There's a Saintess Who Cooks Without Tasting
Here we have a saintess who cooks without ever tasting for seasoning.
Friday night had come and gone, and thankfully the cult gathering had concluded without incident.
Three days had already passed, yet Mariel—who had promised to come back—never showed.
Just what kind of woman had she been, anyway…?
Maybe that line about getting a meal together sometime had just been one of those empty courtesies people toss out without meaning it.
But I couldn't sit around waiting for her forever.
I decided to get on with my own work.
Three days having passed also meant the duel date Professor Aiden Crawford of the Magic Department had promised me before the cult gathering was finally upon us.
Right now, only the two of us—Crawford and I—stood on the stage of the sparring hall.
"……."
"Why so quiet, Professor Crawford?"
"……I've been thinking about it ever since what happened three days ago."
"…About what?"
"I wanted to apologize. For forcing my circumstances onto Helena—and for the way I insulted and tarnished the Saintess's honor right then and there."
From the spectator seats a little ways off, Erina—who had our house cat Sol nestled in her lap, absently stroking her—startled and pointed at herself with a flustered look, as if to ask whether he was talking about her.
…Well, of course she would. Erina hadn't even been present that day.
"What made you change your mind so suddenly?"
Not that I was trying to paint Aiden Crawford as some pure villain.
All he'd really done was—
—No. Wait.
Insult the Saintess, and punch Helena in the gut.
…That was pretty bad, actually.
"I don't know. At some point my head just cleared. I kept wondering why I had done any of it—and I even started regretting how far I went."
Hmm…
He didn't sound like he was lying.
Aiden kept going.
"I've already bowed my head and apologized to Helena."
Helena, seated beside Erina, nodded.
So that part was true, at least.
Anyway—maybe it was because they were sitting in the seats closest to the stage, but every word of our conversation was reaching them loud and clear.
Camilla Ravencroft? Why was she here watching this?
Did she really have that much free time? She was the active deputy commander of the Imperial Knights, for heaven's sake. Surely she had better things to do.
Anyway.
"Well, I respect that you've seen the error of your ways—but that doesn't mean I plan on going easy."
"…Of course not. I have no intention of holding back either, so come at me with everything you've got. I'd even welcome a good thrashing."
He was talking as if I might not be able to manage it.
As if I couldn't possibly win.
"Very well… If taking a hit is your dearest wish, I'll be sure to grant it."
Refereeing the match was Serena Valtarian, the professor in charge of the Combat Techniques Department—where Leard and Leon both studied.
"Then… begin!"
"The winner is… Professor Kyle Edelrein of the Holy Combat Department!"
At Professor Serena's declaration—still delivered with that prim expression beneath her sharp black bob—admiration and cheers erupted from the surrounding seats.
Since when had the audience gotten this big, anyway?
"Truly remarkable… Professor Kyle Edelrein."
Professor Aiden Crawford, down on one knee with one eye squeezed shut, offered praise for my skill.
"You were impressive as well, Professor Crawford."
Though, being a former court mage, he had fought far too by-the-book.
That had made him easy to dismantle.
He'd used his head well enough, sure—but still.
"Even hearing that means a lot."
He took the hand I offered him, rose to his feet, and showed a humble demeanor.
He really has changed.
Had he always been this kind of person?
Before the cult gathering he'd struck me as a little arrogant.
Afterward Erina had scattered her blessing the moment things began—had something been washed clean along with it?
"Professor Crawford. Has… anything unusual happened to you lately?"
"…Pardon? What do you mean?"
"No, it's just—the personality I saw from you until recently feels rather different from the man standing here now. There's a kind of dissonance."
While the rest of the spectators filed out, Helena—who had been sitting in the front row—stepped forward and nodded.
"…Helena."
Seeing that nod, Aiden spoke on with a complicated look.
"Well… I've simply been continuing my research on ancient relics in the laboratory, same as always."
"Is that really all?"
"Yes…"
Professor Aiden blinked those tiny, squinty eyes of his and answered with a vacant expression, but nothing changed.
Maybe it's just my imagination.
I was about to write the whole thing off as nothing when Helena spoke up.
"Professor… you started changing after you began researching that ancient relic you acquired recently."
Acquired recently?
"Huh… Did I?"
"Yes."
Helena spoke with absolute certainty.
Having watched him so closely all this time, she would know.
"Would it be possible to find out what it is?"
Admittedly it felt a little like sticking my nose where it didn't belong…
But after coming this far, I couldn't exactly pretend I hadn't heard.
"That wouldn't be difficult, but… are you certain? From the sound of it, if Helena is right, I'm not sure I should casually show something that dangerous to another person."
"It's fine. Eri—ah, no. As long as the Saintess accompanies us and we examine it under the protection of her blessing, there shouldn't be a problem."
