Volume 6 Chapter 50 King’s Local Cuisine
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
A strange sense of unease stirred me from sleep in the middle of the night.
It’s been a long time since I returned to my own castle—my home. And yet, sleep remains distant. I suppose it’s the kind of foreboding one can’t simply ignore. When something feels off, instinct takes over.
Though I have several fiancées, none of them share my bed. Not yet, at least. Until the weddings are official, I sleep alone. Saraphina is still far too young, and Shea is the strict class-rep type who follows every rule to the letter.
Apparently, my marriage with Tizzy will serve as the formal starting point. For nobles with multiple betrothed, it’s customary to hold a joint wedding ceremony. It allows for a clear display of each family’s rank, and it’s also economical. At first, I thought that was a little too stingy for the nobility… but it turns out wedding expenses can rival the cost of a minor war. Some lords even use the occasion to pardon serious criminals just to ease the financial burden. If one were to host multiple ceremonies, governing their domain might become impossible.
Not that I care much about the criminals. Yakou takes care of them without hesitation. There won’t be any formal arrests in the first place.
Anyone who defies the rules set by the Temple or the Merchant Guild is handled by some… discreet individuals. They don’t have official authority, but their brand of judgment comes from the shadows—and returns there.
In a modern nation, vigilante justice would be unthinkable. But this isn’t that kind of world. This place is medieval in every sense. A world where idealism alone cannot sustain a kingdom. So I watch from above, making sure things don’t go too far. It’s one of those necessary evils.
By the time I wed Tizzy, Ms. Nina will likely have returned as well… but the real issue is the Doll Princess. I cannot marry her.
In a world where marriage with dragons is legal, it’s hard to accept that Antfolk, Goblins, Orcs, and even Homunculi are not recognized as people. From an outsider’s perspective, the standards seem arbitrary. But apparently, that’s how it’s been since the earliest days of this world.
Still, it’s not worth worrying about for now. The chances of Ms. Nina accepting my proposal are slim. I don’t think she sees me as a man at all. At best, I’m like an annoying little brother to her.
Come to think of it, Princess Auroora’s brother was the same. Pretty pathetic, honestly.
Princess Auroora herself, though… oddly enough, she might be more approachable than Ms. Nina. She does hate me—after all, we were enemies on the battlefield—but at least she acknowledges me as a man.
Even so, no one could ever take Ms. Nina’s place.
* * *
I rose from bed, pulled a water pitcher from my magic bag, and took a sip. It wasn’t out of fear of assassination—it had just become a habit. Still, now that I’m a king, I should probably take such risks more seriously.
Yet the feeling gnawing at me doesn’t fade. No doubt about it now—this is a real premonition.
If I had to guess… I’ve left the prison guard duties entirely to Oka and her group. It’s their first solo assignment, and I can’t help but feel uneasy.
Even if they were to clash with the prisoners, they wouldn’t lose. But there’s an old saying—overconfidence is a step toward ruin.
I cloak my presence and begin heading toward the castle’s underground cells.
Honestly, what am I doing? It would’ve been faster to handle it all myself. But part of leadership is training others. Relying only on immediate strength prevents long-term growth. Talent has to be cultivated—raw gems polished until they shine.
I passed through three layers of heavy doors that led to the dungeon. A man’s angry voice echoed ahead. Trouble, just as I feared.
”I’m of noble blood! I demand proper treatment as a prisoner! This portion is too small! I want seconds!”
The shout came from a man confined in solitary. He wasn’t a noble himself—only related to one. I’d learned to distinguish such claims thanks to Miss Floria’s lessons.
He’s clever. If he were wasting food, I’d have scolded him. But asking for more means he ate everything. There’s a saying that those with hearty appetites can’t be all bad. I decide to keep watching.
Oka and the others are clearly flustered by his loud, overbearing tone. Despite their strength, they seem to falter when someone raises their voice. People like him are quick to sniff out fear and use it to their advantage. Nobles call that “leadership.” No wonder countries fall apart with so many men like him at the top.
…Actually, most nations are already on the verge of collapse. The citizens are either seething with resentment or too drained to care. The threat of the Demon King forced everyone to form a shaky alliance, so it’s not obvious on the surface.
Should I just unify the world myself?
When I simulate it in my mind, it doesn’t seem impossible. But it would be a bloody path.
No, that’s not the answer. This isn’t a proper Warring States period. There’s no need to make it one.
