Feeding the Mage Isn't That Hard
Having just watched Gordon get thoroughly punished right in front of him, Karem killed the thought that had abruptly risen in his head, sliced the toast on a diagonal, and politely held out a piece.
The look of it and the whole situation were a little ridiculous, but it was hardly difficult work. He had fed baby food to infants before, and he had spooned meals into the mouths of frail old people who could barely move at a nursing home. He simply had never fed anyone outside of those cases. Especially not someone so beautiful that he found it hard to look her straight in the eyes and had to keep his gaze fixed somewhere around her brow instead.
Of course Karem was curious why Catherine, whose mind and limbs were perfectly sound, would not simply feed herself. He was also fairly certain that if he asked right now, an ice chunk would end up buried in his skull the same way it had in Gordon's. So wouldn't it be smarter to fill her up first, soften her mood a little, and ask afterward?
As Catherine approached with a flushed face, Karem held out the toast with a strangely considerate gesture that did not suit a serf at all.
Crunch. The sound of it between her teeth made Catherine flinch. When the toast pulled away from her mouth, melted cheese stretched from the cut surface all the way to her lips before snapping. Karem quickly twisted the toast so the cheese wound back around it.
"Toast is familiar, cheese is familiar, but eating them this way is surprisingly pleasant in its own right."
"Well, the flying crumbs are a pain, though."
Bread was bound to shed crumbs no matter what; it was flour baked hard with various ingredients. Toast was even worse—calling it toasting was generous when you were basically scorching the thing. And the more you toasted bread, the more crumbs it shed. So why not just enjoy it? Toast and fried food both got better the crispier they became, and the pleasure that ran from the teeth straight into the brain only grew with every extra flake.
Thinking of fried food made Karem suddenly crave chicken. In his previous life he had eaten it at least once a month, sometimes as often as every other day. Reborn as a serf, even ordinary food was something he had to thank the heavens for. Anything that used as much oil as fried chicken was impossible unless you were born into the higher nobility.
He desperately crushed the inner conflict that had begun to rise over his favorite food—the one he could not even dream of right now—and, timing it perfectly, offered Catherine a forkful of sausage and vegetable stir-fry the moment she finished the toast. The moment the food disappeared into her small mouth, Karem quickly scraped his own share into an empty wooden bowl and took a big bite of garlic cheese toast.
The instant his upper and lower teeth crushed through the crisp toast fragrant with butter and garlic, a shiver ran from the backs of his knees all the way to the top of his head.
"Hwaaaaaah—"
"What in the world—"
"Hah, I know that feeling. First time I ate real food after getting out of serfdom, I couldn't even speak either."
Gordon was exactly right. Ten years. It had been a full ten years. There had been the occasional chance to eat proper food during festivals in Moston Village, but the parents who did not even deserve the name had never allowed him so much as a bite. "If a child eats tasty things young, they lose their potential," they had said—complete nonsense. All those years of humiliation and meals that were pure misery. Karem felt almost proud of himself for not crying.
Still chewing his toast, he glanced at the corner of Catherine's mouth; the second she swallowed, he promptly held out more garlic cheese toast.
"Did Gordon forbid you food during festivals the way my so-called parents did?"
"What? Of course not—. Wait. Karem, don't tell me—"
"Hmm. Sounds like you grew up in a better environment than me."
"Those parents of yours must have been real goblin shitbags."
Gordon clicked his tongue theatrically, sausage still halfway to his mouth. Even serfs who ate garbage most of the year could gorge themselves on decent food during festivals. Any parents who would not even feed their child then were clearly trash without needing much thought.
Catherine swallowed her toast, crossed her arms, and tapped her fingers against her own sleeve.
"I take it the village chief and the priest weren't proper human beings either."
"Not even close. The chief was the type who put his hands on his own daughter-in-law and daughter, and the priest spent every waking hour drunk and chasing after big adult men."
"Wait, they were that much garbage?!"
Catherine could accept the priest, but the chief's filthy secret left her stunned. Even if the continent of Europa was medieval, incest was still taboo.
"Well, compared to the chief the priest was almost—no, he was pretty bad too… Anyway, let's just finish the meal."
"Right. But how did you ever learn to cook like this under those conditions?"
"You could say I twisted myself every which way trying to make the inedible things in that insane environment edible."
For the sake of health and the future he had eaten everything he possibly could—bugs and monster byproducts included. His actual cooking skill, however, was something he still remembered perfectly from his previous life, and he simply did not have the courage to say that out loud. Dodging the question by answering a different one somehow worked. While Gordon clapped him on the shoulder and said he had suffered a lot, Catherine gave a small, accepting nod.
"When people are threatened, they sometimes discover talents they never knew they had. Kid, you clearly have a gift for cooking."
"It's just sausage and vegetables stir-fried together plus cheese toast, though."
