Temporary Closure - 2
A world without genetic testing.
Hair color became the crucial yardstick for determining whose bloodline one had inherited.
In the case of the Sichuan Dang Clan, even distant collaterals or illegitimate children were accepted as family so long as they were born with purple hair—a thoroughly convenient setting.
Aside from purple hair, what other genetic traits did the Sichuan Dang Clan carry?
As Hwarin’s case made clear, anyone who inherited Dang blood was born with powerful innate resistance to poison.
I had once asked her about it out of curiosity while we were traveling.
“So if a Sichuan Dang Clan child isn’t born with purple hair, you just force-feed them poison to check? What kind of clan do you think they are?”
“You said they have resistance. So feeding them poison should be fine, right?”
“Resistance, not immunity! Even a child born into a sword clan starts with a wooden practice blade. You think poison is some kind of toy? What Dang children possess is resistance to extreme toxins—and even that only grows as they train in poison arts.”
Resistance to extreme toxins, then. Fair enough. Even people outside the Dang Clan could be born with some resistance to milder poisons depending on their constitution, and internal energy could always force toxins out.
Thankfully, that particular detail kept Uigakju from demanding I prove myself by swallowing poison if I truly claimed direct lineage. The suspicion, however, had not vanished.
A black-haired barbarian. No poison arts training, so I could not prove myself by ingesting toxins. The Bulmanghwan was evidence, yet it was not a bound soul item; room for doubt remained.
So how, then, could I prove I belonged to the Sichuan Dang Clan?
I had a way.
Use a setting from the martial arts dating sim.
A world where people calculated in copper and ate carbonara. While playing the game I had hurled walls of feedback at the developers, but not all of it had been pure criticism and ranting.
There was one setting I had actually praised—one of the few—and it just happened to involve the Sichuan Dang Clan.
I would use that.
“Waiter.”
I called the server while studying the menu.
“Have you finally decided? If you’re still fretting because of the Dang Clan guests, don’t worry—we have a master chef who can prepare dishes that will more than satisfy them!”
I know. That was why I told Dang Pae to bring us here.
The martial arts dating sim setting I could exploit.
The method by which the Dang Clan people would be forced to acknowledge me as an illegitimate son.
The one feat in this world that only those who carried Sichuan Dang blood could perform.
That was—
“Bring me pineapple pizza.”
In this world, pineapple pizza could be eaten only by those who carried the blood of the Sichuan Dang Clan.
I had ranted long and hard about a wuxia dating sim where people used copper and ate carbonara, but this particular setting I had never once challenged.
Pineapple pizza. That was straight-up poison, after all.
“What?”
“Excuse me?”
“Whaaaat?”
I ignored the shocked reactions of everyone seated at the table and calmly handed the menu to the waiter.
“I think I misheard you. Could you say that again?”
The waiter, however, did not take the menu. He tilted his head and asked once more.
“I said give me pineapple pizza.”
“Ah! You mean for the Dang Clan people beside you? And what will Manager Kang be having?”
“No. I’m the one eating it.”
“Manager Kang, being a foreigner you might not know, but even though it’s a Sichuan dish, only people of the Sichuan Dang Clan can eat that.”
Sweat must have been beading on the back of his neck. The waiter hid his panic as best he could while explaining.
“I carry Sichuan Dang blood as well.”
“Haha! Manager Kang, jokes like that! You’re a regular, but that kind of joke really isn’t funny!”
The waiter waved a small hand and laughed, convinced I was joking.
“…….”
I simply smiled in silence at the waiter who was so delighted by what he thought was a hilarious quip.
“Y-you’re serious?”
Of course not. Total bullshit.
“Pineapple pizza… So you’ve truly dug your own grave.”
Uigakju looked at me with the expression of a man who had just delivered checkmate.
“Young master. It is true that those of the Sichuan Dang Clan can eat pineapple pizza. However, one must train from childhood by eating small amounts of it little by little before the body can handle that toxin. You have never tasted it even once; this is an extremely dangerous order.”
“That’s right, Yunho. I can swallow poisons just fine, but even I can’t handle pineapple pizza well. Don’t force yourself.”
Hwarin clung to my arm with an anxious face, trying to stop the order.
So even the few who could eat it had to be conditioned from childhood. In this world pineapple pizza was basically a souped-up version of fermented skate, huh.
“At Gukharu we also have Sichuan fusion dishes for Joseon guests like Manager Kang! We have Sichuan mala tteokbokki as well. Why not have that instead?”
