Pork Gukbap and Suyuk Contain Patience and Burning Passion. That Is the Spirit of Chivalry
Pork Gukbap and Suyuk Contain Patience and Burning Passion. That Is the Spirit of Chivalry
Stirring the seasoning paste into the soup until it bloomed into a scalding, rust-red broth, spooning up a bite of rice and meat together—every mouthful brought Ivan a fresh epiphany.
It was the Chivalry of Gukbap.
The result could only be achieved through grueling endurance.
This milky, deep-toned soup that demanded twelve full hours of boiling.
The true extract of flavor, brought to perfection only by endlessly skimming away the fat that kept rising to the surface.
The meat itself, simmered with the broth the whole time, had to be cooked clear through to its core.
When Lancelot first told him this, Ivan hadn't believed it.
Just for one pot of soup? A single slice of meat? All that time, poured purely into food?
Why would anyone bother?
Food was food, no matter how you dressed it up.
Whether it tasted good or not, he'd decided his hours were better spent training.
That was exactly why Ivan had always eaten garbage.
But with every spoonful of broth, his thinking shifted.
It was flawless.
The soup, steeped out through grinding patience, carried a dense, profound richness, while the meat it cradled gave way tenderly, holding its juices deep inside.
A flavor he had never once encountered in his entire life.
'Is this what patience produces?'
Was this what a knight's meal ought to be?
Just as a knight's body was forged through punishing discipline, this broth had undergone the very same process. And the meat was no different. Amid the lean flesh's perfect softness lay a yielding, fatty richness; there was so much of it, filling the inside of his cheeks, that no matter how much he scooped, he never ran out. With every spoonful of rice, broth, and meat together, the seasoned soup met the rice, and the meat asserted its presence unmistakably between them.
'Only wholehearted endurance and waiting can bring forth a correct outcome.'
Ivan ladled up another mouthful of the scalding soup and ate.
And felt the heat.
The warmth that stoked him from the inside out awakened every cell in his body.
'Passion.'
What passion could yield was not merely a hardened physique.
Just as this fire-like heat filled and warmed his own body, his passion could, in turn, warm the people around him.
'A positive virtuous cycle born of passion.'
And yet—was passion truly the right word for it?
Whether the sensation was generous acceptance or mere fire, his understanding was still too shallow to say. But one thing was certain: this heat was essential to any knight.
Passion through patience.
Or patience through passion.
'Regrettable.'
That his own enlightenment was too paltry to fully grasp it.
Had he tasted this even a little sooner—or trained a little harder, sharpened himself a little further—he might at last have resolved the questions coiling in his head.
Another regret followed close behind.
That he had not tasted the broth before the seasoning was stirred in.
'What has already passed cannot be undone.......'
Swallowing his regret, Ivan picked up a piece of the accompanying suyuk.
He felt the tenderness of the flesh instantly. Unlike the leaner meat still swimming in the soup, this cut held a far higher proportion of fat. With each chew, juices seeped out and awoke a richness that filled his palate.
He tried dipping it into the ssamjang and the salted shrimp, just as he'd watched Lancelot and Lucas do.
The saltiness of the shrimp, with its faintly briny aftertaste, suited Ivan perfectly.
'Perhaps it really is the capacity to embrace.......'
Wasn't this the teaching—that someone who could accept anything could adapt to any circumstance?
Eating the meat—neither tough nor scorched, not even faintly gamey—he understood the greatness of patience and waiting anew.
Only wholehearted endurance and waiting could bring forth a correct outcome.
All his life, he had assumed bold advance and swift attack were the only answers. Overwhelming an enemy at maximum speed—that, he'd believed, was the knight's way. But this gukbap was telling him that path was far from the only correct one.
Patience was an answer, too.
"Patience......."
At those words, Lancelot, watching his pupil's enlightenment, broke into a quiet, satisfied smile.
"Well?"
"It's remarkable, Master. This is......."
"That is how exceptional a knight he is. Exceptional enough to distill the path he has walked into a single dish and offer it up as a teaching. He's demonstrating that crossing swords is not the only way to impart a lesson."
Ivan, who had been steadily working through his gukbap, looked up and asked Lancelot a question.
"How does he compare to you, Master?"
"Hard to say. We've never crossed blades in earnest, but at worst, an equal. More likely, he's beyond me."
Only then did Ivan fully understand.
Why Lancelot had given that man his treasured sword.
'In that case—there must be a reason he uses such a blade to slice animal bones and butcher carcasses, too.'
