Volume One, Interlude: Guard Knight’s Daily Life and Some Heartwarming Food
The early-morning market was, as always, packed with people. In the section lined with food stalls, she’d stopped in her tracks, staring intently at something. The object of her attention was a skewer of grilled meat, roasting over charcoal, seared to a beautiful golden brown. A mouthwatering aroma filled the air around it.
“Just look at this! Fresh off the grill! Get it while it’s hot!”
At the shopkeeper’s call, she swallowed audibly, staring at the meat with even more intense focus.
…She’s so easy to read.
Thinking that, I bought one of the skewers and handed it to her. She looked at it and lit up. "Is this okay!?" she asked, cheeks flushing with delight. Then she opened her mouth wide and took a huge bite, letting out a muffled sound of pure bliss—"Thish ish amazhing!"—her cheeks going soft with satisfaction.
Her face, completely melted with happiness over a good bite of food, was pretty adorable. But the very next moment, something seemed to occur to her, and her gaze drifted off into the distance.
Just like earlier, her thoughts were painfully easy to read. Her expressions and gestures told me exactly what was going through her head, plain as day. And I was pretty sure I knew exactly what had just crossed her mind—
…Yeah. It had to be that.
Realizing what was probably occupying her thoughts, I found it so utterly her that I couldn’t help bursting out laughing.
“Mr. Jade? What’s wrong?”
She tilted her head, not understanding what had amused me.
“Nothing… I just figured you were probably craving a drink right about now, Akane.”
At my words, her face flushed red instantly. Looks like I’d hit the mark.
“Th-That’s not true! Don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of drunkard!”
Watching her put on a brave front even though it was completely obvious made me want to tease her more. Curious how she’d react, I asked:
“So then, what drink would go best with that skewer?”
“Beer!”
She answered instantly, beaming.
…
We stared at each other in silence for a moment before her face flushed red all the way to her ears. "Ugh, fine! It’s just, this obviously goes great with beer, okay!? It’s not my fault!" she said, and, out of sheer desperation, shoved the skewer straight into my mouth.
Caught off guard by her unexpected move, I chewed the meat while blinking rapidly—and, sure enough, the heavily spiced meat really did pair beautifully with beer, that drink from her homeland.
“…Yeah, that’s definitely a beer thing.”
“Right!?”
At my agreement, she puffed up proudly with a self-satisfied little laugh, looking utterly triumphant.
Her expression of victory in that moment struck me as ridiculously funny again.
When I started laughing once more, she puffed out her cheeks in protest. "Mr. Jade, you laugh at me way too much!”
…Truly, there’s never a dull moment with her around.
Her name was Takanashi Akane. She was the older sister of the Saint summoned to purify this kingdom.
Compared to the average height of women in this country, she was on the smaller side, with glossy black hair cut to about shoulder length, curling softly inward. Her round eyes looked black from a distance, but up close they were actually a beautiful chestnut brown.
Her exotic appearance, with its delicate features that were unfamiliar to most people around here, stood out even in the crowded morning market. Her ever-changing expressions were charming too. The people passing by seemed intrigued by her and kept stealing glances in her direction.
…Though the woman herself seemed entirely unaware of her own charm. She was always far too self-deprecating for her own good. That was probably her one unfortunate flaw.
She could stand to have a little more confidence in herself. I always thought that whenever I looked at her.
Whenever she came to the market to buy groceries, she looked absolutely delighted. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she tugged insistently on my hand and led me this way and that through the market.
She darted her gaze around restlessly, stretching her small frame to peek into shops in search of something new. One moment she was frozen with her mouth hanging open in surprise, the next her cheeks were flushed pink as she excitedly reported back on what she found.
“Let’s go over there! Mr. Jade! Look, what’s that over there…?”
The hand-holding, which started off as something I did just to tease her, had become completely normal by now—and honestly, walking along feeling the warmth of her hand wasn’t bad at all.
“…Wow! Amazing! What is that!?”
It seemed she had found something else. Watching her from behind, I continued strolling through the market with her today as well.
Compared to how she used to be not so long ago, it was almost unbelievable how alive she seemed now. Watching her like this, I sometimes found myself dazzled by her—I wondered why that was.
My first meeting with her—with Akane—was at the detached palace.