For now, my concern is the man throwing his weight around in the cell. He clearly doesn’t understand his situation. He still thinks he has leverage—even though we hold his life in our hands.
I’ll make him realize where he stands. And if he keeps that arrogant attitude? Then maybe I’ll admire his guts.
Was it a mistake to tell Oka and the others not to use force? Because we’ve treated them humanely, he’s getting bolder, thinking we’re soft.
Should we make an example? Rough someone up a bit to send a message?
…No. I don’t want those girls doing that. My leniency is becoming a burden.
If only words alone could get through to people.
If that were possible, there’d be no war in the first place. We wouldn’t have to worry about prisoners at all.
Gorigan was foolish for trying to take someone else’s wealth so carelessly. But chasing easy gains is part of human nature. Duke Mineley, who failed to defend what was his, can’t be blameless either.
I continue watching, anxious. In the end, Oka and the others gave in and handed out seconds.
Now there won’t be enough bread for everyone. What are they planning?
I hope they report this to me soon. I won’t be angry. But they seem to be trying to handle everything themselves—and it’s just making things worse.
Looks like I’ll have to stay up and watch things through till morning. It’ll cost me sleep, but nurturing talent isn’t easy.
It’s not just Oka and the others. Working with people rarely goes as planned. True leadership lies in managing even the failures.
Show them how it’s done. Tell them. Let them try. Praise them.
That was the saying, wasn’t it?
Whoever came up with that must’ve been through hell. I get it now.
Whether it’s scolding, shouting, or praising—none of it guarantees people will do what you want.
Honestly, I can’t even get myself to do what I intend most of the time. The ruling class of this world just pretends to have it together, while hiding their own flaws behind authority.
Maybe I was never cut out to be a king.
* * *
In the cell where the lower-ranked prisoners are held, Rin listens to their tearful pleas… and relents, giving out seconds.
It turns out they’re supplementing the shortage with their own food—meals they brought for themselves.
Naturally, their food is better. The prisoners are thrilled… and some even burst into tears, thinking it’s a final meal before execution.
A bit overdramatic. Even in a world where people can come back from death, the fear of dying never really fades.
There’s no data, but it’s said the survival rate for soldiers here is about fifty percent.
Even a coin toss is terrifying when your life’s on the line.
Rin and Oka both eat a lot. I prepared extra just for them. I never thought they’d offer it to the prisoners at their own expense.
Their kindness is admirable… but they still have much to learn.
Still, they refused to assist in any escape. That alone deserves praise.
This whole experience has taught me something: being a jailer is far too stressful for kind-hearted people. I should’ve left this task to Yakou.
It was my mistake assigning it to them. This ends here.
* * *
After stepping outside once, I cancel my Stealth Skill and deliberately make noise as I re-enter the guard station.
”Good morning, Rin. Oka. Shall we have breakfast?”
”Breakfast.”
”Breakfast!”
Their stomachs growled at the exact same time. How synchronized.
I pulled out food from my magic bag.
Steamed quail, freshly baked bread, and a warm salad of vegetables and chickpeas.
I sat down to join them.
”Hm? You’re not eating? What’s wrong?”
”We’re already full.”
”We just ate.”
They must be saving this for the prisoners.
If they give them something this extravagant, the captives are bound to misunderstand…
”I’ll serve as much as you like, so don’t hold back and eat.”
And now, they’re eating. Food always tastes better when you’re starving. They claimed they were full earlier, but that’s clearly a lie.
Both of them—Rin and Oka—have solid, muscular builds, especially for women. With their kind of strength, it’s no surprise they’ve got the appetite to match.
I hesitated at first, wondering if talking about work during a meal was a good idea. But they dove into the conversation eagerly. Whether it was a good experience or a bad one, their job as guards clearly left a strong impression.
”I feel bad for the prisoner,” Rin said, eyes brimming with sympathy. “He just got married. Said he has ten kids waiting at home… all hungry.”
She recounted the story with genuine sorrow. The problem was, the tale was clearly a fabrication—and worse, she believed it.
”They said people who disrespect nobles get whipped,” Oka added.
There were plenty of things to critique in her statement, starting with the fact that the prisoner in question wasn’t even a noble. They didn’t seem to know what a whip actually was, yet they were still afraid—like kids scared of a monster they’ve never seen. Maybe that’s exactly what makes it frightening: the unknown.
After letting them talk, I calmly corrected the misconceptions. While Rin and Oka might lack common sense, they’re both bright. Once you explain things properly, they understand quickly.
