What Are You Doing? Are You Having Sex with Your Wok?
What Are You Doing? Are You Having Sex with Your Wok?
"Please teach me!"
The day after Gerard left, Ivan showed up at my house and went straight to his knees.
"Teach you what?"
"That dish of yours, Sir Lucas! I want to learn it."
"......To cook? Why? Out of nowhere?"
Ivan might have a few screws loose, but he was still the male lead of a romance fantasy.
He had the looks, for one, plus the sword talent that comes with protagonist privilege—and on top of that, he was the illegitimate son of House Perdes, one of the empire's most powerful ducal families.
Handsome face. Real skill. A hidden past.
A romance-fantasy male lead who'd hit the full trifecta—what could he possibly be missing?
When I asked, Ivan stared at me as though I were the one not making sense.
"Because the food you create, Sir Lucas—isn't it the very pinnacle of chivalry? I understood it this time. Watching the great explorer Gerard collapse outright after tasting your cooking."
"......."
"A meal that a man who braves the empire's most perilous places could not endure. To learn to cook food that can even threaten a human being—I believe that is a lesson every knight must experience at least once."
Food that can threaten a human being, he says.
It was a spicy-food challenge—practically a time-honored tradition in its own right.
"So that's why you want to learn?"
"Yes!"
"......Did you get Commander Lancelot's permission?"
"Yes. When I told him I would be learning from Sir Lucas, he said I could do it anytime, so long as you consented."
"Really?"
"Yes!"
The way he answered so confidently—it did sound true.
'Is Commander Lancelot not particularly attached to his disciples?'
First the other knights, now Ivan.
Were they really okay with guys who should be diligently training with the knight order coming into my kitchen, learning to stretch their sword energy whisper-thin, and run a wok?
Maybe they actually thought I could be a good teacher.
"Khah, fine."
At this point, too much time had passed to push Ivan away now.
Even if the events from the novel I'd read started happening......
'With the protagonist's-best-friend buff, won't it work out somehow?'
Or maybe I was setting myself up to be the first one sacrificed.
'Once this battle is over, I'll treat everyone to my home cooking.'
I'd really rather not become that cliché friend who drops a line like that and then dies in the hero's place.
Of course, one reason I'd brought Ivan in was Saint Amelia's survival.
A character who was supposed to die in the original had returned to the capital alive.
Things that never happened in the original were happening.
Demon King worshippers who weren't in the original had appeared.
Princess Diana, together with the saintess, had formed a subjugation force and marched toward the empire's west.
And Lady Camilla's Golden Wagon had even backed Princess Diana's operation.
'The original I knew has already warped badly.'
In that case—just maybe.
'Diana might not even become a tyrant.'
And if that happened......
It meant Ivan wouldn't have to suffer that horrific ordeal he went through as the male lead in the romance fantasy.
That was why.
That was why I agreed to teach Ivan to cook.
The kid was a sword prodigy who could handle a blade with ease—I figured he'd pick up wok work in no time.
...That's what I'd thought, casually.
He was already at the stage of emitting sword energy whisper-thin, wasn't he?
I assumed a few days of instruction and Ivan would fly through every step of the process.
Except.
"Don't push with your wrist gripping the wok—snap it by pulling your shoulder back. Stop using your whole body!"
Wobble, wobble.
Ivan's wok-handling stance was painfully awkward.
You're supposed to rhythmically rock the hand holding the wok, pulling with your whole shoulder and arm so the ingredients don't spill, but Ivan's entire torso was rocking back and forth. At its worst, his hand stayed still while only his hips swung back and forth like a pendulum.
I said snap the shoulder—and he was snapping his waist.
"Body still. Move the wok. Don't go swaying along with it!"
"Sorry!"
The sight looked exactly like someone doing that into thin air.
You know the one.
That.
To put it crudely, humping the air.
It was so mortifying, and so absurd, that I laughed.
"You screwing the wok or what? I said snap your shoulder—why are you snapping your waist?"
