Elf Steps for Dieting
Elf Steps for Dieting
"Th-this feels dangerous..."
Andrea stood before the mirror, staring at her lower belly.
The sharp definition of abs that should have been there was... fuzzy.
She'd trained relentlessly every single day since leaving the Elf Forest. Morning drills at dawn, tracking prey before lunch, eating whatever she'd hunted while setting out on the next leg of her journey—she'd been a wanderer who lived and breathed combat.
She'd never stopped training. She'd eaten meat to forge a powerful body.
Enormous quantities of meat, yes—but her routine had always burned every last calorie. And when a hunt failed for too long, she'd gone hungry more often than not.
She'd been a starving beast. A hunter.
Now things were different.
Training had been replaced by a new routine, one that kept her too busy to breathe. She dashed around handling the day's work instead of stalking prey, and when the work was done, Roman served her a quality meal every evening.
His skill was the problem. The food kept finding its way into her mouth.
It was so good she'd go back for another bowl, and before she knew it, a pleasant fullness would settle in her chest.
That energy carried her through late-night shifts, and suddenly it was midnight.
Too tired to train—she was down to once every two days now.
She'd dulled.
This was the fruit of laziness. Of skipped training.
Andrea reached down with a trembling hand and pinched her lower belly.
Squish.
A thin layer of fat. Caught between her fingers.
On an elf's stomach. Where no such layer should ever be.
"Ahh..."
She stared at the soft pinch of flesh with trembling eyes.
"I've gotten fat..."
Anyone else would've called it an overreaction—the layer was vanishingly thin—but for someone who'd always kept her body-fat percentage at rock bottom, it was a shock.
"I-I need countermeasures."
What she didn't realize was that lack of training wasn't the real culprit.
The labor she put in every day was nearly as intense as the training she'd always done. The workload was punishing.
The fat hadn't appeared because she'd stopped moving. It had appeared because her diet had changed.
In the past, she'd gotten almost all her nutrition from meat—protein was her fuel. Now she was eating meat plus vegetables plus rice plus wheat flour.
There it was.
The real cause: increased carbohydrate intake.
She no longer skipped a single meal. Her eating habits had transformed, and the carbs had multiplied. She was eating at least two bowls of rice with every meal—honestly, it would've been weird if she hadn't put on weight.
It had softened her sharp features a little, but Andrea had no way of knowing that.
She grabbed her sword and headed outside for nighttime training, still pinching her stomach.
***
Andrea was acting strange today.
Every time she moved, the wind seemed to move with her.
Swish.
A soft breeze followed her every step.
"What's with you today?"
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"Why is there wind every time you take a step?"
"Ah, well. Um..."
Look at her. She was still doing that step thing even while talking.
"This is how we elves use wind spirits to get around. It helps us move a little faster, you see."
"..."
Yeah, she was definitely acting weird.
"So you're planning to do that step thing while you're working?"
"Yes. Starting today, I'll be working in earnest."
"What were you doing until now, then?"
"That's not what I— anyway. I'll be working in earnest."
And she was off again, stepping in that elven way.
Why the sudden enthusiasm?
I was about to needle her some more when I spotted the knights approaching. Opening time already.
"Then I shall work at full power."
Wind rose around Andrea.
***
"Another meal that charges the spirit of chivalry, as expected!"
Heimer hammed it up while cutting into his donkatsu.
The Western-style King Donkatsu. Heimer, with his enormous appetite, favored it above all other dishes.
"The other menus are delicious, of course, but I maintain that this donkatsu best embodies the knightly code. That crispy texture, and then the harmony of seasonings that slowly soaks in—it's magnificent. Hahaha!"
He laughed heartily and popped another piece of meat into his mouth.
"Donkatsu is good, but I'd argue this bibimbap—newly added to the employee-recommended menu—is equally worthy of chivalry."
Hamilton scooped up a heaping spoonful of rice thoroughly coated in gochujang seasoning.
The knights of House Britten, every last one of them drunk on chivalry, were passionately championing their personal ideals—and shouting out the best menu to match.
