Volume One, Chapter Two: Moonlight, Beer, and the Grill
Hoo, hoo—I could hear a bird calling outside.
The night sky through the window was cloudless, a huge moon pouring cold, pale-blue light down over the land. The air had turned crisp with a cold bite, and I sniffled a little. Pulling the collar of my pajamas closed with chilled hands, I slipped my feet into my fluffy slippers.
Then I quietly opened my bedroom door and stepped out into the dark, chilly hallway.
Ever since I’d taken over cooking for my sister, I’d moved my residence from the detached palace back to our house. Honestly, it made things much easier, given all the prep work involved in cooking. The detached palace was quite far from this house.
So, that’s how I came to be at the house tonight, but…
…Tiptoe, tiptoe. Slowly, carefully. I stepped cautiously across the floorboards.
It’s an old house—the moment you let your guard down, the boards creak right away.
Erasing my presence as best I could so as not to wake my sister, I made my way down the stairs from the second-floor bedroom.
Finally reaching the first floor, I slowly opened the old wooden door at the end of the narrow hallway.
Creeeak…—the old rusted hinges let out a groan.
I froze for a second and listened carefully, but there was no sign of my sister waking up.
Letting out a small breath, I slipped inside.
Fumbling in the pitch-black room, I found the switch. The old incandescent bulb flickered a few times before finally lighting the room.
This room is what our family calls the pantry—or the storeroom, depending on who you ask. It’s where my grandmother’s carefully hoarded dried goods and canned foods are kept, along with long-lasting root vegetables and the various liquors my grandfather and I used to collect together. Among the cluttered piles were things quite old by now, giving off a faint smell of dust.
I made my way to the back of the room, cluttered with all sorts of things, and rummaged through the shelves here and there.
After a while, I found what I was looking for, and—with an evil little grin spreading across my face—quietly slipped back out of the room.
The kitchen had grown quite cold after the heating had been turned off for the night, and despite spring being just around the corner, the chill was still intense. I brought out a small electric heater and switched it on. I wasn’t planning to stay for very long, so this should be enough.
…Still a bit chilly, though, so I pulled out my quilted vest and threw it on. Yeah, my nose was still cold, but it was a bit more bearable now.
I pulled out the "charcoal starter" from the back of a cupboard and loaded it with some leftover charcoal from last year’s barbecue, brought over from the pantry.
The "charcoal starter" was a device with a mesh bottom set inside an iron pot—mainly used to hold charcoal and light it over a stove burner.
Its trusty partner, the shichirin grill, was already standing by.
A grin bubbled up again.
My sister was fast asleep, and Jade had already gone home.
With no one left to stop me, I was about to…
—enjoy a secret drink all by myself.
I’ve always loved sneaking quiet drinks late at night with my grandfather, hidden from my grandmother and sister. We would sit facing each other, exchange drinks while chatting about nothing in particular, and nibble on snacks I had prepared.
It was such a small thing, but that time with my grandfather always felt so comforting. Maybe part of the appeal was the thrill of sneaking around behind my grandmother’s back, since she was always worried about his health. Thanks to all those secret drinking sessions where he’d have me try all sorts of drinks with him, I ended up becoming quite the drinker myself.
After my grandfather passed away, I drank alone just once. Watching the moon by myself with a drink in hand felt so lonely that I stopped doing it after that.
Coming back to this house after so long, the familiar smell of it made me nostalgic. Maybe some unconscious part of me wished I could go back to those days. Somehow, tonight, I just felt like having a secret drink again.
I lit the gas burner.
Once the flame caught the charcoal in the starter, it made a light, cheerful crackling snap, pop sound that was fun just to listen to.
While that got going, I washed the taro roots I’d taken from the pantry with water. It was nighttime, so it was cold outside too. The water was freezing. Blowing warm breath onto my reddened fingertips, I worked hard to scrub off the caked-on dirt.
Once they were clean, I set them on a plate, covered them loosely with plastic wrap, and popped them in the microwave for about three minutes.
While that ran, I prepped some garlic, mincing it finely. That too went onto a plate, covered with wrap. I got out miso, mirin, sake, and sugar, and mixed them together.
Ding!—the microwave’s beep made me flinch a little. Straining my ears as hard as I could for any sign of my sister waking up, I carefully swapped out the taro plate for the minced garlic plate, this one just for thirty seconds.
“Ow, ow, ow.”
The microwaved taro had gone wonderfully soft; when I peeled the skin off with my bare hands, it slid right off.
It was quite hot, so I tossed it back and forth between my hands like a juggling ball to survive the heat.
Once I’d finally finished peeling them all, I got out a small pot and warmed up the miso mixture from earlier.
Since it had sugar in it, I kept a careful eye on it to avoid burning, and once it started bubbling gently around the edges, I added the garlic.
