you mean by that?"
"The people over there said they're selling the grilled mushrooms for cash."
Irene froze. They're selling it?!
"A team with noble ladies among them wouldn't be doing it for pocket change, of course," the sycophant continued cheerfully. "They're probably charging a token fee to avoid wounding the pride of fellow nobles, so it doesn't look like an act of charity, right?"
"Is that so..."
"Well, since you're not going to partake anyway, none of that matters!"
"...Take this."
Irene reached into her enchanted pack, pulled out another brick of Type-A military rations, and thrust it into the girl's hands.
"L-Lady Irene...! To think you would share your precious rations with me... I'm so deeply touched!"
Irene had simply wanted the wicked creature who had slammed the door on her buttered mushrooms to experience equal culinary torment. Naturally, having observed the dead-eyed expression with which Irene had chewed that gray brick earlier, the girl showed zero intention of actually opening the wrapper. Perhaps after starving for seven days in a collapsed mine shaft, she might summon the courage to take a bite.
"Oh? Look over there. The little child from the mushroom team is walking this way."
Without military service, an ordinary civilian would never recognize the notorious silhouette of a Type-A survival brick. Yet for some reason, the smallest applicant in the entire cohort—the pint-sized blonde girl named Orknodi—was marching straight toward them with a horrified expression that clearly read: How can a living human being put something so wretched into their mouth?
The adorable little girl reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a small, brightly wrapped piece of candy.
Grab!
Before she could extend her hand, a muscular female cook and a hulking monkey beastman burst through the brush with panicked shrieks. They tackled Orknodi, clapping a hand over her mouth and physically dragging the flailing child away into the foliage like a team of frantic kidnappers.
"How awful..." the noble girl gasped beside her. "The poor child just wanted to share a sweet..."
That really is petty.
An inexplicable sense of grievance welled up in Irene's chest. She had a strict rule never to accept food from strangers, but having a treat waved in front of her face only to be violently yanked away left her feeling terribly, deeply wronged.