"Ho-ho, it's heartening to see such passion even at mealtime. Watching the fervor of today's youth sometimes takes me back to my younger days. I, too, managed every aspect of my life with rigor—from training to rest, all strictly supervised."
Lancelot, the first to empty his bowl, launched into a speech aimed at the knights. But the odds of his words reaching their food-focused ears? Slim.
Their eyes, naturally, turned to me instead.
"Commander, nobody's listening. We're busy."
"...Is that so."
"Customers are piling up."
"Fair point. Ho-ho, age has made me talkative, it seems."
Lancelot laughed, a touch regretfully, and then started up again.
"Once again I've felt the sincerity of chivalry in your cooking. This chadol doenjang-jjigae—isn't this the dish that even the famously stubborn Camilla Wagon of the Golden Wagon acknowledged? I confess I hesitated at first, put off by the appearance and smell. But it only reaffirmed your excellence as a chef. Outward looks mean nothing. What matters is skill and inner substance. What a magnificent embodiment of the chivalric spirit. I leave today with yet another enlightenment. Ho-ho."
He started with his review of today's meal, then moved seamlessly to recent training, then the weather, then goings-on at the viscount's estate. The man had a motor attached to his mouth—he never stopped switching topics.
Being able to talk like that is a skill in itself.
I let his words flow in one ear and out the other as I focused on cooking.
"Andrea! One bulbaek for table 13, one doenjang-jjigae!"
"Understood!"
Sssssizzle!
I was running two pans nearly simultaneously while also simmering a stew and frying donkatsu patties on the side.
Utter chaos.
Andrea glided across the room, tray of food in hand, as if riding the wind itself.
Graceful and fluid—true to her elven blood.
When she'd been stepping by herself it had looked kind of ridiculous, but moving with a purpose, she was almost elegant.
Customers stared, transfixed, as she swept smoothly between tables with a tray balanced in each hand.
It didn't matter if they were men or women.
It wasn't just that she was beautiful—though her striking looks and the way her skirt fluttered with every step certainly did things to the village men.
What really hooked their attention was something else.
Is that one mine?
The contents of her tray.
Everyone craned their necks, hoping their order had come out. And in craning their necks, they couldn't help but admire the elf's possessed-looking movement, as if wind spirits were carrying her along—and so their eyes stayed locked, and the cycle continued.
How many chances does a person get to see an elf move like that?
Even in the capital, it was a rare sight.
"Her movements are unusual today. Is this how elves move, then?"
Lancelot, who'd been watching Andrea, commented.
"What about it?"
"The movement, I mean. She's practically gliding on the wind, and the doenjang-jjigae in her hands hasn't so much as rippled."
He was right. Even moving at speed, the food in Andrea's hands didn't shift a fraction.
Impressive serving skills.
"Here is your bulbaek and doenjang-jjigae, si-sir. Ha. Ha. Ha."
Of course, the awkward smile and the obvious struggle with formal speech—those still needed work.
If she could nail that too, she'd be the perfect employee.
At least the honorifics come out naturally with me now. I guess I should count that as progress.
As I swallowed my disappointment, Lancelot spoke again.
"Imagining facing her on a battlefield... it's a chilling thought."
"Chilling?"
"Most knights would crumble, unable to withstand your elf server's movement. Clad in heavy armor, you're sluggish—and the helmet restricts your vision besides. Reacting in time is near impossible. And then your opponent comes at your throat with a mana-laced blade. In a fight like that, a knight devours himself with his own fear."
Lancelot finished and fixed his gaze on Andrea.
"Hmmmm... collapses on his own, without ever fighting."
The chatty old man suddenly clamping his mouth shut was unsettling in a weird way.
What's this?
Why do I feel so uneasy?
What's he thinking about that makes him focus like that?
The unease was brief.
I was too slammed to entertain unease of any kind.
Busy enough to erase all thought. I wiped sweat from my forehead just as I was drizzling sauce over freshly fried donkatsu.
"I really ought to introduce my pupil to this place."
A pupil of Lancelot's who's never visited here...
That can only be one person.
I nearly spilled the donkatsu sauce.
Didn't ruin the customer's food, though. Good job, me.
"Say that again?"
