Hamburger, Fries, and Cola — Let's Go
The next day.
The rumor that Kaiden had eaten chicken at the 1st-year cafeteria spread through the entire academy far faster than expected.
Second-year students who hadn't believed it at first began showing up one by one to see for themselves. Whispers of "If Kaiden approved of it, it's worth trying at least once" started circulating everywhere, and the rumor rode the wave of upperclassmen chatter until it reached the third-year district in no time.
Before long, even third-years were casually chatting about how there was a commoner chef in the first-year cafeteria who only made food no one had ever seen before — and yet the taste was supposedly the best.
Thanks to that, the cafeteria's usual scene of only first-years coming and going had given way to something new. Second- and third-year students quietly making their way down after class to eat and head back was becoming an everyday sight.
Watching it all, I allowed myself a small smile.
About time to make the next dish.
The chicken. The jajangmyeon. The students' reactions had exceeded every expectation.
So this time, I would make something a little more popular — something anyone who tried it once would never forget.
Hamburgers.
A food simple enough to hold in one hand, yet endlessly adaptable depending on the ingredients inside. Pair it with french fries and a carbonated drink, and you had a perfect meal.
Alright. Today's menu is the hamburger set.
The first thing I prepared was the bread. It was no exaggeration to say that the most important part of a hamburger was not the patty, but the bun. If the bread was dry and tough, even the finest meat would drag the whole thing down. Conversely, if the bun was moist and soft, it could naturally bind every ingredient inside into a single, harmonious bite.
I poured warm milk slowly into a large bowl of flour, then added yeast, sugar, salt, and butter in order, checking the dough's condition by feel alone. Once every last speck of flour had been worked in, I began kneading in earnest — pushing the dough out long with my palms, folding it back, and repeating the motion dozens of times until the surface turned as smooth as silk.
What had started rough and clumsy gradually gained elasticity. When I pressed it with a finger and let go, it slowly sprang back into shape, springy and resilient. I moved the finished dough somewhere warm and let it proof thoroughly. In time it swelled to twice its original size, then nearly three times over.
I divided the pillowy dough into even portions, shaped them into rounds, and proofed them once more. After brushing the surfaces lightly with egg wash, I carefully slid them into the oven.
Before long, the distinctive fragrance of freshly baking bread and the rich aroma of butter began to fill the air. The buns, turning a golden brown, looked delicious enough to eat just from the sight of them. I pulled one out and pressed it gently with my hand. The bread sank under my touch, then slowly rose back to its original shape.
Perfect. The buns are flawless.
Next came the patties. I prepared meat with the ideal ratio of fat to lean, then pounded and minced it repeatedly with two knives until the texture still had bite without being overly coarse. A careful seasoning of salt, pepper, and just a whisper of this world's spices rounded it out without masking the pure flavor of the meat itself.
I shaped the mixture into thick, round patties and laid them on a scorching-hot griddle.
Sizzle.
The moment the meat hit the iron, a bright crackle rose and a savory aroma bloomed through the kitchen. The surface deepened into a rich brown while the juices stayed locked inside, intensifying the flavor. At the perfect moment I flipped each patty and laid a slice of cheese on top, letting it melt slowly. The golden cheese draped softly over the meat, releasing an even richer fragrance.
I split a finished bun, lightly toasted the cut sides, and spread a thin layer of my special sauce. Crisp lettuce, thick slices of tomato, and thin rings of onion went on in turn, followed by the freshly seared patty and its melted cheese. I crowned it with the top bun.
The completed hamburger looked so good it made your mouth water just to look at it.
But I wasn't finished yet.
A hamburger needs fries.
I selected the best potatoes from the storeroom, peeled them, and cut them into long, even sticks. After soaking them in cold water long enough to draw out the excess starch, I dried them completely. Then I fried them twice — once at a lower temperature, once at a higher one. The golden fries shattered crisp on the outside while the insides stayed astonishingly moist and soft. A light dusting of finely ground salt and fragrant herb powder lifted the potato flavor even further.
Only one thing remained.
Cola.
In truth, neither the hamburger nor the fries had been the hard part. Recreating modern cola in this world — that was the real challenge. There was, of course, no cola concentrate to be found. But if you broke the flavor down piece by piece, it wasn't impossible.
I extracted a concentrated syrup from a deeply sweet, dark-red berry. I blended several citrus fruits and spices to build a bright, refreshing aroma. A bare whisper of bark that smelled like cinnamon and the essence of a flower reminiscent of vanilla rounded out the deep, familiar finish of modern cola. Finally, using spirit magic, I dissolved carbonation stably into pure water. Tiny bubbles began rising endlessly inside the glass, and the dark-brown drink looked almost indistinguishable from the cola I had known on Earth.
