Volume One, Chapter Four: Dried Herring, the Mysterious Shellfish, and a Sour Face
“Heh heh heh.”
I stared into the refrigerator, letting out a creepy little laugh all by myself.
The sun had long since disappeared, and I’d grown thoroughly tired of even the moon’s face by now. My sister, of course, was fast asleep.
In the pitch-dark kitchen, only the refrigerator’s light illuminated me.
I was confident I was wearing an extremely wicked expression right now.
What I was staring at: a dried brown fish.
I gently lifted it up, turning the package around to examine it.
This thing, completely forgotten and left sitting in the refrigerator, had finally reached its day in the sun.
There was also that perfect partner for it.
I glanced at the mountain vegetables in a plastic container on the upper shelf of the refrigerator.
…Thank you, Lord of the Mountain!
Imagining the ultimate drinking snack that these two would make together, my mouth was already watering.
What should I drink with it? No, what a stupid question.
Sake, of course. And a light, easy-drinking kind, at that.
“Ahh, feelin’ good.”
I skipped lightly toward the stove.
Tonight’s companion for drinks: dried herring!
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Migaki-nishin—dried herring.
Not exactly a mainstream ingredient by any means, but it happened to be my uncle’s absolute favorite.
It was a delicacy commonly eaten in my grandmother’s hometown of Aomori. Essentially dried herring; in some regions it was simmered or cooked in a sweet glaze, but in Aomori, it was especially beloved as a snack to accompany alcohol.
The kind of migaki-nishin eaten often in Aomori was the half-dried variety.
Half-dried herring had a densely packed herring flavor, and when you bit into it, its rich fat slowly seeped into your mouth. For anyone who loved alcohol, it was the ultimate drinking snack.
Every year, my grandmother used to order some specially for my uncle, who’d come home for New Year’s. Even after she passed away, I’d kept ordering migaki-nishin for my uncle whenever he came to pay respects at the family altar, and had been storing it deep in the freezer in preparation for the upcoming New Year’s visit.
My uncle would eat his beloved treat during his own evening drinking sessions, and he never once shared a bite. If anyone dared reach for it, the back of their hand would be met with a merciless smack.
So the only times I’d ever gotten to try it were the occasional sneaky nibble before serving it to him, but I remember it being absolutely delicious.
Honestly, the sheer tenacity and obsession Aomori natives have toward their dried goods was something else. Actually, there was one more dried food connected to my grandmother. It was sleeping away in the pantry right now… but I’ll save that for another time.
Anyway, the important thing was that tonight, I was going to eat my uncle’s dried herring.
After all, I wasn’t going back to my original world for the foreseeable future.
Normally, whenever I saw the migaki-nishin waiting for my uncle in the freezer, I would tell myself, “No. Don’t. You can’t!” and give up. But this time, there was no helping it.
Better to enjoy it while it was still good than let it spoil and become inedible.
—Besides, I’d already thawed it.
—And my uncle couldn’t exactly come to another world.
Ah, the guilty thrill of laying hands on something that wasn’t mine.
That racing heartbeat, like the moment you slip a spoon into someone else’s pudding—it was trying to drag me down the path of wickedness!
“You’re only eating it because it’s about to expire, right?”
Jade flicked on the kitchen light with a click and calmly cut straight through my dramatics.
“Mr. Jade, you’re no fun.”
“Anyone who could keep up with that kind of nonsense would be the weird one.”
—If it were my sister, she’d totally play along.
Feeling a little disappointed, I tore open the package of migaki-nishin.
Incidentally, Jade seemed to have picked up the concept of expiration dates through all his time helping me cook. …My guard knight really was quite competent.
Jade was in casual clothes tonight. He’d offered to join my drinking session even though he was off duty.
As for security, Dazil would be showing up later, so it wasn’t really an issue, but Jade insisted, repeating "I’m worried" over and over, and simply wouldn’t be talked out of it. …My guard knight was certainly diligent.
Dressed in a loose shirt and slacks, with his usual apron on top, he looked strangely fresh. Handsome men really could pull off anything.
The two of us got started prepping ingredients together.
Humming to myself, I gently set the dried herring on the cutting board.
Its skin looked glossy black, though at certain angles it caught a dull silvery shine. The flesh, dark brown, was slightly translucent.
Narrowing my eyes slightly, I studied it, running a finger lightly over the surface to feel for the bones. Once I’d identified the direction of the bones, I sliced diagonally against them, cutting across them. This kept the bones from being noticeable when eating. After sprinkling the fish with sake to remove any fishy odor, the herring was ready.
—All right, I needed two more dishes.