The scent of garlic, the fragrant smell of miso caramelizing against the pot—an absolutely appetite-stirring aroma. Since the garlic had already been microwaved through, it didn’t need much more simmering.
A quick taste test confirmed it was seasoned just right—the garlic miso was done.
I plated the taro separately and set the garlic miso aside in a small dish.
I also pulled out That Other Thing from the overhead cupboard and set it on the tray alongside everything else.
By then, the charcoal in the starter was just about ready.
Carefully, so as not to burn myself, I gently dropped the charcoal into the shichirin grill. The faint warmth of the coals brushed against my cheeks, and their glowing red color only heightened my anticipation for the drink ahead.
—And then, tiptoeing once more.
I crossed from the kitchen through the living room and out onto the veranda. On clear, beautiful moonlit nights like this, drinking out on the veranda was always the tradition with my grandfather.
Naturally, the storm shutters were closed, so I opened just two panels.
The moment I opened the shutters, a cold gust of wind hit me—whoosh!
Biting back a shriek of "cold!" I stomped my feet lightly to fend off the chill and dragged the kotatsu over from the living room. I switched it on right away to start warming it up.
Fighting the urge to dive straight into the kotatsu immediately, I brought over the tray with the shichirin and the food.
I set the grate on the shichirin and placed the taro on top.
The chewy taro’s surface, seared by the charcoal, gradually started turning crisp and golden.
Swallowing hard, I spread a spoonful or two of garlic miso over them and grilled them a little more. The sizzling smell of miso caramelizing spread through the air instantly—an indescribably good smell.
—Alright!
I sprang to my feet and hurried back to the kitchen, moving at top speed while keeping my footsteps silent, and made it to the refrigerator.
Inside were a few bottles of premium beer.
I grabbed one, along with a ceramic beer glass known for producing a good, thick foam, and dashed back to the veranda at top speed again.
Slipping quickly under the kotatsu, I cracked the can open with a pshh and poured it into the glass with a satisfying glug, glug, glug.
The fine-textured foam billowed up invitingly, tempting my lips.
I pursed my lips slightly and gave the foam a light sip first, then tipped the glass back and gulped down the golden liquid in one go.
The carbonation fizzed and popped at the back of my throat. Along with the tingling bubbles, a refreshing bitterness brushed across my tongue for just a moment before slipping down my throat before I could really savor it.
I let out a breath—haaah—and yeah, it really was cold out.
I hurriedly grabbed a piece of taro with my chopsticks.
Garlic miso taro, grilled over charcoal.
Blowing on it to cool it down, I took a bite, and the sticky, gooey taro along with the fragrant miso gently warmed up my mouth, still chilled from the beer. And hidden beneath the miso was the minced garlic—since it wasn’t crushed into a paste, the grilling gave it just enough presence to assert itself. The scent of garlic wafted up from my mouth into my nose, carrying with it a small pang of guilt for eating something like this in the middle of the night.
Then another satisfying gulp of beer.
“Haaah…”
Whether that sound that escaped me was from satisfaction or guilt, I couldn’t say.
Either way was fine, honestly—my face had gone completely slack with pleasure and showed no signs of recovering anytime soon.
My feet were toasty under the kotatsu, my body snug in the quilted vest. My face and hands were cold, but the gradual warmth radiating from the shichirin felt wonderful too.
In high spirits, I pulled out That Other Thing I’d grabbed from the cupboard earlier—dried squid—and started grilling it over the shichirin.
And then, right at that moment—
“Yo there, missy. Nice night for it.”
An unfamiliar man’s voice spoke up, and I felt all the warmth drain right out of my body.
The man who’d suddenly appeared paid no mind to my shock, saying something like, "Well now, that smells mighty good—pour me a glass too, missy," while carelessly kicking off his heavy-looking metal boots into the yard and climbing right into the kotatsu with me.
…Sizzle, sizzle.
The squid legs, curling from the shichirin’s heat, made a faint crackling sound as they charred slightly.
A rich, briny aroma rose from the grilling squid, and I couldn’t help but swallow hard.
—I have to hurry, or the squid would dry out from the heat.
Dried squid that had been grilled and then allowed to cool became dry and hollow, and wasn’t tasty at all. So taking it off the shichirin now was completely out of the question. It had to be eaten piping hot, or there was no point.
I stared, grrr, at the man who was smiling cheerfully and showed no sign of leaving anytime soon.
—Sigh.
Letting out a white puff of breath in the cold, I hurried back to the kitchen to fetch more alcohol and another glass.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
“Heh heh, you eat too, missy!”
I quietly regarded the man, whose attitude made it seem like he considered himself the host here. Right in front of me sat a middle-aged man, cheeks stuffed full of the extra taro I’d prepared. His armor, glinting pale under the moonlight, marked him as a knight. But unlike Jade’s, his armor was pitch black.