One question entered his head and resolved itself, only for another to take its place.
Questions and epiphanies, again and again. Though the unanswered ones still outnumbered those settled, he grasped something on instinct.
Even if he could not resolve them immediately, time and growth would see them resolved before long.
"Khaaah~."
Lifting the earthenware pot in his left hand, he gulped down the last of the broth.
It was the first truly delicious meal he'd ever eaten.
***
"Haa. So good."
Andrea, who'd scraped the pot clean down to the bottom, patted her stomach and let out a satisfied sigh.
Watching her, I popped the last piece of suyuk into my mouth, swiping it through ssamjang first.
Damn good.
Polishing off the gukbap and then snagging that final, solitary slice of suyuk.
Right. Now this was pure s—sustenance. A meal, I meant. Ahem. Just a meal!
"I meant food. Mm-hmm. Food."
"So, you've given up on the whole losing-weight thing?"
"I'm still working on it, okay? Look. See any difference?"
Andrea's eyes went half-lidded as she lifted the edge of her tunic a fraction.
"Huh. It actually does look slimmer?"
Her silhouette had tightened up, and more than anything, the definition in her muscles was clearly visible.
"You've been hitting your workouts hard lately, I'm guessing."
"......."
"Honestly, with all that elf-step footwork you've been drilling, it'd be weirder if you didn't slim down. Veronia rubbing off on you?"
"......."
Dead silence.
Wait a second—was her stomach actually receding inward?
"......Breathe."
Only then did I catch sight of her face, which had been holding its breath with everything it had. She'd been tensing her abs to fake a flatter stomach like a complete fraud.
No wonder she'd gone mute.
"Pwah!"
She exhaled and hurriedly yanked her tunic back down. As the breath left her, those rock-solid abs softened back into a faint, honest layer of flesh.
"You really tried to bluff your way through that?"
"You just don't get it, Boss."
"I dunno, looks like you're well-fed and healthy. I like it."
"That's not—!"
"You haven't put on that much."
"That's even worse!"
Andrea's face was turning a vivid shade of crimson when—
Thud!
A heavy impact against the floorboards spun my head around. Ivan, having finished his meal at some point, had dropped to his knees right in front of me.
"I am deeply sorry."
He bowed his head low.
What the hell? Where was this coming from?
"I failed to recognize your, Elder, exalted level and acted with gross disrespect. My sincerest apologies."
"......."
"Not only did you generously overlook an upstart's challenge, but you even bestowed a teaching upon that same upstart through your vast capacity to embrace. Once more, I thank you for this profound lesson."
My brain couldn't catch up to what had just been sprung on me.
What was this guy even saying?
Why was I suddenly an "Elder"? What "level" was he talking about?
"What do you......."
"I understand your wish to remain hidden. I will not speak of your, Elder, level to anyone else. One who has ascended to the realm of encapsulating his own doctrines within a dish, granting teachings to others through it—a man of such stature residing in a countryside like this doubtless has his reasons."
Ah, right. This guy was Lancelot's pupil, too.
Being the novel's protagonist, I'd almost forgotten.
'He really didn't come off like this in the novel I read.'
A bit more solemn and weighty, prone to severe jealousy, burning with revenge, a little too obsessive over his woman.......
'Now that I think about it, he didn't exactly have a pristine personality.'
It was clearly because the novel unfolded from the heroine Monica's point of view. She'd been viewing the male lead through the thickest possible rose-colored glasses, which meant he got presented in a dashing light every single time.
'Come to think of it—you really are just a guy, huh.'
While I was chewing on that, Andrea leaned close and whispered in my ear.
"This human's weird."
Same thought here, Andrea.
Up close, protagonists in novels always turn out to be missing a screw or two.
"Once my injuries are fully healed, may I request one more sparring match?"
"......I'm pretty busy, so probably not."
It was an instinctive refusal—a gut feeling that I shouldn't get any more tangled up with him.
"......As expected, it won't be forgiven so easily. Then, would it be permissible for me simply to eat here?"
"I mean, I can't exactly stop a paying customer from eating."
The moment a restaurant starts turning away walk-ins is the moment the bad rumors start flying.
"Still, don't come every single day."
Just in case trouble crops up later.
Ivan's eyes darted slightly, then he opened his mouth as if something had clicked.
"You mean that if it becomes too familiar, the threshold will rise....... That taking it for granted will stifle any further growth. I will take that to heart."
"......."
At this point, the man was a terminal case of chivalry syndrome.
