Surviving on the Northern Front with Gukbap

Granfen (7)

The judging for the cooking contest ended in a flash, making those 40 days of preparation seem pointless.

The send-off ceremony's eve began immediately afterward.

Unlike during the sparring tournament, since this was a hastily arranged event, there was no bard to liven things up, which left a void.

But the biggest difference from the sparring tournament lay elsewhere.

'Die! I'm so busy I feel like I'll die!!'

There was no time to even feel the thrill of victory from winning the cooking contest, nor the relief of having protected the shop.

〈 The customer is satisfied with the food. 〉

〈 You have gained 1 'Satisfaction'. 〉

Compared to the sparring tournament, when I only sold fondue bread by myself, it was on a whole other level of busy.

〈 Customer-Kimberly acknowledges your food. 〉

〈 You have gained 1 'Recognition'. 〉

〈 The customer is satisfied with the service...〉

.

.

"B-boss. You need to move the kegs ahead of time, ugh!"

Naba held himself back from gagging.

"I'm busy because drinks need to go out now. Where's Plerine?"

"She's already out serving!"

"This is crazy!"

Three employees and me—four people in total.

All four of us were so overwhelmed by the rush of customers that we couldn't catch our breath.

'Plerine and I can barely manage, but Harper and Naba look about to drop.'

What's more, we hadn't worked at night in a long time. Hustling late into the night just felt awkward.

'At this rate, we'll burn out for real.'

In the end, I made a drastic decision.

"Plerine, hold on! Cover for me for just a bit."

"You're not running away, are you, boss?"

I'd like to, but since I'm barely holding out, could you not provoke me?

"It'll really be quick! Just a moment!"

I left our stall and walked toward the stage. Arriving at the opposite-side stall,

"......."

I got goosebumps from the overly enthusiastic welcome.

Both the Wyvern Tail employees and customers stared at me.

Wow, they're welcoming the new boss a bit too much—I don't know where to put myself.

"Why are you here?"

Clara appeared before me, her hand on her waist.

With customers around, she hid her usual sharp demeanor, but still, this was no way to act toward her "sky-like" boss.

"Watch your tone, Clara. And ahem, am I not allowed here?"

Clara narrowed her eyes but then replied,

"So why did you come?"

Her attitude still rubbed me the wrong way, but with so many eyes on me, I decided to hold back. Gotta maintain my image, after all.

"How many people are working here right now?"

"Nine, including me. Why?"

So many, huh?

About as many customers as us, but twice the staff?

As a boss, I can't just watch such an inefficient use of manpower!

"Then you can spare at least one person to come help us, can't you?"

With a smile, I pulled Clara by the wrist.

"Welcome back, Clara."

"Wha? Wait—hold on."

Wyvern Tail is my shop. Which means I have the authority to reassign the employees.

"Hurry up! My staff are about to die over there."

"What—this isn't fair! Let go!"

As Clara struggled to shake free from my grip, she called out,

"Dunbell!"

I let go as a burly guy appeared in front of me.

As soon as I eased my grip, Clara hid behind Dunbell.

I felt like an unintentional villain, trying to snatch someone else's woman! Hahaha.

"The outsider tried to kidnap me!"

Really now.

Anyone seeing this would think I'm the evil extra #1. All I did was exercise my legitimate rights!

"Kidnap? Don't call the boss's work reassignment that."

Clara tried to retort, but Dunbell cut her off.

"Isn't the handover tomorrow? You don't have the right to take Clara yet."

Huh.

In fact, Dunbell was right. According to the cooking contest rules Fav made, the handover was set for the day after the eve.

'Throwing facts at me, huh.'

Still, I had a counter. Namely, appealing to emotion!

"Just look over there."

I pointed to our stall.

Dunbell and Clara's eyes followed. Over there, Naba and Harper were dying on their feet.

"We're handling all those customers with only three people. I just want a little help—you're really going to be so petty?"

Emotional appeals work best if they're as desperate as possible.

"Sniff. Can't you see that kid's arms and legs are shaking—?"

"All right."

"?"

Wait, you're cutting off my act right as I'm getting into it? What did you just say?

"Dunbell, what did you say?"

"I said all right."

I hadn't misheard. But Clara, even more surprised, stared wide-eyed and asked,

"What do you mean, Dunbell?"

"Go help out, Clara."

"Why should I help the outsider's shop...! Oh—!"

Dunbell grabbed her shoulders and nudged her toward our stall.

While Clara sputtered, she let herself be pushed and trudged toward our stall.

"Not running?!"

"... Geez."

She muttered something, but since she started running, I decided to forgive her.

Meanwhile, having agreed to Clara's transfer so readily, Dunbell silently stared at me.

It was the same impassive look I had seen right before the cooking contest.

"......."

Just as I was starting to feel uncomfortable, Dunbell spoke.

"I did you a favor. Now, you owe me one."

So that's why he was so quick to lend Clara.

There's really nothing free in this world. Still, I'm the top dog in our relationship.

"Let's hear what the favor is first."

Dunbell's face twitched briefly, but he soon returned to normal.

"Whew. Fine. You won, after all."

Dunbell took out a pipe and spoke as he lit it.

"I'll hand over the shop tomorrow, as promised. I'll give you our menu, recipes, even our supply vendors."

Huh?

Why's he giving me everything?

Just as I started getting flustered, Dunbell added, forcefully,

"And take over all my staff as well."

"That's your favor?"

He exhaled smoke, obviously exasperated.