The words slipped out before I knew it.
"N-no!"
Ivan clamped his mouth shut.
Thank god the others were outside training—otherwise he'd have embarrassed himself in front of everyone.
His face went red at my remark, and he bit his lip and hung his head.
"Let me show you one more time."
"Yes!"
I grabbed the wok and demonstrated each motion as slowly as I could.
With my left arm I yanked the rice-filled wok in a pulling swing, while the spatula in my right hand lightly scraped the rice so it would tumble better.
"See? Starting to get it? You've got to use the shoulder. Your body stays planted, and you use the snap of your upper body."
"It's harder than it looks."
"It takes a certain touch. Still, your baseline stamina is good, so once you learn the fundamentals you'll pick it up fast."
"Understood."
Ivan took the wok back and started again.
It was still sloppy, but at least that mortifying first pose didn't reappear.
"That's better."
"Thank you."
"From now on, you'll start managing your mana while you work the wok."
"Mana...sir?"
"Yeah. Just like loading mana into your kitchen knife, you're going to load it into the spatula and stir. Got it?"
"Yes!"
"Never send mana into the wok itself."
"Understood!"
After several practice runs, Ivan clenched his jaw and swung the wok in front of the range.
Watching him practice from the side, I realized:
'His sense for mana is innate. But he's surprisingly uncoordinated.'
And even so, at his age, he possessed an absurd level of swordsmanship.
What made Ivan who he was was his sheer volume of training—hellish practice without a single day off. Watching him drenched in sweat, jaw locked as he shook the wok, I was quietly impressed.
The protagonist of the romance fantasy I'd read had turned out to be a relentless grinder.
I could tell from watching his discipline up close.
It felt like I was glimpsing the strain the novel never described—the hardship that had never made it onto the page.
'So he wasn't a genius in every field.'
Hidden effort had gotten him to where he stood.
I mentally apologized for taking Ivan's cooking training lightly, and from that point on I treated him more seriously.
"Good. Right there—put a little more snap into the shoulder."
"The muscles you use are completely different from swordsmanship."
"Right? But if you think about it, there's a way to apply it in actual combat."
"There is? What kind?"
"If you swing it using this snap, you can condense the air into an instant impact and blast it."
KABOOM!
I swung the wok at full force, and a shockwave erupted in the air with a roar.
The aftermath sent Ivan's hair scattering in the wind.
"How's that?"
"Ooooh.... Incredible! I, too, will do everything in my power to reach Sir Lucas's—no, Master's—level."
"Master, come on. Just call me what you always do."
"I cannot! How could I address by name someone who gave me his secret techniques asking nothing in return? Please permit me to call you Master!"
I knew all too well that Ivan's stubbornness wasn't easily broken.
When Ivan used that expression, even Monica—the original female lead—hadn't been able to budge him.
"Fine. Suit yourself."
"Thank you, Master!"
From the very first day he learned the wok, Ivan trained with it all day long instead of his sword.
Even where there was no range, he kept shaking rice inside a wok.
"This seems like excellent conditioning for my off-hand left arm!"
Three weeks passed like that after Ivan joined the kitchen.
He was still pouring sweat, wholly devoted to wok work, and quietly watching me cook from beside me.
"So is it correct to add the soy sauce right when you first begin stir-frying the ingredients?"
"There's no hard rule, but all things considered that's usually the best time. That way it seasons from the base."
"I see. Understood! Master!"
Even while working the wok, he kept his eyes on how I cooked and memorized it like he was studying.
"Andrea, two Bulgogi Baekban!"
"Bulgogi......two."
Andrea took the order with her lips poking out in a slight pout.
She'd looked drained lately.
Stagger, sway.
Andrea's footsteps wobbled side to side as she carried the order to the customer.
Andrea had always been the one who brought a smile into the Knight Restaurant—a little lacking in manners, sure, but bright. And now she'd sunk into gloom.
"Shop's got a real heavy feel today."
"Something going on?"
The regulars seemed to have picked up on it too.
