Still Not Good Enough? (3)
"Francois. Pull yourself together."
"Huh? Oh..."
Francois lifted her head and flashed an awkward smile before turning her body. She staggered precariously between the tables.
"Eek! Watch out!"
Marim, who had just finished deliveries and was helping with serving, nearly collided with her and snapped in frustration.
"Sorry, Marim..."
Francois whispered weakly and slipped into the kitchen. It looked like her pride had taken a serious hit...
Marim tilted her head, watching her go.
"What's up with our kitchen auntie?"
"You little brat!"
This time, I gave her a proper flick on the forehead. Clutching her head, Marim glared at me with teary eyes.
"Why'd you hit me?!"
"Hey, you rude little shit. What the hell is 'kitchen auntie'?"
"It was a joke...! And she's over thirty, so auntie fits just fine!"
"Oh yeah? Guess I'll start calling myself 'uncle' soon enough."
"Heh. True. You're gonna be an uncle."
I was about to really lay into her, but Marim blinked away to the middle of the stairs.
"Damn night owl brat. Just you wait till I catch you."
"What're you gonna do if you catch me? Hehehe."
Marim giggled mischievously, made a poof sound with her mouth, and vanished.
She's nuts. Tsk tsk.
The lizardmen finished their meals and headed en masse to the bathhouse. As I cleared the tables and carried the plates to the kitchen, there was Francois standing blankly in front of the counter.
"Francois."
"Yeah? Oh?"
"Lizardmen have picky tastes by nature. But look at this—they cleaned their plates."
I showed her the empty plates, but she just gave a bitter smile. Sure, they had to eat constantly to fuel those massive bodies in the cold weather, but it still meant the food wasn't bad.
But Francois wouldn't see it that way. Probably something like, You're the first to say my food tastes bad. As a top graduate of the Cuisine Academy, she'd be treated like royalty among kingdom chefs. This must sting bad.
But what could I do? Catch giant cod from some southern ocean spot only lizardmen can reach? No way.
Lizardmen were incredible swimmers. Powerful muscles optimized for slicing through rough waves, long tails for propulsion, streamlined bodies. Probably no land creature could outswim them.
Earlier this year, the Eliion Kingdom's navy got wrecked in a sea battle because of lizardmen. I didn't know the details, but apparently they were aboard Eliion's ships. No sailor or marine could handle lizardmen leaping onto the deck from the waves—nearly three meters tall, wielding insane strength, swinging weapons like mad lizards. Who'd expect that?
If only they could reach it, no ordinary ship could even enter. Must be brutal currents. Fish surviving there would have firm, elastic flesh from fighting the flow. Tastier, naturally.
That Moonlight Cod was probably one of those.
Anyway... She'd get over it. The lizardmen weren't staying forever, and not every guest had their tastes.
"Chin up, Francois."
"Yeah..."
That evening, I checked the bathhouse. The half-elves were bustling about, and Della had her sleeves rolled up, barking orders.
"What's going on?"
"Master, you're here? Nothing major—just cleaning the bathhouse."
"Already? It's not cleaning time yet."
"Because of the lizardmen guests. They're so huge, the hot bath overflowed, and the changing room's a flood..."
"Ah, right. Are they still inside?"
"They headed to the cafe on the roof."
Up on the rooftop cafe, under soft lighting, the lizardmen with their shimmering blue scales sat huddled together. The chairs were too small and flimsy, so they'd shoved them aside and sat on the floor—a striking sight.
I'd worked with lizardmen before. Jungle mission, hired one as a guide. He was polite, hated inconveniencing others. These guys seemed similar.
They held coffee cups delicately between thumb and forefinger, sipping slowly while chatting. Good thing the coffee suited them.
"How's the coffee?"
I approached and asked. They nodded with smiles.
"Delicious. Too pricey to try before—first time here."
"Glad to hear it."
"But selling it this cheap—do you even turn a profit?"
"We cut out middlemen, ship straight from the central continent to the inn."
They didn't pry further, just nodded like it made sense.
"Like the bathhouse?"
"Loved it. Felt like home. We'll stay awhile—planning daily visits."
"Great. Where's home?"
"Might not know—Karabora."
"Southern jungle. Long trip. What brings you here?"
One slurped his coffee and answered.
"Obvious. Wanted to live like people. Jungle life's half-beast—hate it. Most urban lizardmen probably same reason."
"I see."
Thinking back, my jungle guide lived wild—naked, raw fish and game. Only wore pants because of me. Weird race: monster looks, apex predators, yet kind and friendly at heart.
While we're talking...
"So, what's this Moonlight Cod exactly? Cod?"
"Yep. Bigger, stronger than regular. Delicious. Rare, though."
"Around southern ocean islands? Hard to reach?"
"Very. Human ships? Tough."
"Hm... No trade at all? Only catch your own?"
They glanced at each other and shook heads.
"Probably. Can't catch enough for trade, and too far—spoils en route. We only get it once or twice fleeing winter south."
Way rarer than I thought. If globe-trotting me never heard of it, it's legit rare.
After closing, I came down alone to log the day's books. As I sat at the bar and picked up my pen, a weird noise came from the dark kitchen.
Peeking in, there was Francois standing alone in the gloom.
"What're you doing?"
"Oh, Bertrand. Nothing."
She brushed past me and headed upstairs. Hm... Is it that big a deal? She'd bounce back in a day.
But that was just baseless optimism.
Next day, she was still obsessing over the Moonlight Cod. The lizardmen, sensing her mood from yesterday, made a show of scraping plates clean—but no dice.
"Francois!"
Pelle hurriedly lifted a pot belching black smoke and burnt stench.
"Francois. What're you doing? The food's burning."
"Huh? Oh no! Sorry!"
Snapping to, Francois snatched the pot from Pelle and yelped.
"Ow, hot!"
She dropped the scorching handle, and the pot hit the floor, spilling everything.
"You okay?"
Pelle grabbed her wrist. Francois groaned low, eyes welling up.
"Ah... It hurts..."
Blisters bubbled on her red-hot palm—bad burn.
"Go to the temple for healing. I'll watch the kitchen."
"Yeah... Sorry..."
Clutching her hand, she crossed the hall and left. Damn... This won't blow over quick. Our only head chef like this? Trouble. Might need that Moonlight Cod for real to satisfy the lizardmen and cheer her up.
"That'd be tough."
Mideronde shook her head at my request.
"Even if my dimensional gates connect anywhere, can't fish ocean depths. Open underwater? Flood city."
"Right. Can't magic-block seawater?"
"Too much mass."
"Send a whole ship through?"
"Who's sailing? Lizardmen-only spot—currents brutal."
"Teleport the cod here?"
"Moving target—how pinpoint coordinates, Balder?"
"Hm... Magic ain't omnipotent."
She chuckled.
"Obviously. Better: gate over ocean, have lizardmen catch."
"No. Can't ask guests to fetch their own ingredients to soothe the chef."
"True. Absurd."
Wish that old lizardman comrade was around... But where is he? Can't scour the jungle.
"Hm. Other ideas? Her distraction bugs me too."
She ate here often, so yeah, it irked her.
"Lemme see..."
Mideronde conjured an illusory mirror in the air, peering somewhere. I knew the place.