The orange glow of the solvent lamp seeped into the blade's edge. 　Kuroki Satoru drew the knife slowly across the whetstone. Sha, sha—the sound filled the kitchen. Before dawn, Ginkgo Tavern was silent, and beyond the window, the Ende Sea breathed in the distance. The sound of waves. The smell of salt. Everything was different from that three-star restaurant in Shibuya. 　Different, and yet. 　Kuroki lifted the knife and checked the blade's angle. In that moment, a faint greenish light shimmered across the edge for just an instant. The "solvent"—invisible particulate matter that drifted through this world's atmosphere and was used in lamps and tools—sometimes reacted and glowed when it touched a sharpened blade. At least, that was Kuroki's working hypothesis. Though verification was still ongoing. 　"…Good sharpness." 　Kuroki set the knife down without further ceremony. He still didn't understand why the solvent reacted to the blade. What occupied his mind now was an unknown component contained in the fat tissue of the magic boar. 　On the kitchen wall, a thick notebook lay open. The upper half of the page was crammed with observation records about this world's ingredients. The meat quality of magic boars, the umami layer hidden beneath the shell of tide-eating crabs, shadow moths—magical creatures dwelling in the lower levels of the Forbidden Tower, their wings bearing special powder—the color changes when their wing powder reacted with oils. The lower half was mixed with scrawled French from his previous life's memories. "Réaction de Maillard"—a culinary chemistry term from his past, describing how amino acids and sugars browned and developed aroma under heat—"solvent reactivity? Needs confirmation"—a hypothesis that solvent seemed to have some effect on ingredients and cooking—"salt penetration - magic boar requires 30% more than normal." 　In his previous life, Kuroki Satoru had lived thirty-eight years as a human with that same name. The name hadn't changed between lives. Somehow, he found that fitting. 　His previous profession was chef. A particularly stubborn one at that. He'd reigned at the top of a three-star French restaurant for a time. Some called him a "genius." Others, unable to keep up with him, had left. Kuroki himself never believed he was a genius. He simply couldn't think well about anything other than cooking. 　He died on a rainy night. 　He'd been crossing a pedestrian crossing while thinking about a new menu. Croissants. The baking time for the butter layers. Six minutes thirty seconds, or six minutes forty-five? Mid-thought, a large truck ran a red light and plowed into him. Kuroki was sent flying, and then everything went dark. 　Even now, he sometimes smiled wryly remembering that the last thing he'd been thinking about was croissant baking time. 　When he came to, he was in Water's End. A frontier village at the southeastern edge of the continent. Population: six hundred twenty. Eighty kilometers to the Forbidden Tower, one hundred twenty to Lenka, the nearest mid-sized city. Everywhere was far away—a place where water ran out. 　He had no memory of anyone explaining his reincarnation. When he came to, he was in an adult body, waking up in a pile of scrap materials. All his previous memories remained intact. He could speak this world's language without difficulty. His cooking skills were undiminished. 　That was enough. 　Kuroki had spent two months renovating the stone cottage that had been a scrap yard. Six meters wide, twelve meters deep. Six counter seats, three tables. One kitchen. He'd written "Ginkgo Tavern" on the sign. There was no particular reason—just the name of a tree he'd liked in his previous life. 　Now it was his second year in business. 　The solvent lamp swayed gently. In this world, lamps using particles called "solvent" that drifted in the atmosphere were common. Not flame, but solvent condensing and emitting light. Neither electricity nor fire—a slightly mysterious orange glow. Even now, Kuroki sometimes looked at this light and thought, "Ah, I'm really in another world." 　He added one more line to his notebook: "Correlation between solvent lamp light intensity and kitchen solvent concentration—needs verification." 　Then he looked out the window. 　The sky was beginning to lighten. 　Faint footsteps were starting to echo from the distant alley. Adventurers registered with the Steel Grid—the continental organization overseeing adventurers—coming to fill their stomachs before taking on requests. Ginkgo Tavern had become their first destination of the morning. 　The bell announcing opening rang from the Water's End branch of the Steel Grid at the village's north end. 　Kuroki put a pot on the fire. 　Today's breakfast: magic boar rice porridge. Eight copper coins. 　It was a dish he'd been waiting to serve. At least, in his own mind. --- 　Three minutes later, all eighteen seats of Ginkgo Tavern were filled with sand-rank adventurers. 　Sand-rank was the lowest tier of adventurer classification. Five ranks total: sand, iron, silver, gold, and radiant. Sand-rank adventurers earned an average of fifteen to twenty silver coins a month. Of the roughly ninety registered adventurers in the village, the majority were sand-rank. 　The well-built man sitting at the front counter—someone Kuroki recognized as a regular among sand-rank adventurers, whom he mentally called "A-san"—took a sip of the porridge set before him. 　His expression froze. 　There's a word in Japanese theater: "hannya." A Noh mask depicting a woman's face twisted with fierce anger and jealousy. That expression was perfectly reproduced on A-san's face. 　"…What is this?" 　A-san looked at the porridge. Looked at it, then looked back at Kuroki. 　"Ash? Sand? My shoe would taste better than this." 　The tall man sitting next to A-san—B-san—stared at the porridge with his spoon in hand. Gradually, tears began to form in his eyes. 　"In my hometown… there was muddy water that tasted like this." 　