Tteokbokki sounded like something some other girl would love. Not my style.
“No. Bring the pineapple pizza.”
I’m dead serious. Bring it.
“Please wait a moment!”
The waiter’s face crumpled as he disappeared into the kitchen at my firm tone. I hadn’t ordered a death sentence; did he have to look that tragic?
While I watched the kitchen door, murmuring rose from the tables where the Medical Pavilion members sat.
“Did the Clan Leader’s illegitimate son receive poison-arts training?”
“He doesn’t look like he has any trace of poison training at all.”
“Then perhaps he was raised in the Sichuan Dang Clan.”
“I’ve never heard any rumor of a black-haired child being raised there.”
“So he’s really going to eat pineapple pizza without a single day of training?”
“He claims the Clan Leader’s blood. Direct-line members do enjoy pineapple pizza often enough.”
“Even direct-line members can only enjoy it because they ate it from childhood. Some bastard son who appeared out of nowhere suddenly says he’ll eat a whole pineapple pizza?”
“Even I can only manage one slice. If he’s ordering that, I’ll finally know whether he’s the real illegitimate son or not.”
Every gaze from the Medical Pavilion locked onto me. Good. Look all you want. Give me more attention.
“Excuse me. I am the head chef of Gukharu.”
While I was savoring the stares, a man emerged from the kitchen and approached me.
“So you’re the master chef I’ve only heard about. A pleasure.”
“Who are you?”
The head chef of Gukharu ignored my friendly greeting and cast a sharp look around the table.
“Pardon?”
“I came out because I wanted to know which Dang Clan person is bullying one of our regulars. Is it the gentleman beside you?”
He looked at Dang Pae as he asked.
“No. Bullying? What are you talking about?”
“When I was still in Sichuan I saw Dang martial artists feed pineapple pizza to other martial artists a few times just to mess with them. Manager Kang is a valued regular of Gukharu. I could not simply stand by.”
“It’s not that. I really ordered it for myself.”
“You came with Dang people, yet if it’s neither bullying nor punishment, then is this just youthful recklessness? Simply eating pineapple pizza will leave you wracked with vomiting and diarrhea. No matter how much bitter tea you drink, the sweetness will cling to your tongue for ten full days.”
So in the Dang Clan pineapple pizza was used like fermented anchovy sauce—something for punishment games?
“It’s fine. I carry Dang blood as well.”
I smiled and convinced the chef.
“Is that true?”
“Yes. So please prepare it without worry.”
“Hoo. Very well. I have no idea if you’re lying, but I am a master chef. As an apology for my rudeness, I shall begin with the finest pineapple and use the finest ingredients and skill to create Sichuan’s specialty dish—pineapple pizza.”
“I’ll be counting on you.”
“Yes. Even if you end up having an audience with the King of Hell, I will make sure you can proudly say you arrived after eating the finest pineapple pizza.”
The King of Hell? That would get this place shut down, you know.
Whether he read my thoughts or not, the chef returned to the kitchen with renewed vigor.
“Here… y-your pineapple pizza is ready!”
The waiter appeared carrying the pineapple pizza. Good lord. He even had nose plugs in.
It was huge. The pizza that landed on the table claimed a massive share of the space.
Why so much pineapple? It was practically coated. To think this cursed food existed even in this world. No matter how many times I saw it I never got used to it.
“Young master. Let me eat it instead. You can prove the Dang blood after we reach the Sichuan Dang Clan.”
“Yunho… You don’t have to go this far because of me.”
When I gave a hollow laugh at the overwhelming presence of the pineapple pizza, they must have thought I was terrified; both of them urgently tried to stop me.
“Leave him. The man with the silver tongue will now be ruined by that very tongue.”
Uigakju folded his arms, ready to watch my downfall.
“Yunho. Even if you can’t eat it, that doesn’t mean you’re not of the Dang Clan. There’s no need to plant needless distrust…”
“It’s fine.”
I raised a hand to cut Hwarin off, then used the pizza tongs to place a slice on my plate. The cloying sweetness that stabbed my nose made me wonder if this was less pineapple and more pure sugar.
In this world, only those of the Sichuan Dang Clan could eat pineapple pizza. A visceral wave of nausea that every native of this world instinctively felt washed over me for an instant.
It’s fine, Kang Yunho. You can do this.
