Want to Come In for Ramyeon?
Want to Come In for Ramyeon?
I realized my mistake the moment I said it.
She was a prominent, powerful noble.
Me? I was a retired knight from the imperial princess's order, now belonging to a fallen noble house in the middle of nowhere.
Even among aristocrats, the gap in standing was unmistakable.
Had I made her uncomfortable?
"Ah, my apologies. I'll just..."
"N-no, no! It's fine. I-I just meant I was flustered."
"Have you always eaten alone?"
"Who said I always eat alone? I was just surprised because the person who's usually always cooking suddenly sat down right across from me."
"So it's alright if I eat here?"
"...Yes."
At Camilla's nod, I smiled and ladled a portion of ramyun into my own bowl.
The ladle scooped up the tangled noodles, red broth, and generous toppings.
The dried green onion, radish, sliced garlic, shiitake mushroom, and carrot that garnished the bowl—all of them were freeze-dried.
'That's a solid serving.'
Just the ingredients from the solid soup base mix I'd formulated in advance were enough to make the toppings look hearty.
What was the biggest disappointment I'd felt whenever I ate ramyun back in my old life?
'There's never enough stuff in it.'
That moment when you tear open the packet and see the miserably sparse bits of dried garnish. Everyone's wished there could be just a little more.
I was no different.
This solid soup base was designed to address that exact shortcoming I'd always resented.
'It's not like I'm mass-producing this to sell on the cheap. I made it because I wanted to eat it the way I like.'
The ramyun soup powder had gone through round after round of refinement.
In my spare time after prepping ingredients, I'd mixed countless combinations of seasonings and sent them through the freeze-dryer.
Gochujang, chili powder, pepper, salt, soy sauce, minced garlic, MSG, and a broth extracted from simmered meat—all blended into a proprietary ramyun soup base.
After dozens of tests, I'd landed on two versions that came closest to the taste I remembered.
A spicy recipe reminiscent of Pu-ramyeon, the iconic hot ramyun brand.
And a soybean-paste-based recipe that recalled the milder, savory profile of Anseong-ramyun.
The balance of chili powder and soybean paste changed the entire flavor, so nailing the ratio took serious effort.
What I'd brought out tonight was the result: my meticulously crafted secret soup base and solid soup base dropped into boiling water, plus handmade noodles boiled at a rolling boil.
I'd considered serving the soybean-paste version instead, but some stubborn part of me insisted that a person's first ramyun should always be the spicy kind.
Bring them in with Pu-ramyun, then diversify with Anseong-ramyun!
So I'd placed a bowl of the fiercely red, chili-powder-boiled spicy ramyun on the table.
Since I was still pulling the noodles by hand, the curls weren't perfectly uniform, but even so, it easily passed muster.
"Thank you for the food. Enjoy."
"...Thank you."
From the seat opposite Camilla—who that day was unusually quiet and flustered—I lifted a generous tangle of noodles with my chopsticks.
The white, curving strands came up soaked in red broth.
'All the trouble I went through just to eat this...'
Ever since I'd awakened to my past life in this world and remembered those old memories, ramyun had been one of the foods I'd missed most.
The ramyun I'd think of from back when I lived alone in a studio apartment, lazing on the floor instead of going to work. The single greatest culinary invention of the modern world—easy to make, yet packing an intense, addictive punch.
Yellow noodles in steaming red broth, a whole egg on top.
The definitive bachelor food: finish the noodles, toss in some cold rice, stir, and it transforms into a completely new dish.
Seven full years since I'd last met this taste.
I'd found an alchemist who could synthesize MSG, but he'd passed away right after completing that first batch.
Research had been stalled for a long time. I'd searched for an alchemist with the magical expertise to develop freeze-drying technology, and it wasn't until I met Riman—a genuinely skilled alchemist—that I could finally complete the ramyun soup base.
Of course, I could have just mixed a sauce from scratch to mimic the flavor without ever making a dried packet.
'But that's not instant ramyun.'
True ramyun had to be ready in five minutes once the water boiled. That was the rule.
The bowl sitting before me was the culmination of that grueling process.
The spicy aroma of the broth tickled my nose.
It smelled like home.
Slurp.
I stuffed my mouth full of noodles.
God, it was good.
I knew this taste. A taste I knew inside and out. A taste I'd missed.
"Haah."
A satisfied sigh escaped before I'd even finished chewing.
The seasoned broth clinging to the noodles hit my tongue and the roof of my mouth.
My face relaxed as the spicy heat prickled on the back of my tongue.
"Delicious."
As I bit into the firm, springy noodles, their savory grain flavor melded with the spicy broth.
And between the strands, the bits of solid toppings crunched.
A thoroughly satisfying first bite.
A bite that made all the waiting and development worthwhile.
I popped the yolk of the Coco egg, still runny inside. The yellow yolk dripped down over the noodles.
I took another mouthful, the noodles now coated in both broth and yolk.
The egg neutralized the broth's heat, making the flavor far smoother and richer.
"Delicious."
I picked up a piece of kimchi and ate it together.
Crunch!
Ramyun and kimchi.
There was no better combination in existence.
I lifted the bowl and took a deep drink of the broth.
Gulp!
"Kheuh!"
Delicious.
Even the broth was ridiculously good.
After that first wave of eating, I looked at Camilla, who was still holding her chopsticks and staring at me.
"You're not eating?"
"H-huh? Ah? O-oh!"
She floundered, flustered.
"I-it's just... I should eat. I was watching because I wasn't sure how to eat it."
"No special trick. You just grab the noodles once they're coated in the broth. The Coco egg yolk—you can pop it runny like I did, or stir it into the broth. It's up to you."
"Ah... Okay."
