Chapter 81: I Suppose We’ll Need to Prepare an “Official Route” as Well
“Now then, everyone—please, dig in!”
The caretaker and his wife presented a lunch so colorful and abundant that it looked worthy of a celebration.
The villa’s dining room had been designed with a large family in mind. Even if every member of my family were here and a few extra guests joined us, there would still be plenty of room around the table.
The table itself was equally spacious.
And yet…
Perhaps the couple had gotten a little too excited after hearing they would be hosting five university students.
The enormous tabletop was nearly buried beneath dish after dish, to the point where it almost looked overcrowded.
At the center of the feast were two kinds of pasta: one featuring tomatoes and fresh seafood, the other made with bacon and an assortment of vibrant summer vegetables.
A generous salad overflowing with produce harvested straight from the villa’s garden sat nearby.
There were warm vegetable dishes built around sticky summer greens like okra and molokhia.
And, naturally, there was no shortage of meat.
While they’d apparently decided against anything resembling a barbecue, there was still a hearty pork stew that had simmered until tender, crisp golden fried chicken, and delicate tempura made with chicken tenderloin and seasonal vegetables.
The rich aroma of tomatoes mingled with the scent of sizzling oil, while, drifting faintly through the open windows, came the salty fragrance of the nearby sea.
Together, they created a meal that could only belong to summer.
Steam rose from the dishes in gentle waves, carrying with it an energy that seemed almost capable of overpowering the season’s oppressive heat.
Simply looking at the spread made one instinctively believe that eating well was the key to surviving summer.
The menu demonstrated an almost reckless level of confidence in the appetites of university students.
Honestly…
This meal alone probably cost about as much as my food budget for an entire month.
“Well then… thank you for the meal.”
“Mhm! Thanks for the food!”
Bringing my hands together, I silently offered my gratitude—to the ingredients, and to the caretaker couple who had prepared them.
Giving thanks before eating was simply good manners.
It cost virtually nothing while consistently improving the impression one left on others.
From a cost-performance perspective, it was an extraordinarily efficient social habit.
Unfortunately…
The only person who followed my lead was Niwashita-san.
“What’s wrong with the rest of you? You all look awfully gloomy for people sitting in front of a home-cooked feast.”
“O-Oh. Right… Thanks for the meal.”
“…Thanks.”
“Uh… yeah. Thanks for the food.”
Only after I prompted them did the remaining three university students reluctantly press their hands together.
Even then, it felt mechanical.
Their minds were clearly elsewhere.
Each of them wore the unmistakable expression of someone preoccupied by worries they couldn’t quite shake.
Seeing that reaction, the caretaker and his wife exchanged slightly disappointed glances.
“Um… was there perhaps something you didn’t like?”
Hearing the concern in the caretaker’s voice, all three finally seemed to realize how their attitude must have looked.
They jerked upright in alarm, hurriedly shaking their heads.
“N-No! Not at all! It all looks amazing! Really! Thank you for the meal!”
Taketsuru was the first to recover.
Almost desperately eager to make up for the misunderstanding, he picked up the serving tongs and began placing pasta onto everyone’s plates.
Then, one after another, everyone finally took their first bites.
The effect was immediate.
The gloomy expressions that had weighed down their faces only moments ago blossomed into bright smiles.
“Whoa… this is incredible. Seriously!”
“Isn’t it?” the caretaker replied proudly, beaming from ear to ear. “The ingredients are wonderfully fresh! The seafood was bought first thing this morning, and every vegetable came straight from the garden! You really can taste the difference.”
Watching them, I took a bite of the seafood pasta myself.
Indeed.
The pleasant acidity of the tomatoes spread gently across my tongue, while the shrimp and shellfish contributed a sweetness completely free of any fishy odor.
Everything coated the noodles beautifully.
It was undeniably delicious.
Although gardening was merely the caretaker’s hobby, there was one area where a home vegetable garden surpassed almost any restaurant.
