The Statue and the Chicken
An ordinary angel statue and fried chicken. However you heard it, that was an awkward pairing. A statue wasn't a living thing, so it couldn't eat food—and fried chicken was, well, food.
Then again, this was no longer a world where common sense held any authority. People crossed over from other worlds; monsters did the same and got up to all kinds of bizarre business. On top of that, this was a place overflowing with technologies I had never even imagined.
...Though if I started lecturing anyone about common sense, I might not have much of a conscience left to stand on. From this world's point of view, I was the strange one—using my powers while plastered in mana restraints. No, wait: Helena went bang-bang with a gun that didn't even need bullets. We were plenty outside the bounds of common sense ourselves. Ah, though I wasn't human, of course.
In a world like that, there was no reason a food-eating stone statue couldn't exist. Hmm—but did that mean it actually went in through the mouth? I doubted whoever had carved it had bothered to include an esophagus, let alone a full set of digestive organs. Anyway, if it was going out of its way to offer me a drumstick, there was no reason to turn it down. So I promptly opened my mouth.
"Aaah."
The statue flinched and yanked the bag back. Having second thoughts now that it actually had to surrender a drumstick? Was it about to haggle me down to a wing, or some breast meat, or maybe a neck? Not that I had any right to complain. I hadn't even ordered this chicken. Just getting a free bite was something to be grateful for.
But a mischievous impulse took hold. After all, the statue was the one sneaking fried chicken in secret. That meant I still had the upper hand.
"What's this? Why are you trying to run away?"
"I thought you were about to fire a destruction beam from your mouth."
"That's so mean! I was only getting ready to receive an offering so I could overlook the possibility that you might have eaten something."
"Ah—I'm sorry. Are you perhaps unable to use your hands because you're tied up?"
"Well, something like that. And I can hardly pick it up with my feet to eat it, either."
"Then I suppose I'll have to feed it to you."
There had been a tiny misunderstanding, but I had successfully concluded negotiations with the stone statue. I would get a drumstick without lifting a finger, and the statue would have peace of mind. A deal where both sides came out ahead.
Even with the bag still closed, that distinctive savory fried aroma was already drifting out. The statue spun its head a full three hundred and sixty degrees to check the surroundings, then opened the bag—and that fantastically sinful smell hit me in full. A coating of flour batter, built to drink up the oil. Then plunged into bubbling-hot grease until it fried up shatteringly crisp. Look at that: even the crust was gold. Sink your teeth through that crunchy shell, excavate the juice-laden meat buried inside, and take one big bite, and you would be happy. You just would.
Of course, it paled a little next to the light that shone in Helena's eyes when she fought, or the trail of her bullets. Still, people didn't call fried chicken golden for nothing. The value of fried chicken was eternal and immortal.
I opened my mouth and waited for the statue to pick up a drumstick and hold it out. For the briefest moment, I remembered the villa guidebook's warning about being careful when interacting with the other residents. But there hadn't been a single word about a moving stone statue, had there? So it was fine. I flung that flicker of suspicion far, far away.
I tore off a bite of chicken, and the flavor filled my mouth exactly as I had imagined. First came that signature fried crunch and savoriness. Then the meat, torn away with the crust, showed off its chew with every bite and generously sprayed its juices. And even though this was fried chicken, they must have seasoned the meat a little beforehand. A modest saltiness, and a very intense heat...?
"Mmph, mm... mmph?"
The instant I registered it, my tongue started screaming bloody murder straight into my brain. This chicken was spicy.
"Ssss, heh, haah—w-why is this so spicy...? Is this even fried chicken...?"
I couldn't spit it out, so I forced myself to chew and swallow. No matter how well the greasy crust was supposed to rinse away a tingling burn, the atmosphere of war that had already swept through my mouth was in no hurry to settle. How could fried chicken be spicy? Shouldn't it have been called seasoned chicken, or spicy chicken, or something like that? Don't tell me this was that fire-chicken thing that used to be all the rage.
I wanted nothing more than to clap a hand over my mouth and pant until I could catch my breath. But I was tied up, so I couldn't. I had no choice but to rub my legs together and twist my body this way and that, and the statue tilted its head and asked—
"It's... spicy?"
"It's waaay too spicy! How can fried chicken be this hot? Uuugh, I just swallowed it and my tongue is still tingling..."
"The chicken is brined, yes, but I never imagined it would be this spicy. So you won't have any more of what's left?"
"I can't... Hngh. It's actually really good. The crunch, the savoriness, all of it is great—and I still can't eat any more."