”You were deceived because you didn’t know better. You’ve still got a lot to learn. But I’ve come to see that you’re both kind-hearted and hardworking. I hope you never lose those good qualities.”
Being harsh isn’t really my style. If anything, I want to praise them for their sincerity. Still, if I only commend them without addressing their errors, it won’t help them grow.
To build up a track record of success, I decided to assign them something simpler this time. It’s not ideal—my schedule’s getting disrupted—but I’ll deal with the prisoner myself for now.
”Alright, your next job is taking care of the fish. It’s an important task too.”
We made our way toward the fish pond, a project originally entrusted to the children from the former Toyata Village.
At first, I just wanted to see if we could raise fish similar to crucian carp. I figured having the kids care for them as a kind of emotional education would be good—something playful, like a pretend game with real responsibilities.
But when I asked the Professor for his opinion, things escalated. Before I knew it, we had a fully constructed spawning pond made of concrete. There happened to be a small stream with the perfect slope nearby, so we built a flow-through system, terraced like a mountain farm.
It looks like a miniaturized fish hatchery now—small, but professional-grade. Maybe it’s the Professor’s talent, or maybe crucian carp are just prolific breeders, but come spring, we had an unbelievable number of fry.
Under the Professor’s guidance, we also created Chlorella and Daphnia ponds for feeding the young fish. There’s real technique involved, even in raising plankton.
The kids seem to enjoy watching the Daphnia multiply. Since they’re taking such good care of the environment, the water in the Daphnia pond has turned bright orange from the rapid breeding.
The Chlorella feeds the Daphnia, and the Daphnia feed the crucian carp. Though the carp also eat Chlorella directly, the Professor said we could ease up a bit. Still, the kids insisted on following his instructions to the letter, and the results have been better than expected. Sometimes, diligent children outperform lazy adults.
Even though it was still early morning, the kids were already gathered around the fish pond. Raia-Raia and the others were hard at work. The older children were feeding the fish, while the little ones ran around carrying buckets.
Every staff member in the project had their own bucket. To prevent careless adults from stealing them, each bucket had the owner’s name engraved. The fact that Yakou publicly scolded a few culprits remains a secret from the children.
The Toyata kids can’t read yet, but they’ve memorized their name marks like symbols. They treasure the buckets I gave them. When some of the buckets got scratched or dented, a few of them almost cried. I had to explain, in my own strange way, that such marks were proof of love and care—a kind of badge of honor. It’s a line I picked up from my uncle.
I felt a little bad, since it was technically a half-truth. But I think it’s okay. After all, if they were too scared to use the buckets at all, that would defeat the purpose.
”Ah, good morning, King of Heroes,” Raia-Raia said politely.
She’d clearly been practicing formal speech, though she didn’t stop what she was doing. With practiced movements, she picked up the crucian carp flopping on the ground and placed them back into buckets.
I was just wondering why so many fish were out of the water when I saw the cause. Every time food was scattered, the fish leapt out of the pond one after another, flailing wildly.
Are these guys trying to die?
Rin and Oka, excited by the sight of the energetic fish, were itching to get involved. I pulled two empty buckets from my magic bag and handed them over.
Ah, I should engrave their names on these, too.
Buckets in hand, they dashed off to join the others. Well, it’s probably a lot more fun than watching over a prison cell.
Peering into the fish pond, I found the answer to the chaos. The fish density was absurd—there were so many, it looked like more fish than water. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but still. Most of the juvenile fish had already been released into the rice fields, but I kept around ten percent for research. They’ve grown since, and the space is clearly tight now.
The fry, once no bigger than ten-yen coins, had grown to palm-sized juveniles. In terms of volume, that’s a hundredfold increase. It’s amazing they’re still managing to live in these crowded conditions, though the flow-through water system helps. Even so, it might be time to release a few more.
Once feeding was over, the Raia-Raia group began arranging the collected fish on boards to make dried fish. The Professor had mentioned that any fish that jump out and die must be dealt with immediately. Left alone, they’d rot and pollute the water, possibly causing a mass die-off.
The dried fish serve as preserved food and are also a popular snack with the children. The crispy texture makes them surprisingly tasty. While parasites are a concern, the Toyata kids have eaten them this way for ages without issue. Besides, these fish are raised on clean feed—plankton and wheat flour grown in the pond. Safer than wild fish, if anything.
