The Devil's Recipe
For one week, I conducted health examinations for every single servant in the Carseido estate.
It was a fairly thorough workup — measuring height and weight, even running basic blood tests with support from the hospital. And just like that, the days flew by in a whirl.
"Doctor, your order has arrived!"
Kaylen finally announced the arrival of the ingredients. I headed to the kitchen with him and the Duke in tow, where Hans, the newly hired head chef, and three servant representatives serving as tasters were already waiting.
"You want me to make chicken? I'll preheat the oven, then."
"No, this chicken is a little different."
I stopped Hans before he could reach for the oven and handed over the recipe I'd prepared in advance. The chef's eyes went round as he read my note.
"I beg your pardon — fry the whole chicken? I've fried plenty of drumsticks in my day, but never an entire bird!"
"Trust me, chef. Score the meat like this so it cooks all the way through, then into oil preheated to 180 degrees — plop, right in."
Half convinced and half doubting, the chef dropped the chicken into a large pot as instructed. At the sizzle and bubbling of the hot oil, Siu, the stablehand and one of the tasting representatives, smacked his lips.
"Good heavens, that looks delicious. You could just dip it in salt and eat it as is."
"Salt is fine and all, but we're going to make a sauce."
While the chicken fried, the chef followed my recipe, melting butter and honey into a glaze. Then came the next step — the moment he pinched in a bit of minced garlic.
"Add more."
When I pointed it out, the chef gave me a puzzled look.
"Pardon? But it's written right here. 'Add a small amount of garlic.'"
"You don't understand, chef."
I picked up the ladle sitting on the counter and scooped out a heaping mound of garlic.
"This is 'a small amount.'"
And I dumped it into the stainless steel bowl without a shred of mercy — thud.
"Garlic. 'A little.'"
"......"
The chef looked around with the pleading eyes of a man begging to be saved. But overwhelmed by my quiet madness, no one dared come to his aid. I stirred the sauce briskly so there'd be no taking the garlic back out.
"Now, toss the fried chicken in this sauce, please."
The chef, his will broken, moved exactly as I commanded. But I was confident. This was the devil's recipe — the one that had gifted me ten kilograms of flesh back in my intern days.
And a short while later.
"Good heavens... what is this flavor?"
That was Lily the maid's first impression as she cautiously bit into a drumstick. Picran the footman, likewise, sniffed at it warily at first — then took a single bite and let out a cry of wonder.
"Wh-what is this taste, at once spicy and sweet, salty yet melt-in-your-mouth rich...?! I've lived thirty-three years, and I have never eaten anything like it!"
"It's wonderful! I could easily eat a whole chicken by myself!"
"Try some, Your Grace. It's really good."
I pressed a drumstick into the hand of the Duke, who stood there dumbfounded. The seductive aroma made it seem he'd snatch a bite at any moment, yet he only gazed at the chicken in silence.
A handsome man and fried chicken. Adding good to good, aren't we...
With that thought, I urged him on.
"Why aren't you eating?"
"It's just... such an unfamiliar dish."
Too stimulating for a man who had fasted for three hundred years, apparently.
If he doesn't eat this, the accelerated aging plan is dead in the water...
Anxiety gnawing at me, I spoke up.
"Your Grace. You said you trusted me and would follow me completely. I consider this the first step of that trust. Now eat, quickly."
While I watched with bated breath, the Duke slowly raised the chicken to his mouth...
and took a bite.
"...It's good."
"See?! I told you it was delicious!"
Why did a single word of praise for chicken bring me such joy? Buoyed with confidence, I turned to give the chef his next orders.
"Right, on to the next menu. We've still got a long way to go!"
Having tasted the garlic chicken, the chef no longer argued and simply followed my instructions. True to a man who had spent his life cooking, he became my hands and feet, whipping out every request with skill to spare.
Donuts drowning in chocolate, malatang heaped with glass noodles, even glossy candied-fruit skewers — and every time one of these unheard-of dishes emerged, the crowd cheered. I too indulged in the decadent spread with a satisfying sense of pride, and of course, I never forgot to diligently stuff the Duke's face each time a new item appeared.
"Truly, truly delicious, thank you for the meal! But Doctor — will we get to eat this again sometime?"
"Of course, Lily. Ask the chef any time you're craving it. That's all right, isn't it, Your Grace?"
"No problem at all."
