The Head Chef's Luna-gui
"It feels just like eating the food my grandmother used to make when I was little."
"Your grandmother?"
"That's right. I became a chef because of her, really. Being able to eat so much delicious food is what opened my eyes to cooking early on."
The Head Chef pointed at the sweet potato pizza.
"This dish seems to hold some kind of magic that stirs up old memories of my grandmother and me."
"Hang in there. Your grandmother must be watching over you from heaven."
At my words, the Head Chef's eyes went wide, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
"My grandmother is still alive — what on earth are you talking about?"
"…Oh."
Isn't that usually how these conversations go? The grandmother is supposed to be dead.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Looking back, I suppose I did word it in a way that invited the misunderstanding."
"You're a true gentleman, as always."
"Well, don't pile on the praise too thick."
Looking at the Head Chef, a thought crossed my mind.
I want to grow old that gracefully myself.
For a while, the Head Chef simply gazed down at the pizza without saying a word. Moments earlier he had been laughing playfully, but now his expression had shifted. He looked like a man walking slowly through a memory from long ago — quiet, at ease.
A short while later, he carefully set the plate of pizza down and smiled at me.
"Yu Shin."
"Yes?"
"I believe it's my turn this time."
I tilted my head, not quite grasping what he meant.
"Your turn, Head Chef?"
He rolled up his sleeves lightly and walked toward one side of the kitchen.
"You've made delicious food for me twice now. The first was the jajangmyeon you prepared during the exam. And the second is this sweet potato pizza, which brought my old memories flooding back."
The Head Chef rested a hand on the oven for a moment and continued in a calm voice.
"More than anything, the pizza I just ate wasn't simply a delicious dish. It was food that made me remember a childhood I'd long since forgotten."
He smiled faintly.
"Having received a gift like that, I can hardly just sit still."
My eyes went wide.
"You don't mean—"
"I do."
The Head Chef answered with a gentle grin.
"This time, I'm going to cook for you."
"…You yourself, Head Chef?"
"Would you rather I didn't?"
"It would be an honor."
At my reply, he nodded as if thoroughly satisfied.
"Good."
He walked slowly toward the ingredient storage.
"If you made me a dish of the future, then I'll make you a dish of the past."
With those words, the storage door opened. Inside were ingredients I saw every day — but also no small number of ones I had never laid eyes on before.
Mushrooms that glowed with a soft blue light. Red leafy greens no larger than the palm of a hand. A massive freshwater fish whose silver scales shimmered faintly. And even an enormous fruit with golden patterns etched across its entire rind.
I let out a natural gasp of admiration.
"There are so many ingredients I've never seen before."
The Head Chef chuckled.
"Of course. These only grow on this Floating Island."
With practiced hands, he began selecting ingredients one by one and placing them into a basket. There was no hesitation at all — only the kind of movement a person could show after repeating the same motions countless times over many years.
The Head Chef really is something else.
Watching him, I realized it anew. Until now, I had only ever shown him my own cooking. I had almost forgotten — this man was the chef responsible for the kitchens of Sky Academy. That position wasn't one just anyone could hold.
He must have incredible skill.
Once the ingredients were ready, the Head Chef took a large knife in hand. Then he moved without a moment's pause.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
The bright, rhythmic sound of the blade striking the cutting board rang through the kitchen. Vegetables of every size were sliced into uniform pieces in an instant, and the fish was cleaned so meticulously that not a single scale scattered. Every motion was natural and free of excess — the moments of applying force and releasing it, the angle of the blade, the movement of the wrist. All of it was technique refined through years of accumulated experience.
Incredible.
I found myself watching, completely absorbed, without even realizing it. Even as he prepared the ingredients, the Head Chef offered explanations along the way.
"This mushroom only releases its fragrance on nights when the moonlight is strong. So when you use it during the day, you have to sear it lightly to wake the aroma."
He placed the mushrooms on a pan. Moments later, the faint fragrance that had been barely present deepened all at once.
"And this fish loses its flavor if you cook it too long over the fire. You only want to sear the outside lightly — that's when the sweetness inside comes alive. Remember that."
He shook the pan with practiced ease and finished searing the fish in a short time. The movements were familiar. They weren't flashy. But that very lack of flash left an even deeper impression — as if proving the old saying that a true master never wastes effort.
I asked quietly,
"Head Chef."
"What is it?"
"I've always wondered — why do you still cook yourself? With skill like yours, you could leave it to your apprentices."
The Head Chef smiled for a moment.
"What a strange question."
He set the pan down and answered slowly.
"Does a person need a reason to do what they love?"
I found myself unable to say anything for a moment. The Head Chef continued with a gentle smile.
