Just One Bite
Fat.
Adipose tissue. Or muscle.
A single word so simple it can be muttered in a breath holds, in inverse proportion to that simplicity, the power to make countless people laugh and weep—those who are too thin, and those who have put on weight.
Karem’s previous life as Garam had belonged firmly to the latter camp.
It was the most abundant era in the long sweep of human history. Enough food was produced that no one on the planet needed to go hungry. He had been born in a country where delivery culture thrived; as the years passed, every delicious dish imaginable could be summoned with nothing more than the flick of a finger. Staying thin under those conditions was almost harder than gaining weight.
Decide to put on pounds, and it happened in an instant. For modern people, weight management was inseparable from daily life.
This life’s Karem, however, belonged to neither extreme.
A serf had no leisure to worry about such things. To survive, you ate whatever you could. Especially when you considered that, thanks to the genetic donor of his current body, he had barely managed a single meal a day.
People who have lived hungry often balloon the moment their circumstances improve and they can eat freely. Yet long live adolescence—and on top of that, the heavy labor of cooking burned calories nonstop—so Karem had been able to eat as much as he pleased.
That had lasted until last autumn.
The curse had nearly exhausted the buff of his growth spurt. The time had come for Karem, too, to start regulating what he put in his mouth.
It was not particularly difficult. He still carried a modern man’s memories—an entire lifetime of dietary control. And whether because he had never eaten properly in this life or for some other reason, the threshold at which he gained weight sat surprisingly high. The sole silver lining of those wretched ten years, you might say.
It was a different matter entirely for someone born with a silver spoon, buried under work, with no time to exercise because of his position as heir, stress constantly accumulating, and a blood relative who could stuff himself without ever putting on a gram.
Someone like Godwyn, planted squarely in the lobby of the Magic Tower’s first floor.
Crunch— crackle— snap-crunch—!
“Cooking, all of a sudden.”
“What, is that so unexpected?”
“Of course it is.”
Godwyn kept his fork moving without pause, clearly pleased with the chicken gangjeong, while nodding rapidly.
“Even if you’re not quite as bad as our little darling, you’ve always only cared about eating. And now, suddenly, cooking? You?”
“Isn’t that exactly why he took an interest?”
Karem gave a slight tilt of the head toward Godwyn, who seemed to be considering the idea, and tossed William a discreet wink.
Of course he knew perfectly well that was not the real reason—but some things you want to keep secret precisely because you are close. And secrets like that are often easier to confide in someone not directly involved.
“Well, you’re not wrong. Sudden as it may seem, it isn’t all that sudden either.”
William flicked his eyes toward Karem in a silent greeting, then speared a piece of chicken gangjeong. Godwyn’s brow furrowed.
“The amount’s shrinking.”
“Shut up. This was my lunch. You barged in, we’re splitting it, and you should be grateful I’m not saying a word.”
“Hey, did anyone know he had a prior engagement?”
“Then call a house brownie!”
“Mary’s at work! And more importantly—you said you’d only take one bite! Stop eating!”
While the two brothers bickered, Karem glanced toward the counter.
Today’s attendant was Narke, the gloomy necromancer elf. His usual timid expression had frozen solid, and his drooping ears stood bolt upright like a startled rabbit’s.
Why don’t you step out for a bit.
R-really?
I’ll call you back when they’re gone.
Then—
Narke ducked his head in a quick, silent nod, scooped up stacks of documents and writing tools, and bolted for the stairs. A male mage descending at that exact moment took one look at the scene in the lobby and, without changing posture, turned right around and headed back up.
“So this is… fried chicken?”
“Chicken gangjeong.”
“Right. Did you make the chicken gangjeong today?”
“No. Karem made this.”
“Then what did you make? Let’s try some.”
“I can see exactly what you’re expecting. I already threw it out.”
Mary had been the one who disposed of it, of course.
William shuddered and waved the hand holding his fork.
“It didn’t taste like anything. Eating it only made you feel worse.”
“Didn’t taste like anything? What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. No flavor at all.”
Even after William’s explanation, curiosity lingered in Godwyn’s eyes as he slowly tore into another piece of chicken gangjeong.
“Anyway—more importantly, you said you wanted to see me all of a sudden?”
“Ah, right. The chicken gangjeong distracted me for a moment. Yes. Sorry for dropping in unannounced.”
“Please don’t worry about it, my lord.”
It wasn’t as if Alicia’s stealth visits were a once-or-twice affair. Over the past few months Mary had caught her, so she must have leveled up her skills somehow; word was she had gone back to perfect infiltration. In any case, situations like this were familiar.
“I put the weight back on because of you, so take responsibility.”
“Understood—wait. What?”
Karem’s head snapped up mid-agreement.
Certainly, compared to the brief glimpse at the coming-of-age ceremony, he looked a little…? Specifically, the sharp angles of the neatly trimmed goatee along his jawline had softened, and his once-flat cheeks looked a touch fuller.
“…Don’t tell me that after all those warnings you went and gorged on Maoines again?”
“What? Of course not. Well—there are times I can’t resist the temptation, but that isn’t the cause.”
Then what was? From the glimpse Karem had caught of Godwyn’s brutal daily schedule, the man ought to have been losing weight, not gaining it.
“It’s that Amadeus jam you made. That demonic jam is why I look like this.”
“Oh.”
That made sense. Hazelnuts plus a flood of milk—of course the pounds would climb. No, wait.
“What is this, getting stabbed and then blaming the blacksmith?”
“Anyway—between hosting guests and the coming-of-age ceremony, the lessons never stopped and I was dying of exhaustion, and then Alicia offered me something spread with that demonic jam you made. One taste and now I’m in this state.”
