Only I Am in a Different Genre
“I’m delighted to see you again as well.”
“Hoho. Hearing you say so truly gladdens me. Shall we all take our seats?”
Once Lumiang settled into the gold-trimmed seat of honor, the male leads followed suit and sat down.
I could roughly guess why she had greeted only me and shown such open favor.
She meant to plant hope.
By doing so she would prove that victory remained possible, then make me crave and obsess over it all over again.
A clever way to drag a forfeiter back into the fight—yet unfortunately she had misread her opponent.
Deron smiled and spoke to me.
“Haha. So Young Master Elden already knew the great Grand Duchess. You might have given us a word of warning.”
A tone of reproach.
A tone meant to lash.
I was about to answer when Lumiang snatched the reply away.
“I merely spoke with him a moment because I was curious why he had declared forfeit. Pay it no mind.”
“Haha. Not at all. How could we mind? We were only surprised.”
Blunde jumped in at once, delivering an answer thick with flattery aimed at Lumiang.
The sycophancy that had once been reserved for Deron had simply transferred to her.
From now on it was a real contest with the rank insignia stripped off—for them, at least.
“Before we begin I have one thing to tell you. In this final evaluation there will be no evaluation team closely watching your every move.”
I already knew.
This was not the result of my forfeit declaration; it was the original plot, shaped by Lumiang’s own wish.
By removing the shackles of the evaluation team she encouraged free meetings among the candidates—meetings in which she hoped they would destroy themselves.
Everything that would happen from this point on would become rich fertilizer for the villains’ conflicts.
“I have no desire to watch you or restrain you for the sake of evaluation. What I want to see is your natural selves—your true selves.”
Lumiang put force into that word.
[TRUTH]
Of course the emphasis was audible only to someone who already knew the truth. The three regret-route candidates merely exchanged glances and nodded along.
From their point of view it was welcome news.
Collusion and alliances had just become possible—for mutual profit, of course.
“If that is the Grand Duchess’s will, then we shall naturally obey. From true selves, true meetings will begin.”
Kyle, who had been sparing with his words, bowed his head toward Lumiang as he spoke.
Blunde and Deron nodded in agreement.
The only person who did not fit into that amicable atmosphere was me.
Naturally.
A forfeiter was allowed that luxury.
It was Lumiang who had refused to accept my forfeit. I had no obligation to be drawn into her scheme, no reason to play along, and no idea why I even had to sit here. For me, watching from the sidelines was the correct choice.
I had no intention of becoming the appetizer for Lumiang’s hupijip over something I had never done.
“………”
Even if a peevish light flickered in Lumiang’s pupils, it could not be helped.
Even after she had shown me forbidden favoritism and goodwill, my lack of reaction left her no choice but to glare.
…Her gaze is rather piercing, though.
A sharp sting.
“Haha. Simply reaching this place is already an honor, Grand Duchess.”
“I am truly grateful that you would choose one so humble as myself, Grand Duchess.”
“Merely being granted an audience with the Grand Duchess feels like an extravagance beyond my station.”
“……”
The three regret-route candidates, whose faces behind those pure-white fox masks no one could guess and whose scars beneath those pure-white dresses no one could know, were pouring every effort into winning.
I had no intention of criticizing efforts born of ignorance.
It simply felt a little nauseating to watch the hypocrisy of men who had once tormented a woman half to death and free-ridden on her academic passion.
And someone was looking at me with that same nausea.
“…Is Young Master Elden always so taciturn? A man of such brilliant eloquence remaining silent is rather curious.”
At Lumiang’s question, Blunde leapt in at once.
“Haha. Young Master Elden must be quite tired today. Seeing him dare to spare his words even after an audience with the Grand Duchess, that is.”
“Indeed. Or do you need the help of some drink, my friend?”
“Hahaha. Or perhaps he is simply nervous.”
I was public enemy number one.
The hyenas that had lunged at the topic Lumiang tossed out tore at me, but their attacks, regrettably, inflicted damage that rounded to zero.
And they all seemed to have forgotten something.
Elden Raphelion was a forfeiter.
Well, in any case, three mouths had answered on my behalf, so I meant to keep my silence…
Until the amicable atmosphere shifted in an instant.
“…Would all of you kindly shut those mouths? I asked Young Master Elden.”
Lumiang’s voice, laced with anger, cracked the air.