Freshness.
Just as we’d experienced at the inn in Fushijishi Village, produce harvested moments before cooking possessed a quality that university students accustomed to supermarket ingredients and cafeteria food rarely had the opportunity to experience.
Of course…
That wasn’t to say supermarket produce was somehow inferior.
Professional farmers devoted their lives to cultivation.
As producers, they were experts in every sense of the word.
The inherent quality of their crops was incomparable to anything an amateur’s garden could consistently produce.
Considering transportation, storage, and distribution, freshness was likely the only category where home gardening truly held an advantage.
But perhaps…
That single advantage was enough.
Freshness alone could elevate the value of food to this degree.
Originally, every household had grown much of its own food.
Modern society became efficient by separating producers from consumers, allowing specialists to cultivate crops on behalf of everyone else.
From that perspective…
Maintaining a personal vegetable garden was, in a sense, a deliberate rejection of efficiency.
These vegetables represented something beyond food.
They were a luxury.
Not because they were expensive…
But because they had been cultivated using time that, in today’s world, would ordinarily have been devoted to other forms of labor.
“Gouto-kun’s making one of those faces again.”
Meiko narrowed her eyes knowingly.
“The kind where he’s definitely thinking about something completely unrelated to how the food actually tastes.”
“Your powers of observation have reached frightening heights, Meiko.”
I couldn’t help admiring her accuracy.
Then again…
Did it really matter?
Whether I appreciated a meal through its flavor or through the countless stories and circumstances surrounding it, if the conclusion was it’s delicious, wasn’t that enough?
Of course, if someone insisted I provide a proper food review…
I certainly could.
Though I’d warn them in advance.
My standards were rather unforgiving.
I acknowledged this meal was excellent.
However, my mental comparisons inevitably included dishes served at world-class restaurants.
Taste wasn’t measured on an absolute scale.
It was inherently relative, filtered through every meal a person had ever eaten.
A meticulous score wasn’t always the kindest thing one could give the cook.
Beyond that…
The place where one ate.
Their physical condition that day.
The company they kept.
Even the atmosphere.
All of those influenced how food tasted.
To ignore those factors while assigning neat numerical ratings struck me as rather crude.
Which was precisely why I made a point of describing both cafeteria curry and a luxury restaurant’s signature course with the same simple word.
Delicious.
“O-Oh dear… Did it perhaps not suit your palate, Gouto-sama?”
“Not at all. It’s more than delicious. You have my sincere thanks for preparing it.”
“…Thank you very much.”
If someone genuinely wanted detailed criticism, I wouldn’t object.
But that wasn’t what the caretakers wanted to hear.
Not here.
Not now.
At this table…
The only opinion that truly mattered was:
“It’s delicious.”
Nothing conveyed appreciation more effectively.
And nothing produced a better return for so little effort.
Although…
Judging by the smiles around the table, they probably didn’t need my evaluation in the first place.
Especially for Taketsuru, burdened by mysterious voices echoing inside his head…
And Meiko, who now had to contend with marriage duels proposed by rogue ninja clans…
A good meal was probably providing them with a brief but precious moment of peace.
As for Kuwajima…
I had no idea why she’d looked so depressed earlier.
Though knowing her, it was probably something perfectly mundane.
Maybe she’d suddenly remembered how miserable summer heat could be.
Or perhaps…
She’d forgotten to pack her swimsuit.
“By the way…”
A thought occurred to me.
“Are you two familiar with the local area?”
“The local area?” the caretaker repeated, tilting his head. “If you’re asking about sightseeing spots, I could certainly show you around, if you’d like.”
His uncertainty made perfect sense.
This wasn’t really a tourist destination.
It was a summer retreat.
People came here to escape the crowds, not become part of them.
Popular attractions overflowing with visitors were probably scarce.
Naturally…
That wasn’t what I wanted to ask.
“I’m not looking for sightseeing recommendations. I was wondering whether this area has any local legends… folklore… or perhaps strange stories passed down over the years.”