If it were just me eating, the herring alone would be enough, but with two others joining, I should probably make something more. …It definitely wasn’t because I wanted to make sure they couldn’t eat too much of the herring. Definitely not.
As I imagined the taste of sake, I rummaged through the refrigerator.
I already knew what one dish would be, but what should I make for the other?
Digging around in the depths of the freezer, I found something.
—Chicken skin.
I’d bought it cheaply from a butcher at the market.
People here didn’t seem to do much with chicken skin by itself, so it had been very cheap.
Chicken skin skewers? Chicken skin in nikujaga—meat with potatoes—would be nice too. But I didn’t want to spend too much time on it.
—Let’s keep it simple: crispy fried chicken skin.
Crispy chicken skin seasoned with salt and pepper was the perfect drinking snack.
Deciding on that, I microwaved the chicken skin to thaw it. Once thawed, I cut the larger pieces into bite-sized chunks. If there was any moisture left, I wiped it off with a kitchen paper.
Next, I pulled out the two kinds of shellfish I’d already purged of sand—bivalves and spiral-shelled ones.
The large, glossy bivalves with their mottled ochre shells were clams. Right in season, these clams were nice and plump. Today, I’d steam them in sake. The clams were sure to give us an absolutely superb broth.
The spiral-shelled ones were an ingredient native to this other world.
A special request from Dazil.
They were called “milk shells,” a type of tiny spiral shellfish. Shaped like an inverted triangle and about the size of a thumbtip, they closely resembled shittaka, a small shellfish found along Japan’s rocky shores.
Since I’d already planned tonight’s drinking session in advance, I’d had Jade let Dazil know about it—but Dazil, hearing we’d be drinking, asked if I’d make him his favorite dish, saying he’d bring the ingredients himself. I’d agreed to that.
This morning, Dazil had shown up with a net full of milk shells and, grinning slyly, said, "These little guys are vicious, so watch yourself," before heading off. …Vicious? A total mystery ingredient, but I’d already gotten the cooking method from Dazil beforehand.
I pulled out a large, milky-white bottle that sloshed with a splish sound. This too, Dazil had brought over. It was something like unrefined sake, commonly drunk in the nearby fishing villages. Sniffing it gave off a scent like sake lees. It was called "milk wine.”
…Wait, does Dazil have some kind of thing for milk? He did say it was his favorite, after all!
Thinking these rather rude thoughts I could never say to his face, I poured the milky-white wine over the milk shells sitting in a bowl.
Instantly, a whole bunch of tentacles emerged all at once from inside the shells!
Slurp, slurrrrrrp!
—Yikes.
My face twitched involuntarily.
The tentacles thrashed wildly in the milk wine, as if competing with each other, absorbing it at a terrifying rate.
The wine vanished as if being sucked down a drain, so I kept pouring in more to make sure there was always enough.
After a while, the shells seemed to grow drunk, their tentacles losing all strength and going still.
The tentacles, drifting weakly in the milky wine like drunkards, moved sluggishly here and there as if remembering something, gradually retracting back into their shells, before finally snapping their thin shell-lids shut.
According to Dazil, these shellfish absolutely love alcohol.
Apparently, once they were drunk on alcohol like this, grilling them over a net made them exceptionally delicious. They were known as “Drunkard Shells.” The name was pretty much exactly what it sounded like.
Well, that finished the prep work.
I asked Jade to get the charcoal ready and got straight to cooking.
First up, the sake-steamed clams.
I finely minced a generous amount of garlic and chopped some green onion.
Into a frying pan went the clams and garlic, with a generous pour of sake. No skimping on the sake here.
After I covered the pan and waited a while, the clams popped open. Their umami dissolved into the sake, turning the broth cloudy white. Once all the clams had opened, I scattered the green onions over them and tasted the broth.
If it needed a bit more salt, I’d add some—
“Ohh, no. I could just drink this whole thing right now.”
“Akane, get a hold of yourself.”
The sake-steamed broth was downright dangerous. The savory depth of the clams was so overwhelming that a mere taste-test wasn’t going to cut it.
“No, no, no, Mr. Jade, you’d understand if you tried it yourself.”
Saying that, I forcibly shoved a spoonful of the broth into his mouth as he tried to stop me. Jade groaned faintly, but swallowed the broth anyway, and after muttering, "Oh, this is…" he covered his face with one hand.
—Taste-testing is a cook’s privilege.
Flashing a wicked little grin, I pulled out a clam, scooped up plenty of garlic and broth in its shell, and handed it to Jade. Then I secured a portion for myself the same way… and, careful not to spill the broth, brought it to my mouth.
