Michelle, the Mermaid Princess Who Came for Revenge
Michelle, the Mermaid Princess Who Came for Revenge
<chapter>
Maybe it was the fish I'd caught and cooked down at the beach yesterday.
Ever since I ate that flatfish I reeled in with my own two hands, I'd been buzzing with energy.
My mana core was spinning itself up without me doing a damn thing, and mana was churning through my body like a riptide. I sweated buckets all day, like I'd been parked in a sauna.
Bright side? The hangover cleared out in record time. Completely gone.
Honestly, I had so much energy I threw myself into getting the restaurant ready for opening.
"That thing was way bigger than any flounder I've ever caught. Maybe it was some kind of spirit beast?"
Nah.
Even thinking it, I knew how ridiculous it sounded.
I've been fishing that exact spot for months now.
The odds that yesterday's catch just happened to be a spirit beast were zero. Spirit beasts were supposed to be mystical creatures living out their noble lives far beyond the reach of human hands. No self-respecting spirit beast was about to get snagged on a hook and wind up as sashimi.
'Though it did put up one hell of a fight for a fish.'
It was so big I had a hell of a time hauling it in. If I hadn't channeled mana through the rod, the thing would've snapped right in half.
Maybe not a spirit beast, but it was definitely no ordinary fish either. The heat flooding my body afterward was probably residual yang energy in the meat — same way an eel thrashing wild through the water is supposed to symbolize vitality.
Not that it matters if I'm all charged up on yang energy.
"Who am I gonna use it on?"
Man.
I couldn't stop the sigh that came out.
Seven years in the knight order, I'd wasted my time doing whatever it took to stay alive, then I got out and wasted more time just trying to open a restaurant.
Thinking about it actually pissed me off.
I wanted to be alone. Not like I had a choice in the matter anyway.
Dwelling on it just made it worse.
"I'll keep the rest frozen. When my body finally gives out on me, I'll cook it up as a restorative."
Crash! Crash!
Out of nowhere, the sound of yesterday's waves echoed in my ears.
Just remembering the spicy fish stew I'd made with that flatfish while the waves crashed got me hungry all over again. Suddenly I was craving fish. I hadn't planned on anything heavy this early.
"I've still got plenty of that flatfish meat in the freezer..."
One small piece, fried up, wouldn't hurt.
Just one piece.
One single piece.
***
I was humming to myself when I opened the restaurant doors.
Opening day. The day I'd been waiting for.
Everything's exciting when you're finally getting started.
I'd come in early and started thawing the frozen flatfish fillets while I prepped my ingredients.
The opening time I'd settled on was 11 a.m.
I'd decisively scrapped breakfast service.
The peak hours I was aiming for from the beginning were lunch and dinner. Skipping breakfast was a shame, but it was the only call. Serving breakfast out here meant I'd have to give up on dinner and late-night service entirely.
The people in this viscountcy got up and went to work a lot earlier than I'd expected.
The farmers, hunters, and woodcutters who worked outside the walls passed through the gates at dawn, before the sun was even up, and the people who worked inside town didn't seem interested in eating breakfast at a restaurant.
The soldiers didn't come by either.
I'd done my market research. This was the right opening time.
The first customer of the day was definitely going to be a lunch customer.
Giving Heimer free breakfast two days ago — that was just a marketing promo. In this world, knights were a respected class, a respected profession. They carried standing in the community, and if the locals looked up to them, I figured the word-of-mouth would pay off.
Marketing. Roping in the viscountcy's people, with Liana helping me manage the place. A real businessman doesn't cheap out on advertising.
It was still 10 a.m.
Plenty of people out on the street, but none of them looked hungry. Most passed by the restaurant without a second glance.
'Even at lunchtime, the first few days aren't going to be busy.'
I knew what I was signing up for, opening a place out in the countryside. This wasn't the imperial capital — the foot traffic alone meant I had to run this as a local business and build it up from scratch.
'Stop thinking about pointless stuff.'
The ingredients were prepped. Time to get the side dishes going.
I fired up the ranges before opening.
A cook can't afford to stand still during business hours.