For example…
Stories about watermelons infused with spiritual power.
Or tales of monsters sealed beneath this land—and whatever guarded them.
Or perhaps…
Legends concerning ninja clans operating somewhere nearby.
Information like that.
Not because my hallucinations had told me.
Because, at this point, I felt the other university students could probably benefit from learning such things through more… conventional means.
This wasn’t exactly offering them a lifeline.
Rather…
It felt appropriate that a proper route existed alongside whatever bizarre shortcuts my hallucinations kept trying to provide.
“I see,” the caretaker nodded thoughtfully. “In that case… yes. There are a few stories I could tell.”
“The sort involving spiritual power… monsters… or ninjas?”
“…?”
He blinked.
“You already know about them?”
“No.”
The caretaker looked thoroughly puzzled.
I didn’t know the stories.
I merely happened to know people who appeared to be in the middle of living them.
The rest of the Normalcy Appreciation Society had unconsciously stopped eating.
Every one of them was now listening intently.
I considered my next move.
Then, instead of encouraging the caretaker to continue, I turned toward my companions.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
“I believe,” I announced solemnly, “that I can now offer several possible routes.”
“…I have an overwhelming feeling Kirishiro’s about to say something ridiculous again.”
Ignoring Taketsuru’s gradually returning sarcasm, I spoke plainly.
“I can intervene with everything I’ve got, solve every problem as quickly and ordinarily as possible, and maximize the remaining time for enjoying our vacation.”
I raised one finger.
“Or…”
A second finger.
“I can intervene only moderately, allowing everyone to experience these perfectly ordinary summer events naturally over the course of the entire week.”
Then a third.
“Or…”
“We can ignore every single one of these issues completely, pretend none of them exist, and enjoy ourselves while carrying unresolved anxiety for the rest of the trip.”
I looked around the table.
“Which shall it be?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Taketsuru stared at me with an expression so blank it erased the smile he’d worn only moments earlier.
Meiko looked much the same.
Kuwajima merely blinked, appearing only vaguely aware of what conversation she had wandered into.
Only Niwashita-san answered without hesitation, speaking with the relaxed air of an impartial observer.
“If it’s anything like what happened in Fushijishi Village… I’d be perfectly happy spending the whole week like that.”
Personally…
I recommended the first option.
Though choosing it would almost certainly violate my treasured principle of see nothing, hear nothing, get involved in nothing.
That route relied heavily on hallucination-assisted shortcuts.
Granted, if the hallucinations refused to cooperate, it might take a little longer.
Still…
Not by much.
If I insisted on following my principles while solving everything through entirely conventional methods…
A week sounded about right.
I wasn’t worried about whether I could resolve everything.
Only how much vacation time we’d have left afterward.
Of course…
Ignoring every problem altogether remained a perfectly valid option.
Yet somehow…
That felt like an awfully lonely way to spend an otherwise ordinary summer.
Not to mention…
Taketsuru’s mysterious voices would remain unresolved.
Meiko’s arranged marriage duel certainly wouldn’t disappear.
“I honestly don’t mind whichever option everyone chooses,” I concluded. “After all, a perfectly ordinary university student doesn’t usually act first. He gets swept along by everyone else’s decisions before he starts moving. Whichever path you choose, it’s perfectly ordinary. So go ahead.”
I spread my hands.
“Drag me into it to your heart’s content.”
Taketsuru and Meiko responded with identical exasperated looks.
But really…
I hadn’t done anything.
The events had simply come to us.
Back in Fushijishi Village, I’d merely been an observer.
This time…
I was one of the players.
And from this point onward…
The story would be one they began.
As for me…
In the most perfectly ordinary fashion possible…
I would simply allow myself to be swept into the events they called forth.
Then I heard Kuwajima mutter:
“Did… did he just make us sign a contract with the Devil or something…?”
Don’t think speaking quietly means I can’t hear you.