I scraped the plump clam meat away with my front teeth and chewed it together with the garlic… Ahh.
The silky clam meat. The sharp, stimulating bite of the garlic.
And the savory, umami-rich sake broth blending together with it all.
“Ahh…”
Somebody, bring me some alcohol…!
Bring me booze!
The fake feudal lord inside me was running wild.
Glancing beside me, Jade too had his eyes closed, savoring it with an expression of pure rapture.
—And just like that, we became accomplices.
Needless to say, for a while after that, a quiet, secret round of "taste-testing"—otherwise known as sneaky nibbling—proceeded without pause.
Now then, Dazil would be arriving soon. Time to hurry through the rest of the prep.
Swallowing down a mouthful of clam meat, I tossed the chicken skin into the heated frying pan.
Left to cook over the heat, the skin’s own fat gradually rendered out, thick and generous.
Before long, the pan had filled up with the fat. In that fat, I fried the chicken skin until it turned a crisp, golden brown.
Once fully crisped, the chicken skin shrank tightly, having released all its fat, wobbling temptingly in the chicken oil, practically begging me to eat it.
I transferred the chicken skin onto some kitchen paper and gave it a light sprinkling of salt and pepper.
Then, quite naturally, I popped one straight into my mouth.
Jade gave me a somewhat exasperated look, like “are you still snacking?”—but I didn’t care.
Crunch. Crisp, crisp…
With every last bit of moisture driven out, the chicken skin had a wonderfully fun texture. Its savory richness, enhanced by the salt and pepper, made me instantly crave something sparkling and golden to wash it down with.
Reaching for another piece, I caught Jade staring at me somewhat reproachfully.
I glanced down at the chicken skin in my hand, then held it out toward his mouth without a word.
Jade blinked a few times, his mouth twitching slightly, before finally—looking surprisingly pleased—taking a bite.
He must really like chicken skin. His expression had completely transformed from before, now beaming with delight.
I divided the remaining chicken skin into three plates, seasoning one with salt and pepper, another with curry powder, and the last with garlic powder, mixing each thoroughly.
That way, the fragrant spices would make the fatty chicken skin easier to eat.
While doing that, I heard someone knocking on the kitchen window.
Glancing up, I met Dazil’s eyes outside the pitch-dark window, his figure faintly illuminated by the kitchen’s light.
I asked Jade to go greet Dazil at the front door.
While he did, I quickly finished up That Other Thing and stashed it in the refrigerator.
Then, with an entirely innocent expression, I carried the dishes into the living room.
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The moment I stepped into the living room, I noticed there was one extra person. And the instant I saw that person’s face, my expression froze on the spot.
“…Is my presence here somehow inconvenient?”
There, on a cushion beside the low table, sat Luvan, expression composed, back ramrod straight, in perfect formal seiza. He looked exactly like a mother-in-law lying in wait, ready to pounce with complaints the moment her daughter-in-law let her guard down.
—W-Why on earth is he sitting in seiza…?
Despite my internal bewilderment, I kept up appearances and gave a flawless response: “No, no, not at all, ahahaha." The fruits of my long-standing habit of mentally rehearsing for hypothetical future mother-in-law confrontations (also known as pure daydreaming).
As a side note, the mystery of why this man from another world was sitting formally in seiza was solved later, when I actually asked him about it.
According to him:
‘Given the custom of removing shoes, the low table, the cushions placed on the floor—which I presume are called zabuton—and further considering the relative height of the floor, the cushion, and the tabletop, I concluded through comprehensive analysis that “seiza” was the most efficient sitting position. Surely anyone would arrive at the same conclusion without needing it explained.’
…That was what he told me later with a sigh, looking down at me through half-lidded eyes.
Incidentally, Jade, Prince Cain, and Dazil all normally just sit cross-legged without a second thought.
…Just who exactly did he mean by "anyone"?
Well, setting that aside.
I laid out the prepared dishes on the low table, along with enough glasses for everyone, a large bottle of sake, and a few beers.
Over by the veranda, Jade had cracked open the storm shutters slightly for ventilation and was getting the shichirin ready, glowing red with burning charcoal.
“Ohh, this looks great too. What a tempting smell.”
Dazil rubbed his hands together, eyeing the food happily. Luvan, meanwhile, wore his usual sour, unreadable expression.
I portioned out the sake-steamed clams into small dishes and handed them around.
The chicken skin was self-serve, so everyone could pick their preferred flavor.
Beer first, of course—we each poured a glass and toasted.
The cold beer went down wonderfully, hitting the spot as always.