When I think of dried small fish, I’m reminded of sparrow roast. It’s a regional specialty found across Japan, but my favorite came from the Shinano region. I once had a sweet-salty version near the Naka River—absolutely delicious.
Yes, let’s try turning these into sparrow roast-style fish.
I selected a few fish that Rin and Oka had caught and began a test run.
First, I washed the fish, opened them with a small fish-cutting knife, removed the guts, and laid them out on a net to dry. The children gathered around to watch with serious expressions.
Well, I have various maxed-out skills related to this, and my dexterity is at 18, so it probably looks like a performance. I slowed down my movements on purpose, so the kids could learn.
”I want to try too!”
”Me too!”
Of course they do.
”Raise your hand if you have permission to use knives.”
All hands shot up. Even Raia-Raia had already gotten her parents’ approval. Well, she’s a tailor’s daughter—makes sense.
”I’ll hurry home and get my knife!”
”No, this is work. We’ll provide the tools. You all know knives are dangerous, so be careful.”
* * *
A small fish-filleting knife for children was in production. I’d made Japanese knives many times before, and the materials were already prepared. Since these would be small, I figured it wouldn’t take long—but the first one still took about five minutes.
I had plenty of steel plates laminated with iron. With some skill, all I had to do was cut and shape them into knives—no forging necessary. (Though I had forged the original steel plates, of course.)
The steel quality was lower than that of high-end knives, but if it gets dull, it can just be sharpened. With regular use and sharpening, it’ll wear down and shrink into something like a petty knife over time—but that’s just the nature of tools.
The handle didn’t need to be long, so I carved it from walnut scraps I’d saved. I could’ve used iron handles for cost-efficiency, but… well, I have a soft spot for hardworking kids.
Once I did the final sharpening, the knives looked much more polished. Technically, they were mass-produced—but even so, each could easily sell for a common gold coin. I hope no idiots try to steal them from the kids.
The boys’ expressions turned serious as they watched. Well, they are boys. If any of them are seriously interested in blacksmithing, they could apprentice under Mr. Zenom. Though… his training is brutal.
I engraved each child’s name on both the blade and the handle. Raia-Raia’s was finished first—not because of favoritism, just the order they spoke up.
With visible excitement, Raia-Raia tried her hand at filleting a crucian carp. Not bad at all for a first-timer.
By the time I finished making all the knives, the first fish I’d dried was already ready to eat. Honestly, it would be delicious even just pan-fried without drying. I’ll try out a few different methods and see what works best.
I dipped the crucian carp into the kabayaki sauce and set it on the shichirin to grill over charcoal. A rich, savory smoke rose into the air, swirling in thick ribbons.
The children nearby stared, eyes wide and mouths practically waterfalls. Normally, they’d be scolded for such poor manners—but with a smell like this? Who could blame them? Even Shea-Shea, who always lectures me about propriety, wasn’t around today.
”Alright, time for the first taste.”
I picked up the freshly grilled piece and took a bite.
Not bad. Actually, really good—but still not perfect. The sauce was lacking something. Either the flavor wasn’t deep enough, or it was a little too thin. There was a simple fix, though.
Grill it once, dip it again, then grill it a second time.
And now—hot, fragrant, and shimmering with glaze—I took another bite.
This was it. The sweet and salty blend of the sauce hit perfectly. The slightly bitter note of the crucian carp gave the flavor profile a bold edge, and together they struck a stunning harmony. Everything balanced just right.
Who came up with this sauce? That would be me! Maybe I’m a culinary genius after all? …Okay, no. It was partly luck. But still, it was my hands that made it happen. Sometimes, effort creates the stage where luck can shine. You earn your miracles by showing up and doing the work.
…I probably had a smug expression on my face right then. This success? It felt better than winning any battle.
”Alright, everyone. Go ahead and eat. Careful—it’s hot!”
The children, lined up neatly without pushing or shoving, were truly admirable. I wish the adults could take a page from their book. If these kids were the future, maybe this world had a chance to be a little kinder.
”Phew, hot! But sooo tasty!”
”It’s better than torihamu!”
”Yeah, way better than torihamu!”
They called out their reactions one after another. Was it really more delicious than torihamu? That felt like an exaggeration… but then again, the flavor was good enough to make me consider selling it for real.
I wanted them to remember the process: dip it once, grill it, dip it again, grill it twice. To make that easier, I started using bamboo skewers. We were slowly approaching the style of proper eel kabayaki.