I remembered something a famous chef once said on TV back in the day: the worst thing you can do when it's slow is sit at a table watching TV or messing around. You have to do something — anything — to sell the appeal of your restaurant. Trim ingredients. Make sauces in advance so you're ready when the rush hits. Or deliberately cook something aromatic enough to pull customers in by the nose.
"I'll stir-fry some mushrooms for a side dish."
The smell of mushrooms sizzling in soy sauce, sesame oil, and seasonings was aggressive — more than enough to stop a hungry passerby in their tracks this time of morning. They'd go great as a side for the fried flatfish I was about to make for myself, too.
Chop-chop-chop!
I sliced the peppers and mushrooms.
With the front door wide open, I tossed the mushrooms and peppers into a frying pan with a soy-based seasoning sauce and stir-fried them up.
Tssssss!
The smell of oil and searing mushrooms wafted right out the door.
On another flare range, the soup for the donkatsu was already simmering.
"Hm-hm-hm."
I finished the mushroom stir-fry fast and, still humming, cut the partially thawed flatfish — flounder, I should say — into thick chunks. Flounder was way too good a fish to just fry. If I'd caught this today, fresh, I'd have sliced it raw for hoe, but...
'Well, nothing I can do about that.'
Once it's been frozen, raw preparations are off the table, and using the meat only for stew felt like a waste. That left one obvious option.
Fried flounder.
The ultimate beer snack. For me, it was going to be a damn good side dish for my rice. Freshly fried flounder dipped in soy sauce — crispy outside, chewy inside, a perfect piece of fried fish.
The kind of thing that makes the pathetic frozen fish sticks they served in the military taste like an insult.
I'll admit — fish cutlets can be divisive. But fried flounder isn't one of those love-it-or-hate-it foods.
'That said, it's still ten times better as sashimi.'
I seasoned the flounder pieces, dredged them in batter, and dropped them into the boiling oil.
Sizzle-sizzle!
The sound of the batter frying popped and crackled in my ears. Good ASMR. I dropped another thick-cut piece in, timing it to the rhythm of the oil, like rain tapping on a roof.
Sizzle-sizzle!
Now the sound was in stereo — pleasant little pops bursting against my eardrums.
The rich aroma of frying fish tickled my nose.
I shook the excess oil off the freshly fried flounder and laid the pieces on absorbent paper. The paper wicked away the remaining oil, keeping the batter crisp longer.
Plus a soy-based sauce — meant for a rice side dish.
"Man, this is going to demolish a bowl of rice."
That's when it happened.
A girl stepped into the restaurant.
Her hair was a deep ocean blue, pulled back neatly, and she wore a black dress that looked expensive — the kind of thing you'd wear to a funeral.
Had she just come from a memorial service?
Everything about the way she moved radiated refinement. The way she dressed, the way she carried herself — you could tell she'd been raised with the kind of education only the highest circles got.
A noble.
A high-ranking one.
'At least a count's daughter.'
She wasn't from the viscount's household. I'd never heard of a girl like her belonging to that family. The viscount's hair was light brown, and his wife was golden blonde. No way they produce that stunning blue.
"Miss, we're not open yet. Come back in thirty minutes."
"..."
Her eyes, fixed on me from the doorway, went ice-cold.
'Hostility.'
I could feel it — a strange, pointed animosity.
Who was she?
Someone from the capital? Someone I had history with?
I'd never seen anyone like her before.
The blue-haired woman kept her frigid gaze locked on me as she took a seat at the table with the clearest view of the kitchen.
"Do you know a man named Sebastian?"
Her hand drifted to the rapier at her hip.
Hand's moving. Her hand's moving toward the sword.
That would be a really big problem.
"...Sebastian?"
"Yes."
Who?
I didn't recognize the name.
No clue.
Nobody in the knight order had been called Sebastian. No character in the novel I'd read had that name either.
I'd never met a single Sebastian in my life.
I was about to shake my head when I froze.
A single possibility surfaced in my mind.
'Could she be from the princess?'
Those fine clothes — the kind you'd only see in the capital. The rapier with its ornate fittings. The bearing of someone high-born. And the thick killing intent aimed straight at me.