The summoning of a Saint… that historic, momentous event spread through every corner of the royal palace overnight, and the strange building that had suddenly appeared in the garden drew everyone’s curiosity.
We knights had our hands more than full from the moment the sisters were summoned, protecting the Saint from onlookers and foreign spies. Endless procedures and security arrangements kept everyone busy, from the commander of the knights to the newest recruits rushing around to handle paperwork and security arrangements.
Amid all that, everyone in the order was fixated on one question: who would be granted the prestigious role of the Saint’s personal guard knight?
I watched all of them with a somewhat detached eye.
I was the third son of an earl’s family—never particularly expected to amount to anything, even growing up. Even after coming of age, I had no particular ambitions, and I preferred to steer clear of getting involved in state affairs. With my two older brothers being competent enough, I never had to worry about inheriting the family estate either. A comfortably easy position, all things considered.
I’d joined the knight order mostly because I happened to enjoy swordsmanship—something of a halfhearted reason. No burning ambition for advancement, and no particular sense of mission to protect the people either. Someone like me was hardly likely to catch a superior’s attention, so I never imagined the prestigious role of the Saint’s personal guard would ever come my way.
Sure enough, as expected, a handful of knights well-regarded by their superiors ended up being chosen as the Saint’s guards. …And yet, somehow, I ended up being assigned a position as well.
My assignment was to serve as personal guard knight to the Saint’s older sister.
Ah, I see, I thought.
Apparently, the Saint’s older sister would be sequestered in the detached palace until the Saint completed her duties. The detached palace is originally a residence for royals who, for one reason or another, need to be kept isolated. Airtight security, and cut off from the outside world by its very location—practically an island unto itself on solid ground. Serving as guard to the Saint’s sister in a place like that was a quiet, uneventful post with hardly anything to actually do.
The higher-ups probably wanted to be extremely cautious, given that nothing could be allowed to happen to the Saint’s sister under any circumstances. From what I could see of the two of them, the Saint clearly depended heavily on her older sister, and she in turn clearly treated the Saint with the devotion of a parent—so protecting her well-being directly tied into the Saint’s peace of mind. That was probably why they’d placed her somewhere as secure as the detached palace.
She herself had also apparently declared openly that she intended to return to her original world once the Saint completed her duties, so there was no real need for her to build any deep ties with people from this world.
That was probably why they had chosen me: I had no desire for advancement, and as the third son of an earl, I had few obligations tying me down.
My first impression of her, when we met, was of a woman who barely showed any expression, looking younger than her actual age. Always with her mouth set in a flat, unamused line, staring blankly at the ground a step or two ahead of her feet. Whatever she did, she’d furrow her brow slightly and think things over carefully before acting.
Perhaps one could simply call her cautious, but for a woman her age, she was far too unsociable.
Watching her, I figured, with some indifference, that a boring assignment naturally comes with a boring subject to guard, and didn’t think much more of her.
—But I was wrong about that.
On the day the Saint broke down crying to her. That small woman had wrapped her arms around her taller sister, and glared up at the dusk-lit sky with fierce resolve. Her cheeks tinged faintly red, eyes slightly damp, lips pressed into a small determined line as she resolved herself to something—that sight was dazzling. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her profile.
From the very next day, she threw herself into putting the summoned house in order for her sister’s sake at an astonishing pace, and started training in magic too, convinced it would help somehow.
That figure, so utterly different from the withdrawn, brow-furrowed woman I’d known before, stirred something restless in my chest for reasons I couldn’t quite explain.
—Because I’d just discovered that she possessed a passion and a sense of purpose that I myself had always lacked.
I felt genuinely ashamed of myself for having dismissed her as some boring, uninteresting person. At the same time, I found myself respecting her—admiring her—for how she’d changed. I wanted to be useful to her, as her guard knight.
A few days after that, she was training in magic with tremendous dedication. But she’d hit the wall of her limited total magic capacity and had gone quiet, brow furrowed with worry once again, for the first time in a while.
Watching her like that, an idea struck me. Magical power can be transferred to another person. If I did that, I could help her!
But when compatibility between two people was poor, transferring magical power came with tremendous discomfort and pain—not for the recipient, but for the one giving it. The leading theory was that instinct itself resisted such a transfer, as some kind of self-protective mechanism. Which was why, among magic users, transferring magical power wasn’t something generally recommended.