Bamboo skewers were simple to make—even kids could do it. Maybe I should assign a Higo-style protector to help them?
Later that afternoon, Shea-Shea finally showed up. Her eyes narrowed, and I was promptly escorted to the office. Apparently, I’d been officially judged as skipping work to play around.
Well, Rin, Oka, and the kids could handle the rest.
”Listen up,” I told them before leaving. “While you take care of the crucian carp, keep practicing how to make this grilled sparrow dish properly. You can eat the prototypes yourselves, or bring them home to share—but it’s a secret, okay?”
The moment they heard the word “secret,” the kids’ expressions turned serious. Maybe a little too serious. It wasn’t actually that big of a secret… but if Baron the Glutton caught wind of it, he might try to copy it.
If possible, I wanted this to become our home specialty taste.
Feeding Shea-Shea some of the grilled sparrow lifted her mood considerably. Unfortunately, that only meant I now had more work to do—sales plans, supply orders, you name it.
Also, she asked the obvious question: “Why’s it called ‘sparrow’ when it’s made from crucian carp?”
…Honestly, I don’t know either.
Before the sun set, I rounded up Rin and Oka and made sure the captives were fed as well. Their meals were bread and soup, on par with what the average commoner ate—though I did increase the portions a bit. Anyone who dared complain about it would be sent straight to the Great Temple.
Once that was handled, I headed alone toward the pleasure district. Shea-Shea was probably still buried in paperwork. It pained me to think about it, but this was also part of my duty.
As I wandered through the town under the evening sky, a strange sense of nostalgia crept over me.
Where… was this again?
The clean, precisely arranged concrete streets felt unnatural. Beautiful, yes, but in a cold, functional way. The craftsmanship of the dwarves showed in every line, but the effect was a kind of fantasy dystopia. At least there weren’t any high-rise buildings yet.
What would happen if this town turned into a full-scale metropolis? Part of me wanted to see it—but another part feared it. One thing was certain: if the dwarves built it, it would last for centuries. Tearing it down might be harder than building it in the first place.
City planning was not something to take lightly.
My destination was the newly opened Hero Diner. In the royal capital, there were tons of Hero Diners, but this was the only one in the Sabroa Dukedom. Most locals just called it Raoh’s place.
It was a high-end establishment, popular because Mr. Raoh often brought important guests from the Merchant Guild. From what I’d heard, he wanted to turn it into a full-fledged luxury izakaya chain.
The moment I stepped inside, I felt like I’d stepped back into Japan. The decor spared no expense—Mr. Raoh had truly gone all out. Yet despite the lavish interior, the place was eerily empty.
A chill crept up my spine. Was the business okay?
”Hey! Your Majesty! Over here—we’ve got the whole place booked today!”
Mr. Raoh, already drunk, waved from a tatami seat. The whole place booked? I hoped that was true. If he went under, Shea-Shea’s workload would only grow heavier.
Alongside him were two men—one flashy and in his twenties, the other slim and middle-aged. Both were summoned Heroes, technically my subordinates… for now.
”Yo,” the young one greeted.
His name was Aspergillus, if I remembered right. He didn’t like bowing to people younger than him and spoke casually even with nobles. I didn’t mind, so long as we weren’t in a formal setting.
”Geez, kids these days. No respect for their elders.”
The middle-aged man, Bacchus, grumbled in his usual tone. Not that he used polite speech either.
Apparently, Mr. Raoh had brought both of them in. Whether they were reliable assistants or just well-connected hires was still unclear.
Aspergillus specialized in soy sauce brewing, and Bacchus in whiskey distillation. Both had unique talents… and the potential to be massive headaches. If they started demanding outrageous budgets, we’d have problems.
There were quite a few summoned Heroes interested in alcohol production. These types often found sponsors among noble families or wealthy merchants. Right now, there were probably around ten famous “booze Heroes.” Ask any dwarf, and they could probably name them all.
* * *
It seemed that Mr. Bacchus planned to make a name for himself as the Hero of Alcohol. He claimed to be a former executive at a major sake company back in Japan, and had the know-how to brew top-class whiskey in this world.
Unfortunately, he had a terrible sense of money. I heard he’d suddenly requested three thousand large oak barrels. I panicked. Shea-Shea flatly refused, of course.
Did he even realize how much a single wooden barrel cost?
