The Expelled Hero's Gourmet Second Act: This Wasn't Supposed to Happen - The Threefold Tragedy at the Abandoned Inn and the Crybaby Young Lady

The cold air before dawn drifted thinly through the alleys of Valm. When the eastern sky had just begun to pale, Kazarina Shion was already moving in front of the "Traveler's Light." The lingering echo of last night's humming still remained in his chest. He held a memo pad in his left hand, wore the crane-blade sword at his waist, and retied his leather apron. His deep green curly hair swayed in the morning air. "First, let me check the water pipes," Shion murmured to himself as he walked around to the back of the building. The water pipes running underground passed beneath old stone foundations, and the valve's location was hard to find. Shion crouched down and tapped the stones with his knuckles, deducing the pipe's path from the changes in sound. His meticulous nature shone in moments like these. "Around here, maybe... ah, found it." He discovered an old iron valve. Though rust had formed on it, he carefully turned it with a wrench. A gurgling sound came as water began flowing through the pipes. Good—the water test was a success. The moment Shion returned to the kitchen and turned the faucet— SPLOOOOOOSH!!!! "—!?" Water burst from the ceiling seams! The old connection piece couldn't withstand the water pressure, and the pipe came loose, striking the ceiling directly. Cold water poured down mercilessly from Shion's head to his feet. His deep green curly hair plastered to his head, his leather apron soaked through. Shion froze for just a moment. Then, quietly, he pulled out his memo pad. (Water pipe connection pieces—complete replacement. Kitchen seams are priority A.) He wrote while dripping wet, his face bearing an expression that said "this is within expectations." Water trickled down his forehead and dripped from his chin, but he showed no sign of concern. Drip, drip, drip... A rustling sound came from outside the window facing the alley. Two farmers passing by had stopped loading their horses and were staring intently at the abandoned inn. They'd heard the thunderous noise and stopped. Through the kitchen window, they could see the soaking-wet Shion taking notes. "...Is he alive?" one farmer asked. "He's alive. He's taking notes," the other replied. The two exchanged glances. An hour later. Shion had changed clothes and moved on to the next task—polishing the stove. The stove, unused for years, had accumulated soot until it was pitch black, and a bird's nest was even crammed inside the chimney. First, he removed the nest from the chimney and carefully cleaned the flue with a metal brush. Then he began scraping away the soot from the stove itself. "This layer of soot is... five years' worth? Maybe more," Shion muttered. He pushed the brush in. Twisted it. Applied a bit more force. BOOOOOM!!!! "—ah!?" The accumulated soot came rushing back all at once! A black mass of soot erupted from the stove's opening like a volcanic eruption! It hit Shion's face directly. His head. His shoulders, chest—everything. Silence. Shion stood in the kitchen, looking down at his hands. Completely black. He touched his face. Completely black. Reflexively using the crane-blade's surface as a mirror to check his face—he looked like he was wearing a charcoal mask. Only his whites of his eyes stood out, unnervingly clear. Shion pulled out his memo pad again. (Soot backflow prevention cover—must obtain. Flue cleaning should be done from outside.) He wrote smoothly. With his face covered in charcoal, he wrote calmly. At the alley window, besides the two farmers from before, a tofu seller had stopped her cart and pressed her face against the glass. All three stood in a row, peering into the kitchen. "His face... it's completely black," the tofu seller said. "But he's taking notes," one farmer replied. "He's smiling. That's bad," the other farmer said. A strange sense of camaraderie had formed among the three. Another hour later. Now it was outdoor work. To straighten the tilted sign—an old board with faded letters reading "Traveler's Light"—Shion devised a strategy of using rope to pull it straight. The sign was fixed to the building's eaves, but the supporting wood had rotted, causing the left side to droop significantly from years of wind and rain. "If I fix the rope to the right pillar and adjust the angle while pulling..." Shion calculated the mechanics in his head as he tied one end of the rope to the sign's edge. He pulled the other end and applied force gradually. The sign creaked as it slowly lifted. Good, this is working— SNAP!!!!! "!!" The rope snapped! The whipping rope end struck Shion's hand, and the recoil sent him staggering backward. His foot stepped into a muddy puddle. He couldn't brace himself. SPLOOOOOSH!!!!! He landed spectacularly on his back in the muddy puddle! Brown water splashed in all directions! The clothes he'd just changed into were now filthy again! And worse—the sign, freed from the rope, tilted even more steeply than before. It was now past forty-five degrees. Shion lay half-submerged in the mud, staring up at the sky. The morning sky was beautifully blue. (...) He pulled out his memo pad. While soaking in muddy water. (Use iron-core rope instead of hemp rope. Verify weight capacity beforehand.) He wrote smoothly. Soaking wet, face pitch-black, covered head to toe in mud—he wrote smoothly. Quite a crowd had gathered in the alley. The two farmers, the tofu seller, three housewives heading to market, a young apprentice wearing the apron of Gertz the blacksmith's workshop. Everyone stood on the opposite side of the road, staring at Shion taking notes in the mud. "...What is that person?" one housewife asked. "He's messed up three times in a row," one farmer said. "But he takes notes every time," the tofu seller said. "He was smiling. Just a moment ago, he smiled," the other farmer said. "...That's bad," all the onlookers said in unison. They were completely frozen. No one went to market. No one returned to work. Shion stood up from the mud and patted his apron. "Well then, next