"Ah. I see. In that case… could you wait just a little—no, just one day, and come by tomorrow?"
"Why?"
A whole day? Couldn't we just go look at it now…?
"Ah, well…"
Professor Aiden struggled to find the words.
"It's filthy."
Filthy. Helena answered in a single, blunt word.
"Filthy?"
"Ah, that is… I've been keeping the laboratory rather messy. It needs… cleaning."
"Ah. Right… Understood."
If he didn't want to show it, there was no need to force my way in and look at that, too.
So with nothing else pressing to do, I clocked out a little early, came home, and was resting when—
"Professor?"
"Huh? Oh… yeah."
I turned toward Erina's voice from where I sat relaxing on the living-room sofa.
There she stood in an apron and kitchen mitts, carrying a tray loaded with food.
On top of it…
Fried chicken—pieces of poultry dredged in flour and spices, then deep-fried.
At this point it's starting to get a little scary.
"It's that chicken we bought on the way home earlier."
So it was the fried chicken we'd picked up on the way back.
What a waste…
"But… it's not just plain chicken, is it?"
"Ah, yes! Eating nothing but chicken again seemed like it would get boring."
No. No it wouldn't.
Why would eating chicken get boring?
Fried chicken was already a perfectly complete dish all on its own.
"I crushed the strawberries we bought together, extracted the juice, and poured plenty of it over the fried chicken to give it a nice strawberry color. Well? Pretty, right?"
"Y-yeah. It is pretty."
This is that thing. You know… traffic-light chicken.
I was losing my mind.
I was going to eat something here that I had never touched even back home? This?
It wasn't a perfect match, of course.
The original version dusted the fried chicken with fruit-flavored powder seasoning rather than coating it in juice.
"It'll probably taste good!"
"You haven't tried it yet, then? Hey—Sol. Cats can't eat that."
In the middle of all this Sol had wandered over, drawn by the strawberry scent, and I quickly stopped her with my hand before she could take a bite.
"Myaang—"
The smell itself was fragrant enough, sure…
No—the mingled scents of fried chicken and strawberry were already making me anticipate the taste.
"Yes! I wanted to try it together with you, Professor. How could I be so shameless as to taste it first by myself?"
Back in the modern world this dish had been so infamous that even without ever having tried it, I felt like I already knew exactly how it would taste. The prediction came automatically.
"You must have… gone to a lot of trouble."
The strawberries plated neatly beside the chicken I could accept.
But juicing enough strawberries to dye the entire batch the same color, then coating every piece—how much work had that taken?
"Trouble? Thinking of the person who gets to eat it, this much barely even counts as effort!"
Kh…
At least she clearly wasn't doing this to torment me on purpose.
"…Alright. Shall we try some?"
"Yes!!"
Erina answered brightly, her face blooming into a radiant smile.
Crunch!
The fork pierced through the fried chicken with a sound that bordered on miraculous.
Even though it should have gone completely soggy from being soaked in strawberry juice.
No—judging by the look of it, had she reheated it in the oven afterward?
Even so, even if the coating had regained some crispness, I still couldn't bring myself to put it in my mouth right away. The piece of fried chicken drifted closer and closer to my lips, bit by bit.
Erina kept her eyes locked on the fork in my hand, clearly planning to wait until I had tasted it first.
"…Ah— mm."
Crunch!
The moment I bit down, the distinctive crackle of the fried coating filled my mouth, and the characteristic aroma of chicken and the bright, refreshing fragrance of strawberry flooded out across my tongue all at once.
"Kh—."
It was far too refreshing.
The greasy smell of chicken oil and the completely mismatched freshness of strawberry—why…
Why were they mixing together and filling my entire mouth like this?
"Well? Professor. Doesn't the fruit's brightness just whoosh—and cut right through the greasiness of the fried chicken?"
"……."
Chew, chew.
"So it's even easier to keep eating, right? Right?"
Gulp.
Well. It wasn't going to kill me… so I chewed it to a manageable state and forced it down my throat.
It wasn't as if she had thrown every random ingredient into a pot and boiled them into some black, sticky abomination.
For all its sins, the visual alone was genuine.
What had once been nothing but radiant golden chicken had been reborn in this bright soft-pink hue—how could something that pretty possibly taste bad?
"……Mm."
After I finished chewing and swallowing one large piece and was clearing my throat, Erina piled on another suggestion.
"Don't you think it would taste even better if you ate it with the strawberries on the side, Professor?"
So I ate those, too…
"It's really delicious, Erina. Of all the food you've made for me so far, this is the best."
"Ah, really!? Then I want a bite too!!"
At that praise, Erina—who had been standing stock-still in the entrance to the living room just watching me—darted over, speared a piece of fried chicken with a fork, and took a huge bite.
The best way to cure someone of terrible cooking—
—really was to start by making them eat their own food, wasn't it?