It’s already been five years since I was summoned here, and he still doesn’t get how this world works. Even if I were to approve it, I could only offer maybe one barrel at most. Jumping straight to mass production without any results was… absurd.
Sure, alcohol might be profitable, but it’s not some magic money tree. Even the dwarves, who live for drinking, are particular about quality. If your product’s only “okay” but overpriced, it won’t sell.
Right now, all I could offer him were thirty barrels—copper with tin lining. No wood. Dwarven craftsmanship guaranteed high quality, though, and at a hundred thousand gold per barrel, it was practically a steal.
But Bacchus wasn’t satisfied.
”You still don’t get it. You’re the lord, right? You’ll make tons off alcohol taxes alone. Barley’s basically free, and whiskey goes up in value as it ages—even if you don’t sell it right away. Start with good barrels, and they’ll last forever.”
He sounded confident. I couldn’t deny his logic, but it didn’t feel… grounded. There was no spark of charisma, just a heavy-handed sales pitch.
”Keep it within a one-million gold annual budget. Anything over will be reviewed after seeing results.”
”One million!? Are you kidding me? This isn’t some kiddie brewery—I need hundreds of millions!”
”I’ll fund the building. As for tanks, the standard brewing type costs one hundred thousand gold each. Tin-plated copper barrels, made by dwarves.”
Each barrel held about 1,200 liters. It wasn’t wood, but it was more than good enough for a trial run. I hoped he’d understand.
In this world, timber was scarce. If he truly wanted wooden barrels, he’d have to start by planting forests. There were still old-growth trees deep in the Wolf Forest, but those were protected—and belonged to the wolves.
”So… ten barrels a year, huh…”
Mr. Bacchus sighed, already calculating how to spend the entire budget on barrels alone. But barley wasn’t free. And distillation required fuel too.
Dwarves tended to burn through money without blinking, so maybe he was just following their lead. Still… something about this guy felt different. Maybe now I understood why Shea-Shea always looked so tired.
”A million is plenty for me. I’m not picky about the tank. If possible, I’d like to use soybeans… but I already used up all my money trying to get them before. They never sprouted, just withered away.”
After hearing the amount of money involved, Aspergillus visibly backed down a step. His tone wasn’t polite, but there was a sense of deference in it—like someone speaking to a superior.
A million gold, huh? That’s equivalent to a hundred standard gold coins. Definitely not pocket change.
Especially nowadays, with no quests left that support summoned Heroes, most newcomers are scraping by. Even the steady income from the Yomogi request has dried up. Apparently, the Doll Princess program has been discontinued too, at least for us summoned Heroes. That’s a relief, honestly—but it must mean the Hero Management Bureau is seriously strapped for cash.
Just as I suspected, Aspergillus seems to be having a tough time financially. Maybe that’s why he has a more grounded sense of money compared to Bacchus.
Without being asked, he started collecting empty jars from all over and is now brewing miso and soy sauce in bulk. It feels reckless, but in a good way—like he’s taking initiative with real drive. He graduated from one of Japan’s top universities in mold research but ended up a NEET with no job. Well, to be fair, he was cultivating mold at home for research, so maybe not a total NEET.
He has his disappointing points, sure, but… I have to admit, he seems more useful than Bacchus.
Still, soybeans, huh… Ms. Hóa is struggling with those too. Even when summoned Heroes manage to bring some over, they take ages to grow—if they sprout at all. I miss edamame and chilled tofu.
Even when planted in clean soil, untouched by the wall barley’s poison, they just won’t grow well. It’s baffling. Then again, this is a different world. Chickpeas, oddly enough, which are hard to grow in Japan, seem to thrive here. Maybe it’s a climate thing?
”Are chickpeas or peas not viable?”
”I haven’t tried chickpeas yet. I made something decent with fava beans once, but they’re expensive.”
”Beans are considered luxury items in this world. Chickpeas are no exception.”
Any crop besides wall barley needs real farming. That means time, effort, manpower—so of course they’re expensive. Meanwhile, wall barley just grows on its own, no matter what. It’s ridiculous… but I’ve gotten used to it.
”I’ll just make miso and soy sauce from barley, then. Actually, barley’s easier to work with. Aspergillus’s mycelium gets nice and fluffy in just a day. Oh—Aspergillus is the scientific name for the koji mold. It’s kind of cute.”
I’ve made miso and soy sauce before, so I understand why someone might find koji mold charming. It fluffs up in a day, then starts releasing spores like powdered matcha a few days later.