"Then I want to eat it again tomorrow, too!"
This time Picran jumped in unbidden. I laughed awkwardly.
"...Tomorrow as well? That might be a bit too rich."
"You only say that because you don't know how we suffered in the jerky hell. Honestly, I could eat this every day and be happy."
With the three of them pressing me relentlessly, I looked to the Duke with a troubled expression. He watched us with apparent amusement and said:
"Then we shall all follow the accelerated aging diet together."
"Pardon? Are you serious?"
"When I eat the same meals as ordinary people, comparing the changes in each of us would yield more accurate results, wouldn't you say?"
I looked once more at the spread laid across the table. Chicken, malatang, donuts, candied fruit — and sweet juice on top of it all.
A famous author once said, didn't she? That we cannot travel at the speed of light.
But I was certain of one thing: if we ate like this every meal, we would hurtle along faster than light itself.
"...If that is what you wish, Your Grace, then so be it."
"Yay! Then we get to eat this again tomorrow too? Thank you!"
The blissfully ignorant trio of tasters cheered at nothing more than the prospect of more chicken tomorrow. Avoiding their eyes, Kaylen leaned in carefully.
"Doctor, are you certain about this? The Duke is one thing, but feeding the servants food this rich every day seems a bit..."
"Don't worry, Adjutant."
I whispered back at Kaylen's murmur.
"It won't last long anyway."
Two weeks had passed since then.
"Your Grace!! Your Grace!!"
The office door burst open and Kaylen came tumbling in. Blasion, seated at his desk and raising a piece of chocolate to his lips, stopped mid-motion.
"Your Grace... I can bear it no longer."
"Bear what, exactly?"
"Doctor Frencia! I can no longer endure her treatment — no, her tyranny! How is any man meant to live on rye bread and broccoli alone?"
On the very evening the accelerated aging diet was born, Lionel had declared that all meals would henceforth be served according to her meal plans, with proper prescriptions issued based on the results of the health examinations.
On the surface, it sounded like a splendid scheme indeed. Kaylen had thought so too.
If only she hadn't diagnosed him as prediabetic that day.
"The blood test results show that you, Adjutant, are in a prediabetic state. Left alone, it will develop into full diabetes. And you're a touch anemic on top of that."
Faced with a diagnosis he'd never heard in his life, Kaylen stiffened.
"Is it serious?"
"No, it can improve easily enough with proper management. So follow my instructions carefully. Understood?"
"Of course, Doctor. I'll trust you completely!"
From the very next day, Kaylen found his diet strictly restricted. And his personal physician began subjecting him to her tyranny with the most natural schoolmistress tone imaginable.
"Adjutant, I told you, didn't I? Broccoli first, then the egg, then the bread."
"It's so dry, though... can't I spread just a little strawberry jam on it?"
"Must you truly lose a hand or a foot to complications before you come to your senses?"
Good heavens — to make such a devilish threat with such a gentle face.
Shuddering with fear, Kaylen chewed his rye bread, gulp by gulp. And that wasn't the end of it. Choking back tears, he poured out yet another grievance.
"Because of the iron supplements the Doctor prescribed... I can't even — even relieve myself properly!"
Blasion wanted to know nothing about his subordinate's circumstances. Without a word, he set the half-unwrapped chocolate down on the table.
"The Doctor did say the iron can cause constipation, but treating the anemia and diabetes comes first."
"Th-that's..."
"Better to give up, Kaylen. You're in the palm of her hand either way. Surrender gracefully, and be diligent about your broccoli and iron supplements."
Kaylen fled the office on the verge of tears. Blasion popped the surrendered chocolate into his mouth and checked the clock.
"Is it lunchtime already?"
What dish would appear today, he wondered, as he rose from his seat. A month ago he hadn't even possessed the concept of mealtimes, but now his body moved all on its own.
Blasion had to admit that he was rather enjoying his meals.
It wasn't merely the pleasure of tasting food itself — there was another delight to be had in arriving at the dining hall at the appointed hour.
"Welcome, Your Grace."
The moment he opened the door, his personal physician sprang up from her seat at the table. As always, she had her stethoscope draped around her neck and greeted him in a lively voice.
"A lonely table, isn't it? Admit it now?"
"Admit it now? I admitted it long ago."
Lionel gave a rueful smile.
"The accelerated aging operation has failed. It's a complete disaster."