Letting out a satisfied fwah!, Dazil eagerly dug into the food.
“Mmm, this—sake-steamed clams, was it? Delicious! What is this broth! The meat’s plump and has this rich sweetness. And washing it down with… slurp… this broth, man, this is bad, I can’t stop.”
In no time, the dish in front of Dazil that was meant for discarded shells was piled high with empty shells.
As for Luvan, he seemed to have taken a particular liking to the curry-flavored chicken skin, munching through it silently, one crunchy piece after another.
“Oi, Luvan, don’t hog all of that.”
Dazil grabbed a fistful of chicken skin and tossed it into his mouth with gusto. Crunch, munch, munch… his laugh lines deepening as he happily chewed away. Then he tipped back his beer and downed the whole thing in one go.
“Bhaah! Ahhh…”
Dazil’s face went slack with satisfaction for a moment before breaking into a wide grin, thrusting his empty glass out dramatically for a refill. His drinking style was always refreshing to watch.
Normally I’d happily pour him another generous round, but this time, without changing my expression, I swapped him a smaller glass instead and poured sake into it.
To be honest, we still had plenty of beer stored away in the pantry—gifts from the mid-year and year-end gift-giving seasons sent to our grandparents’ house every year—but with summer coming, consumption was sure to spike; I figured I should be a little conservative now.
…Beer was precious. We absolutely couldn’t drink it all before summer. I refuse to let any more of it disappear. A summer without beer was simply unacceptable, even if it would kill me.
The illustration’s description: Luvan is munching through the chicken skin silently, and Dazil is tossing into his mouth a fistful of chicken skin.
Dazil blinked in mild surprise at the sudden switch, but sniffed the new drink, eyes lighting up, and tossed back the sake eagerly.
“Mmm…! This is good stuff.”
Dazil said this while staring thoughtfully into his glass.
“Easy to drink, but surprisingly strong… Smells almost like fruit, but leaves this pleasant aftertaste of alcohol behind. Delicious.”
Seeing him savor the sake so contentedly, laugh lines deepening, made me want some myself, and I hastily poured myself a glass too.
The instant I took a sip, a fruity aroma drifted up through my nose. The alcohol tightened pleasantly at the back of my throat, utterly irresistible.
This wasn’t just any sake. This was namazake—unpasteurized, freshly pressed sake.
Released only from November through around March, this raw sake hadn’t been heat-treated at all. This, too, was something I’d bought every year from a brewery in my grandmother’s hometown, specifically for my uncle.
Because it was so difficult to store, it rarely made it to general liquor stores and was mostly consumed locally.
The yeast was still alive, so it had to be stored in a cool, dark place. It was a delicate thing, and leaving it somewhere warm would ruin the flavor in no time.
Up until recently, while it was still cold, keeping it in the back of the pantry away from sunlight had been fine, but now that spring had softened the chill considerably, it was reaching its limit.
So, this too, I intended to finish off entirely tonight.
—Ah, dear uncle! Forgive me, but I’ll be enjoying this properly, so please rest in peace.
Offering a silent prayer to my uncle, who was surely alive and well back in our original world, I took another sip.
What a gentle, smooth taste. The faint sweetness practically begged me to drink more. Giving in and taking another sip, the alcohol’s sharp tingle on my tongue reminded me—yes, this really was sake, easy-drinking as it may be. It was a dangerously easy drink, one that lulled you into a gentle, pleasant intoxication, making you forget the alcohol content entirely and just keep going.
“Hmph… This is quite good.”
Luvan seemed to have taken a liking to the namazake as well, and had started pouring for himself eagerly, one glass after another.
—Yeah. A giant sake bottle and the Prime Minister… doesn’t match at all!
Conveniently ignoring the fact that I’d been too lazy to prepare a proper sake flask, I muttered that thought to myself.
After a while of drinking with chicken skin and clams as our snacks, I noticed Luvan had turned… an absolutely alarming shade of red. Not just his face—his ears, his neck, even his hands.
“M-Mr. Luvan? You’re incredibly red?”
“Don’t concern yourself. I flush quickly when I drink. It’s nothing to worry about. …More importantly, the snacks have run out.”
Luvan held out the now-empty chicken skin plate with a cheerful expression. I took the plate—which had held a considerable amount just a while ago—and glanced over at Dazil, who wore an utterly unbothered expression and simply waved a hand dismissively, saying, "Just leave him be.”
By then, Dazil had somehow already stationed himself by the shichirin alongside Jade, and the two of them had started grilling the milk shells.
“Here, look, milk shells. They’re roasting now.”
“Oh, excellent.”