is the floorboard repairs," he said to himself as he headed inside. One of the onlookers spoke softly. "What's going to happen next...?" Someone sat down on the roadside. They were settling in for the long haul. Past noon, a good smell began leaking from the "Traveler's Light" kitchen. By then, Shion had finished repairing the floorboards, installing the hinges, and cleaning the soot from the stove. He was now lighting a fire in it to begin test cooking. The moment he drew the crane-blade—Shion became a different person. The "mud-and-soot-covered person who'd caused three consecutive disasters" vanished. Though traces of half-dried mud and soot still marked his appearance, his hands moved with absolute certainty. The blade caught the light, the stove fire flickered. Tok-tok-tok, chop-chop-chop—the sound of the knife echoed through the kitchen. In Shion's hands, a Valm tomato was sliced thin. Moisture seeped from the cut surface. The tomato, concentrated with Vita—the life essence dwelling in food—from this land's soil, was a different color than ordinary ones. Not red, but a burning crimson. (Should I serve this raw, or apply heat...?) He tilted the blade to examine the cut surface's texture. High moisture content. If heating, short duration was best. If simmered until the umami concentrated, the sweetness would fly away instead. "Short time, just olive oil and salt," Shion decided aloud. His decision was swift. His hands moved. He poured oil into a small pot over the stove and arranged the tomatoes. Sizzle. The aroma rose. Just then, a modest knock came from the building's entrance. Knock, knock. "...Come in," Shion answered without turning around. He was focused on cooking. The door opened quietly. A girl with long silver hair entered. Her straight silver hair, reaching to her waist, gleamed as it caught the outside light. Her right eye was gold, her left eye purple—those mismatched eyes looked around the kitchen curiously. A crystal earring hanging from her left ear caught the stove's fire and glimmered. She appeared to be about sixteen. In her small hands, she held a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Um..." she said softly, her voice hesitant yet unable to turn back. "I'm Bruct Reset, the town mayor's daughter. I brought something... I saw you working since yesterday, and Father thought..." Her words trailed off. She stood in the kitchen, still holding the bundle. Shion finally turned around. Reset gasped. Because the man before her had soot still clinging to the edges of his face, dried mud stains on his clothes, and his deep green curly hair was half-dry and sticking up in impossible directions. Yet his expression was calm, and his golden eyes narrowed kindly. "Thank you. I'm in the middle of testing recipes. Would you like to eat together?" Shion asked. "Eh?" Reset replied. "Don't be shy. Please, sit," Shion said, turning back to the pot. Reset started to protest—"But, um..."—but Shion wasn't listening anymore. He was focused on cooking the onions until they turned transparent. His concentration created an atmosphere that said "I won't hear objections." Reset carefully pulled out a chair and sat down. She placed the cloth bundle on the table. It appeared to contain honeyed turnips from Valm's farmers. (Is this person really fixing this place alone...?) She thought this while looking around the kitchen. It was certainly much more organized than yesterday. The stove was polished, some floorboards had been replaced, the hinges were fixed. Yet the person who'd done all this alone was covered in mud and soot. A strange person, Reset thought. The sound of Shion plating food came. A ceramic clink. "Here you are," Shion said, gently placing a plate before her. On it lay—sautéed Valm tomatoes, caramelized onions, thinly sliced Silg River trout finished with salt and citrus like carpaccio, and white soup. All together, the preparation hadn't taken more than thirty minutes. Yet the colors on the plate were beautiful. Red, white, orange, and green. Herbs that Shion had apparently gathered were scattered as a finishing touch. (It's just a test recipe, but... why is it so... proper?) Reset thought this as she dipped her spoon into the soup. One sip. (...) She couldn't speak. The soup's warmth spread from her throat to her stomach. The aroma of the broth wafted gently through her nose. Though the salt was restrained, only umami filled her tongue. The Vita of vegetables grown in Valm's soil, converted from ingredient to dish through Shion's hands—Reset understood this not as theory but through her body. She drank the soup and ate the tomato. Sweet. Umami lingered in the aftertaste. Such simple cooking, yet so profound. She picked up the trout with her chopsticks. The citrus aroma came first, then the fish's fat melted. Though finished, it wasn't firm. It dissolved on her tongue like it was melting away. (...Why) (...Why is it like this...) Reset stopped her chopsticks. Tears came. She was the most surprised. She didn't understand why she was crying. She wasn't sad. Quite the opposite. Yet she couldn't stop the tears. The back of her eyes grew hot, and her vision blurred. Shion noticed and tilted his head. "Is something wrong with your body?" he asked. "...No," Reset replied. "Was it too spicy? I kept the salt light today, so if it's not enough—" Shion began. "No!" Reset said, her voice slightly stronger. She quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed. But the tears continued. Her crystal earring swayed. Her mismatched eyes glistened, gold and purple blending together. "It's delicious... really delicious... and I don't understand why I'm crying..." Reset said in a fading voice, looking bashful and embarrassed. Yet her chopsticks remained poised over the trout. Shion watched Reset silently for a moment. Then his expression softened gently. Not difficult, not proud—just relieved. "I think it's bec

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Episode 2

Name: The Expelled Hero's Gourmet Second Act: This Wasn't Supposed to Happen
Author: Novelia

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