The warm atmosphere of the grand hall sank into a chill.
Fury settled in Lumiang’s pupils.
She seemed thoroughly frustrated that things were not going her way, yet that changed nothing.
If anyone had the right to feel wronged, it was me.
Suddenly transmigrated into a hupijip—how could I not feel wronged?
I would not go so far as to complain, but I had no intention of being sliced up by Lumiang’s blade dance either.
“I simply remained silent because there seemed no opening for me to interject. Please do not be angry.”
A quiet sigh leaked from behind Lumiang’s mask.
“…Haa, I’m sorry. Something hasn’t been going well lately and I became oversensitive. Please understand.”
Knowing exactly what that “something” was, I accepted the polite apology.
“It’s all right.”
“Come to think of it, it is mealtime. I nearly committed the rudeness of keeping precious guests waiting.”
Everything until now had been a mere taste.
In the original work, Lumiang’s revenge began from the very first gathering.
The amicable atmosphere had only been the preliminary skirmish for that; once the meal started, the mood would turn as desolate as a barren desert.
“I prepared this meal myself. Custom dishes tailored to each of your tastes.”
“Ohhh, the Grand Duchess herself, you say?”
“Haha. This is far too precious a dish; it almost feels a waste to eat it.”
“My mouth is already watering.”
A sly smile.
I knew Lumiang was smiling behind that pure-white fox mask.
The meal that was about to begin—the true start of the hupijip—was nothing less than returning, exactly and completely, everything she had suffered at the Royal Academy.
“Hohoho, you may look forward to it.”
A short while later, plates of food were set before each of us.
Still covered by iron lids.
The hupijip had begun.
“I can hardly wait to open the lid, Grand Duchess.”
“My mouth is already watering with anticipation.”
“Haa, please grant us permission to open them. I never imagined you would tease us so cruelly.”
The three candidates, still ignorant of what lay inside, poured out praise without even wetting their lips.
Lumiang seemed pleased and laughed softly.
“I must introduce the dishes as well, so we shall open them one by one. Shall we start with Young Master Deron?”
“Haha. An honor.”
Grab.
Deron seized the handle of the lid.
Every eye fixed on him.
Even Lumiang’s pupils behind the mask.
“Then I shall open it.”
Apparently delighted at being chosen first, Deron lifted the lid with a broad smile.
Extreme shock flooded that bright expression a heartbeat later.
“……!”
The dish resting on the plate.
It was the “Roasted Cotebo Foreleg” Lumiang had prepared for Deron Kellid, who loathed amphibians.
The foreleg of a Cotebo—a giant frog-type monster—roasted whole, shape and all.
As I had mentioned before, monster meat was considered base, low-class fare.
Moreover, a dish that retained its original form rather than being neatly filleted was more than enough to provoke revulsion—and more than enough to make Deron’s face curdle.
“Hoho. I tried this once long ago and found it truly delicious. Why? Does Young Master Deron not care for it?”
“Ah……, ha, haha. Of course not. I was merely admiring the effort of the Grand Duchess who prepared it with her own hands.”
“Hohoho. I’m so glad you like it. Then, shall Young Master Blunde open his next?”
“Ah, y-yes.”
Still frozen by the shocking dish, Blunde stammered as he gripped the lid handle.
Moments later he too wore an expression nearly identical to Deron’s.
For the man who loathed repulsive insects…
“For Young Master Blunde I prepared ‘Half-Worm Stir-Fry.’ The texture that bursts the moment you bite is superb. It will be delicious, won’t it?”
“Ah… i-it looks delicious……”
Named for its red upper half and black lower half, the Half-Worm was also as thick as a thumb and came in gaudy colors that looked anything but edible. A monster.
Blunde’s face drained of color; he shuddered once as if goosebumps had risen all over him.
Then, when Kyle—who suffered from ornithophobia—beheld the roasted wings of the bat-type monster “Black Bat,” the hall filled with despair.
“Hoho. These are the roasted wings of a Black Bat. Delicious, no? There isn’t much meat, but picking it off the bones is half the fun.”
Only Lumiang’s voice broke the silence.
Shocking ingredients on every plate.
Dishes that could rightfully be called grotesque cuisine.
Deron’s, Blunde’s, and Kyle’s faces had turned deathly pale. Surveying them all, Lumiang delivered the finishing blow.