His voice was trembling. 　"I miss it…" 　The small adventurer sitting by the window—C-san—said nothing. Couldn't say anything, to be precise. C-san silently picked up the bowl, opened the window, and threw it outside with all his strength. The sound of pottery striking stone echoed. 　Kuroki looked up from behind the counter. 　"Ah, please return the bowl. That's two copper coins." 　His tone hadn't changed by a millimeter. 　"APOLOGIZE FIRST!!!" 　Everyone stood up. Chairs scraped. Fists pounded tables. The killing intent of a dozen-plus adventurers converged on the kitchen. Even sand-rank adventurers, who made their living slaying monsters, were genuinely frightening when truly angry. 　Kuroki remained unmoved. More than that, he pulled out a notebook from under the counter and began writing something. 　"Ah, as expected." 　Everyone's movements stopped. 　"…What did you say?" 　"I said it was as expected." 　"What was as expected?!" 　"Actually, I made this intentionally." 　"Huh?" 　Anger transformed into confusion. The hannya became a Buddha tilting its head. 　Kuroki explained calmly. It was a habit from his three-star restaurant days in his previous life—before developing a new menu, he'd first measure the "worst baseline" through customer reactions. How bad did food need to be before people got angry? From the patterns of their anger, he'd work backward to understand the structure of "deliciousness." Those around him had always said he was "impossible to deal with." 　"Are we guinea pigs?!" 　"Technically, you're 'tasters.'" 　"That's the same thing!!!" 　Kuroki continued writing in his notebook. "Bitterness sensitivity: average. Reaction to salt deficiency: oversensitive. Time to peak anger: approximately forty-five seconds." Amid the shouting, only the sound of pencil on paper continued steadily. 　A-san, a blue vein bulging on his forehead, said: 　"Give back the money. Right now. Well, it was eight copper coins anyway." 　"I have no intention of returning it. However, I will offer compensation." 　Kuroki retreated into the kitchen. 　One minute later, he returned with a chunk of magic boar meat that was dried out and hard as stone. --- 　A-san recoiled. Literally took a step back. 　"That… I thought it was a rock, but is it meat?" 　It was material scheduled for disposal. Magic boar meat had a strong odor and was difficult to work with. When Kuroki's stock didn't sell, he always dried it like this for storage. Research material. Three weeks had passed since this morning's preservation. By any measure, it wasn't food. 　Kuroki silently placed a frying pan over the fire. 　High heat. Smoke began to rise faintly. He didn't add a drop of oil, only heating the pan itself. Everyone watched over the counter. No one spoke. B-san whispered, "Something's starting," and C-san hissed, "Shut up and watch." 　Kuroki slammed the meat onto the pan. 　It wasn't a sizzle. It was a bang. Like stone and iron colliding. White smoke rose up. Kuroki pressed the meat down with cooking chopsticks, his expression unchanged. He tilted the pan as if borrowing light from the solvent lamp. Flames danced. 　Flambé. The finishing technique using flame. 　In that instant, for just a moment, a hint of green light mixed with the flames. 　No one noticed. Not even Kuroki himself. The flames subsided in three seconds, and a savory aroma spread. The smell of caramelized umami. Something drawn from deep within the meat. 　Thirty seconds later, Kuroki plated it. 　"Compensation for the tasters." 　A-san picked up his chopsticks with half-doubt. 　"This dried-up stone meat—" 　He took a bite. 　His expression changed in stages. 　Hannya. ↓ Anger. ↓ Confusion. ↓ Eyes widening. ↓ Eyebrows lowering. ↓ Mouth falling open. ↓ Shoulders losing tension. ↓ Knees bending. ↓ Collapsed to the floor. 　"…………What?" 　"…………Huh?" 　"…………Why?" 　Still on his hands, he looked up at the ceiling. 　"Heaven… Am I dead…?" 　B-san snatched at the plate. C-san grabbed it from the side. The three of them fought over the plate, each taking a bite in turn, each collapsing to the floor in sequence. The remaining dozen-plus adventurers stood up asking "What's happening," saw the three collapsed on the floor, caught the aroma, and all shouted "Let me eat some too!" 　Ginkgo Tavern became a battlefield for a moment. 　Kuroki quietly opened his notebook. He wrote one line: "High-temperature short-duration flame contact appears effective for solvent activation—needs verification," and turned the page. --- 　The story that "Ginkgo Tavern's food is miraculous" probably took less than forty minutes to spread from the north end of Water's End's central street to the south end. 　In a frontier village, information travels fast. When everyone knows everyone, rumor transmission speed is inversely proportional to town size. The next morning, a line had formed in front of Ginkgo Tavern. 　Two fishermen. Three old women. One traveler from afar. And in the middle of the line, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a sturdy build stood with her arms crossed. Village Chief Petra Mieze. In her sixties, former adventurer's wife. The person who managed all village affairs, the most influential person in the village. That person was simply standing in line at Ginkgo Tavern. 　A-san muttered. 　"The village chief is here too…" 　But Ginkgo Tavern's door remained closed. 　An old woman knocked on the door. "Open up, my back hurts." 　A voice came from inside. "Just a moment." 　Five minutes later. The door was still closed. 　Ten minutes later. Still closed. 　B-san brought his eye close to the door gap and peeked inside. Then he took a step back. 　"…What's he doing?" 　"What is he doing?" 　"He's dropping shadow moth wing powder—you know, the stuff from those magical creatures in the Forbidden Tower whose wing powder changes color when it reacts with oil, the ones from the Steel Grid subjugation reports—into a pot and writing in his notebook wit