"Is it? I've lived a long time and never once seen toast prepared this way. And that sausage-and-vegetable stir-fry has the seasoning soaked all the way through. It's better than 'just' anything."
"Mm… is that so?"
"Yes. Using this much garlic is unusual, though."
"Really? But it's still edible, right?"
"It is. The garlic flavor and aroma are strong, but that actually cuts through the greasiness of the cheese and butter."
"Oh. Oho."
Praise that specific made him feel awkward. Karem simply held out more toast to Catherine. If he had been an ordinary child who knew nothing, it might have been different, but he knew perfectly well he was only a reincarnator who had enjoyed cooking as a hobby in his previous life. The only real difference was that he had thrown himself into that hobby with total focus—nothing else except games had ever held his attention so completely. Cuisine on the continent of Europa was as varied as the number of thinking beings who lived there, yet the most fundamental skill of all remained the same: seasoning. That had not changed between his past life and this one.
Catherine, who had unwillingly lived for centuries, had eaten enough meals to form a mountain range. She rarely refused food of any kind, yet over those long years her palate had grown increasingly refined. That was why she was now genuinely impressed by Karem's cooking. Gordon, on the other hand, praised him from experience.
"Listen, Karem. I guarantee you there are restaurants and inns out there taking money for food worse than this."
"Well, places that sell food can vary a lot."
"Heh. For a serf you sure don't know much."
Even modern restaurants produced endless horror stories if you looked hard enough. Gordon's examples from what was essentially a medieval world were enough to make anyone shudder just imagining them. When he launched into a vivid firsthand tale of finding a cat's skull in an "eternal stew" that had supposedly been simmering for over a hundred years, Karem shuddered in pure disgust. Catherine repaid the story by conjuring a bouquet of sharp icicles.
"Shall I decorate that head of yours with a pretty flower arrangement for spoiling the meal with that kind of talk?"
"Whoa, perfect timing—I was just craving some nice cold ice."
"Hmph. Kid, let's just finish eating."
The meal had been briefly interrupted, but Karem resumed feeding her at once. By the time the plates were nearly empty, the awkwardness he felt each time he helped her eat had… not lessened at all. It was still extremely awkward.
Catherine, who had been accepting the food, finally seemed full; she flushed and stopped him. Karem could only think, Now? With that slender frame she had eaten three full plates—as much as Gordon himself.
"Ahem, ahem. Good. I ate well. This is enough."
"Yes. Ah, Gordon, do you want more?"
"I'm good. You should eat some yourself. You've been so busy helping someone else you haven't properly—oh, you're already eating."
Whether Catherine shouted at them to shut up or not, Karem finally began to enjoy the meal he had not been able to savor because of "someone." The garlic cheese toast and the sausage-and-vegetable stir-fry had both gone cold, but they were still tasty. No—compared to everything Karem had been forced to eat until now, this was a magnificent banquet. He stuffed an entire piece of toast into his mouth, chewed noisily, and sneaked a glance at Catherine as she unrolled a sheet of parchment. She looked pleased, the full-stomach kind of pleased.
Now.
After polishing off the last of the sausage-and-vegetable stir-fry and swallowing half of the final piece of toast, Karem asked,
"Lady Atanitas. There's something I've been curious about."
"Mm, kid?"
"Was there a reason I had to feed you?"
At the words that came out of the young serf boy's mouth, Catherine froze in a way anyone could see was awkward. Gordon sidled up next to Karem and whispered,
"Well, I was half-joking, but she really might have that kind of preference."
"What? Preference?"
"Quiet!"
Crackle-crackle-crack! Gordon's mouth was instantly sealed under a layer of ice. The one who had frozen him, Catherine, stared at the surrendered Gordon with sharp eyes, then softened the corners of her gaze and thought rapidly. Of all the causes of trouble in the world, at least a third and as much as half came from misunderstandings born of insufficient conversation. In truth, if she had simply continued starving, the whole problem would have solved itself. That was exactly why she had starved so diligently while traveling with the merchant caravan—but her stomach, whose seal had been recklessly broken by Karem's cooking, refused to allow it any longer. Catherine accepted the situation quickly. Better to clear things up now than create another misunderstanding that would send them fleeing into the night like last time.
"So, no—sigh, fine. Showing you with your own eyes will be faster. Both of you, come over here."
Suddenly? Still, there was no reason not to go. Karem and Gordon approached.
"Kid. Give me that toast."
"Huh? Are you still hungry? Giving you the piece I was eating feels a little weird."
"It's not that!"
"Yes…"
With a dubious look Karem handed over the toast. Catherine reached out without the slightest hesitation.
In that instant, starting from the very edge where her fingers touched the toast, the bread began to blacken and rot away as if someone had hit the fast-forward button hundreds or thousands of times.