“You will all eat heartily, won’t you? I’ve always rather liked a man who can enjoy anything.”
She yanked the noose tight so they could not escape.
A clear threat: if you want to catch my eye, clean your plates.
That ominous gaze then landed on me.
“Lastly… would Young Master Elden open his lid?”
An ominous light mixed with expectation flung a noose my way as well.
Of course the noose would never tighten around me, so I calmly took hold of the handle.
I knew exactly what lay beneath.
And I knew it would provoke extreme revulsion in the original Elden Raphelion.
Without hesitation I lifted the lid.
“How is it, Young Master Elden?”
“……”
Resting on the plate was the leg of a pig-type monster, the Red Longer.
A whole roasted pork leg complete with hoof.
And not just any roast—carefully smoked until the meat was thick and rich.
Looking down at the plump roasted whole leg of Red Longer, I recalled the jokbal I had always hesitated to order because of the price. That was simply the lingering sorrow of past days.
The chewy texture and savory juices rose in my mind and saliva flooded my mouth of its own accord.
Gulp.
Looks delicious.
Lumiang intended to repay, exactly, every hellish thing these men had done to her.
Unfortunately for her, to Lee Junuw—who had always only been able to swallow his spit while staring at photos of whole jokbal—this was not food torture but pure culinary pleasure.
Of course it was a roasted whole leg rather than boiled jokbal, yet it was more than enough to set the salivary glands roaring.
“It looks truly appetizing.”
Thick bewilderment flooded the pupils of Lumiang, who had clearly expected the villain Elden’s horror.
“…What?”
And when I covered the food again with the iron lid I had lifted, that bewilderment began to amplify.
I addressed her with perfect courtesy.
“However, eating this dish would seem to cast doubt on the sincerity of my forfeit declaration. Regrettably, I must therefore decline with all due respect.”
“…What?”
“I will gratefully accept only the Grand Duchess’s kind intentions.”
No matter how vast the gap between a grand ducal house and a baronial one, society was neither so harsh nor so bloodthirsty that one could not refuse even once.
As long as the justification was sound and the logic polished, there would be no problem.
Especially since I was a “forfeiter” forced into this seat against my will.
From the moment I declared forfeit, Lumiang was the one left wanting.
“…Then I won’t misunderstand. Won’t you at least take one bite?”
Hmm.
If the heroine herself begged so earnestly, one bite should be fine.
I had even extracted a promise that she would not misunderstand.
“Urgh.”
“Eugh.”
“Hwek.”
The three regret-route candidates gagged even as they forced the repulsive food into their mouths, desperate to become Lumiang’s husband.
Matching their flow just once would not hurt.
I picked up the jokbal—no, the roasted whole Red Longer leg—and tore off a large bite.
My brow furrowed.
My breath stopped.
My eyes narrowed and grew moist.
It felt as though a Red Longer that had been frolicking across a green meadow under a clear blue sky had stopped, winked at me, then raised one hoof in a thumbs-up.
Insane…. Why does this taste so good?
The meat could have been a little dry, yet the savory aroma was so deep that saliva exploded, and the rich juices that spread with every chew were flawless, without a single hint of gameiness.
I wanted nothing more than to tear into it until only bare bone remained, but I soothed the regret and set the leg down.
“How… is it, Young Master Elden?”
These dishes had not been prepared with the help of the grand duchy’s chefs; she had made them with her own hands.
For the sake of her sincerity and labor I ought to have at least gagged like the three regret-route candidates, yet as I had said earlier, Plan B was simply to show things as they were.
Therefore—
“It melted in my mouth. Your skill is excellent, Grand Duchess.”
I delivered the true answer she had repeatedly emphasized.
Whether turmoil rose in Lumiang’s blue pupils was none of my concern.
She had asked to see my true self, so I had shown it.
It tasted good, so I said it tasted good.
Incidentally, I had never known from the original that the heroine’s cooking skill was quite this outstanding.
I had heard monster cuisine was extremely difficult to bring out properly.
“Urgh.”
“Hurgh.”
“Guh.”
Hmm……
Whether it was roasted Cotebo foreleg, Half-Worm stir-fry, or Black Bat wing roast, every single one looked delicious to me.
Was my palate… simply bizarre?
Who could say.
Growl.
I’m hungry.