Chapter 40: Omelet and Cousin-don Bowl 

“P-Please forgive me, Master!!”

“You have dragged my name through the mud!! From this day forward, you are no disciple of mine! Begone at once!!”

“W-Wait, wait, wait! Violence! Violence is not the answer!”

I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around Tardolf from behind, somehow managing to restrain him before he could continue assaulting his apprentice.

“OOOH!! A brawl has broken out in the arena!! Tardolf is in the process of brutally beating—no, brutally kicking—his disciple, and his opponent, Eight, is stepping in to stop him! As expected of a former royal knight! The sharpness of his moves is incredible! This is getting exciting!”

“Hey, commentator! Don’t enjoy this situation!”

As I shouted at the increasingly enthusiastic commentator, Tardolf suddenly stopped struggling.

The rage drained from his face.

Then he turned toward me.

To my surprise, he lowered his head.

The wild man who had stormed into the audience chamber earlier was nowhere to be seen. His expression was utterly serious.

“I am deeply sorry!! My failure to properly discipline my disciple has caused this disgrace!!”

“N-No, really, you don’t need to apologize…”

“No! An apology alone is insufficient! Strike me!”

“…Huh?”

“Go on! Punch me in the face!”

“Wha—!?”

“…No, that would be cruel. A cook’s hands are precious. Someone! Bring me a club!”

“WHY WOULD THAT BE BETTER!?”

That sounded infinitely worse!

While I was flailing in confusion, Tardolf’s apprentice—the unfortunate victim of the flying dropkick—slowly staggered back to his feet.

“M-Master… I only wanted you to win…”

“You think I am the sort of man who requires underhanded tricks to secure victory?!”

The old chef’s voice thundered through the colosseum.

“If you were truly my disciple, then you should have trusted in my abilities and watched in silence!”

“…I-I’m sorry.”

“Leave. Immediately. As of today, you are expelled.”

“…Yes.”

The young man lowered his head.

For a moment, it looked as though he wanted to say something more.

But he swallowed those words.

Then, wearing a pained expression, he quietly left the colosseum.

A heavy silence settled over the arena.

The atmosphere felt almost suffocating.

Then—

“Now. Hit me.”

“We’re still doing this!?”

“Every matter requires proper closure!”

“F-Fine! Then how about this?”

Desperately searching for a way to avoid physically assaulting a man in public, I made a proposal.

“I’ll beat you fair and square… with my cooking.”

“…Hmm.”

Tardolf folded his arms and considered it.

“Very well! If you win, the matter is settled! If I win, you will strike me once!”

“Uh… sure… wait, what? How does that work?”

Somehow, after a considerable amount of persuasion, I managed to calm him down enough for the cooking competition to finally resume.

The commentator immediately seized the opportunity.

“After that brief incident, the ingredients have been replaced and the cooking duel is officially back on! The theme is EGGS! And it seems Tardolf is already getting to work!”

Tardolf immediately displayed the skill expected of a professional.

He cracked eggs into a bowl and added milk, salt, and pepper.

Rather than whipping air into the mixture, he kept the tines of his fork pressed against the bottom of the bowl, gently cutting through the egg whites as he stirred.

There was no hesitation.

No wasted movement.

Every action was smooth and deliberate.

The confidence of a true master.

“Right… probably shouldn’t be worrying about him.”

I turned toward the ingredient table and began considering my options.

What should I make?

The ingredients in this world were troublesome.

Some were nearly identical to what existed on Earth.

Others were completely unfamiliar.

That uncertainty made menu planning surprisingly difficult.

Then something caught my eye.

“Huh? They have rice here?”

“Hmph! I heard from Cardinal Larsa that your dish called ‘karaage’ tastes best when eaten with rice! Therefore, I had some imported all the way from a nation at the eastern edge of the world!”

“You what!? You imported it specifically for this?”

“Of course!”

Tardolf snorted proudly.

“If you were to claim defeat because your preferred ingredients were unavailable, the victory would be meaningless! Only by crushing you at your absolute best does this duel have value!”

“I-I see…”

Honestly…

That level of sportsmanship was almost refreshing.

When someone challenged you this openly and honestly, it was difficult not to respect them.

Still, the rice itself looked slightly yellowed.

Probably a consequence of traveling such a long distance.

Fortunately, there was no strange smell and no signs of insect damage.

It was acceptable.

“Oh? It appears Eight has begun grilling Rockbird meat and eating it! What exactly is he doing?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m just checking the flavor and texture. I’ve never seen this meat before.”

As its name suggested, Rockbird was very bird-like.

The texture.

The taste.

Both were remarkably similar to chicken.

Good.

That meant I could make that dish.