It fit. The princess was the villainess who'd become a tyrant before long — a woman capable of anything. Had she sent someone after me for leaving her knight order?
'Sebastian is a code.'
And if I couldn't crack that code, the woman staring daggers at me was definitely going to draw that sword.
<chapter>
If she worked for the imperial princess, this was all entirely possible.
But what kind of code?
I couldn't get a read on it.
'Stall for time.'
I had to keep her talking, find some kind of clue in the exchange.
"I know it well."
"Do you now."
Damn it.
Her response was bone-dry. The exchange was too short for me to pick up anything useful.
"......."
Her eyes were still fixed on me.
"So you did know......."
And through all of this, the fried flatfish was going cold.
'It's gonna get soggy. That ruins it.'
Groooowl.
Damn it.
I was starving. My empty stomach had decided to start making its presence known, loud and theatrical.
Fine. If I die, I die on a full stomach. At least then I won't feel so cheated.
I spooned white rice into a bowl.
On the tray, the fried flatfish, the stir-fried mushrooms, the white rice, and the vivid red kimchi sat in their own dishes, arrayed before me. I ladled some of last night's maeuntang broth into a soup bowl. Tender, slowly simmered radish and deep red broth sent up wisps of steam.
'A whole fish feast.'
Too bad there wasn't any fish bone left to pick clean into the maeuntang. I'd demolished every last bit of it last night because it tasted so good. Still, the deep savory richness the bones had lent the broth wasn't going anywhere. The main event was the fry, anyway.
I picked up the tray and sat down right across from her.
Flinch!
She jolted, startled, and edged back slightly.
Act unpredictably. Survival rule number one.
"Wh-what are you doing?"
"I missed breakfast. I'm going to eat something."
I picked up my spoon and chopsticks and took a mouthful of the warm maeuntang broth.
Slurrrp!
"Ahh! That's good."
Soup dishes are always best a day after they're made. The flavor that rolled across my tongue was completely different from last night's fresh boil. I savored the deeper, weightier taste of the broth and lifted a spoonful of rice.
The red seasoning of the maeuntang seeped between the pristine white grains of rice — live, in real time.
I used my chopsticks to lift a piece of radish onto the steaming rice. It was so thoroughly cooked it threatened to crumble apart in my chopsticks; I handled it as gently as I could.
A big bite.
"Mm!"
One mouthful of maeuntang-soaked rice down, and I reached with my chopsticks for the fried flatfish.
The crisp, gritty sound of the fry coating was vivid and sharp. I dunked it deep into the soy sauce.
Crunch!
One bite of the shatteringly crisp fry.
The maeuntang's spicy heat and the fried flatfish's crisp, savory richness mingled together.
"What is that?"
"Mm-hm."
It's not polite to talk to someone while they're eating.
"Answer me. What is that?"
"......It's a dish made with flatfish."
"Flatfish?"
"A delicious meat. People's favorite ingredient. Works great as drinking food, and if you just grill it right it's a perfect side dish for rice all on its own."
"......."
Another spoonful.
Mm.
Delicious.
Maybe it was the thought that this might be my last meal, but it tasted even better.
The harmony of the moist, white fish flesh and the golden fried batter was beautiful, and the soy sauce tied the seasoning together perfectly. As I chewed, the rich, unctuous savor of the oil deepened the flavor.
Then — a spoonful of maeuntang, right on top.
The soup's spicy kick cut straight through any greasiness the fry might have left behind.
'Feels like eating tempura at a Japanese restaurant.'
My insides felt cleansed. My tangled head cleared in an instant.
This is what flavor is. The flavor of living.
"Haaa, so good."
Taste aside, I still had no idea what this woman meant by "Sebastian." She was still glaring at me, radiating killing intent, and I had no clue what any of it meant.
"Would you like to try some?"
"......."
Her eyes locked onto the fried flatfish. She stared at it hard for a moment, then fixed her glare back on me.
"Why are you looking for Sebastian, anyway?"
"Because you killed him."
"......."
Damn it.
