Bitter, Nutty, and a Little Sweet (2)
Gordon's mind went blank for a moment.
Just a brief pause. A very brief one.
A person's head—more specifically, the brain—is complex and delicate enough that any number of factors can bring thought to a surprising halt.
The most common reason is when something completely unexpected unfolds right before one's eyes.
But it is not limited to what the eyes take in.
The brain freezes just as readily when it hears bewildering information.
It freezes when it feels some indescribable, terrible texture.
What in the world is this flavor?
The bewildering combination of tastes on his tongue.
The fruit Flora had handed him was far too unfamiliar.
First of all, the fruit was bitter overall.
When a person tastes bitterness, instinct usually kicks in—whether they gag, shudder, or spit it out on the spot, they react somehow.
But the fruit he had just eaten was different.
It was unlike any food Gordon had ever tried.
Well, if he widened the scope to include drinks, there was one thing that came close.
"This is almost like Alrune's... no, maybe not quite."
"Porororong?"
"Huh? No, it's not that it tastes bad."
Flora looked crestfallen, her expression asking if that meant it was no good. Gordon had nothing particular to say in response. He still could not pin down a clear definition.
So he took another big bite of the fruit.
Unlike the first time, he rolled it over his tongue and savored it carefully.
It really did resemble Alrune's Tear—or rather, Brownie's Joy.
If that drink had been made of butter, this was probably what it would taste like.
There was a difference in degree, of course. The distinctive bitterness brushed across the tongue and left behind a trail of acidity and astringency, much like the surface of the fruit itself.
The nutty aroma of roasted beans, the alluring fragrance, the bitterness, the bright acidity.
The fruit differed from those two beverages in those exact points.
The bitterness rising from the oily flesh—soft as butter that melted under the slightest pressure—wrapped gently around his entire tongue and mouth.
Once his tongue began to adjust to the bitterness, a subtle oiliness rose right through the nutty flavor that matched the buttery texture so well.
But it was not long before everything melted away, leaving only a dry aftertaste behind.
In the space between, a sweet note lingered—faint, yet thick and sticky.
"Porororong?"
"Hm?"
She only chirped porong-porong, yet the meaning was perfectly clear.
Flora was looking at him with bright expectation, asking whether it tasted good.
"Nah. Personally, I don't think I like it much."
"Porong?!"
Flora's face crumpled in pure shock, as if such a possibility had never even crossed her mind.
"But I can't figure out why I keep wanting another bite."
"Pororong?"
"No, I'm telling you it's not a flavor I personally prefer. Still, there's something addictive about it. Pretty wild."
"Pororororong—!"
Flora beamed as if that settled it—so he did like it after all!—and threw herself into Gordon's arms.
"Hey, wait—ah, damn it, now I've got it all over me—huh? It's Karem."
"Pororong?"
Papa? Flora turned her head.
Karem was trudging across the greenhouse toward them.
Karem looked down at the black, heart-shaped fruit in his hand.
Told to try it, he had split it in half and taken a bite.
And truly... he was bewildered.
Honestly, Karem had been prepared to accept just about anything he saw.
Being reincarnated into another world was already enough to drive a man mad, but a Red Witch's Finger? Adulterous mint? White, black, and pale elves? Dwarves with heads and beards shaved clean?
An Iceworm longer and larger than a bus, a Snowrunner that looked exactly like the long-extinct terror birds of his previous life, giant walking mushrooms—compared to the zombie-movie scene he had witnessed with his own eyes not long ago, none of it was that shocking.
Magic, mana, magical tools—and right now he himself was wielding divine power. What was left that he could not believe?
He had even roasted and eaten mammoth meat.
And that thing had been undead-aged, no less.
"Still, a hairless dwarf is pretty out there, I'll admit."
"What are you mumbling about?"
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"Hm?"
"Looks like you took to it more than I expected, though."
"Well, how should I put it..."
At those words Gordon lifted his head from where it had been buried in the split fruit. Thick, dark brown juice clung to both cheeks like mud.
"Just like this, it doesn't really taste that great."
"Pororong?!"
Flora jumped in disbelief, eyes darting between Gordon and the fruit before fixing on Karem with a desperate plea.
Karem took another bite.
The seedless fruit was as soft as room-temperature butter.
Like Alrune's Tear, it was bitter, astringent, alluring, and nutty.
Even without any sugar added, a faint sweetness drifted through the fruit itself.
It tasted like nothing he had ever eaten before.
But if he included his previous life, there was one thing that was not merely similar—it was nearly identical.
"Chocolate."
More precisely, chocolate with nearly ninety percent cacao content.
It tasted exactly like that, melted down.
That explained why Gordon kept eating even while claiming the fruit was not very good.
That unique, addictive blend of bitterness and nuttiness could snare even people who never drank coffee.
Gordon's Sword Master palate had clearly recognized the exquisite balance.
"Personally, I like this side of it."
"What? This bitter, astringent, half-baked—"
"Gordon. Side. Your side."
"Oh. Wait a second."
Gordon flinched and tried to backpedal. Too late.
Flora blinked, then stuck out her lower lip and bolted toward the forest on the far side of the greenhouse.
"That's what you get for standing right in front of her muttering about how bitter and weird and bad it tastes."
"Huh. Taking your daughter's side, are you?"
"Who's whose—"
Olivier's words suddenly flashed through his mind.
"Ha, damn. This family tree is a complete mess."
"And I never said it tasted bad."
"Calling it bitter, astringent, and weird isn't the same thing?"
"If it actually tasted bad I would've said so straight out."
Gordon grumbled as he finished the last bite of the provisional heart fruit and adjusted his grip on the remaining half.
"You called it half-baked and weird, yet you keep eating it. Talk about mixed messages."