I watched Luvan wobble off unsteadily, then glanced briefly toward the kitchen.
For a split second, thoughts of That Other Thing crossed my mind, but I shook my head and quickly followed after Luvan.
The milk shells sizzled and popped pleasantly over the shichirin, making a satisfying crackling sound.
Beer glass in hand, Jade, stationed beside the shichirin, noticed me approaching and smiled. He dragged over a cushion and set it down beside himself, patting it invitingly for me to sit.
Gratefully, I settled down and let the shichirin’s warmth wash over me. Cozy and pleasant.
Jade’s cheeks had turned faintly pink from the alcohol, but otherwise he seemed largely unchanged from usual.
For the record, Dazil and I were both the type who didn’t change much no matter how much we drank. Bottomless pits, you could say. We both eat and drink at full throttle. Liver disease and weight gain were real concerns for the future. Jade couldn’t drink much, but he never got particularly drunk either, and only nibbled lightly at snacks. He was the type who paced his drinking well. And as for Luvan…
“Dazil, is it not done yet?”
“Just a bit more, hold on.”
“Dazil, this ‘sake’ is delicious.”
“Glad to hear it, don’t overdo it though.”
“Dazil, is it done yet?”
“Not yet, I said.”
…He was the type who became cheerful and giddy when drunk. He drank and ate to his heart’s content. He was the sort of person who had the most fun out of everyone present when he drank.
Seeing Luvan—normally so sour-faced and constantly spouting complicated, difficult remarks—clinging happily to Dazil like this was, somehow, quite unexpected.
“Here, they’re done.”
While I sat there watching Luvan somewhat blankly, Jade called out to me, and I turned my attention back to the shichirin.
Grilled over the fire, the milk shells were bubbling and hissing, some liquid and bits of tentacle poking out from their small shell-lids.
The air was filled with the smell of the sea, along with a faint aroma of milk wine.
“These guys won’t open their lids unless you grill ‘em. Stubborn little things, actually. You gotta heat ‘em up to force the lid open like this. …Here, Akane, watch.”
Dazil slid a thin iron skewer into the gap of a shell and gave it a firm twist, dragging the contents out.
What slid out from the shell was—some small, octopus-like creature. With a round head and several writhing tentacles, it seemed to be using its last remaining strength to desperately try and escape the skewer.
“And then, you grill this guy right here on the grate, like so.”
Paying it no mind, Dazil pressed it, skewer and all, onto the shichirin’s grate. The grilled parts immediately turned a deep red, taking on an unmistakably octopus-like appearance.
Once the milk shell’s contents stopped moving, Dazil popped it straight into his mouth. "Delicious!" he declared, then tossed back another gulp of sake.
He handed me a skewer too, so, struggling a bit with the piping-hot shell, I worked the skewer in. There was a brief moment of strong resistance, but with a firm pull, I dragged the contents out and pressed them onto the grate. The satisfying sizzle and rich, briny aroma built up my anticipation.
Honestly, during prep it had been, admittedly, more than a little unsettling to look at, but seen like this now, oddly enough, it looked genuinely delicious.
Swallowing hard, I blew on it to cool it down and popped it into my mouth.
First, the tentacles—or legs, I suppose. Chewing gave a springy, satisfying resistance. Mild in flavor, but with a faint hint of salt. …If I had to compare it to something, it was like lightly dried squid.
Next, the head portion.
Biting through it with a small pop, something thick and gooey burst out—and an intense, miso-like flavor hit me. Bitterness, sweetness, and savory depth all tangled together in a complex way, something I felt like I’d tasted somewhere before…?
—Ah! That’s it!
—Crab tomalley!
The moment I made that connection, I ended up swallowing it before I could think.
A rich, lingering miso-like aftertaste filled my mouth.
And then I realized my mistake.
—Why on earth had I eaten the legs and head separately?
Regretting it instantly, I had Jade grab me another shell, and this time popped the whole thing into my mouth at once.
The mild, plain flavor of the legs transformed the overwhelmingly rich, almost cloying "miso" into something gentle and balanced. The legs alone felt lacking, but the tomalley alone was too heavy and overpowering.
Together, though—that’s where the real deliciousness came from.
I took a generous sip of my sake.
The namazake, clean and crisp, washed away the lingering richness of the tomalley beautifully—an indescribably perfect pairing.
“Ahh… delicious…”
At my unconscious murmur, Dazil’s laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened noticeably. "Right? Right?" he said, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, and piled several more grilled milk shells onto a plate for me.
Luvan also asked, “Dazil, my share,” and had him grill several more, which he then happily stuffed into his mouth.