"No. That's not a favor, that's part of the handover. I'm giving the shop, you're receiving it. Take what I give. Don't you outsiders have any common sense?"

As a modern person, this is hardly common sense, but since he's being serious, I just let it go.

Besides, I don't hate the offer.

Other than makgeolli, I don't have any other alcohol.

'Learning Wyvern Tail's other alcohol and beer brewing? That'd be a gold mine.'

I was also curious about the rumored tomato soup and wheat bread.

This works out well.

"Fine. I'll take all the staff too."

Nine is a lot, but I can always let people go if needed.

"There isn't anyone who washes up in Granfen without a story. Take good care of my people."

Damn it. Trying to soften my heart with an emotional appeal of his own.

"Fine, don't worry. Now, what's that favor?"

I asked bluntly, but Dunbell took a deep drag from his pipe before answering.

"I'm leaving Granfen tomorrow."

I couldn't help but frown, but kept my composure.

"So?"

"Don't you get it? Since I'm leaving, you could at least tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"That alcohol you make. What was it called again?"

"Makgeolli. Why?"

"I want to know how to brew it."

"?"

For a moment, I was so dumbfounded I couldn't speak.

'What nonsense is this?'

My makgeolli recipe isn't just a simple thing to me.

It's the first dish I ever poured my all into, built up from the ground. And yet—

"Why should I tell you?"

At my reply, Dunbell's face turned red.

"... Didn't I just tell you! I'm leaving Granfen!"

His fists trembled, but it seemed he was restraining himself, perhaps recalling getting punched by me.

'This is why you have to get strong.'

While I congratulated myself on my diligent physical training, Dunbell's next words cut through my thoughts.

"For a moment, I respected you as a chef. But you're no chef—just an unreasonable outsider."

With that, Dunbell turned and walked away—

Wait.

Why does this feel both good and dirty at the same time?

'He respected me as a chef, then took it back?'

Think about it.

Dunbell and I fought a cooking duel as chefs,

and when he tasted my makgeolli and accepted defeat, it seems he recognized me as a "chef."

But now he's retracting this recognition—supposedly because

'Because I won't give him the recipe?'

There's no other explanation in context.

But if that's really the reason, isn't that way too much?

"Hey, Dunbell!!"

He halted at my shout.

"What?!"

Annoyance dripped from his voice, but I calmly spoke, modern-person style, pointing behind the stage with my thumb.

"Why don't we go over there and have a deeper talk?"

Don't go running off, you jerk, saying I'm not a chef and that I'm an out-of-place outsider.

*

As a modern man, I spoke first.

"As you said, I'm an outsider—a chef from another world. And in my world, it's standard for chefs not to share recipes."

Then I added, "Not even my own father shared the secret stock recipe with me," and when he accused me of lying, I looked serious, so he seemed unconvinced.

"R-really?! Then how do you even learn to cook?!"

An ordinary person would learn from the internet or YouTube, but that's hard to explain, so I opted for a more traditional explanation.

"We pay master chefs to teach us."

"What?! The master chef takes money to teach disciples? No way. How much does that cost?"

"A lot. You pay regularly, too, if you want to keep learning. Recipes are a chef's pride—they're worth more than gold. Unless it's that sort of paid contract, you don't hand recipes out."

As I explained, Dunbell commented that chefs in my world were totally different from those here.

"So that's why you wouldn't share the makgeolli brewing method."

He nodded as if accepting it.

"But outsider, you're going to live as a chef in Belkhazium from now on. You'll have to learn our ways, too."

Next, Dunbell explained what had made him upset.

"On the Belkhazium continent, when a chef asks another chef for a cooking method, it's a sign of respect."

... Actually, we have something similar, but his next words were startling.

"And to ensure business areas don't overlap, if a chef leaves a town, then if the departing chef wishes, the remaining chef gives them recipes."

Isn't that an astonishing unwritten rule? Of course, even on Earth, the restaurant world is tough, working with fire and knives, and has its own unwritten laws.

'Giving recipes to a chef who's leaving town for free?'

It's so distinctly medieval—no concept of copyright or intellectual property.

From another angle, though, I suppose there's a kind of charm and romance to it.

I guess with no internet and little written record, recipes might have been passed along this way.

"Seems Burt never taught you these basics."

What Burt taught me was only violence.

Well, I guess he did teach me something crucial to survival in this world.

"At any rate, since I'm leaving Granfen, I'd like to know your makgeolli recipe. It was impressive enough I had to recognize my defeat. So, please—I'm asking!"

So saying, Dunbell bowed his head. Watching his thick, curly hair, I thought,

'Hrm. Should I give it to him or not?'

For a moment, I hesitated, seeing the polite gesture from the man who'd once been my greatest rival.

But there was still a huge issue between me and him, unresolved. The real reason we'd come this far.

'He tried to kill me, remember.'

Instead of settling things as chefs, through cooking.

Should I really fulfill my duty as a chef to a guy like him?

'I don't think so.'

No way I'm giving my precious recipe to someone who tried to take my life.

Besides, if he's leaving town, he's no longer my problem reputation-wise.

Resolving myself, I said,

"Sorry, but even so, I can't give you my makgeolli recipe."

Dunbell slowly raised his head, one eye twitching.

"... What?!"

"You tried to kill me. There's no duty to uphold as a chef to someone who crossed that line first."

I pricked up my ears, curious how he'd respond.

'Huh?'

Instead, Dunbell bashfully scratched the back of his head and said,

"Well, there seem to be a lot of misunderstandings to clear up."

"Huh?"

A misunderstanding? What kind of misunderstanding are we talking about?