"Look, this is... mm—"
Aware of the contradiction, Gordon averted his eyes and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the fruit traces from his beard and cheeks.
"Hard to put into words, but there's a strange addictive quality to it, you know? Like Alrune's Tear—its aroma alone is outstanding."
Karem understood the feeling perfectly.
To be blunt, cacao is not the most important part of chocolate.
The quality of the sugar and milk that go into it matters far more.
Cacao's role is little more than a seasoning, like pepper.
In that sense, the taste of this heart fruit was closer to chocolate's raw material than to the chocolate people usually knew.
"Hah. Anyway, when she sulks like that it lasts for days. What a pain. How am I supposed to cheer her up this time..."
"I'll help."
"Hm? You will?"
"Yes."
Karem turned the uneaten half of the heart fruit over in his fingers.
He had been wondering what to give someone as a gift; this was perfect timing.
"In exchange, though—I'll need to borrow Corvus's kitchen. And I'd like to use some of these fruits, too."
"Ah, use as much as you want. As much as you want. Take the fruits, too."
"You're not even the owner and you're saying that?"
"He probably won't care."
Corvus's nest looked quite different from the last time Karem had seen it.
The once-lush grass floor had dried out completely, giving off the scent of well-dried straw.
Still, the warehouse and nest in the distance, and the kitchen set up nearby, remained the same.
"So where did Corvus go?"
"Busy planting seeds, I think."
"Seeds? At this time of year?"
"They yanked a whole bunch for that guest banquet not long ago, remember?"
"Ah, so that's how it works."
But with Flora here, shouldn't that have been fine?
And the coming-of-age ceremony was almost here... no. There was no banquet at the coming-of-age ceremony.
At least, Karem had never heard of one.
"You sure don't mind the idea of working my daughter like a mule."
"Then that would make you my son-in-law."
"What? Son-in-law? Who? You?"
Gordon, mid-stretch, froze with both arms still raised toward the sky. His face twisted into the odd expression of a man who had just heard something bizarre.
"I handed over the seed, and Corvus planted it, so yes. Besides, you called her your daughter first."
"Well, I did say that, but... ah, forget it. I didn't hear anything. Too much trouble."
Gordon shook his head like a reed swaying in the wind.
"If your head's too full, how about grabbing some ingredients from the warehouse for me?"
"Fine. You're awfully natural about bossing people around, though."
"Faster than me hunting for everything myself, isn't it?"
"Now that you mention it, you're right."
Having easily convinced Gordon, Karem stared at the half heart fruit resting on the table.
Honestly, he was not sure whether sugar and milk alone would turn this into chocolate.
Cocoa mass at least solidified into something firm.
The heart fruit's texture, like its mouthfeel, was closer to room-temperature butter.
Well, it did not really matter.
Karem's gaze lingered briefly on his own two hands.
If it comes down to it, I can just freeze it solid.
He had divine power blessed by the gods themselves.
Given the buttery consistency, chilling it enough to set should be possible.
"Hey, the guy who was so good at bossing people around—where did you go? What do you need?"
"Ah, uh... milk and sugar, lots of both for starters."
"Hm? That'll be enough?"
"For now. For now."
Gordon asked several times if he was sure, looking thoroughly skeptical, but Karem had nothing more to offer.
The moment the milk and sugar arrived, Karem immediately set the heart fruit over a double boiler.
Thankfully, the buttery texture had not been an empty promise.
As steam began to rise from the pot, the dark brown fruit slowly melted down.
"So what now?"
"I add sugar and cream and keep it over the heat."
"And then?"
"Well... maybe make a piping bag, put it in molds, and let it set?"
"'Maybe'? Why do you sound like you have no idea when you're the one making it?"
"Because I genuinely don't know."
Gordon stared at him as if he had never seen a stranger creature.
But Karem really was just winging it with whatever his hands decided to do.
It was a relief that it melted in a way that roughly resembled the videos he had watched in his past life. He had no backup plan if this failed.
In my previous life I didn't even have Mary. Why would I have been baking at home?
Strictly speaking, chocolate was an ingredient for baking rather than baking itself. Still, it required a lot of tools and left a messy cleanup, so it was much the same.
Anyway, he began pouring sugar and cream by eye into the formless melted heart fruit, stirring with a spatula.
When the spatula dragged stiffly, a little more cream.
When it looked too thin, a little more sugar.
"Hey. The volume's ballooning out of control. You sure this is fine?"
"Come on. What do you take me for?"
"Well, you are serious about cooking, so you must have something up your sleeve."
"No. This time I really don't know either."
"What?"
And then, right before the pot could overflow—
After swelling to roughly one and a half times its original volume, the result finally appeared.
Chocolate brown.
A soft, sweet scent so addictive it was almost dangerous.
Success.
"Ooh..."
All of Gordon's earlier anxiety, bewilderment, and suspicion had long since vanished; only curiosity remained, standing side by side with appetite.
"Smells decent enough to eat."
"I'm just glad it worked...! Seriously...!"
"So what now? Bring some fruit or bread and dip it?"
"That would actually taste pretty good."
"Then?"
"But the amount is still small, so later."
While Gordon looked disappointed, Karem searched for a piping bag and a tray.
"If this were the tower kitchen there would've been proper molds..."
Piping everything by hand was a hassle, but he had no choice.
At this point he had to set it before anyone started dipping.
He scooped the melted mixture with the spatula and was about to load the piping bag when a sudden curiosity struck him.
"...What is this even made of?"
The piping bag felt less like vinyl and more like a thin plastic membrane—yet far softer and more opaque.
Until now he had used parchment or copper funnels; this was the first time he had seen anything so similar to the vinyl piping bags of his previous life.
"Well, thinking about it won't give me answers right now."
Time to make chocolate.
He could always ask Catherine later.