Surviving on the Northern Front with Gukbap

Chapter 45 : Comeback Meal (2)

Comeback Meal (2)

Nothing in life is easy.

Neither cooking, nor knife skills, nor people.

The world is full of difficulties.

And right now,

Schutmann's words felt especially difficult.

"That's why it's so difficult."

Schutmann, who'd been showering me with compliments about my dish.

For him to suddenly say it was difficult,

I couldn't easily grasp what he meant.

But I did notice Plerine's left hand under the table,

her middle finger and thumb touching, ready to snap at any moment.

This was a turning point.

Depending on the conversation now, the outcome could change.

'First thing's first—avoid any physical conflict.'

If, by chance, the squire and Plerine clashed?

Who knows who would win, but the shop itself would be turned to dust.

I forced myself to keep my voice as calm as possible.

"What do you mean by 'difficult?' Are you interested in the recipe for the food you ate?"

Schutmann, however, continued to stare silently at his empty bowl before speaking slowly.

"The recipe... Certainly important. But in food, perhaps the ingredients are even more vital than the recipe. The quality of ingredients changes the flavor."

What nonsense.

As a cook, I wanted to retort,

but there was no need to provoke him, so I kept quiet and listened.

"People are similar. Just as a dish's taste depends on its ingredients, the outcome depends on the person. Someone might start as a lowly soldier and become a knight, or might run a small inn while someone else becomes the palace head chef."

Ah, like how you're a squire, not a full knight? I swallowed the words before they escaped.

Schutmann's cold gaze pierced me.

"This ingredient looks promising, but I can't tell if it will be medicine or poison. That's why it's difficult."

He sure liked talking in circles.

I suppose he was comparing me to an ingredient.

He's unsure if my existence will be a benefit or a drawback to him—essentially, that's what he meant.

'I don't get it. Why is he saying that about me?'

Knowing his true identity only deepened my doubt.

Schutmann is a squire from the Whitefang knight order, which represents the Duchy in the north, after all.

If so, it would make sense for him to follow his commander—the battalion commander's—will and use me as a cook,

if he knows my abilities and value.

'He doesn't seem like some ambition-blinded, jealous fool like the green-eyed company commander.'

So, the fact that this squire is hesitating on what to do with me doesn't fit the context.

At this point, a new hypothesis emerged.

'What if Schutmann isn't here to help Granfen after all?'

What if he's actually here to sabotage Granfen's victory?

'Is he a spy? Hmm. That actually makes more sense.'

As I mentally reorganized my list of connections and the status board,

I picked my next words carefully.

Diplomacy always begins with eloquence.

"Are you familiar with the fish called fugu?"

Schutmann didn't answer, maybe surprised by my non-sequitur,

or maybe he just thought it was unworthy of a reply.

Either way, I continued.

"The internal organs of a fugu are highly poisonous. Eating it without proper preparation is suicide. But if the poisons are thoroughly removed, it offers an incomparable, unique flavor. For this, neither the best recipe nor the freshest fugu matters most."

"?"

"What matters most is the cook's skill itself, more than the recipe or the ingredient."

Since he'd compared me to an ingredient, I compared him to a chef in return.

At this, Schutmann's lips curled up ever so slightly.

"...."

"...."

In the silent tension, Schutmann's subtle smile,

and me, swallowing all my nerves and managing my expression.

But above Plerine and Naba's heads, transparent question marks floated.

They clearly hadn't caught on to the hidden meaning in our exchange.

'Actually, it's better that way.'

If they butted in clumsily, things could get worse.

As these thoughts passed through my head and I was about to choose my next words,

Schutmann spoke first.

"Not only is your cooking good, but you have a silver tongue as well."

"I guess I picked up the skill from dealing with customers."

At my words, Schutmann grinned and pulled up the mask hanging around his neck over his nose.

"An impressive perspective. That the chef, not the recipe or the ingredient, is what matters most in taste."

Isn't that obvious? I thought just as Plerine suddenly interrupted.

"And our boss is the continent's greatest chef."

Not to be outdone, Naba slammed his hand on the table, exclaiming,

"Th-that's right! He's an even greater chef than the palace head chef!"

Of course, the embarrassment was mine alone,

but Schutmann, seeming amused, said,

"You have some lively subordinates."

"They're my pride and joy."

As I said this, I could feel the warm gazes of employees #1 and #2,

but I kept staring at Schutmann as I spoke.

"Do you have anything else to say?"

Instead of answering, Schutmann simply held my gaze,

then, slowly, very slowly, rose from his seat and spoke.

"... It was a pleasant time. Thank you for the meal."

At the same time, two silver coins clinked onto the table.

That amount was a ridiculous sum for a single meal.

〈 Customer - Schutmann Whitefang acknowledges your cooking 〉

〈 You have gained 1 'Recognition'. 〉

〈 Customer - Schutmann Whitefang acknowledges your service. 〉

〈 You have gained 1 'Recognition'. 〉

*

After seeing off the quiet storm named Schutmann,

and assigning the two to clear away the dishes, I pondered.

'How many ticking time bombs are there, anyway?'

Zeros—the first client and my observer.

Schutmann, a squire with an unknown agenda.

The unexpectedly cunning green-eyed Hank, the company commander, who I'd thought was just an emotional fool.

And his scrawny lieutenant.

'Ah, Burt. Looking back, I realize it was like spring back then.'

... Okay, maybe not.

Anyway,

with things this complicated, it was time to set some priorities.

'First, I need to resolve the duel.'

Zeros's contradictory behavior is a mystery,

and Schutmann's ulterior motives are also suspicious.

But for now, these are just potential threats.

They haven't surfaced yet, so they must be dealt with later.

"If you're done with the cleaning, gather around."

I called over Plerine and Naba and brought up the highlight of today's events.

"I'm having an honor duel in three days."

"Who?"

"Me."

"Eh?!"

"Huh?"

The two of them were visibly shocked.

Come to think of it, I probably should start by telling them I've become a cook.

In the end, I had to explain the whole story from the start.

Dragged to headquarters as soon as we arrived in the village,

getting on the bad side of green-eyed Hank the company commander, —this part was for Naba—

getting conscripted as a cook directly under the battalion commander in the operations room,

having army officers come eat at our inn,

getting into trouble at the training center and beating someone up,

then, as if on cue, that lieutenant showed up and tried to kill me so I challenged him to a duel.

—Of course, I skipped all the bits about Jeros in the middle.

Having listened to it all, Naba spoke as if stunned.

"No way. All of that happened in a single day?"

Well,

a scenario where an outsider becomes a Duchy soldier,

a shabby inn turns into an officers' mess,

and on top of that, a duel is arranged with the lieutenant—those are hardly everyday events.

"Um, boss. Can you even win that duel?"

I shook my head and replied.

"According to Jeros, there's no way I'll win."

"What? Jeros said so?!"

Naba, going pale, clutched his own head.

"Why? Who's Jeros?"

To explain to Plerine, who didn't know Jeros, Naba began an explanation:

He's a member of the village guard, a monstrously strong brute,

with a 100% insane hit rate in betting on matches at the sparring tournament.

His face turned from pale to blue as he explained with spit flying,

but Plerine listened in silence and then said coolly,

"Want me to sneak in and kill your duel opponent for you?"

Oh. Genius move?