I lifted the glass and took a slow sip.
Fizz.
The carbonation pricked the tip of my tongue. Sweetness and a clean tartness followed in natural succession, and a faint spice lingered long afterward. I set the glass down quietly, a satisfied smile on my face.
Not perfect — but I've recreated about 99.9 percent of the cola I used to drink.
And just like that, the hamburger, the fries, and the cola were all complete. A new menu was ready.
Lunchtime.
Word that a new menu was coming out had already swept the entire academy. Once again the rumor had started with the first-years — but the atmosphere was completely different from before.
When I first made jajangmyeon, students had hesitated simply because a newly arrived commoner chef had prepared it. Even with the chicken, only a handful had approached out of curiosity at first. Now it was different. First-years, second-years, and even a scattering of third-years had come looking for the 1st-year cafeteria. The mere mention of a new dish was enough to form a long line outside the doors.
"What do you think it is this time?"
"Can it really be better than the chicken?"
"Kaiden-senpai approved of this chef. It's safe to get our hopes up."
"I still remember the jajangmyeon."
The students watched the serving counter with expectant faces. At last, the food I had prepared appeared.
A hamburger on a large plate. Beside it, golden french fries. And in a clear glass, a dark drink fizzing with tiny bubbles.
The students fell silent for a moment at the unfamiliar sight.
"What is that?"
"Meat between bread?"
"And that black drink?"
Curiosity ran high, but after everything they had already experienced, almost no one hesitated this time.
"It's finger food, so your hands will get messy. Please put on the gloves before you eat."
"Okay."
The first to receive a hamburger set was Luciel. Even the sole daughter of a ducal house had never seen food like this. Something that looked as if it ought to be eaten with a fork and knife, yet was meant to be held in gloved hands — it felt a little strange.
Then she took her first bite, and every such thought vanished.
"……"
Luciel's eyes went wide. Soft bread. Savory patty. Melted cheese. Crisp vegetables. And the special sauce tying every ingredient together. Flavors that had existed separately fused into something entirely new.
"A new taste again."
Luciel's single remark opened the floodgates. Admiration erupted all around her.
"Bread can be this soft?"
"The meat's incredibly thick, but it doesn't feel greasy at all."
"The cheese and sauce combo is insane."
"Why does eating with your hands feel this luxurious?"
Then the students who picked up the fries beside their hamburgers were surprised all over again.
Crunch.
The first bite was decisively crisp. But the more they chewed, the soft, comforting flavor of potato rose from within.
"It's just potato — why does it taste this good?"
"It's only fried, but something's different."
"The contrast between outside and inside is perfect."
Finally, the students who tasted the dark drink paused for a beat.
Pop.
Carbonation bursting in the mouth. Then a sweetness that was bright and refreshing at once.
"What is this."
"Drinking it cleans out your whole mouth."
"It tastes even better with the hamburger."
Before long the students were completely absorbed in the hamburgers the chef named Yu Shin had made. The same reaction carried straight through to the second- and third-years.
"This is what they're serving in the first-year cafeteria?"
The second-years stared at their hamburgers in open admiration. A chef Kaiden had endorsed. At first they had dismissed it as mere rumor. But jajangmyeon, then chicken, and now this hamburger — watching him keep producing entirely new dishes, they had no choice but to acknowledge him.
"That chef is the real deal."
The third-years' reactions were much the same. As the students who had lived longest at the academy, they had tried most foods worth trying. And still — a dish they had never seen, a flavor they had never tasted, a combination they had never experienced. Everything was new.
"I never thought I'd get to eat something like this before graduating."
"Anyone who looked down on him for being a commoner chef won't have a word left to say."
The cafeteria filled with laughter. I watched it all quietly from inside the kitchen.
Food really is something else.
Background. Rank. Year. In the end, none of it meant much in front of a good meal.
That was when it happened.
"Yu Shin."
At the familiar voice I turned. The Head Chef stood there.
"What is it, sir?"
"The academy festival is coming up soon."
I nodded. One of the biggest events at Sky Academy — a massive festival that drew not only students but outside guests as well. Every department and club ran booths to show off their skills. Chefs who wanted to could operate booths too, since the cafeterias closed for the duration of the festival.
Apparently not many chefs bother with the hassle of running a booth… but I plan to take part. Not everyone at the academy has tried my food yet.
I was still lost in thought when Leonhardt von Arsein, the chef in charge of the third-year cafeteria and one of the academy's finest, walked slowly toward us. His expression was serious.
"Yu Shin."
He fixed his eyes on me and called out in a clear, ringing voice.
"At the festival that's about to begin — we settle this with cooking!"