“First, the rice…”

I washed the grains thoroughly and then soaked them in water for about thirty minutes.

This prevented the center from remaining hard and ensured a fluffy final texture.

Once the rice had absorbed enough water, I transferred it into the earthenware pot Raphiel had brought from my house.

I added water, sealed it with the lid, and placed it over the fire.

When it reached a boil, I reduced the heat.

Then I left the lid closed and continued cooking.

Eventually, I removed it from the fire and allowed it to steam.

“While the rice finishes cooking…”

I thinly sliced onions.

The Rockbird meat was cut diagonally into bite-sized pieces so it would cook quickly and absorb flavor more easily.

Next, I cracked eggs into a bowl and lightly stirred them.

Not too much.

Overmixing would ruin the texture.

Then I prepared the broth.

Water.

Granulated Japanese-style stock.

Soy sauce.

Mirin.

Sugar.

Everything went into a pan over medium heat.

Once it began simmering, I added the onions and Rockbird meat.

A lid went on.

The heat went down.

The ingredients slowly cooked until the meat was fully done.

Then came the most important step.

I poured the beaten eggs into the pan in a circular motion from the outer edge toward the center.

Not all at once.

Twice.

Adding them in two stages was the secret to achieving that soft, silky texture.

Finally, I added mitsuba leaves.

The aroma immediately blossomed into the air.

Then—

“Place it on top of freshly cooked rice… and there we go. Oyakodon complete.”

At almost the exact same moment, Tardolf finished his own dish.

The commentator’s voice boomed throughout the arena.

“Both contestants have completed their dishes! The first presentation will be—”

“Mine!”

“TTTTAAAARDOOOOLFFFFF!!!”

The dish Tardolf placed before the judges was an omelet.

Simple.

Elegant.

Its surface gleamed with a beautiful golden sheen.

King Zigkun, Raphiel, and the bureaucrat who had apparently been kidnapped from a hallway all took bites.

The king spoke first.

“Oh! It contains minced Minotaur meat, one of my favorites.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty! It also includes onions, green peppers, Chochomuge, and various other vegetables! Nutritious as well as delicious!”

What the heck was Chochomuge?

Judging by context, it was some kind of vegetable unique to this world.

“As always, your skills are excellent, Tardolf.”

“Your praise honors me, Saint Raphiel!”

The old chef practically glowed.

Then he turned toward the final judge.

“And what are your thoughts, good sir?”

“It’s delicious. Personally, I would prefer it slightly more strongly seasoned.”

“Valuable feedback. I shall keep it in mind.”

After giving a graceful bow, Tardolf turned toward me.

A triumphant grin spread across his face.

“Do not forget, boy. If I win, you are to strike me properly.”

“What emotional state are you in where that sounds like a reward?”

Ignoring his bizarre fixation, I carried my dish to the judges.

“Now then! Eight’s turn! However… this is a dish none of us have ever seen before! What is it called?”

“Oyakodon.”

At that moment, the suspicious-looking bureaucrat with perpetually narrowed eyes raised a hand.

“Actually, since the chickens in this kingdom were bred from wild Rockbirds, wouldn’t that technically make it Cousin-don rather than Parent-and-Child-don?”

He had a point.

I blinked.

Then nodded.

“…You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

The realization hit me like a truck.

Meanwhile, Tardolf had quietly wandered over and was staring intensely at the bowl.

Or rather—

At the Cousin-don.

The way his eyes kept darting toward it made something obvious.

He wanted to try it.

Suppressing a smile, I prepared an extra serving and held it out to him.

“If you’d like.”

“Oh ho! Excellent attitude!”

Tardolf accepted it with great dignity.

“In return, I shall permit you to sample my dish as well!”

“Really? Thanks.”

“Tremble before the greatness of my cooking!”

I accepted a portion of his omelet.

Cutting off a piece with a knife, I placed it in my mouth.

And immediately—

“Oh. Wow.”

It was delicious.

The seasoning was incredibly simple.

Just salt and pepper.

Yet somehow it brought out every ounce of flavor hidden within the ingredients.

The balance.

The texture.

The precision.

Everything was exceptional.

Honestly…

If someone handed this man modern seasonings and kitchen appliances from Earth, he might genuinely become the greatest chef in the world.

That was how good it tasted.

“Tardolf, this is amazing. Seriously delicious. …Tardolf?”

“G-Grrrrrrrr…”

“Uh… Tardolf?”

The old chef stood frozen.

The bowl of Cousin-don sat in his hands.

His face had turned bright red.

His shoulders trembled violently.

His lips quivered.

“…?”

I stared at him.

The judges stared at him.

The audience stared at him.

What was happening?

Did he hate it?

Love it?

Was he about to explode?

I had absolutely no idea.