Elf's Kitchen (1)
Two more days had passed since Eilenna's mortifying little episode.
Which put me at roughly... ten days in Nuardel.
Whoa. Had I really already been here ten days?
Or was "already" the wrong word?
Thinking back, I'd been making something or tearing around every single day. After I found the tomatoes, I made pizza. I cooked the manor's meals, determined to open the elves' eyes. I toured the brewery... and made tarts, too. I'd been busy enough that it was only natural the time had flown.
Veila and Seiran were knights of the Sildiel family to begin with, so they were occupied with their proper duties. I hadn't really seen Eilenna since she'd disgraced herself with that hangover. Not that I couldn't have — I simply had no reason left to visit the brewery, so our paths hadn't crossed.
Lately, Iseria had been busy as well. She was working as an apprentice cook, preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner in full. Today, the apprentice elves' skills ought to have come along a little further. Otherwise, how was I supposed to leave with an easy heart?
It hadn't been many days since I started the cooking lessons. Cooking was simple where it was simple, but the difficult parts demanded steady practice until the feel of the work settled into your hands. In that sense, hoping the elves' skills would shoot up overnight might have been greed on my part. Even so, I pushed them.
I had a feeling I shouldn't stay much longer.
The elves' lessons were being held at the Sildiel estate — Elioren's manor. When I asked his permission, I had put it like this.
"I want them able to make delicious food even after I'm gone."
"Even if you leave us... is that what you mean?"
"Yes. I ought to teach them how to fish."
"...... Very well. Do as you wish."
Elioren granted my request in a faintly ominous tone. And from then on, he began pressing all sorts of offers on me.
"Sir Jinwoo, is your room too cramped to be comfortable?"
"Hm? No. It's plenty comfortable."
"If it suits you, I've prepared a house on a very fine piece of land..."
"Ah, I'm leaving soon anyway. Really."
"Haha. One never knows, does one?"
I'd been getting along just fine, and here he was trying to hand me an entire house.
"Sir Jinwoo, you seem able to handle spirits. Am I correct?"
"Yes. Only at a beginner level, but we can talk."
"Then... how would you feel about forming a contract with an Indigenous Spirit?"
"Uh... a contract is a bit..."
He even tried to broker a contract with something I'd never heard of — an Indigenous Spirit. I didn't actually know what kind of spirit it was, but the word contract gave me the creeps, so I shut it down.
When I asked Iseria later, she told me an Indigenous Spirit was one that had lived for a very long time on the land where it was born. Even mid-rank spirits — even high-rank ones — had trouble using their power inside an Indigenous Spirit's domain.
"Wait, so an Indigenous Spirit is the strongest of all?"
"In exchange, the spirit and its contractor can never leave that land."
"What?!"
I had very nearly been bound to Nuardel for life, with nothing to do but cook. And renamed, no less — not Kang Jinwoo, but something elf-flavored like Kang Jinuriel or Kang Jinuren.
Aside from that whole string of incidents, there had been a suspicious number of offers that glittered a little too nicely. The visit to the brewery had probably been one of them. There was none of the physical coercion of Iseria's kidnapping. Elioren seemed intent on winning my heart first, and keeping me in Nuardel that way.
Run. Absolutely run.
But I had no intention of falling for it. Not a chance. The place for me was always my peaceful restaurant — a spot the people of Silbaerin dropped by now and then, where travelers filled their bellies and went on their way. I might take a trip once in a while, but my nest was not going to change. It hadn't until now, and it wouldn't from here on, either.
Grrrgle...
I was rolling around in my room, leisurely sorting my thoughts, when my stomach loudly announced that lunchtime was nearly here. The servant elves' lunch was still a little ways off, but I'd eaten breakfast early. That was probably why.
I should head down.
I hauled myself off the bed and made for the kitchen. Breakfast hadn't been prepared badly. Lunch would be going fine too, right? Or... should I sneak up on them?
Shff, shff—
Obviously, an ordinary man who couldn't use magic without a status window had no stealth spell to cast. I walked the corridor in the silent, secrecy-discipline footwork the army had chewed me out over, endlessly. So all those times the drill instructors and my seniors tore into me for loud footsteps — that had been for this moment.
Not that I'm particularly grateful...
And so I arrived at the dining hall, quiet enough by my own standards. I didn't go in. From outside, I found an angle where I could see the kitchen, and I watched.
