IOC - 7

Gilbert scratched his chin with a meaty hand and grunted.

“Fine. Get going.”

I hurried outside before he could change his mind and catch me. The marketplace was already buzzing with the morning rush. The shouts of merchants, the rattle of wagon wheels, and the smell of freshly baked bread all swirled together in a dizzying mix.

I approached the man selling potatoes and gave him a bright smile.

“Two sacks of potatoes, please.”

“Oh, good morning, Shion. Your giant of a boss seemed a bit low on energy today.”

“I think some important adventurers are coming. Looks like he didn't get any sleep.”

The merchant chuckled and handed me the sacks. I pulled a penny from my pocket to pay, and that’s when a pile of bruised, peach-like fruits caught my eye.

“Are those fruits for sale?”

“Those? No. They taste fine, but they’re too soft to sell. Want some?”

“Yes, thank you! Awesome.”

I gave him a deep bow of gratitude and hoisted the potato sacks. I took a bite of one of the bruised fruits, the flesh gave way instantly, and honey-like sweetness flooded my mouth. As the sugary juice coated my tongue, my tension finally began to melt away.

“Fruit really does taste best when it’s ripe.”

They might not be fit for the shelf, but this was actually when they were at their peak. Taking another bite, I hugged the potato sacks tight and headed back toward the tavern.

But the moment I pushed the door open, the atmosphere shifted completely. The lively noise of the market was still ringing in my ears and the sweetness of the fruit still lingered on my tongue, but the air inside the tavern felt as if I’d been doused in ice water. It was thick with tension.

“…Huh?”

Behind the counter, Gilbert was deathly pale, frozen like a statue.

His gaze was fixed, unmoving, on a single table.

I slowly turned my head to follow his line of sight.

Sitting there was a woman entirely shrouded in a robe, her hood pulled down low. Her face was hidden, but the elegant curves of her silhouette were enough to tell anyone she was a beauty. 

Long, white hair spilled over her pale hands as she reached for her utensils, shimmering softly in the light.

Next to her sat a man with a powerful build. His silver hair flowed like liquid light, and his icy blue eyes gleamed with a cold intensity. Even though he sat motionless with his arms crossed, he radiated an overwhelming presence that felt like it could stop your heart.

I froze, clutching the sacks of potatoes. My heart hammered against my ribs, each throb hitting my chest like a relentless wave.

I knew exactly who they were the moment I saw them.

> [Amelia had fully awakened as a Saintess the year she turned eighteen. She had always lamented her fate. She was merely born with divine power, why did she have to be the Saintess?

> Ever since she was a child, her overflowing holy power earned her the title of ‘the Chosen Child.’ Her full awakening changed her life in an instant. Being treated with such reverence and living in luxury was certainly a blessing. However, it also came with the burden of constant salvation and service as her life's mission.

> To Amelia, who detested bothersome tasks above all else, the awakening was both a blessing and a shackle. Nevertheless, she lived as she had been trained, suppressing her inherent laziness and wearing a mask of benevolence like a second skin. Even if she grumbled under her breath from time to time, the fundamental fact remained that Amelia was a person who belonged to the side of ‘Good.’]

My throat went dry. I tried to swallow, but only a parched, burning thirst choked me.

Though her face was hidden by the robe, that woman was undoubtedly Amelia.

White hair and green eyes, the protagonist of the original story and the core figure who drove the narrative of this world.

And the man sitting beside her was the Saintess’s guardian and the Knight Commander of the Empire, Theord Valen Hardt.

The original work described him as an overwhelming beauty, but seeing him in person felt like watching a masterpiece of a statue come to life.

“D-does it… s-suit your palate?”

Gilbert, despite his massive size, was sweating bullets, asking the question as if his life depended on it. I swallowed hard and took a cautious step forward.

Then, the Saintess offered a small smile from beneath her hood.

“This is not a place where one expects extravagant gourmet. I should simply be grateful for that which sustains my life.”

Her tone was gentle, but the words left a strange, lingering dissonance.

…Wait, if you actually listen to that, she’s just saying it tastes bad, isn't she?