"Did I not mention it? Besides the viscount's knights, I have a pupil I'm personally training."
I lifted my head without meaning to and looked at Lancelot.
His eyes hadn't left the elf's fluid movements.
"That child has tremendous talent. Tasting the food here and watching that elf move—there would be much for him to learn."
"You intend to bring him here?"
"Yes. I imagine tasting your cooking will stir many thoughts in him. Besides, he should see what kind of skill the knight who took the sword meant for him possesses."
Even as I stared at Lancelot, I pushed the freshly made donkatsu through the serving hatch.
"Four donkatsu for table 24!"
"Understood!"
As Andrea approached, Lancelot's gaze shifted from her to me.
"Did I mention that the Sword of the Lake you received was originally meant for that pupil of mine?"
"Yes. I've been making good use of it, thanks."
We were talking about the famous blade I now used as a butcher's sword.
"Ahem. Well, with swords, who wields it matters more than how it's wielded. Ho-ho-ho."
"Sir Lancelot... is your pupil's name, perhaps...?"
I asked like a man grasping at the last straw.
"Ivan."
I'd prayed it wouldn't be. But of course it was.
The original male lead. Figures.
I shut my eyes tight.
He was the one person, after Princess Diana, I absolutely had to avoid.
"Isn't that movement a bit too advanced for a growing knight? Most knights couldn't replicate it if you ordered them to."
"You think so?"
"Absolutely. Didn't you say yourself it wouldn't be easy for you, Sir Lancelot?"
"Hmm... but that child will manage. His talent is radiant."
Goddamn protagonist buff.
A human body pulling off movement like that? Really?
Lancelot already seemed set on bringing him.
All I could do was hope Ivan stubbornly refused. He probably wouldn't come. Before meeting the female lead, he was the type to go out of his way to avoid people.
"And what if he refuses?"
"Then nothing to be done, I suppose. But I'd very much like to bring him. Hiding away in a cramped corner won't help anyone grow."
"..."
Yeah, he's definitely bringing him.
A visit from Ivan seemed unavoidable.
I'll just show him enough to put him off—make sure he never looks this way again.
Stay uninvolved. That's all I need. Ivan's the type to leave before long anyway. And Britten territory is too remote for the emperor to bother with. Even if there's a slight connection, they won't touch it.
Just like in the novel.
"Ho-ho, I don't plan to bring him immediately. He needs to earn the qualification first. Though when he does come, I intend to have him taste every dish here. Ho-ho-ho."
Lancelot let out a booming laugh, completely oblivious to my feelings.
Those eyes said he was bringing him no matter what.
Damn.
I swallowed a sigh and called out while plating up bulbaek.
"Andrea! Two bulbaek for table 6!"
Ivan was Ivan, but the work wasn't going to do itself.
***
After the chaotic lunch rush, I grilled up some bulgogi for my own meal.
"Oh, I'll just have vegetables today."
Did I mishear?
Andrea—the Andrea—turning down meat to eat only greens?
"Suddenly going vegetarian?"
"Sometimes it's necessary to eat this way."
"Are you really Andrea?"
"Yes! Who else would I—"
She didn't finish. Sighed instead.
"Anyway. I'm only eating vegetables today, so just know that. It's a form of mental discipline we elves need from time to time."
"Suit yourself."
She picked at her rice and side dishes, nibbling.
But her eyes kept drifting to the meat with every bite of vegetables and rice. She was chewing the meat with her eyes.
There's an old saying about staring at dried fish to make your rice last longer.
Exactly that vibe.
Were those tears welling in Andrea's eyes, or was I imagining things?
Anyway. Tasty lunch.
***
Loran. Northwestern reaches of the Empire.
The domain of Count Loran—a backwater nestled in barren mountains, with a modest castle too small for its comital rank. Iron ore from the rugged peaks was the region's chief export. So were criminals, since those same peaks made excellent hiding places.
It was also Roman's hometown.
"Grrrk!!"
"Sp-spare me..."
Depo, a senior knight of the Imperial Princess's Order, exhaled heavily after dealing with the bandits who'd been foolish enough to attack him.
"This is Roman's hometown, then?"