Of all the ground I could've stepped on, it had to be a landmine.
But I killed him? Me? The guy who specifically chose a life as a cook knight just so I wouldn't have to kill anyone — so I could survive any future rebellion too?
"Hmm......."
This was code too. A coded message saying I'd done something wrong against the princess.
Crunch!
Lost in thought, I took another bite of fried flatfish.
What was it? What had I done wrong? I'd fulfilled the term of my oath when I was knighted. Seven years had passed; this was a lawful termination by contract expiration. That was correct.
I didn't know. I had absolutely no idea.
'I'm way too underqualified to read the mind of a future tyrant.'
The novel had never properly explained why she became a tyrant, either. She was that kind of opaque character — a mad tyrant whose characterization and in-story content never seemed to match up.
Maybe she just hadn't liked me leaving.
Maybe "Sebastian" was a metaphor for my knightly life. By ending my service, I'd destroyed the existence called Sebastian with my own hands. She was calling that murder. Because I'd ended a knight's life. A very aristocratic turn of phrase.
I bowed my head to the woman, who had once again drifted off, staring vacantly at the fried flatfish.
"I'm sorry. There was no other choice. The circumstances being what they were......."
"Chu-rip. What circumstances were those?"
"I wanted to live."
I didn't want a future where I died at the tyrant's hands. I wanted to survive as long as possible.
"You wanted to live?"
"Yes. I killed him in order to live."
Just admit it. Admit it and apologize. That was my path to survival.
"Why did Sebastian in particular have to die?"
The woman's hand trembled as she swallowed. She shivered, her gaze darting back and forth between me and the fried flatfish.
"There was no other way. I'm sorry."
"So it's the law of the jungle...... is that what you're saying?"
More code. Damn it. Why do people keep flinging around codes that only they understand?
I wished she'd just make a decision already. Execution or survival.
"I understand what you mean."
She must have interpreted my silence somehow, because she nodded.
"The providence of nature....... As long as one is a living creature, one cannot refuse it."
"Thank you for understanding."
"That does not mean I forgive you. I still harbor resentment. So......."
Grrroooowl!
A loud noise interrupted her.
It definitely wasn't my stomach; I'd just finished eating.
"Don't tell me you haven't eaten?"
"......."
She shut her mouth.
"No matter how important the mission is, you can't work on an empty stomach."
"There are things more important than food......."
"Tchah!"
At my sudden outburst, she flinched visibly.
"Nothing in this world is more important than food. Even if you're on a mission, you have to eat! You can't function if your body isn't at a hundred percent!"
I meant this from the bottom of my heart.
The one thing I was best at was cooking. And I'd just been handed a chance to win this woman over. If I served her an excellent meal right now, maybe she'd just go home.
"What do you think this place is?"
"The interior of a human building."
I shook my head.
"It's a restaurant. Which means at any moment, it can fill a guest's stomach."
"......."
"So I'm going to bring out food that will fill yours."
She couldn't bring herself to refuse. How long had she gone without eating? I'd heard that aristocratic young ladies sometimes skip meals on purpose to fit into fancy clothes. That was probably it. That sort of thing wrecks your health. You have to eat well to stay healthy, live long, and keep your mood up.
I got up to prepare a new dish that would satisfy her, and —
"I'd like to eat what you were eating."
"The fried flatfish?"
"Yes. The smell was very good."
"Understood."
I went into the kitchen, washed the dishes, and made more fried flatfish. The ingredients were already prepped, so it didn't take long.
I set it before her exactly as I'd had it myself.
Freshly fried boneless fish with a crisp batter and firm, springy flesh; maeuntang deepened by the fish bones; freshly cooked rice; and stir-fried mushrooms.
"Please, eat."
"Thank you for the meal."
She stared at the newly finished fried flatfish, clearly at a loss.
"Excuse me."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Is there no fork?"
"Ah, of course."
I handed her the fork we used for donkatsu.
"Try it. It'll be delicious."
Her eyes widened as she speared the fried flatfish with the fork.
"It's this crispy......?"
A brief murmur of admiration, and she took a bite.
Crunch!