Suyuk with Geotjeori Is Invincible
"Um, e-excuse me... customer? Why are you buying this?"
A stuttering, uncertain voice.
A young girl with a somewhat gloomy air—apparently the owner of the workshop—looked up at me with open suspicion.
"Why, I require it as an ingredient, of course."
"F-Flame Herbs as an ingredient? Wow, that's dangerous..."
Flame Herbs.
A familiar name.
As a low-grade alchemical ingredient, they were often mixed with other catalysts and thrown as bombs that inflicted status ailments. They were finicky, yet extremely useful against mobs with low status resistance, so the name had stuck with me.
But no matter how I look at it, this is...
I had never realized it when I only saw them in the game, yet once they had been ground down like this, the shape was far too familiar. A vivid scarlet red, a fragrant yet spicy aroma, and even—
"Ah! Ah! You're eating that?!"
—a taste that was somehow sweet beneath the sharp heat, without a single hint of rawness.
This was, without any doubt, chili powder.
"...I have found it. The flavor I searched the market for all day without success. It is this very thing!"
Well, at this point it was hard to shake the thought that someone had simply taken the peppers we all know and casually renamed them... yet process aside, the important thing was that I had found them at last.
"I-If you need them, you can buy as many as you like, but... customers who take this much usually plan to use them for something dangerous. So I normally try to talk them out of it..."
"Hmm... and by 'dangerous,' you mean?"
"Bombs, or... bombs. I mean, this stuff isn't used for anything else, is it...?"
Only then did I understand.
The way she was looking at me was distinctly uneasy—exactly the look one might give a would-be bomb terrorist.
"Ahh, if that is your concern, you may set your mind at ease. I require these Flame Herbs for a dish I intend to prepare."
"C-Cooking...?"
Her expression said she could barely believe it, yet she was clearly trying her best to understand.
"In the place I come from, a dish cannot be completed without this."
"You must come from a ridiculously strange place... If that's your purpose, I'll sell you as much as you want, but I've never seen anyone use this for food before..."
Well, I could hardly blame her.
Spiciness had originally evolved as a form of pain. From a plant's perspective, capsaicin and similar compounds developed so that anything trying to eat it would suffer and leave it alone.
To someone like me, long accustomed to heat, treating this as food was only natural. But from her point of view, watching someone casually eat bomb ingredients would look like pure insanity—something like a mad bomber sampling gunpowder. That reaction made perfect sense.
"In my judgment, the quality of this chili pow—ah, these Flame Herbs—appears quite excellent. If possible, I would like you to supply our restaurant on a continuing basis. Would that be feasible?"
"Huh...? These? Well, the quality is good, sure, but... can you really use this much?"
"Yes. There are any number of uses for them."
She seemed to ponder for a moment, then abruptly thrust out her hand.
"I-I'm Wiz. I gather them myself from the forest every day, so the quantity isn't huge, but... please take care of me."
Come to think of it, it had been a long time since I had opened a supply line this way.
Back when I ran a little eatery in my previous life, I used to buy ingredients from places that advertised big—only to receive substandard goods, complain, and get ignored by complete scumbags. Filtering those out had been pure suffering. In the end I learned that the only reliable method was to walk the streets myself and find trustworthy people. The way the conversation had naturally turned toward regular supply was probably thanks to those old memories.
If I let a place like this slip away, I won't find another easily.
"My name is Carmilla de Valin. I operate a restaurant just up the street."
And just like that, my first supplier was secured.
It might have seemed a trivial matter, yet to me the encounter felt like pure providence—a small but genuinely monumental step.
With every preparation complete, I returned home wearing a thoroughly satisfied smile.
"Fufu... it is perfect!"
All the ingredients were finally in place.
It was a pity this was not kimchi-making season, yet there was no need to be particular about the calendar simply to prepare geotjeori. There was no time to waste. More accurately—I could not wait another second.
Get that pot of water on the fire right now.
"Sniff sniff... Carmilla, what did you buy? Smell is funny!"
Luca wandered into the kitchen later than usual, eyes bright with curiosity.
Well, I had laid out ingredients quite different from our usual fare—chili powder, garlic, green onions... the kitchen was positively overflowing with aromatic vegetables.
"Today I am preparing geotjeori."
"Geot... jori? What is that?"
"Well, it is cabbage seasoned and lightly pickled... you will understand once you see it."
First priority was, of course, the cabbage.
I halved a bright golden napa cabbage with a knife, then tore the rest apart by hand.
Rrrip—!
That nostalgic sound alone sent my tension soaring.
I gave the pieces a quick rinse, cut them from stem to leaf into bite-sized portions, and piled them into a large bowl.