—But I didn’t hesitate.
What did a little pain matter? If it meant being useful to her, I’d endure it without complaint. …After all, I was her guard knight. That might have been the very first sense of purpose I’d felt since joining the order.
So, without telling her much of anything, I offered to transfer magical power to her, and in my enthusiasm, I managed to get her consent.
“…Mr. Jade, I’d like to use Appraisal.”
She seemed to notice I’d been lost in thought, and spoke up somewhat hesitantly. Immediately, my awareness snapped back, and the noise of the market rushed back in.
I nodded and took her hand again.
“Here we go…”
I circulated the magical power within my body and gradually let it flow toward our joined hands.
The instant my power tried to flow into her, I felt a faint resistance—but after that, it flowed through smoothly and without issue.
…No discomfort at all, really.
If anything, having my power flow into her felt strangely pleasant. It was an odd sensation.
Was this some kind of divine blessing? Thankfully, our compatibility turned out to be extraordinarily good, with no discomfort or pain involved at all. …Which meant there was no longer any reason to hesitate or feel uncertain about transferring magical power to her.
As I watched her profile as she studied some ingredient like always, I felt the moment the flow stopped, and she turned to look at me.
“…”
“…”
Incidentally, for some reason, smiling back at her complicated expression after she finished using the spell had become something of a ritual whenever I transferred magical power to her. As had the little tug-of-war afterward over whether or not to let go of her hand.
Her reactions were just too cute, too entertaining. I couldn’t help doing it every single time.
The same exchange, in our usual spot.
Every time we repeated that exchange without growing tired of it, and every time I discovered a new side of her, she became more important to me.
◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇
We left the market and headed home, her expression practically glowing.
We took off our shoes and stepped into the house. I remembered being quite bewildered by the custom of removing shoes at first. By now, though, I had gotten used to it—there was even a designated spot for my shoes in the shoe cabinet by the entrance.
She was so excited she looked ready to break into a dance at any moment. She quickly changed into her usual clothes in her room, then headed straight for the kitchen.
It seemed she’d found some ingredient she really liked today. In an excellent mood, she couldn’t wait to start cooking.
“Mr. Jade, it’s baby squid! Baby squid! I guess early spring is when it’s just coming into season here too… It’s interesting how many things line up between the worlds. Ah, little squid, how should I cook you?”
The "baby squid" she was talking about were about thumb-sized. The moment she’d spotted that little pile of them heaped in a basket, her reaction had been something else entirely—like a kid finding their favorite toy. The adults around us had all watched her giddy excitement with amused smiles.
Recalling that scene, I put on my usual navy-blue apron, as always. When I looked up, I found her staring at me. It seemed she had been observing me for some time.
Working up some resolve, she pursed her lips slightly, then finally spoke:
“Um. This is a little late to bring up, but… is it really okay for me to just keep having you help with cooking like this, as if it’s normal?”
Wondering what she was getting at, she went on, mumbling something about how "a guard knight’s job is to protect people" and "I feel bad forcing this on you, maybe it’s a burden…"—looking increasingly dejected as she spoke.
Wanting to see her round eyes, which she’d cast down toward her feet, I bent down a little to peer up at her face, and she stiffened in surprise.
“…At first I was just helping on my own initiative, but now I’ve gotten the commander’s approval too, so it’s fine. Besides, this kitchen is a bit cramped, isn’t it? It’d probably be more of a hindrance if I just stood around not helping… and honestly, I want to help you, personally. …Is it really a bother?”
At my words, her eyes widened slightly before her cheeks relaxed into a happy smile.
“…I’m glad. Thank you.”
…Her reaction made me unbearably happy, and my chest warmed gently.
A large pot of water simmered quietly, gentle bubbles forming. Inside was some dried seaweed called "kombu," which she’d apparently left soaking in water since that morning. Just before the water reached a full boil, I pulled the kombu out. According to her, "if you let it boil, it gets slimy"—which seemed to ruin the flavor. …Cooking really was deep and complex.
Then I grabbed a generous handful of “katsuobushi,” which looked like wood shavings and had a peculiar aroma, and tossed it in.