I had already tested it. I could. What I was about to swallow was food that was not food, something that could not even be called a snack.
“Where’s that sweet smell coming from?”
“Look at that! It’s pineapple pizza!”
“Fruit on pizza? No true person of the Central Plains puts pineapple on pizza!”
“Pineapple pizza? Has the chef finally decided to kill someone?”
“Why does a cursed food even exist at Gukharu? Is this a Sichuan restaurant or a restaurant of hell?”
“Eating that cursed food… as expected of those Sichuan Dang bastards… Wait! Why is the black-haired one reaching for the pineapple pizza?!”
The sweet scent rising from my pizza drew every eye in Gukharu—not just the Medical Pavilion members—straight toward me.
I eat.
I picked up the slice with one hand, folded it lengthwise, and shoved it boldly into my mouth.
“He ate it!”
“The barbarian ate pineapple pizza! He’s about to start vomiting and diarrhea!”
“Quick! Stand by a physician!”
I ignored the screams and chewed and swallowed. The sweetness on the pizza was brutal.
Calling this pizza was a crime. I only ate it when I was starving; my tongue was suffering. Pizza should only ever carry meat, seafood, and vegetables.
“Ugh! I can’t watch!”
“Almighty Primordial Heavenly Venerable, protect me with eternal qi! Bestow the Super Treasure Pangu Banner and lead me to the immortal realm!”
“We must stop him at once! Life may be fleeting in this world, but we cannot let a man go this easily!”
Countless screams reached me, yet I could only focus on the sensations of my tongue.
It’s delicious. No. There’s no way it’s delicious.
A pizza the master chef had crafted specifically to schedule my interview with the King of Hell. He had poured every premium ingredient into it without restraint; it was sickeningly sweet. Yet at this level, didn’t it still fall into the “tasty” category?
No. Thinking pineapple pizza tastes good is heresy.
I silenced the minority opinion inside me and silently swallowed another mouthful.
“Look at him. He’s barely holding on, but he’s still eating!”
“Is that pineapple or ananas?!”
“Even a direct-line member would spit it out the first time! Why isn’t he spitting?!”
“I blacked out the first time I ate it! Why isn’t he collapsing?!”
Because I already ran the experiment once before.
Back when I wandered the Central Plains, while washing dishes at an inn, I overheard that they were preparing pineapple pizza for a Dang Clan guest.
The problem was that even the head chef himself did not dare taste-test whether the pineapple pizza was any good. An important guest meant someone had to sample and evaluate it.
—I’ll try it.
Was it because the one controlling this body was me, not the original trash Kang Yunho? Or was it the power of the Yeokcheonja?
My body was definitely native to this world and felt the instinctive revulsion, yet eating it posed no real problem.
Thus began my daily ten-round gratitude pineapple-pizza binge.
I regulated my breathing like a poison tester, clasped my hands in prayer, took my stance, and began the gratitude pineapple-pizza feast.
To make money, you have to make easy work look difficult.
At first I ate two slices and deliberately retched up one.
Next I ate three and brought one back up. After that, half a pie. A full pie. Two full pies.
By the time I finished my work at the inn and had to leave, a fatter wage than expected was stuffed snugly into my pocket.
Eating this pizza now was not hard.
What I was eating now, compared to the trash food produced by a chef who had never even made pineapple pizza before, at least still belonged in the category of food.
Even if I could never acknowledge it as authentic pizza.
“Does the black-haired one’s body run with poison instead of blood?!”
“There’s no doubt—Sichuan Dang blood flows through him!”
“He’s not human! That’s a poison bird! A bird that drinks poison! Kyaaaaak!”
I continued devouring the pizza without hesitation.
“H-he finished it!”
“One man ate an entire pineapple pizza!”
After a full day of hard work plus the need for rapid brainpower, an entire pie disappeared in no time.
“It’s been a while since I overate. It’s hard.”
I stroked my belly and spoke in a confident voice toward Uigakju, whose jaw still hung open and refused to close.
Well? Perfect proof, isn’t it?
“Kh…!”
Uigakju let out a groan as he looked at me.
The restaurant that had been as noisy as a storm had fallen into silence along with my meal.
The spectators who had enjoyed the show returned to their own food; the Medical Pavilion members stared at me with stunned faces.
Everyone had heard my claim and witnessed the proof. That left only one thing to say.
“Uigakju. Have you now decided to acknowledge me—or rather, my blood?”
Time to drive the final nail.