If you’re not picky about aging, miso and soy sauce can be made relatively quickly. But to make it truly delicious, it needs to age for a year. The miso I forgot about and left for three years? Absolutely phenomenal.
Should I bring the whole tank to Uno’s place? No… I want Uno and the others to experience the taste of Japan. I’m sure they wouldn’t say no.
* * *
”I’ve put a good amount of money into Aspergillus-kun’s miso and soy sauce project. The flavor’s not bad at all. At the very least, it’s better than the local fish sauce. But for some reason, it’s just not selling. Your Majesty, with your talent in cuisine, I thought you could help make something of it. Please, do something!”
Now that he mentions it, when I first met Mr. Raoh, the steak sauce he used was soy sauce-based.
So that was Mr. Aspergillus’s soy sauce. I’ve seen more shops stocking it in the capital lately, but if only Heroes are buying it, demand must be limited.
It looks like Mr. Aspergillus wants to share the flavor of Japan with the people of this world too.
Mr. Raoh, though, is clearly in it for the money. He’s poured everything into this restaurant and seems to be running dry. Once savings are gone, there’s no safety net. I should remember that.
”I want to pull off a soy sauce cheat! I want people here to fight over it, shouting, ‘What is this incredible sauce!?’”
”I get where you’re coming from. But you’re underestimating the fish sauce here. Sure, the smell is rough if you’re not used to it, but it’s got depth. With the right prep, you can manage the smell too.”
Mr. Aspergillus’s soy sauce can’t compare—not unless it’s the top-tier stuff sold in Japan.
”I thought anyone could become a Hero in another world. I figured I could get by in production, even if I wasn’t good in combat. I even put in effort. I don’t care about money—I just want to win. Just once.”
”I get that. I wanted to be a Hero too, in some other world. If the world wasn’t that advanced, I thought having whiskey would be enough. Maybe not worshipped like a god, but I figured I could become king pretty quick.”
And now Mr. Bacchus and Mr. Aspergillus seem to have become fast friends. Mr. Raoh nods along, acting like they’re in a school play or something.
Just because you came here wearing geta as a summoning bonus or got some OP cheat doesn’t mean you can just become a Hero. I thought adults would understand that much.
Sure, everyone gets called a Hero, but people here don’t exactly show us respect. That says everything.
If you really want to be a true Hero… what is a true Hero, anyway? Maybe, for Mr. Aspergillus, it means conquering the world with soy sauce.
”Even without a cheat, your soy sauce is something else. It’s improved a lot.”
”It’s just pathetic getting consoled by someone younger.”
You’re sulking now, huh? Well, I’ve got just the thing.
”In that case, why don’t you try this?”
I pulled a large plate of grilled crucian carp from my magic bag.
”Ugh, what the heck is this? It’s got a head on it. The eyes are staring at me. Gross!”
”Looks like a weird dish.”
”Come on, don’t say that. Just give it a try. Smells good, right?”
Once Mr. Raoh took a bite, Mr. Bacchus followed suit. Mr. Aspergillus timidly removed the head and started nibbling on the meat. He doesn’t know what he’s missing—fish heads are the best part.
”What is this!? It’s amazing!! It’s got soy sauce flavor! This is my soy sauce!!”
”This goes perfectly with alcohol.”
”We’ve got to put this on the menu! This’ll definitely sell!”
Looks like it’s getting a good reception. Mr. Raoh already seems ready to sell it, not even worried about pricing. For a self-proclaimed businessman, he’s surprisingly careless.
”This grilled sparrow suits local tastes too.”
”Wait, sparrow? Gross!! …Though, it does look like fish.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Aspergillus popped the head in his mouth. Once he realized how good it was, he started eating the whole thing without a second thought. That’s right—eat it all. Throwing away the head is a waste. It’s full of calcium, too.
”Crunchy… I can’t believe something so gross-looking is this delicious. It’s a miracle. My soy sauce!”
For some reason, he’s even tearing up. He turned his face away, probably embarrassed, but he doesn’t need to hide it. They’re tears of joy, I’m sure.
That said… his soy sauce still has problems. The salt content is too high—it’s almost like brine. The aroma is faint, probably because there are no soybeans, and the aging period was too short. The color’s too light—it doesn’t even look like proper soy sauce. Honestly, it wouldn’t sell in Japan.
But even so, I respect what he’s done.
He managed to cultivate starter koji mold in another world. Maybe he just turned his knowledge into action—but that alone is impressive. I couldn’t do it, and no other summoned Heroes even tried.