'This really wasn't the kind of character he was.'
Had I accidentally opened a forbidden eye in him?
***
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★★★★★★ — True chivalry is a matter of breaking limits.
Patience. The capacity to embrace. And passion.
Steaming-hot gukbap embodies the true spirit of chivalry.
It seems some wretch who knows not the first letter of the word "chivalry" is calling another menu its spirit—an insult to the soul of genuine knights.
This dish delivers piping-hot broth, tender meat, and, caught between them, the crisp snap of green onion and chili.
When you tuck chives into the meat and eat them together, the harmony of flavors is nothing short of fantastical!
You could flatly call every other food garbage.
Why would you even bother eating anything else?
One bowl of gukbap gives you soup and meat together—pile on some tangy, spicy kkakdugi and down it in a single mouthful; how solid and satisfied does that leave your insides!
Recommended: Pork Gukbap, Pork Suyuk — This is the essence of a knight.
— Free Knight Ivan —
==============
Was it really a good idea to leave Ivan's name hanging up there?
But taking it down felt like it might redirect the wrath of that chivalry-madman—no, that gukbap zealot—straight at me.
'It's not like the imperial princess knows about this place right now. Should be fine.'
When a celebrity visits a restaurant, it's standard for them to leave a signed photo. Nobody instantly starts a rumor that the owner and the celebrity are best friends because of it.
If someone asked, I could just claim I didn't know Ivan personally.
He just came in, ate, and left.
No matter how tyrannical Diana supposedly was, she wouldn't lop off heads over that.
......Right?
As I glanced back at the board, something new attached to Heimer's review caught my eye.
==============
★★★★★
By eating donkatsu, I understood what true chivalry is.
I, Heimer, will engrave the owner's teachings upon my heart, never forget them, and press onward.
Until I become a true knight, I will frequent this Knight Restaurant.
I will not forget this grace. Owner.
Recommended: Kyeongyang-Style King Donkatsu — A must-eat for any knight.
— Knight of the Viscount's House, Heimer —
==============
└I don't know what "donkatsu" is supposed to be, but it is a universal truth that gukbap is the genuine knight's path. You're better off eating pork gukbap, which gives you hot soup plus a generous heap of meat. Chivalry-illiterate ignoramuses who've never even sniffed the first letter of chivalry can see themselves out.
Don't like it? Let's settle it with a duel.
— Free Knight Ivan —
"......It got a comment."
The first comment to appear on the Imperial review board.
Was it really okay for comments to look like this?
"Eh. They'll sort themselves out."
If it got too out of hand, I could just prune things a little later.
For now, it seemed fine.
For now.
***
Sssizzle!
I cracked an egg onto the frying pan—no, a Coco egg, delivered personally by the owner of the Coco Chicken Farm.
"The yolk's dull."
Where it was supposed to glow a vivid, glistening orange, the yolk instead bore a murky, pale-lemon tint. Even when I'd cracked it, the white—which ought to hold its shape firm and springy—had failed to keep any structure and had spread wide.
"The white's in pretty sorry shape, too."
I picked up the fully cooked Coco egg with my chopsticks and took a bite.
"Kgh! Ptooey!"
Fishy. My tongue recoiled on contact. It tasted as if the egg had been sitting around for at least a month after being laid. The distinct stale-egg funk of old Coco eggs made my face twist.
The overall condition was abysmal.
I turned to the farm owner who'd brought them in.
"Sir, what's going on with these eggs?"
"Well, that's......."
The farm owner bit his lip.
"Something's been wrong with the Cocos at the farm for the last few days."
"What kind of trouble?"
"We don't know. They just started to look haggard a few days ago. The eggs have been getting smaller, and occasionally, a few birds just...... disappear entirely. These eggs here? They were laid this very morning."
"Laid this morning and they're already in this condition?"
Something was definitely wrong with the chicken farm.
It was the largest-scale operation in the area, and the one where the Cocos had always been the healthiest. Just as I was about to roll out some actual chicken dishes—Coco dishes—the farm's condition had to go sideways.
This was not acceptable.
It wasn't just the Coco eggs themselves. Every chicken dish I had planned, present and future, would be thrown off.
Was that all? The batter was the soul of anything fried; if the egg wash made from these Cocos was no good, the flavor would suffer everywhere.
"I'll head over with you soon."
"But what about today's business?"
Today's business wasn't the issue.
If I let this sit, my entire operational plan moving forward could be wrecked.
"We'll close for today. The customers will understand."