No Booze or Smokes for Minors Born After '03: Ooey-Gooey Cheese Fries
Ooey-gooey cheese fries. Even back in my original world, it was a pretty famous convenience store recipe. It started with the idea that you could whip up a famous family restaurant dish right there in the store, and anyone in the know knew about this special menu item.
The recipe was so simple you could make it with your eyes closed. 'First, dump a bunch of potato sticks into a bowl.'
Layer torn-up cheddar cheese on top. Drizzle ketchup in a zigzag over the cheddar, then sprinkle on some mozzarella. Pop it in the microwave for 1 to 1 minute 30 seconds.
Ding!
"All done."
"Already?"
"Told you it was simple."
"Smells amazing."
Elena twitched her nose, sniffing the air. The delicious aroma of melted cheese and potatoes baking together filled the convenience store.
"Smells killer, right? Tastes even better." I handed her a fork.
Elena, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, speared a potato stick. The melted cheese stretched out in a long white string, mingling with the yellow cheddar and red ketchup to create a bizarre, tantalizing color.
"Nom."
Her eyes widened the moment she popped the cheese-drenched potato fry into her mouth.
"Hmmm?"
She chewed, eyes bulging as she alternated glances between me and the fries. Then another bite. Nom.
"Hmm??"
Her eyes grew even bigger, pupils dilating to what seemed like their limit.
"It's so good!"
She kept shoveling them in. Her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's.
"Store manager's recipe."
It was straight from a Nutube video, but since there was no Nutube or family restaurants in this world...
'Might as well claim it as mine here.'
Elena's eyes glittered. She really meant it when it came to food.
"Whoa, oppa's a god! How is it this good...?"
Cheese, potatoes, and ketchup—if that combo didn't taste good, that would be weird. Elena munching away with puffed cheeks looked just like a hamster. Nom nom.
Watching her devour it made me happy. Nothing beats the pride of someone enjoying the food you made.
Her hamster mukbang had me getting hungry too.
"Guess I should have some."
"Yeah, oppa, try some! It's seriously delicious. Hehe."
Elena swallowed her mouthful of gooey fries and flashed a beaming smile. I took a forkful myself.
Ah, beer. I was dying for a beer. One cold sip from the fridge-chilled can. Kya. Pure heaven.
Maybe just a little? Half a can wouldn't mess up work.
I was pondering that when...
Ding-a-ling.
"Welcome! To DG Convenience Store."
A customer came in. Kids who looked a bit young—maybe 17 or 18? Five of them huddled together, glancing around nervously as they slunk toward the beverage aisle.
Whispering among themselves, they reached the cooler, cracked it open, and stealthily loaded their basket with canned beer and soju.
"Hmmm..."
I watched silently until they approached the counter, then asked Elena,
"Elena, what year is it in Imperial Calendar?"
"Imperial Year 422."
"Right? And adulthood starts at 19 here?"
"Yes. Before the Empire, it was different, but now they use graduation from the Imperial Academy as the benchmark—full 19 years old."
Similar to back home, then. So, crunching the numbers: Born Imperial 403 or earlier are adults. Anyone born after '03 is underage.
"Got it."
"Are those kids minors too?"
"High chance."
Baby faces, sneaky glances at the counter while grabbing beer, wandering other aisles touching random stuff instead of just grabbing booze and going. My experience said they were definitely underage.
I quickly pulled out a placard and scribbled in Imperial script:
NO ALCOHOL OR TOBACCO SALES
TO MINORS BORN AFTER IMPERIAL '03
Selling booze to minors wasn't legally punishable in the Empire. But that didn't mean kids could buy it. The Empire was sneakily conservative about this stuff. Otherwise, they wouldn't be creeping into our store like this.
"But how do you know their birth year?"
Elena whispered.
"Ask for ID. No ID, no sale—even for adults."
"Ah."
The Empire issued citizen IDs upon reaching adulthood. Proof of majority and basic tool for population censuses.
The furtive kids finally approached the counter. They flinched at the new sign.
"Check out, please."
The boy handing over the basket as rep tried to sound gruff, lowering his voice.
"Buying booze? Sixteen beers, five sojus... That's a lot."
"Y-yeah, uh, reunion with friends after a while."
He avoided eye contact, spitting out words anxiously.
"Hurry up with the checkout. We're short on time."
"Before that, you look kinda young. Mind showing your ID?"
A flash of dismay crossed his face.
"Didn't expect inspection, forgot it."
"Can't sell then."
