Delicious Duck Cuisine
The restaurant called Provence—so delicious that even waiting in line was no guarantee of a meal—had been in a frenzy since morning. The kitchen was a battlefield in every sense of the word. Word had come that God, the incarnate vessel of the World Tree, would be visiting today. The house already prided itself on food of exceptional quality and flavor, but today it had to be something more.
If on an ordinary day they put out seventy percent of their strength, today they had to drag out a full hundred, even if it broke them. Cooking at home, one could pour heart and soul into every dish. Food sold in a restaurant, however, could not be made with that same devotion; do it that way, and the business would fold before long. For a restaurant, the speed at which dishes turned over was life itself. No matter how good the food, if it took forever to reach the table, there was nothing more foolish. The nature of the trade demanded a reliable average quality—and above all, speed.
Today was different. Quality mattered far more than speed. If God found the food displeasing, there could be no misery greater. People might still line up to eat here now, but should an unkind word leave God's lips, the elves would never set foot in this place again. To them, every syllable the World Tree spoke was no different from a verse of scripture. And yet, if they weathered this crisis, they might seize a chance to flourish all the more. Was it not said that opportunity was born of crisis?
The elf who would ordinarily have been in charge of the cooking—three hundred years of culinary experience to her name—was tucked in a corner of the kitchen, peeling onions. Elves with fewer than five hundred years behind them were trusted only with miscellaneous chores. The knife was reserved for those whose careers had passed the five-century mark. In human terms, it was as if only chefs with at least twenty or thirty years of experience were allowed to cook.
An extreme tension, the likes of which was never seen on an ordinary day, hung over the kitchen. The place was packed with cooks who had served high-ranking guests before, and still their hearts felt ready to burst. To serve the World Tree in person—it was the stuff of dreams.
"Get those ingredients over here!"
"The onions still aren't done? Bring them, now!"
The chefs were pouring everything they had into the food. The mere fact of presenting a dish to the World Tree was motivation enough. To think that something they made might pass the lips of a god! That alone bestowed a satisfaction beyond words.
"The food's taking forever..."
Drunk on anticipation, I fiddled idly with my poor chopsticks as I spoke. Come to think of it, what did this place mainly serve? Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked Rinea. She stood at my side. I had suggested we eat together, but she wouldn't budge. Aside from clinging close like a personal bodyguard, Rinea did nothing else.
"Provence is famous for its absolutely delicious duck. The duck dishes prepared by specialists with more than five hundred years of experience—once you taste them, they say your tongue dances all on its own."
"Five hundred years...?"
"Yes. You might as well say they've spent nearly half their lives for the sake of duck."
I had heard that the average elf lived a little past a thousand years. Careers so long that even a proper human living treasure couldn't so much as offer a name card left me clicking my tongue in sheer awe. People cheered and shot a thumbs-up at a human cultural asset with forty or fifty years behind them, calling it remarkable—but if those same people came here, they would be starting as newcomers. With veterans of five centuries on the line, forty years of experience would look, to such a cook, like nothing more than a clumsy greenhorn.
"Ooh..."
I swelled with expectation. I was genuinely dying to know what duck would taste like when a chef of five hundred years poured body and soul into it.
I did not have to wait long before the dishes began to arrive. Even the servers were anything but ordinary. The way I saw it, if any ordinary person here went back to Korea, they could make a fortune—because every last one of them was as strikingly beautiful as a celebrity. The elf bringing the food alone had the sort of looks that could walk into the Miss Korea pageant and take first place without breaking a sweat. This was a land where handsome men and beautiful women were commonplace. Of course, the elves who lived here were surrounded by such beauty on all sides, and so they hardly realized how exceptional their own appearances were.
In any case, while I was busy with idle thoughts, the duck dishes were set before me one after another. Duck stew, duck bulgogi, a cold duck salad, smoked duck—they arrived amid garnishes so lovely that the eyes feasted before the mouth ever did. And the portions, plated as if to say taste a little of everything, were modestly small: enough to savor flavor and aroma to the full, yet not so much that one would grow full.
I picked up my chopsticks and prepared to taste each dish in turn. Rinea watched me eat with a look of deep contentment and, insisting that a scene like this had to be preserved, was filming the whole thing. I slipped into the role of a gourmet and savored them one by one.
"Ooh!"
The moment it entered my mouth, the duck melted away, and my chopsticks flew in a dazzling blur. How could meat possibly be this tender? Sure enough, made by a master whose career had passed five hundred years, it was astonishingly good. If the gourmets of the modern world came to this restaurant and tasted the food, they might well burst into tears and hand out perfect scores. I finally understood what Rinea had meant when she said the tongue would dance. Truly, every time I ate the duck, my tongue was dancing.
"It's delicious—so delicious!"
"Isn't it? This is cuisine made for God!"
Seeing me like that, Rinea laughed as if she couldn't have been happier. I was sorry toward her, but I could not share this food! I had offered to eat together earlier, yet the instant I tasted it, it was so good that giving any away felt impossible. Of course, unbeknownst to me, Rinea had eaten the dish any number of times and didn't mind in the least.
And so I ate duck until my stomach was taut and round. Regretfully, even after eating far too much, I left the room casting a wistful look at what remained. Had I not been mindful of the eyes around me, I would have wanted it packed up to take with me.
The chefs were waiting outside in postures of deep respect. Looking at them, I said,
"It was truly delicious! I've never eaten duck this good in my entire life!"
Having eaten something so wonderful, I gave them praise enough to match. Chefs who could produce food of this caliber deserved every word of it.
Whether my words had moved them to the core, the chefs shed tears and thanked me over and over. The one who was truly grateful was me, and yet somehow our positions seemed to have been reversed.
From that day on, Provence entered the World Tree's list of favorite restaurants and enjoyed a tremendous boom. I knew nothing of it, but word was that reservations would be booked solid for the next full year.
Maru reported the fact to her superior at once—the fact that Hana had vanished. Once Starlight Research Institute confirmed that Hana was gone, they reviewed the CCTV.
On the camera feed, Hana could be seen slipping out little by little. Tracing her route, they confirmed that she had entered the other-race research institute beside the building. After that, as if something had bewitched her, Hana crept toward the place where the elf was. The moment she stepped into the elf's room, the elf behaved strangely toward her, treating her as though they already knew each other. And after that, the CCTV picture crackled with noise, as if static had swallowed the screen, and nothing could be seen properly.
By the time the feed returned to normal, all that remained was an empty background from which both the elf and Hana had disappeared.
"This is..."
Those involved let out low, troubled groans as they stared at the screen. They did not know the details, but Hana and the elf seemed to have been acquainted.
What kind of reaction would people show once they learned that Hana was gone? It would hardly be a good one. Starlight Research Institute was already dependent on Hana. The same was true of Starlight Foods and the cosmetics line tied to the institute. A single day without her would not matter much. But if it became a week, or a month, there was no telling what might happen.
They had begun stockpiling Hana's hair after it had stopped growing the last time, so there was a reserve of several months. The problem was what came after. What if they used up every strand and Hana still had not returned? What if she simply never came back here at all?
On the very day Hana disappeared, Starlight Research Institute was turned upside down.