The katsuobushi began fluttering and dancing lightly in the hot water. Once the water started boiling properly, the katsuobushi spun round and round, bobbing up and down.
A gentle, pleasant aroma began to drift through the air. It was a somehow calming scent, and she too seemed lost in it, murmuring, "Mm, it smells so good.”
After lowering the heat and waiting a few minutes, the water turned golden. I turned off the fire and waited a little longer. Once the dancing “katsuobushi” had quietly settled to the bottom of the pot, I strained it through a cloth set over a colander…
“Ooh, that dashi came out beautifully.”
She had been peeling taro, but she leaned over to peek at what I was doing and spoke with admiration.
The clear, translucent dashi.
She’d left the job of making that golden broth entirely to me.
I’d been a little nervous about making dashi solo from the start, but with her offering advice from beside me the whole way, I’d managed to get this far. A quiet sense of accomplishment welled up pleasantly inside me.
I set some aside on a small plate for tasting and handed it to her. She blew on it to cool it down, took a sip, and gave her seal of approval: “Yep. Delicious!”
Relieved, I tried some myself too—the gentle fragrance of bonito and kombu. I was surprised that fish and seaweed alone could produce such depth of flavor. …Delicious!
“Dashi is really important for today’s meal. I’m sure it’ll turn out great.”
Seeing her smile brightly at me, my own cheeks relaxed into a smile too.
Today’s menu was:
Simmered baby squid and taro
Chicken thighs grilled with yuzu-kosho
Miso soup with daikon radish
Rice
None of these dishes were anything I’d ever heard of, but her cooking never disappoints. My anticipation kept growing.
Saying we didn’t have much time, she put the peeled and salt-rubbed taro into a small pot and started simmering it from cold water.
I was handed the usual peeler and put to work peeling the daikon radish.
She took out the chicken thighs and carefully trimmed off small clumps of fat here and there with a knife.
Then she sprinkled it lightly with salt, rubbed in some seasoning called "yuzu-kosho," and placed it skin-side up into what she called the "fish grill.”
“We’ll cook it slowly over low heat. The trick is resisting the urge to flip it until the skin gets nice and crispy.”
Saying that, she went right back to bustling around busily.
Having finished peeling, I was handed a knife and told to cut the daikon into quarter-rounds. Since I still wasn’t used to the knife, she reminded me sternly—slowly and carefully!
…I might not have much experience with kitchen knives, but I was quite accustomed to handling blades.
I swallowed the words “I’m a knight, you know” before they could escape. Her overprotective, almost motherly fussing over me felt oddly nostalgic and ticklish at once. Not bad, all things considered.
The taro had softened, and its cooking liquid had become thick and viscous, so she discarded that liquid. She then prepared two other pots, dividing the dashi between them—one for the simmered dish and one for the miso soup—and heated them.
Into one went the daikon, into the other went the baby squid, cleaned of their cartilage.
The squid turned bright red almost instantly as they boiled, shrinking tight. The broth took on a faint reddish tint to match, and the smell of squid richness mingling with the dashi’s aroma filled the air wonderfully.
Once cooked through, she pulled the squid back out right away, since leaving them boiling any longer would toughen them up.
She returned the taro to the pot, leaving just enough of the squid-flavored broth to cover it. Once it began to simmer, she added soy sauce, alcohol, and sugar. Then she covered it with a drop lid and let it cook gently, slowly allowing the flavors to seep in.
When the sound of sizzling fat began coming from the “fish grill,” she turned the chicken over. It would only need a little longer to finish cooking.
Once the daikon had also softened through, she turned off the heat and dissolved in the miso. All that was left was warming it up again right before eating.
As the pleasant smell of cooking rice began to drift through the house, the aroma lured the Saint home as well.
“Ugh, no. I’m so hungry I could die.”
“Just go wash your hands.”
This sort of exchange was routine by now.
As the Saint hurried upstairs with a clatter of footsteps, she rolled up her sleeves enthusiastically, declaring that it was time for “the final touches!” I gave her room and began setting out the plates.
The chicken, its skin crisped up beautifully, was still sizzling faintly with fat. I set it on the cutting board and cut it into pieces with a steady rhythm.
Slice, crunch!
Slice, crunch!