I kept popping the strange otherworldly snacks into my mouth one after another, sipping the delicious namazake that could only be enjoyed right now, in this fleeting season, passing the evening in wonderfully good spirits.
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The night deepened, and the feast was reaching its liveliest point.
Dazil and Jade were quietly chatting about knight-order business between themselves.
Luvan seemed to be nearing his limit. He dozed off now and then, only to suddenly startle awake and look around before taking another tiny sip of his drink.
The milk shells were long gone, and everyone’s stomachs were fairly well satisfied by now.
Dishes in hand, I made my way toward the kitchen, trying to look as natural as possible.
Reaching the refrigerator, I quietly pulled out the plastic container holding That Other Thing—
“Hoh. There was still more food, was there.”
“Eek…!”
At the low voice right behind me, I nearly jumped clean out of my skin.
Turning around with movements so stiff you could practically hear them creak, sure enough, there stood Luvan, his silver-rimmed glasses glinting, clutching a glass of sake.
Luvan snatched the plastic container right out of my hands and plopped himself down heavily onto a kitchen chair.
An astonishingly rough manner of behaving, completely unlike his usual self. Normally so precise and efficient in his movements, this alone told me just how drunk he really was.
Luvan opened the container, stared intently at its contents for a moment—then grabbed a bite with his bare hand and ate it.
“…Fish… no, dried fish? Somewhat fishy…”
“…”
“This vegetable has a rather grassy smell as well.”
“…”
“Dressed in some salty, sour seasoning?”
“Ugh…”
“This lingering taste on the tongue—fish fat? Quite a distinctive flavor…”
Luvan chewed thoughtfully, swallowed it down, then said:
“But it pairs perfectly with sake.”
He gave a bold, wicked grin and tipped back his glass. Suddenly emboldened, Luvan started reaching for one bite after another in rapid succession.
What he’d stolen from me, of course, was the migaki-nishin—the dried herring. The herring, soaked in sake, dressed together with boiled mountain udo stems and vinegar-miso. When serving it to my uncle, I normally used scallions or green onions, but since I had mountain udo on hand this time, I’d gone with that instead.
“To think you were hiding something like this… You truly are not to be trusted, are you?”
“I’m sorry about that, but—ah, that’s my only batch of herring, so please don’t eat it all!”
Half out of stubbornness now, I grabbed a bite with my own bare hand too.
The herring, dressed together with the crisp mountain udo. Honestly, its oily aroma was quite distinctive.
On its own, migaki-nishin didn’t have an especially strong flavor. Its umami was packed away deep inside, and a few bites weren’t enough to bring it out. Instead, the generous amount of fat it contained slowly welled up with every chew.
That fat, perhaps because the fish is only half-dried, carried a slightly fishy edge.
Mountain udo, too, had a rather distinctive flavor. Its fresh, green aroma wasn’t something everyone would enjoy.
That was precisely why I mixed them with tangy vinegar-miso.
The tartness, the saltiness, the depth of the miso. Just a touch of sugar. When all of it came together with the ingredients, it transformed into something that paired ferociously well with alcohol.
—The herring’s umami hidden beyond its fishy aroma.
—The refreshing fragrance of mountain udo beyond its grassy aroma, along with its crisp texture.
Absolutely irresistible for a drinker—a perfect snack for anyone who loved alcohol.
A terrifying dish that called for another drink with every bite.
Not about to lose to Luvan, I tipped back my own drink in turn.
“Mr. Luvan, eating with your bare hands is quite rude, you know.”
“…Not something I want to hear from you. Also, that utensil you call chopsticks is extremely difficult to use. In this situation, it is utterly inefficient.”
“You can’t even use chopsticks? …Pff.”
“You’re making a rather infuriating face right now, aren’t you?”
“Better than being a Prime Minister who can’t even use chopsticks. …Ah! You’re leaving all the udo and eating only the herring! That’s forbidden!”
—This back-and-forth continued for a while, until Dazil and Jade noticed us in the kitchen and found us out, whereupon the herring was promptly annihilated by a gathering of sake lovers.
Thankfully, Jade offered to wash the dishes, while I mourned my loss. …My guard knight really was wonderful.
I sipped some hot hojicha—roasted green tea—to sober up a little.
Luvan had finally lost to sleepiness and had slumped forward over the low table, fast asleep.
Dazil seemed intent on finishing the remaining alcohol, so he quietly sipped away at it by himself.
“Hey, missy. Sorry about today.”
“…? What are you talking about? If it’s about the herring, I’ll resent you forever.”