Once she finished serving, Andrea greeted the next customers with a smile.
"Welcome."
But why did her voice have no strength behind it?
All through the lunch rush she stayed listless, and at one point I saw her sitting glumly in a corner, having stopped mid-service.
Enough to worry me.
Even with a rude customer.
"Is that so. Ah, yes. If you don't like it, leave."
"Wh-what?"
"I said leave. Did I say something wrong? If you don't like our food, then go next door."
"You—right now...."
"If you're going to go on about 'just an elf' this and that, get out."
She handled it differently than usual.
The effect was undeniable.
The nuisance stormed out fuming, but it wasn't the kind of solution the old Andrea would've used.
"Something does seem to be up."
Even Heimer, as dense as he was, was worried about Andrea.
"Why do you think she's like that?"
"Surely you know?"
"I don't. She didn't tell me."
"I would've thought Sir Lucas would know."
"Guess I'll have to ask her myself."
"Yes."
After the lunch service ended, I approached Andrea while she was tidying up the restaurant.
"Andrea."
"Yes, boss......."
"Got a minute to talk?"
She glanced back and forth between me and Ivan, then fixed her attention back on the table.
"You're busy teaching Ivan. It's fine, boss."
Lips still jutted in a pout, Andrea scrubbed the table with vigor.
"Andrea, is something wrong? Why so gloomy?"
"...I look gloomy? I'm perfectly fine."
Anyone could see her face was packed full of dissatisfaction.
Pressing her lips together and working her jaw, she shuffled her feet in place.
"Andrea, if something's going on, tell me. If it's something I can fix, I'll fix it."
"You'll fix it?"
"Yeah."
"......."
She paused for a moment, let out a deep sigh, and looked at me again.
"Why do you only play favorites with Ivan, boss?"
"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?"
***
The imperial soldiers cut down Demon King worshippers as they fled in every direction.
Those who resisted were killed; those who surrendered were taken prisoner.
Civilians uninvolved in the subjugation were shown mercy.
"Aaaaargh!"
"Seize everyone carrying the symbol of the Demon King and bring them directly to me!"
This wasn't a battle—it was a one-sided slaughter.
The remnants of Demon King worshippers who had tried to shelter behind Bellosa's walls and put up a fight fell in under four days to Princess Diana's inspired field command.
She concentrated the bulk of her forces at the east gate, then sent the Princess's Knight Order through the lightly guarded west gate to sow chaos inside the stronghold. Once the Princess's knights forced the west gate open, the rest of the forces flooded in—and the Demon King worshippers, realizing the gate had been breached, couldn't muster further resistance and were cut down.
"Pathetic."
Princess Diana exhaled a sigh as she watched the Demon King worshippers being hauled before her.
To think that wretches this worthless had dared attempt to assassinate the saintess.
"Lord Bellosa fled?"
"......."
The prisoner kept his mouth shut and gave no answer.
"Tch. Cut him down."
Slick!
Commander Luke beheaded the silent prisoner in a single stroke.
At the sight of the unsparing execution, every face present went pale.
"There is no courtesy to observe toward Demon King worshippers. I suggest you decide quickly."
The princess addressed the row of captives, snapping her fingers idly.
"Bear in mind that when it comes to eradicating Demon King worshippers, even ethically forbidden magic is permissible. Brain scans are possible. Brainwashing and hypnosis are possible."
The dreadful words, spoken so evenly, pulled the mood steadily darker.
"The first person to tell me Lord Bellosa's location will be given a chance to keep their life."
As the Demon King worshippers glanced warily at one another, Diana let out another sigh.
"Kill them all. There is no negotiation with heretics."
"Understood, Your Highness."
Shing!
Aaaaargh!
One worshipper, having watched the knights draw their swords and behead without hesitation, spoke up.
"I—I'll talk! I beg you...."
"You know something, do you?"
"Y-yes! I know."
A smile spread across Princess Diana's face. "Then speak. Where the lord is right now."