Today's menu was aglio e olio, and eggplant-zucchini pizza. Aglio e olio was famous even back in Korea, a favorite of people cooking for themselves. Easy to make, good to eat, cheap besides — in every way that mattered, a six-sided perfect score of a meal for living alone. By comparison, the eggplant-zucchini pizza might have seemed a little unfamiliar. Fresh eggplant and zucchini, baked Neapolitan-style with just a little tomato sauce. One slice of a pizza made only from ingredients at their summer peak, and a fresh green vitality brought the body back to life. Of course, it wasn't summer now.
All hail the World Tree.
You really couldn't ask for an easier place to cook.
Watching from a distance, I saw the elves prepping ingredients for the dishes they'd each been assigned. Iseria was slicing the eggplant and zucchini thin. Another elf was pressing the pizza dough out flat...
They're actually doing all right.
I was thinking that, and just about to step into the dining hall, when the elves on aglio e olio duty started chatting.
"Um... were we supposed to remove the garlic germ?"
"I don't really remember... let's just make it! It's a pain, isn't it!"
"True. What's going to change just because we skipped one little thing?"
"Ahaha—!"
Snickering away, the pointy-eared brats rewrote the recipe however they pleased. My mistake, trusting them even for a moment. Just in case, I kept the stakeout going.
"The olive oil! Where'd the oil the chef left us go?"
"Ack. Earlier, when we were baking bread to snack on... it was so good I think we used way too much."
"Mm... then we'll just have to mix in some other oil!"
"Ahaha—!"
The aglio e olio elves started sautéing garlic, germs and all, in something that was only pretending to be olive oil.
Hoo... hoo...
From deep in my gut, fury boiled up like a thousand fires. These... these insolent, wretched pointy-eared brats. The chef steps out, and they cook however they please?
I was one step from detonating. Like a glass filled to the brim and holding on by nothing but surface tension, rage packed my skull full. And then came the innocent little conversation of the elves on pizza duty.
"Is there a law that says we can't put fruit on eggplant-zucchini pizza?"
"Ooh, that sounds like a great idea! Should we throw in some mint while we're at it?"
"I like that!"
At last my patience hit its limit and burst.
"EVERYONE, FREEZE!!!!!!"
"Eek!"
"Ch-Chef! It's the chef!"
Bang—
Bang, bang—!
As if giving voice to the storm in my chest, my footsteps thundered through the dining hall. The elves who had been cooking as they pleased jumped, ears shooting straight up. Even Iseria, who had been quietly prepping ingredients, went round-eyed at my roar.
Huuuk—!
I went first to the elf who had been using garlic without removing the germ. Close enough that an outstretched arm could reach. Closer still, until merely extending a hand would do it. And then, with a baleful glare, I came face to face with Elf No. 1 — close enough to hear each other's breathing.
"Hey. Number One."
"......"
"Answer."
"Y-yes, Chef!"
"Did I tell you to remove the garlic germ, or did I not?"
Elf No. 1 rolled their eyes, rummaging through their memory. I said nothing. I just stared them down.
"Y-you did!"
"Why? Why do you have to?"
"Th-that's... I don't really remember."
"Wrong!!!!!"
"Hieeek!!"
I fired the shout straight into Number One's face. At the noise, Elf No. 1 clutched those pointed ears. Haa... even that irritated me. I couldn't take any more.
"You damn elf!! And just what do you think you're grabbing!!"
"These ears!! These pointlessly long ears that can't even listen properly — these ears are the problem!!!!"
"Hieeek!!"
Streeetch—!
Streeetch—!
I put my whole heart into it and yanked Number One's pointed ears every which way. Long to begin with, and stretchy besides — an elf's ears, like some kind of toy. Tears welled in Elf No. 1's eyes.
"Why!! Why do I have to remove it?!"
"Because the germ and the garlic cook at different speeds, so the germ burns — I told you!!! Once aglio e olio tastes burnt, it's over! Over!"
"Oh. Right."
"'Right'? Good. Starting now, you're the one who's getting it!"
"Urk."
Whip—!
I had both of Number One's ears in my grip, pulling — and then I flung them aside. Elf No. 1 followed the motion and collapsed flat on the floor.
"Next. Whoever used up all the olive oil. Out here."