Just the sound of that crispy, crackling skin being cut made my mouth water uncontrollably. …Hurriedly swallowing that down, I poured the warmed miso soup into bowls.
Taking off the drop lid revealed the gentle, savory fragrance of soy sauce wafting from the taro. She returned the baby squid to the pot and simmered everything down a little. The sugar had given the dish a slight sheen, making it look incredibly appetizing.
As I was setting the rice out on the low table—for some reason, I found her on all fours, looking utterly dejected.
“A-Akane!? What’s wrong!?”
“Ugh… I messed up…”
“Ahh… big sister… that, huh.”
Unlike me, thoroughly confused and flustered, the Saint looked at her sister with an air of knowing exasperation.
While I was still just baffled, she looked up at me with her brows drooping apologetically, eyes brimming with tears, and said:
“The side dishes… they’re basically all brown…”
“You do this sometimes, big sister.”
Apparently, this was the result of cooking exactly what she wanted to eat without thinking too hard about balance. Lamenting endlessly that she should have added something like snap peas or simple blanched greens, she looked thoroughly regretful, but the Saint, eager to eat, wasted no time—clapping her hands together with a sharp clap and declaring "Itadakimasu!" before digging right in.
I gave a wry smile and followed suit, starting to eat as well.
I picked up the two thin sticks—"chopsticks." Honestly, this was one thing I still hadn’t quite mastered. The long "cooking chopsticks" used while preparing food were even worse. …Compared to the two of them, I handled my chopsticks with slightly clumsy motions as I dug into the meal.
First, the chicken.
Biting in, my teeth first met crispy skin.
Crack… a burst of juicy flavor flooded my mouth from the meat.
The fragrant skin had a fun, crunchy texture.
The thick, chewy meat carried a distinct, sharp spice throughout. The heat wasn’t overwhelming, but plenty to stir the appetite. And after the spice faded, a refreshing citrus scent drifted up through my nose. This must be that "yuzu-kosho" she mentioned. The only spicy chicken dish I could think of before this was roasted cockatrice—so this was a genuinely fresh experience.
Following it up with a warm mouthful of rice, the sweetness of the rice mellowed out the sharpness of the yuzu-kosho.
—This would go great with alcohol, no doubt.
Smiling to myself at what was clearly a seasoning suited to her fondness for alcohol, I moved on to the next dish.
I popped a piping-hot piece of taro into my mouth.
Blowing on it repeatedly to cool it down, I sank my teeth in—the taro had that sticky, gooey texture. I’d gotten quite used to the flavor of soy sauce by now, having first tasted it through her cooking, and it settled onto my tongue with strange familiarity. That soy sauce, mingled with the dashi and the squid’s flavor, soaked all the way to the core—what a gentle, comforting taste this taro had.
Next, the squid.
Biting through the plump, springy flesh with a snap, something rich and sweet spilled out from inside. The saltiness of the soy sauce and the squid’s natural sweetness made for an addictive combination, and before I knew it, I’d popped one or two extra pieces straight into my mouth.
Taking a slurp of miso soup washed the sweetness away, replaced by the savory depth of dashi and miso. The soft daikon, thoroughly soaked in broth, was delicious too.
Come to think of it, I’d learned this miso flavor from her as well.
I took another sip of the miso soup.
—Yeah, dashi really is the key.
The taro, the squid, the miso soup—all of it was delicious precisely because of the dashi underlying it. Properly made dashi was subtle, understated, but unmistakably present.
“Mm, this is so good, big sister. Japanese food is so soothing. Brown food is the soul of Japan! That’s basically the truth.”
“…Little sister, that sounds like a compliment, but I feel like you’re also insulting me a little…”
The Saint looked thoroughly satisfied and content, while she herself glared somewhat dissatisfied at the dishes lined up on the table.
Watching the two of them, I took another bite of taro and squid.
The rich flavor spreading through my mouth filled me with happiness. Her cooking always warmed something deep in my chest.
—Ah, this is delicious. Truly, deeply delicious.
The two of them, as always, teased each other over something trivial, laughing together.
This too was a scene repeated every single day.
And this… this was exactly the kind of happy scene I wanted to keep watching, over and over, forever. This ordinary daily life, right here, something I’d gained simply by meeting her.
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