This was probably my punishment for trying to eat chicken alone behind Helena and Yegyeong's backs. If I had eaten it with the two of them, Yegyeong would have warned me from the start that fried chicken could be this spicy. This was what I got for snatching up someone else's offering so readily. That was why you weren't supposed to just take food from strangers. The adults in my previous life hadn't taught children that for nothing.
Apparently putting the drumstick I had already bitten back into the box felt a bit off, because the statue promptly stuffed the rest of it into its own mouth right then and there. When that stone mouth opened, you could see the musculature in the gap—a little grotesque, honestly. But this was a kind person... no, a kind statue, who had offered me a drumstick so quickly because it didn't want to get caught eating chicken. Judging it as creepy based on looks alone would have been wrong. Hngh. My drumstick.
It hadn't been mine to begin with—the statue had brought it. Anyway, watching enviously as the statue pulled the drumstick from its mouth with a pop, the batter and meat and cartilage all gone, nothing left but bone, wasn't going to do me any good. I might as well ask what I had been wondering from the start.
"So why are you sneaking chicken in? Are late-night snacks not allowed here?"
I hadn't seen anything like that when I read the guidebook. I wondered if there might be some other hidden gimmick. Maybe if you got caught eating chicken at home, someone from another unit would smash through the wall. Or a parrot and a hamster would crash through the window, declare that this chicken was theirs now, and make off with it. Something spectacular like that. There had been a Notice Number Four that said they would kidnap you if you didn't watch a movie with them. Compared to that, this would have been perfectly within the realm of common sense.
"Well... I'm on a diet. If my trainer catches me, I'll get scolded."
"Eh."
The words that came from the statue were deeply disappointing. I had thought maybe chicken, or late-night snacks, were taboo—that some enormous conspiracy was lurking underneath. A diet? Really? Well, a stone statue trying to lose weight was plenty bizarre in its own right. But for someone who had been expecting a ghost story or some kind of mystery, it was a complete letdown.
Still, it wasn't entirely without interest. If the problem was putting on weight, wouldn't becoming a beautiful girl solve it? More beautiful girls in the world was always a joy.
"I think I can solve that for you. I just need to take the weight off, right?"
"Uh, ah, no. Doesn't this kind of thing only mean something if you lose it through effort? You really don't have to do anything for me."
Ah. This statue had a truly wonderful spirit. The idea that anything only had value if you achieved it through your own effort! What a splendid thing to say. And it was precisely because it had that kind of heart that I wanted to help even more. Heaven helps those who help themselves, right? I wasn't omniscient and omnipotent like some kind of god, of course. But I could at least be the kind of ten-dollar stroke of luck that falls into the lap of someone working hard.
"Ehehe, no need to refuse. I may not have been able to finish it, but you were kind enough to share a drumstick with me. Shouldn't I return the favor?"
"W-well, it was a four-drumstick chicken anyway, so you really don't have to go that far..."
"Wow. Four drumsticks in a single chicken. Still, that doesn't change how precious a drumstick is. Now then—do you happen to have an ideal type you've been picturing?"
"Ah, I'm not dieting because of romance or anything..."
"It's all right. Don't be afraid of change."
Humans, of course—and any living thing capable of thought—will picture an elephant the moment they are told not to think of one. The instant I mentioned the words ideal type, the statue might deny it out loud, but it would inevitably conjure the image of its ideal in its mind. All I had to do was look into that mental picture and catch the statue's taste.
Hmm. So this was its type. I hadn't realized "statue" was a species unto itself. I had thought it was just a moving sculpture. And even its ideal type was a woman of pure white marble. You could almost think of the statue's ideal as an unpainted figurine. But if that figurine moved, it wasn't just a figure. That, too, could be called a beautiful girl.
"Change? What on earth are you trying to do...?"
And so I granted the statue's wish. I remade her into the woman she had dreamed of. Still anxious, not even realizing her body had changed, she felt the shift in the resonant wavelength she used to convey her meaning and hurriedly looked down at herself. Hmm. Couldn't you call that a voice, too? Voice and resonance were both just waves, after all.
I had thought she would be happy, having been given something close to her ideal body. Never mind losing weight—this was a woman's form with utterly perfect proportions.
"Kyaaaaaaah!"
The statue let out a piercing scream on the spot. That was when it hit me.
"Oh my. My mistake."
I should have given her clothes. The woman the statue had held in her heart was nude, so her current form had ended up naked as well. Hmm. I was just starting to wonder how to fix this when—
"What, what? What's going on?"
"A fight? Let me in on it!"
"Waking me in the dead of this silent night... you'd better be ready to play Chamos until dawn!"
Hearing that scream, doors along the same-floor hallway started flying open one after another, and I thought, well, it's already too late.