“Brother, honestly, even to me that sounds like a stretch—”
“Ahem. In any case, Karem. You will take responsibility.”
Did I really agonize over this guy that much? William’s eyes went flat with secondhand embarrassment at the spectacle of the person who occupied roughly half of his worries. Karem felt the same.
“How long has it even been since I made the Nutella and you’re already packing on weight—”
“Every morning and every snack, whenever I had pastry bread, I spread it on. Pancakes, castella, that sort of thing.”
“Ah. I see.”
Karem rolled his lips inward and bit down.
He could not scold him for how much he had shoveled in. Even in his previous life, Nutella had been infamous for its devilish addictiveness. There was a reason it shared the nickname “devil’s jam” with marshmallow fluff. Even Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, legendary for self-discipline, had once admitted to spreading several jars of Nutella over dozens of pancakes.
“Young Master Godwyn.”
“So? What’s the plan?”
“To put it bluntly, there is no plan.”
“What?”
“Come on—you’ve eaten it yourself. You know perfectly well how insanely addictive it is.”
Godwyn let out a low hum at the reply. His brazen front crumbled instantly under the weight of fact.
“Is that Nutella really that addictive?”
“You haven’t tried it yet?”
“Well… no. I’ve had Amadeus, though.”
That one’s not really my taste either, in its own way. Karem accepted the possibility and turned his gaze back to William.
“The best method is simply to hold out.”
“Can you make that a little easier?”
“The other option is to eat a substitute that can stand in for Nutella.”
“What? A substitute? There’s such a thing?”
The light of anticipation that had been fading from Godwyn’s eyes flared again with excitement.
“Don’t get your hopes up that high. It’s only a substitute. Substitute. The texture and flavor are only about as close as broth is to the real thing.”
“That’s still something.”
“Eat too much and you’ll still gain weight. Probably.”
“That’s a bit of a problem.”
“Whatever it is, if you lose your mind and shovel it in, the weight comes on just the same.”
People misunderstood substitutes. A substitute was only a substitute—not a perfect solution. If you ate protein, salad, and fruit for dietary reasons and then piled those plates sky-high, you still gained weight. Elephants were herbivores, after all.
“Besides, strictly speaking, this substitute is fruit.”
“Huh? What kind of fruit is that?”
“Anyway, such a fruit exists. Since the topic came up, let’s head straight to the greenhouse.”
The chicken gangjeong was already gone; the bowl sat empty. William, who had eaten less than expected, gave the uninvited guest a pointed jab of dissatisfaction, but Godwyn only laughed.
“That was delicious.”
“Of course it was. That was my lunch.”
With the Winter-Ascend-level guest reception and the coming-of-age ceremony finished one after another, Winterhome finally seemed to have entered its season of rest. The people passing through the open grounds and corridors—including themselves—could be counted on one hand.
“Come to think of it, you’re wearing something I haven’t seen before.”
“Who? Me?”
“Yes. On your left hand.”
Godwyn’s eyes sparkled as he stared.
“And on the ring finger, no less. That happens to be the exact position where Duchess Elizabeth wears the wedding ring Father gave her.”
“What you’re thinking is probably right. From the feel of it, they exchanged rings too.”
“Oh? Then does that mean finally—?”
“I hear they even call each other by name now.”
A ring on the left ring finger. Permission to use first names despite the master-servant relationship. And if you looked at the way Karem’s ears had turned red, there was no room left for denial.
“Ah, both of you, enough. Why are you so interested in other people’s romances?”
“Hey. You expect us not to? You’d be just as interested if your brother were all lovey-dovey.”
“Why is the splashback hitting me?”
William’s words were perfectly accurate. Few things were as entertaining as other people’s love lives. The problem was that the people being chewed over, torn apart, tasted, and enjoyed were not “other people.”
“Looks like the rumor’s already spread all over Coldon.”
“So how far have things progressed?”
“Nothing of the sort you two are hoping for happened. Give it up.”
“How dull.”
“Agreed.”
Once these two started teasing, they never stopped. Godwyn and William, true brothers, synced up with matching expressions.
Then, suddenly, Karem remembered what had happened in the dining hall after the coming-of-age ceremony.
“….”
“Hmm? You’re turning red from the neck all the way up to your head.”
“Ahem. Anyway, nothing happened.”
“I don’t know. Your skin doesn’t seem to agree with that statement. Godwyn?”
“William’s right.”
“The greenhouse!”
They brushed past knights and soldiers who stepped aside with expressions that said this was unexpected (Alicia was usually the one doing the unexpected things). Warm, humid air wrapped around them the moment they entered. The contrast with the outside air was still hard to get used to.
“Whew. Now I can breathe.”
“This much cold is nothing… Ah, right, you’re from Kingsland.”
“A backwater village in the sticks, but yes, Kingsland.”
Karem walked toward the Amadeus tree, visible clearly even from a distance. As they drew near, Corvus was raking fallen leaves into a neat pile around the base of the trunk.
“Corvus. It’s been a while.”
“Ah. Young Master Karem. And both young masters as well—what brings you here?”
“I’d like some Amadeus, if possible. Flora—”
Pororong—!
A dryad’s bright, ringing cry echoed from the treetop. Corvus tilted his head for a moment, then gave his beak a light shake.
“She says Young Master Karem may take as many as he likes. Please wait a moment.”
“Ah, one will be plenty.”
Swish— pluck—
Corvus gripped the rake in one clawed foot, stretched out the other wing, and plucked the Amadeus fruit hanging at the tip of the lowest branch, then offered it over.
Karem handed it straight to Godwyn.
“Here. This is Amadeus.”
“This?”
Godwyn blinked rapidly, staring at the heart-shaped, dark-brown fruit clutched in his hand.