"C'mon, just ring it up. We're adults."
"Nope."
"Huh?"
"No sale without proof."
"No, just... c'mon."
"Get ID or ditch the booze. Pick one."
One kid, eyeing me slyly, snatched the basket.
"Guys, run!"
Steal the booze and bolt? Kid.
I've been at this convenience store game for years.
"Huh?"
I gripped the basket hard before he could yank it away. The boy's face paled.
"Gonna snatch and dash?"
"N-no, that's not... I was just..."
His eyes darted. He couldn't finish.
"G-gonna put it back..."
"Let go."
"Y-yes, sir!"
One word, and they released the basket. I eyed the six teens.
"Kids."
"Yes, sir!"
"Kneel and hands up."
They glanced at each other. One met my eyes.
"Rather take a hit."
Hit or kneel. Life or pride.
"I'll take the hit!"
The leader-looking one stepped up boldly. Ah, pride hurts worse than death, huh? I get it. That baseless teenage confidence in the stormy years. One punch, tank it, done.
Possible?
"For real?"
I flexed my fingers. Crack! The counter edge crumbled under my grip.
"Huh?"
"Let's test your buddy's limb durability."
"W-wait, changed my mind!"
The cocky leader knelt.
"Hold this sign and line up kneeling here."
I shoved the no-minors-booze placard into their hands.
"You—take this and restock."
I handed the would-be thief the booze-filled basket.
"You bolt, they die."
"Y-yes, sir!"
As the disciplined kid restocked, I took a bite of cheese fries. Whoa, insane. Couldn't hold back.
"Hey, kid."
I called the restocking one again.
"Yes?"
"Gimme one beer."
"Yes, sir!"
I grabbed the can, turned to Elena.
"Want a sip?"
"No thanks. Not good with booze."
"Cheese fries pair perfect with beer, though."
Drinking on the job's bad form, but... half a can's fine, right?
"Too bad. Wanted to share."
"Next time."
Elena, declining booze, took another fry bite.
"Mmm, so good. Oppa, make another batch?"
"Will if you finish these."
Aren't you eating a lot? Pop! I cracked the can.
"Ahhh!"
Flavor explosion. Potatoes and cheese harmonized, ketchup adding umami. Beer's crisp bite cutting the greasy richness. This is happiness. Speechless-level good.
Stinging glares. The kneeling, hands-up kids staring.
"Jealous? Grow up and buy your own."
I'll treat you right as customers then. Not before. Ah, but cheese-potato-beer combo slays.
"That good?"
Elena's eyes lingered on the beer, full of longing. She gulped, eyeing fries and can.
"Wanna try?"
She shook her head.
"Nah. Might mess up if I drink. Later."
"Alright. Don't force it."
Those dripping-with-regret eyes made me feel bad. Chugging in front of someone who can't drink is rude anyway. I drained exactly half and set the can aside.
Ah, delicious.
After sending the sufficiently remorseful kids home and Elena clocked out, it was 10 PM.
"Boss! What's good?"
A smirking blond guy entered with a rough-looking skinhead.
"Here for condoms."
"Been a while."
"Haha, ever since the ladies took condom duty, no need for me."
The cheeky blond flashed a wide grin. Robinson, working the lake brothel. Dealt with rich merchants and knights more than nobles, so great with people. Personality fit too—I'd considered hiring him once, but noped out.
Too famous. Back-alley legend Robinson would've turned our store into a warzone. No thanks.
"Luna off today?"
"Yeah, fieldwork kept her busy, so I'm on duty. Place is slammed right now."
"Ah."
Work dragging longer than expected. Rare for her to leave the lake.
"Who's the guy behind?"
I nodded at the scary skinhead.
"New hire. Lake security. Brought him to check out the local legend—our convenience store."
"Right."
Then the skinhead hurriedly removed his shoes.
"What're you doing?"
"Heard you gotta take shoes off first time in a convenience store..."
Who started that rumor?
"Heh."
I had a pretty good idea.
"No need. Keep 'em on."
Robinson pointed at the sign, ignoring the newbie's betrayed look.
"No booze or smokes to minors now?"
"Never did. Just added it 'cause underage shoppers spiked."
"How you handling enforcement?"
"It'll work out. Worst case, call the knights."
"Whoa, brutal vibe."
Robinson mock-shivered, rubbing his shoulders.
Bam!
"Store manager! Get out here!"
Someone kicked the door open. Guy with a scorpion tattoo on his face.
Who the hell's this punk?