Chapter 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Well, Give It a Try
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Damon's family lived in a cabin on the outskirts of town.
It made sense—they hauled wood from the forest for storage, so there was no reason to live farther out. Their income wasn't anything to write home about, either.
They only came into the village to sell firewood or deliver supplies to Grandfather's place.
Damon's grandfather was a charcoal maker. He'd been a woodcutter once, but by the time Hans—Damon's father—struck out on his own and started a family, he'd stepped back from the front lines.
Unlike woodcutting, which was one of those dirty, dangerous, backbreaking jobs, charcoal making was practically a skilled trade. Irreplaceable manpower, you might say.
Someday Hans would take it over, and Damon would fill his spot.
'...Damn.'
No. That wouldn't do.
I had dreams of opening my own restaurant.
"I'll be right back."
"Where to?"
While Hans chatted with his father—Damon's grandfather—I spotted my chance to slip away.
"Just gonna look around. Meet up with the kids."
"It's been ages since he's been in town. Let him go."
"...Don't stay out too late."
Hans clearly took after his old man in personality, but thankfully, neither was the stubborn type.
"See you later."
Meeting the kids was obviously a lie. I just needed an excuse to bail.
I had no clue about the original extra Damon's social circle anyway.
My real goal was 'market research.' Essential for any startup.
'Let's see...'
It didn't take long to scout the whole village. It was tiny compared to the castle town with the lord's keep.
The big takeaway? No restaurants.
Exactly as I'd figured. Working in food service, you pick up history on the side, and applying it here made the reason obvious.
No gourmet culture. No dining-out culture at all.
Why shell out good money to eat elsewhere?
In this underdeveloped era, meals were just for survival.
Nobles had the luxury for fine dining, but they lived inside the castle walls.
Locals bought ingredients and cooked at home. That was daily life.
In a self-sufficient place like this, eating out was nothing but extravagance.
Think of it like singleton culture, but scaled up to family size.
"Hmm."
No restaurants didn't mean no places serving food.
More accurately, places providing food.
「Wild Rose Inn」
As the sign said, I was standing in front of the inn.
Inns offered travelers lodging and meals.
A staple spot in any fantasy novel.
Looked like I'd come to the right place.
The smoky aroma of roasting meat had wafted over from ten miles out.
Creeeak. The door swung open, hitting me with a musty whiff. Stale beer? Damp wood? There was burning tallow wax in the mix, too.
Still early evening, so the place was lively, but no one spared me a glance as I entered.
Rowdy chatter. Soft glow from the hearth. Sweltering heat.
Just like I'd pictured.
And smack in the center—
Wait, no way. Was that that thing?
The free soup for broke travelers?
The kind that never runs out no matter how much you ladle, multiplying endlessly?
'Didn't think that actually existed...'
I swallowed my nausea and wove through the tables straight to the bar.
The man wiping down a mug spotted me and waved hello.
"Oh, it's Damon."
He knew me?
I froze for a second but played it cool and bowed.
"Hello."
"Yeah, been a while. Daughter's not here right now, though."
Why bring up his daughter out of nowhere? What was Damon to her?
Not the time to dwell. I cut straight to it.
"You short-handed at all?"
"Hm?"
His eyebrow shot up, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.
I nodded to confirm he'd heard correctly.
"Figured you might need a hand."
Back in my old world, I'd started at the bottom.
Sure, I'd built enough fame that most folks in Korea knew my name, but humble beginnings.
I wasn't from some fancy place like Le Cordon Bleu. Not even a regular culinary program.
My start? Kitchen assistant at a local franchise joint.
Quit my major, took the gig to pay off student loans on a whim.
But I discovered a knack for it, rocketed up to manager, and eventually opened my own spot.
After that? Dove headfirst into cooking and climbed to the top tier.
Not much different from my situation now.
Worse conditions than back then, sure, but starting way younger was a plus.
Anyway.
If I'd done it once, no reason I couldn't twice. That's why I'd come.
"...You fight with Hans?"
"Pardon?"
"I can give you a room. No charge. Crash here tonight, but head home tomorrow."
This guy was totally missing the point.
"Our girl too—these kids hitting puberty these days... Yeah, chopping wood's tough. But son, do you even know how important—"
He thought I hated the family business and run off.
Hell, part of me wanted to. But time to pivot strategy.
"I'll keep chopping wood. Just looking for work on the side."
Relief washed over the innkeeper's face.
His place burned through firewood faster than most, so it clearly weighed on him.
"What, suddenly need cash?"
Damn right. Desperately. Startup funds didn't grow on trees.
But there was more.
To master cooking in this primitive medieval setup, I had to jump in headfirst.
No gas stoves, no induction burners, ovens, deep fryers—nothing.
Even I couldn't confidently claim I could whip up proper grub in a cauldron on day one.
"Ah... yeah. You're that age already. Sure, you and our daughter since you were little..."
This guy and his weird assumptions.
But if the misunderstanding worked in my favor, no need to correct it.
Situation like this, exploit what you can.
My future restaurant might end up competing with his.
No—would.
Sorry, but if he hired me, he'd be raising a tiger cub.
Had to risk it. Industry truth: no ruthlessness, no success.
Push each other, grow together, better quality... whatever.
Anyway, his gaze softened. Positive signs.
And sure enough.
"Hmm. Thing is, business isn't booming here."
Sounded like a no, but wasn't.
Just feeling me out.
Time to seal it.
"Even pocket change is fine."
Wages would follow skill anyway.
"Just being able to learn the work would be reward enough."
But at that, his eyes went wide.
What'd I say wrong?
He cleared his throat and composed himself.
"Ahem. Not much real work... Just cleaning and errands, I suppose."
Ah. He thought I meant learning grunt work and got flustered.
Made sense he misunderstood often, but motel clerk? Pass.
Needed to clarify this time.
"No, no."
"Hm?"
"I want to work there."
His eyes followed my gesture. The kitchen, right next to the bar.
"...For real?"
No wonder he was shocked. A guy picking up a kitchen knife over a sword? Unthinkable in this era.
Hell, he'd probably keel over knowing most top modern chefs were men.
Sure, real medieval history had plenty of male cooks, but this world's built on romance fantasy. Can't forget that.
Not trying to shatter norms, but the genre thrives on flipping stereotypes for that sweet catharsis. Adult stuff.
"Work in the kitchen? You?"
"Yes."
I nodded. He eyed me up and down, slow.
I knew it. I was a bit big for kitchen duty.
At fifteen, I was pushing six feet, probably tipping ninety kilos. Didn't scream 'chef.'
Genes played a part, but the original owner had bulked up chopping wood like mad.
No doubt canon Damon coasted on this frame and croaked on some battlefield.
I'd never let that happen.
That's when it hit.
"Wonder what the holdup is—we're slammed—and you're having the fun chat?"
The lady emerged from the kitchen.
Her face felt familiar somehow (maybe from all the kitchen staff I'd seen). Arms crossed, leaning against the wall, watching us.
"Damon, I hear you wanna work in the kitchen?"
Unlike her husband, she had zero prejudices.
"Yes."
"You cooked before?"
"Plenty. And I'm good."
"Then let's see it. Show me your skills. We were swamped anyway."
She was straightforward, too.