"Y-yes, Chef!"
"If you run short, you come find me and ask for more. You mix in some other oil because you feel like it? Is this the corner of your bedroom at home? This is a kitchen! A kitchen!!!"
"Hiiik..!"
Elf No. 2 — the one who hadn't even thought of replenishing the olive oil, and had mixed in another oil on a whim. The aroma might not have turned out bad, in the end. But a recipe was a recipe. It was the efficient method we had fully optimized and standardized for service. Defying it without just cause was the same as smashing the kitchen's entire system.
"If you're going to do whatever you want, take that apron off and get out, right now!!!!!"
"Hhk. I-I'm sorry, Chef..!"
I had wiped the floor with Elf No. 1 and Elf No. 2 in a single breath, but my anger showed no sign of cooling. Eyes on the verge of rolling back, I glared at the last sinner.
"H-hieek! I'm sorry, Chef!!"
"You're no different. You understand? Have you ever once thought about why a recipe exists? If not, how are you any different from that tree out there — standing stock-still forever, taking a beating whether it's snowing or raining? Huh?!!!"
"Hiiik..."
"Graaah. I'm losing it... I'm actually going to lose it. Fruit on a pizza? Mint? You put on a fine act as a pointy-eared brat, but you're not an elf, are you? You're a devil worshipper, aren't you?"
"H-how can you say something like that..."
Apologizing first did them no good at all.
The company commander is fucking disappointed in you.
Barring special occasions, I personally oversaw breakfast and dinner prep every day. Lunch was different. Sometimes I had my own schedule, and I'd trusted them to manage on their own, so I hadn't checked... They must have realized I was the only one not watching lunch, and turned the place into a complete shitshow. While at breakfast and dinner, under my eye, they wiped their mouths clean and pretended to do it right.
Disappointment and betrayal came over me in a wave I couldn't begin to describe. It felt like a greater betrayal than when Iseria drugged me, put me to sleep, and kidnapped me.
Ah. And Iseria? Had she been doing all right?
The elves I'd shaken down to the soul were, in order, No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3. I hadn't told them to, but they had formed ranks on their own and were standing at attention. Iseria, who had been prepping ingredients, had frozen right where she was and was looking at me.
Step. Step.
I walked toward Iseria. With every step that brought me closer, she squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered with tension.
Hmm... this isn't bad.
I checked the eggplant and the zucchini she had cut into strips. Too thick, and they wouldn't cook through. Too thin, and the texture itself vanished. The thickness had to be just right — and she had cut them to a proper size, with no pieces left vaguely stuck together at the ends. Honestly, this deserved praise. Someone else might have said it was nothing but simple knife work. It was a little different from that. Whatever else, Iseria had clearly carried out an order from me, the head chef.
Cooking meant handling fierce heat and sharp knives, work that always stood close to danger. Kitchen work meant doing that in a limited space — not alone, but with a crowd. Shouting was inevitable. What reduced it, even a little, was trust. A subordinate, or a colleague, who carried out what I had instructed, clearly and exactly. Stack enough of those moments, and a bond was born in which hands and feet moved as one.
"Iseria."
"Eep. Yes, Chef!"
"Well done. The thickness is right, and there aren't any pieces stuck together."
"Uh... yes! Thank you, Chef!"
She must have thought she was about to be scolded. The moment I said her name, Iseria flinched and shrank in on herself. But at the praise that followed, she blanked for a second, then immediately offered her thanks.
"Uuuugh."
"We... we worked hard too..."
The moment I praised Iseria, the three hopeless washouts started groaning beside her. If I was going to set them straight, now was the time. I let out one deep sigh and spoke.
"I, Kang Jinwoo, am gravely disappointed in all of you."
"Gasp."
"Eek. That... that sounds like the kind of line that's going to traumatize us..."
I held my tongue until the murmuring apprentice elves went quiet. They had some sense, at least. The moment I kept my mouth shut, they lowered their voices on their own.
"Did someone drag you here? Every one of you volunteered, didn't you? To make delicious food for an elf you love. Because you wanted to get good at cooking."
"Th-that's right..."
"Then look at your attitude right now. Is that the attitude of people who actually want to work hard on their own?"
"......"
Slowly, I met their eyes, one by one. They were clear enough now, because they were being scolded — and just as clearly, they would go slack again before long. So I declared it.