She lifted a mere two strands of noodle with her chopsticks and began chewing them in tiny, pursed-lip bites.
No appetite?
'Maybe I should've gone with the soybean-paste-based soup after all.'
But then you couldn't experience ramyun's classic flavor.
And it was so good, too.
This right here—right now, while it was still bubbling-hot and the noodles retained their firm bite—was when it tasted best.
"Does it not taste good?"
"It's good."
Despite her words, she again lifted only a couple of strands.
Maybe she just didn't like noodle dishes. Should I have served her meat instead?
'From what I remember, even back in my old world, ramyun wasn't exactly a polarizing food for Western palates.'
Was it too spicy?
I needed a way to draw out her appetite.
"Do you know the line a man and a woman use to flirt when they're interested in each other?"
"What line?"
I leaned slightly toward Camilla and paused for effect.
As her attention fixed on me—
"'Would you like to stay for ramyun?'"
Cough!
Camilla's face flared crimson as she choked.
"Th-this, this r-ramyun h-has that kind of meaning?! H-how scandalous!"
"The ramyun itself doesn't mean that. It's just that the phrase gets used in that context."
"...Why in the world would anyone use it like that?"
"Because it's a meal you can throw together casually. It's something anyone—young or old, man or woman—can make easily."
Of course, a different phrase had largely taken over that particular connotation by now.
Something like, "Want to come see my cat?"
Still, this was a time-honored classic.
"Try it out yourself sometime. Your intended target will love it. Hahaha!"
"..."
Camilla's face had gone a deep scarlet.
"Try it with kimchi. It's genuinely delicious."
"R-right..."
Looking thoughtful—or maybe just wishing the floor would swallow her—she pressed her lips shut and ate her ramyun.
Had that joke been a bit too wicked for a noble?
Camilla sat before her empty bowl, head swimming.
'How on earth did I eat that?'
Normally, a new dish would have set her heart fluttering as she ate. Not today.
Lucas had sat right across from her and joined her, and she hadn't been able to focus on the food at all.
Slurp.
She'd even found herself staring, dazed, as he ate.
"You're not eating?"
"I-I'm eating."
She'd ducked her head in embarrassment, mortified that he'd caught her watching.
She'd become acutely aware of the image she was presenting as she ate.
She'd moved her chopsticks while worrying whether a drop of broth might splash onto her clothes.
The aristocratic table manners ingrained in her from birth had carried her through a flawless meal, but she'd been hyper-conscious of every single motion the entire time.
Somehow, amid the chaos, the dish Lucas had called "ramyun" had been delicious.
The savory taste of the noodles, present in every small mouthful.
The spiciness was a flaw, but the deep, rich savoriness laced through it was exactly why she loved Lucas's cooking.
Not even the capital's famous chefs could replicate that flavor.
And Lucas, oblivious to all of this, had kept fussing over her.
Then there was his joke.
"Do you know the line a man and a woman use to flirt when they're interested in each other?"
"What line?"
"'Would you like to stay for ramyun?'"
In that moment, she'd been stunned past belief.
He'd only been joking.
He must have been. Without a doubt.
So why bring it up now?
Could Lucas possibly have feelings for her too?
The stray thoughts wouldn't stop.
She couldn't even make sense of why she was acting like this.
All she could manage was to eat her ramyun with her head bowed, avoiding his face.
"It's, it's good. That soup base... pack me some, like you mentioned. I'll have every noble in the capital test it."
Even when she held out her hand to ask for the packets, she couldn't meet Lucas's eyes.
"I'll leave it in your capable hands."
Their fingers might have brushed when he handed her the soup base. But surely that was just her imagination.
***
"Hah... hah... How far have I come?"
Saint Amelia wandered through the forest, step by slow step.
She'd been lost alone here for days, and her appearance was now far from saintly.
The nun's habit she'd swapped with Mika was torn in places from snagging on branches. Her pink hair, unwashed for days, was slick with grease. Her clothes and skin, grimy with dirt and dust, gave her the look of a beggar rather than a saintess.
Days had passed since she'd shaken off the Bellosa knights pursuing her.
She couldn't even confirm the fate of the holy knights who'd guarded her, let alone her own immediate safety.
She'd pushed through the forest to somehow escape the knights' pursuit.
On the third day of being stranded, she'd sent her horse away to avoid pursuit and trudged forward, cutting through the mountains on her own two feet.
They'd said that if she kept heading this way, she'd reach the cities and villages of the southern continent, but no matter how far she walked, all she saw was more forest.
"What's going to become of me now...?"
She was afraid.
There was still so much she had to say, so many people she had to find. She couldn't collapse here.
But what saddened her most of all—
'The holy knights...'
—was that she hadn't even been able to properly pray for those who had risked their lives to protect her.
Today, too, she clasped her hands and walked on, praying they had reached a safe chapter of the Order.
Surviving in the forest posed no problem for a saintess.
Purifying water, identifying edible plants, settling into sleep—all of it was effortless for one blessed by the goddess.
In fact, sustaining herself on nothing but greens was a deeply familiar practice.
'This too must be an ordeal sent by the goddess.'
There would be meaning in it.
She trusted and followed.
'She must be punishing me for entertaining those irreverent imaginings.'
Drawing a deep breath, she clasped her hands and prayed.
"O Goddess. Please, if you watch over this empire, grant me the chance to overcome this crisis."
As she staggered onward, praying fervently, she ducked low at a nearby rustle.
Rustle.
No.
Had the Bellosa knights tracked her this far?
Please, no...
Beloved mother goddess. Look upon your daughter with pity and...
"Who's there?"
The figure that appeared before her as she knelt in prayer was—
"A- an elf?"
A golden-haired elf.