I looked at her with a peculiar expression, but Gilbert, missing the subtext entirely, wiped his brow and let out a sigh of relief. He looked as if he’d just dodged a bullet.

“T-thank goodness…”

However, the Saintess picked up her spoon again and continued matter-of-factly.

“While the joy of the meal is… lacking, it eases the pain of hunger at the very least. I consider that a blessing in itself.”

She is saying it’s bad!!

My jaw dropped in disbelief. Did she think we wouldn't understand her, or was she just the type to be brutally honest like that?

Thinking back, the Saintess in the original novel was a Saintess in name only, in reality, she was lazy and incredibly stubborn. Right now, she was likely just hiding behind her mask, using high-born euphemisms to be blunt.

I mean, the very fact that a Saintess is a "foodie" is a bit of a plot hole to begin with.

Still, Gilbert’s cooking was generally well-regarded. Hearing such a cold critique made my stomach turn with annoyance.

Then, the Saintess’s gaze shifted toward me.

“However, the employee standing there doesn't look very peaceful. Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”

Now she’s nitpicking my facial expression?

“Whoa, are you sick?”

When even Gilbert started fussing beside me, my sense of injustice doubled.

The Saintess took a few more bites and then set her spoon down. That final gesture set a fire in my heart. To make matters worse, Gilbert tried to put his hand on my forehead to check for a fever.

“I’m fine, seriously!”

Irritated, I ended up in a small scuffle with him, swatting his arms away. Watching us, the Saintess covered her mouth with her fingertips and gave a soft giggle.

“Are you father and son?”

“Huh?”

“What?!”

We both looked at each other instantly.

She thinks I look like this mountain of a man with braided whiskers? I wanted to deny it immediately out of sheer indignation, but the problem was… my brown hair was a near-perfect match for his.

Plus, we both had messy, curly hair that practically covered our eyes. My god, we really were a pair of matching wrecks.

Gilbert seemed to realize it too, as he gave an awkward laugh and stroked his beard.

“You really do look alike.”

…Okay, that’s it. My mood crashed even harder than before.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to speak slowly and clearly.

“…Yes, that is correct. Since my. FA. THER. prepared this in a hurry due to your sudden early arrival, I find myself concerned. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you allow me to touch up the dish for you?”

The Saintess’s eyes sparkled with interest.

“Right here, right now? If you can, I would be delighted to wait.”

With that, I bolted into the kitchen. Gilbert scrambled after me, shouting.

“Hey, kid! What are you doing?!”

“This is the one, right?”

I pointed at the bubbling pot of stew. Gilbert nodded with a bewildered look. I grabbed a ladle and muttered to myself.

“From this moment on, I’m going to show you what peak flavor looks like.”

“Hey, what’s gotten into you? She just complimented it.”

“What compliment?! She was using fancy words to say it tastes like trash!”

At my rare outburst, Gilbert flinched and took a step back. He muttered a half-hearted excuse.

“How am I supposed to know how high-and-mighty people talk? She said something nice, so I thought it was nice… I didn't know it sounded so offensive to you.”

“…….”

I bit my lip hard and swallowed my words. Gilbert patted my shoulder, looking genuinely flustered.

“Shion…”

“Oh, so you only call me Shion at times like this?”

When I snapped back at him, Gilbert slowly lowered his hand.

“I’ll never get used to the way nobles talk, no matter how many times I hear it. Was it really that bad?”

He didn't call them adventurers, he specifically said nobles. He must have realized it too, that these guests were no ordinary people. 

Actually, since Theord is the Imperial Knight Commander, Gilbert might have recognized his face instantly. If so, he’d have guessed that the person he was guarding was someone extraordinary.

“When do you ever have to listen to nobles talk, Boss? It’s not like they come to this inn often.”

“T-that’s...”

“Just go out. I’m making this myself.”

“But someone should stay by your side...”

“I said get out! This is a trade secret!”

In the end, Gilbert was practically kicked out of the kitchen. As soon as the door closed, I carefully pulled a small, pre-portioned pouch from my clothes.

MSG.

My reflection in the clear surface of the stew was still blurry, hidden behind my bangs.

Looking at my face, which wavered like a ripple in the water, a long-buried memory surfaced.

It was a day just before my college entrance exams...