“That grudge over the herring runs deep! …Ah, no, not about that. I’ll make it up to you for the herring too, of course. I promise. So don’t glare at me like that; it’s scary.”
Dazil seemed to have learned firsthand just how terrifying a grudge over food could be, and he shuddered. Perhaps to steady himself, he took a sip of sake and began speaking slowly, bit by bit:
“I mean bringing him along suddenly—Luvan, I mean. I figured you might have the wrong idea about him. As his friend, it bothered me to see him misunderstood, so I brought him along.”
“…Misunderstood?”
“Missy, you’re scared of him, aren’t you? Or well, maybe not quite scared, but you think he’s a pain to deal with. You’ve been wondering why someone like him—such a high-up official in this country—would bother coming out here himself to investigate all this stuff, haven’t you?”
“Ugh…”
Something in my chest clenched inwardly.
—It’s not that I’m scared of him. But given that Luvan already holds such a high position as Prime Minister, I’ve never quite been able to figure out how he actually feels about being involved with us, and I’ve always been unsure how to behave around him. Every action, every word—I’m never quite sure if it fits the situation, so being around him takes enormous care. …So I couldn’t deny that I did find his visits somewhat of a burden.
Letting out a breath, Dazil lowered his eyes, idly turning his glass in his hands, and continued:
“Of course, Luvan isn’t entirely blameless. He never makes it clear how he sees himself or what position he’s taking.”
The large sake bottle was completely empty by now. The brown bottle, lying on its side on the tatami, gave off a strangely melancholy air.
“This guy has an expressionless face that’s hard to read, and on top of that, he doesn’t talk much. And when he does open his mouth, it’s always something harsh… In a way, that’s a triple whammy against him. He says all those harsh things because, in his own way, he thinks they’ll help you two—ugh, this is hard. It always comes out sounding preachy no matter how I try to explain it.”
Perhaps unable to find the right words, Dazil scratched his head roughly.
“Anyway, Luvan feels responsible—for practically forcing a young girl into the role of Saint and hoisting the fate of the whole kingdom onto her shoulders like that. We all do, honestly, but—there’s no denying he genuinely feels ashamed of this whole situation, one we can’t really fix through our own strength alone.”
Dazil rolled his empty glass idly in his hands as he kept talking.
“—Missy, you know? The royal court is a place full of bad adults. Nobles especially are a den of scheming, rotten characters. …And the bureaucrats are the worst of the lot. Bunch of power-hungry pigs, all high status by birth alone, and nothing else to show for it.”
“That’s a rather harsh description.”
“Yeah. That was rude to pigs, actually … Pigs taste so good, after all. Those bastards aren’t even edible, so they’re worse than pigs.”
Dazil said it with a thoroughly disgusted expression, and I could see the weariness on his face.
—Wait, that’s what you’re upset about!?
“For the kingdom, she’s a precious Saint. We can’t have her caught up in political messes, having her actual purification journey affected by it. …You too, Akane. You probably haven’t noticed it yourself, but you’re the Saint’s emotional anchor—which also makes you a weakness. There’s no shortage of people who might try to use you for their own ends. …That’s what he’s always harping on about.”
—You might want to give some thought to your own position here.
I remembered Luvan’s words.
His words were always sharp, harsh.
Always with a scowl, brow furrowed, speaking with blunt honesty—Luvan always struck straight at the heart of the matter without hesitation. Someone who deliberately, precisely, cuts to the core whenever you’re wavering. If you deal with him half-heartedly, you would get hurt.
…Having someone willing to offer harsh, honest criticism was genuinely precious and something to be grateful for. But whether or not that made such a person easy to be around was an entirely different matter.
“Even so, there’s no telling where trouble might sneak in from. Just to be extra careful, he’s been making sure the other officials keep their distance from you both by handling the investigations himself. …Though honestly, his genuine love of magical devices is probably a decent part of the reason too.”
Apparently, officials, given their status, had all sorts of restrictions, and there was no telling when or where they might get tangled up with some noble scheming something underhanded, making it genuinely difficult to find someone trustworthy.
—So that’s why the Prime Minister himself had been coming here personally to investigate.
“…Don’t go making up your own convenient stories, Dazil.”
Just then—Luvan, whom I’d assumed was fast asleep, suddenly lifted his head. His eyes were only half open, swaying slightly side to side, so he might still have been half-asleep. Face bright red, Luvan pointed sharply at Dazil.
“I am simply doing the work that needs to be done! Protecting the Saint and her sister! Their well-being directly ties into this kingdom’s peace and stability! I am merely doing what I am able to do… because that is the only thing I can do…”
After saying that, Luvan slumped back down onto the low table and fell asleep once more.