The taro on the shichirin vanished into his mouth in no time at all.
“Still though—huff, hot, hot, phew. This is good stuff. Never had a root vegetable like this. Sticky, gooey, real interesting texture. And this… miso, was it? The garlic in this is great, nice and salty, and the slightly charred bits are just—glug, glug, glug… ahh, man, this beer pairs perfectly with it.”
The man set his glass down on the kotatsu with a heavy thunk. Three empty cans already lay scattered in front of him.
—My beeeeer…
The illustration’s description: The old man in armor under the kotatsu, two cans of beer—with the label “isekai beer”—on the table and one in the smiling man’s hand. And also the shichirin grill on the table.
Bitterly, I bit into a piece of squid leg.
The thin tip, seared by the fire, snapped off easily with a crack. The crispy leg was almost like a snack food. The slightly thicker part had chewy suckers and firm flesh. The more I chewed, the more the taste of the sea spread through my mouth, and the saltiness called for another drink.
Sip, chew, sip, chew—I couldn’t stop.
“That looks good too.”
At the man’s voice, another squid leg vanished right off the shichirin.
He popped the squid into his mouth, saying "Mm, delicious," with his eyes crinkling happily.
The man introduced himself as Dazil.
Gray hair and eyes of some pale color, hard to make out in the dim light. Despite his generally muted coloring, his sharp gaze and the fine web of scars covering his face hinted at a rough, violent past. Every time he reached for the taro, his thick, muscular arm flashed into view, as if silently advertising his own strength.
—Who exactly is this guy?
Curious as I was, I found I wasn’t afraid of him and could just calmly keep drinking—maybe thanks to the deep laugh lines carved into the corners of his eyes.
Every time he tipped back a swig of beer, his otherwise sharp eyes would narrow, deepening those laugh lines—something about it reminded me a little of my grandfather, whenever he’d enjoyed a good drink.
I grilled my favorite part of the squid—the fin—quickly on the shichirin. It’s thin and hardens fast when grilled, so just barely warming it through is enough.
I tore it in half with my fingers and decided to share it with Dazil.
When I silently held it out, he laughed and took it with an "Oh, nice.”
I popped it into my mouth, and the saltiness—stronger than in any other part of the squid—made my cheeks tighten. I washed down the mouthwatering flavor by gulping down the rest of my beer.
Savoring the aftertaste, I looked up at the huge, round moon. It struck me as strange that the moon looked exactly the same even in a completely different world, and with the alcohol helping along, I found myself humming a children’s song about the moon.
I felt a little childish singing it, but somehow, dissolving into the cold night air, that moon song seemed like a genuinely lovely thing—strange, that.
Dazil clapped along, pat pat, and then sang me a verse of some unfamiliar otherworld song I didn’t recognize.
After that, both of us got progressively more pleasantly buzzed, and we kept drinking together leisurely until the charcoal in the shichirin had burned all the way down to white ash.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
—The next morning.
I was quite startled to find Jade, looking like he’d bitten into something bitter, and Dazil, grinning far too cheerfully, both showing up together for the morning greeting.
It turned out Dazil was the captain of the knight order Jade belonged to. Apparently, on his way home from work the previous night, he’d happened to pass by near our house and stumbled upon me having my solo drinking session.
Dazil placed a hand on my shoulder as I stood frozen, mouth hanging open, and warned me that drinking alone at night, during the hours when security was thinnest, was dangerous. As a state guest of this kingdom, he said, there was always the possibility, however small, that I could become a target.
This time, I froze up for an entirely different reason. …Did that mean I wasn’t allowed to have my secret midnight drinking sessions anymore?
—My precious nighttime indulgence.
While I sat there pale with dismay, Dazil hurriedly reassured me that it would be fine as long as some other guard was present. He even offered to personally take on guard duty for it himself, should the need arise.
Relieved, I let out a breath, hand on my chest.
Then, for some reason, Jade—wearing an absolutely radiant smile—spoke up:
“Akane, please call me too, when that happens.”
Which caught me completely off guard.
“Eh, but… that would be after your shift ends. You’re already with me all day; there’s no need for you at night too—”
“It’s fine, so please do call me.”
“Come on, you need your rest—”
“Please call me.”
“…Okay.”
The smile on Jade’s face somehow didn’t reach his eyes at all…
Watching the two of us, Dazil burst out laughing behind us for some reason.
Afterward, when my sister heard about all this, she scolded me too—telling me not to drink with strangers, and definitely not to let them follow me around afterward either.
Incidentally, it turned out my sister had known about my secret drinking sessions with our grandfather all along. She said she’d pretended not to notice, since it seemed like such a precious, private time between the two of us.
…My sister was apparently far more grown-up than I’d given her credit for.
From then on, whenever I held a drinking session—no longer a secret one—both Dazil and Jade started joining in.
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