Sure, I perfected the sauce myself, but I’ll let Mr. Aspergillus take the credit.
”This faint sweetness… it’s incredible. Is it mirin? Or sugar?”
Mr. Bacchus sipped sake as he munched on the heavily seasoned sparrow.
”I added a little malt syrup to the sauce. Elves can make it with their secret techniques.”
”Malt syrup, huh? I could make that too.”
”By elves, you mean that beautiful widow?”
”Ms. Erin. She’s so gorgeous, I wouldn’t care if she’s divorced.”
”Hey now, I had my eye on her first. Back off a little.”
Apparently, all three of them are interested in Ms. Erin. I doubt she’d entertain any of them, but I should probably have a word, just in case things get messy.
Talking with the other summoned Heroes brings back memories of Japan. They each had their reasons for wanting to escape—each of them was summoned right at the moment they truly wished to disappear somewhere far away. They say they have no regrets, no attachments left behind.
I’m not like them. I still don’t understand why I was summoned.
Honestly, if I hadn’t met Ms. Nina, I might’ve cried every day, wanting to go back to Japan. Back then, I was still just a kid.
Notes:
• Tizzy – Claims to be Duke’s daughter, a noble with advanced magic skills. MC and Ms. Shirakaba lover.
• Yakou – A newly created kunoichi spirit with high specs from Mubiel. She pledges loyalty to the Narrator as her ‘Lord Shogun’ and seeks to punish villains.
• Ms. Nina – Doll Princess (Auroora 217), renamed by the protagonist. Beautiful blonde, ~168 cm, slim waist. Wears adventurer attire. Made from artificial parts and wooden limbs, resembling a princess. Knowledgeable, can read, write, and use basic healing magic. Reliable partner, often saves the protagonist with her skills.
• Nina – Doll Princess (Auroora 217), renamed by the protagonist. Beautiful blonde, ~168 cm, slim waist. Wears adventurer attire. Made from artificial parts and wooden limbs, resembling a princess. Knowledgeable, can read, write, and use basic healing magic. Reliable partner, often saves the protagonist with her skills.
• Miss Floria – Elegant, silver-haired noblewoman in her 40s, referred to as an ‘older sister’. Judge of the Supreme Court and Baroness. Former tutor of Princess Auroora. Initially stern but warms up, showing a playful side. Close with Ms. Nina (Princess Auroora’s doll copy), treating her like a sister. Trustworthy and explains legal matters clearly.
• Raia-Raia – Energetic kid, tailor’s daughter. Calls protagonist ‘Chicken Ham Hero.’
• Mr. Zenom – Tough dwarf blacksmith from Toyoata Village. Repairs weapons, improves accuracy. Charges 100 gold/arrow. Becomes protagonist’s strict master. Assigns hard tasks like pre-dawn cleaning, firewood, water pumping. Owns well-equipped forge. Challenges protagonist to prove ideas.
• Shea-Shea – Mauro’s daughter. Hurt by Alexander. Became an eager fiancée after advice from protagonist.
• Raoh – Pakkyamara. An infamous, scheming, but somewhat incompetent senior adventurer known for meddling with hero summoning rituals; often gets beaten up as a result. The one who want japanese food.
• Aspergillus – Male. A summoned Hero. Appearance: flashy young man in his twenties. He is knowledgeable about mold and fermentation, having graduated from a top-class university in Japan. His relationship with the narrator is informal, and he is described as having a sensible sense of money compared to Bacchus.
• Ms. Erin – A timeless elf living in a quiet cabin surrounded by bees, Ms. Erin is over 100 years old and once the wife of a wealthy villager. After her husband’s death, she gave up luxury to live simply, sharing rare honey with select villagers—mostly children. Graceful yet intimidating, she’s known for her mysterious beauty, ageless presence, and surprising fondness for meat. She occasionally grants small blessings to the MC—subtle enchantments or quiet words that linger with unexpected power.
• Erin – A timeless elf living in a quiet cabin surrounded by bees, Ms. Erin is over 100 years old and once the wife of a wealthy villager. After her husband’s death, she gave up luxury to live simply, sharing rare honey with select villagers—mostly children. Graceful yet intimidating, she’s known for her mysterious beauty, ageless presence, and surprising fondness for meat. She occasionally grants small blessings to the MC—subtle enchantments or quiet words that linger with unexpected power.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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