Normally one would salt them at this stage, but using raw cabbage is perfectly fine in its own way.
Next came the seasoning paste, naturally.
I mixed chili powder with minced anchovies, garlic, and a touch of sugar until a familiar red paste appeared. Once I folded that paste lightly through the cabbage and finished with a sprinkle of sesame seeds...
...the geotjeori was complete in an instant.
"Now then, shall I taste just a little..."
Entranced by that glossy, scarlet beauty, I reached out with trembling fingers and picked up a single well-seasoned leaf.
Crunch.
As expected—complete success.
"Ahh... this is the taste!"
It was textbook geotjeori.
The rich, toasty fragrance of perfectly golden napa cabbage; the sharp, spicy aroma of the seasoning that somehow both stood apart and blended in perfect harmony. And at the heart of the flavor lay the deep, aged umami and salinity of the anchovies. Those pickled little fish held the fundamental theme of salted cabbage together with remarkable grace.
I was genuinely moved.
To create something this excellent in an environment where proper ingredients were so hard to find... and after so long without tasting anything like it, the dish was three times more delicious than usual!
"Carmilla, water is boiling."
The geotjeori alone already made a proper dish, yet according to my personal doctrine, even a modest kimchi-making session demanded a full matching spread.
"Ahh, so it has come to that already."
Into the boiling water I roughly tossed every aromatic I had prepared—onion, green onion, garlic, bay leaves... one by one they plopped in until every cut ingredient had boarded the pot.
Last of all went the cheap pork I had hauled home for fifty shillings.
"Fufu... one simply cannot have kimchi season without suyuk!"
The savory aroma of pork simmering in the broth was heavenly. I would have loved some doenjang, but making that kind of fermented paste remained a distant future project. For now, this would have to satisfy.
"Sniff sniff... Smell good. Luca is hungry."
Luca had shown little interest in the geotjeori, yet this scent drew him in at once. Meat truly was a universal language.
"You will have to wait a little longer until it is fully cooked."
I simmered it over medium heat for roughly forty minutes, then lowered the flame and let it rest another ten before lifting the meat free. There it was—beautifully cooked suyuk in all its glory.
Wow, I want to take a bite right now.
I forcibly suppressed that urge and sliced the still-steaming pork into bite-sized pieces. After a full hour of patience, the most primal of Korean pairings—suyuk and geotjeori—was complete.
"Well then, shall we eat!"
The dream table finally sat before my eyes; I could endure no longer. I laid a piece of geotjeori atop a slice of suyuk and stuffed the whole thing into my mouth...
...and the sheer violence of a familiar taste crashed over my consciousness.
First came the cool, refreshing temperature of the geotjeori. Yet it could not remain cold for long. With every chew, the warmth of the freshly boiled pork mingled in until the two reached the perfect temperature together. At the same time, the sharp, spicy bite of the geotjeori and the rich fat of the suyuk wove into seamless harmony.
It was nothing less than a fantastic duet of meat and vegetable—the creation of a flavor that had never before existed in this world.
"Mmm, it is simply divine!"
I cupped my cheeks and could only moan in pure admiration. Something that had been missing inside me was filling up with gentle warmth; I was still basking in that happiness when—
"Heeh... Luca is hungry too."
My reaction must have been impressive, because Luca beside me was clearly angling for a bite. Come to think of it, I had been curious whether this kind of Korean food would work on the people of this world as well.
"Very well. Luca may have a bite too."
I tucked a piece of suyuk wrapped in geotjeori straight into his open mouth.
"Um...!?"
He chewed with little chomp-chomp sounds, and then his face underwent a complete transformation—whether from delight or distress, I could not immediately tell. To me, long accustomed to heat, the spice barely registered as stimulation. To Luca, who had no resistance whatsoever, that unfamiliar burn was still very new.
"Drink some water first."
He drained the cup I poured for him in one go, and fortunately the expression that remained looked more like "delicious" than "suffering."
"Uuu... tongue stings. But Luca wants more! Feels addictive!"
"Fufu... what ever do you mean by that?"
"Give more!"
In short, it was deliciously spicy.
After several more pieces, Luca seemed to grow used to it and began enjoying the food without any resistance at all. With a reaction this positive, releasing it as an official menu item might not be such a bad idea after all.
We were still thoroughly enjoying ourselves when a familiar sound reached my ears.
Ding-a-ling—
The chime I had hung on the shop door.
"Oh? Looks like you're properly open for business."
I turned toward the voice and saw a familiar face.
It was Roen Lacroix—successor candidate of the Libra Merchant Coalition, and my very first investor—who had come calling.