The only thing I can do… those words struck something deep in my chest. And left behind a bitterly painful feeling.
When I looked at Dazil, he was staring at Luvan, who had fallen asleep again, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward expression.
“We’re the same.”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
“…Me, and him. I’m the same—cooking is really the only thing I’m capable of doing too.”
Watching Luvan breathing peacefully in his sleep, my cheeks softened into a smile.
“He’s such an awkward person.”
“…Yeah. He really is. This guy’s terrible at expressing himself.”
The spring night deepened.
Delicious snacks, delicious sake.
The happiness of enjoying them together with someone.
I thought of what he was normally like when he wasn’t asleep.
Always sour-faced, mouth perpetually set in that flat, displeased line. Always saying such harsh things, and yet, once alcohol entered the picture, he seemed to have an incredible amount of fun. And he was the kind of person who could work hard for someone else without making a show of it—
I pressed the teacup in my hands against my cheek.
The gentle warmth of the cup seeped in soothingly, and I slowly let my eyes fall shut.
Just then, Dazil, seeming to recall something, spoke up again:
“—Ah, right, and one more thing, Akane—”
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
“So, I’m telling you, the fan has nothing to do with wind spirits.”
“Not a spirit, you say. Then how does it…”
Today, as usual, Luvan wore his sour, unreadable expression while staring down the electric fan.
Ever since that night of drinking, I felt like our relationship had gotten just a little more casual.
“Hmph. ‘Only a specialist would know’—that is all you ever say. Aren’t you ashamed of knowing so little about the tools you yourself use?”
…Nope. I must have been imagining things. Nothing about this felt casual. He was still terrifying.
Having thoroughly examined the fan from every angle, top to bottom, Luvan jotted something down on a sheet of parchment and, satisfied, got to his feet.
That seemed to be it for today.
Recalling Dazil’s words from that night, I called out to Luvan:
“…Mr. Luvan, thank you for your hard work today. If you’d like, would you care to join me for lunch?”
“…”
What Dazil had told me that night of drinking.
It was this:
‘There’s actually another reason I brought him here. That guy—he’s quite the foodie, believe it or not. He can’t resist rare, unusual dishes. Remember that whole Lord of the Mountain business, when everyone ate the offering together? Well, he got sulky because we didn’t invite him. Every time word got back to him about how good your cooking was, his mood turned absolutely foul—it’s been rough lately, dealing with him. I think this time made up for a lot of it, though. …Well, whenever you’re in the mood; next time he finishes an investigation, if you could invite him to eat with you instead of merely having tea, I’d really appreciate it.’
Nervously, I waited for Luvan’s answer.
And his usual immediate "No, that’s fine" never came.
…Could Dazil really have been telling the truth?
“What’s the menu?”
“Huh?”
“I’m asking what the menu is.”
“Oh, um, Napolitan spaghetti.”
“Napo…?”
Luvan considered the name of the dish for a moment. "That’s a dish from your world, I take it?" he asked to confirm, before falling into thought once again. Then, with a small sigh, as if something had just occurred to him, he muttered, "That Dazil…" before flashing a bold, sly grin.
“Very well. I shall accept your hospitality.”
It seemed Dazil had been telling the truth after all. After eating the Napolitan, Luvan left in an exceptionally good mood.
After that, Luvan and I ended up sharing lunch together fairly often. Needless to say, my little sister, who had been subjected to so many lectures from him and simply could not bring herself to like him, was extremely displeased about it.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
“Come to think of it, Akane. You did properly hear about milk shells from Dazil before you cooked them, correct?”
“Huh? I heard the cooking method, sure?”
“I see… By the way, Akane. Were there any milk shells that turned out to be empty when you cooked them?”
“Huh…? I don’t really remember, honestly.”
“Milk shells are, you see, a type of creature that parasitizes the shells of dead mollusks.”
“Oh, like hermit crabs, then?”
“You had them drink sake beforehand, I assume? If you don’t get them drunk like that first, the contents have a nasty tendency to escape.”
“…Huh?”
“They’ll crawl into any opening, shell or not.”
“Wh-Wh-What…?”
“There are stories, in the fishing villages, of the escaped contents crawling into people’s ears at night, causing quite the disaster.”
“NOOOOOOOOOO!”
—From that day forward, milk shells were never once eaten in our household again.
Well, in reality, it was probably just a bit of local folklore—and more likely, Luvan’s own quiet little act of revenge against Dazil.
“My favorite food… ugh…”
Whether or not this resulted in Dazil crying himself to sleep that night remains, to this day, unconfirmed.
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