"When I see the students enjoying the food I've made, it still makes me happy. Isn't that enough?"
Hearing those words, I felt I understood a little better why this man was so respected by the students — and why he had been able to oversee the kitchens of Sky Academy for so long.
A short while later, the Head Chef finely chopped a fragrant herb and scattered it over the dish as a final touch. The aroma that had been spreading gently grew even deeper. He carefully plated the finished dish. There was no elaborate garnish. But the colors and fragrances of each ingredient blended together so naturally that the plate alone was enough to awaken the appetite.
The Head Chef slid the plate toward me with a warm, good-natured smile.
"Well then — now it's your turn to taste a dish from Sky Academy, made by me."
The Head Chef slowly pushed the plate in front of me. I naturally lowered my gaze.
On the large white plate sat a dish I had never once seen in this world, arranged with meticulous care. A sauce with a soft golden sheen thinly coated the base. Atop it, fish seared only on the outside — its moisture perfectly preserved — was laid out neatly. Beside it, mushrooms holding a gentle blue glow and red leafy greens were arranged in harmony, so that the whole thing felt almost like looking at a work of art.
It wasn't elaborately decorated. But in the way each ingredient complemented the others without clashing — blending together as if by nature — you could feel the sensibility of a craftsman who had walked a single path for a very long time.
Above all, the fragrance was extraordinary. The clean, mild aroma unique to the fish. The deep, rich savor rising from the mushrooms. The subtle brightness of the herbs. And a sweet yet refreshing scent I had never encountered before. All of it joined together without competing, gently stimulating the tip of my nose.
I let out a breath of admiration.
"I've truly never seen a dish like this."
The Head Chef looked at the plate with a contented smile.
"This dish is called Luna-gui."
I slowly repeated the unfamiliar name.
"…Luna-gui?"
"It's made with Moonlit Mushrooms, which only release their fragrance on the nights when the moonlight is strongest, and Silver River Fish, caught only in the Silver River. That's how it got the name. Even at Sky Academy, it's a dish we only prepare when important guests visit."
I looked at the plate once more.
Definitely not an ordinary dish.
Just looking at the ingredients, you could tell how precious they were. And yet, strangely, it didn't feel entirely unfamiliar.
Where have I felt something similar before?
I began searching my memory. A cooking method that didn't hold the fish over high heat for long, searing only the surface to preserve a soft texture. An approach that maximized the natural flavor of fresh ingredients. A composition that emphasized the ingredients' own character over aggressive seasoning. And that subtle herb fragrance.
Ah.
It came to me in an instant.
It's somewhere between French and Italian cuisine.
More precisely, it valued the balance of each individual ingredient the way a refined French fish dish would, while also carrying the Italian philosophy of drawing out the ingredients' natural flavors as fully as possible. And with ingredients obtainable only in this world layered on top of that, it had been born as something entirely new.
Interesting. There are parts that resemble modern cuisine, but in the end, this is a dish that walked a completely different path.
I looked at the Head Chef and shared my honest impression.
"By the standards of my homeland, it feels like the strengths of French and Italian cuisine have been blended together with exquisite precision."
The Head Chef looked intrigued.
"There are places that make food like that?"
"Yes. Of course, it's not exactly the same. I mean that there are similarities in the cooking methods and the culinary philosophy."
The Head Chef chuckled and nodded.
"As expected. A chef from a region I don't know sees things differently."
I slowly lifted my fork and cut a piece of the fish. Even the sensation of the knife going through was different. The outside had a slight spring to it, but the inside was astonishingly tender — almost no force was needed, as if cutting through well-softened butter.
I scooped up some of the mushroom and sauce along with it and carefully brought it to my mouth. Then I took a slow bite.
"…!"
The first thing I felt was the softness of the fish. The moment it entered my mouth, it was moist enough to dissolve naturally on the tongue, and with each chew a gentle sweetness spread. Following that, the deep, rich savor of the Moonlit Mushroom supported and intensified the flavor of the fish. The herbs cleaned the palate once, and at the end, a sweet yet cool fragrance I had never tasted before lingered like a long aftertaste.
I closed my eyes without thinking.
This is truly delicious.
This wasn't simply a good dish because good ingredients had been used. It was a dish that perfectly understood the character of each ingredient and calculated even the order in which the flavors should be perceived. The tastes layered in my mouth — the first impression, the middle depth, and the final lingering note — without a single break between them.
I slowly opened my eyes and looked at the Head Chef. Then I spoke with complete sincerity.
"…This is a truly outstanding dish."
At my words, the Head Chef laughed.
"Of course it is!"