More Romance Than Fear
I’ve been to French restaurants a few times before…
Ji-oh looked around the interior of the restaurant once more.
They really nailed the concept here.
Ji-oh, who had always possessed far more romance than fear, was not the least bit intimidated by the fact that this place had once been a dungeon where dozens of people had died.
If the food’s delicious, why should I be scared?
To someone like him, even the air inside this restaurant, Istua, tasted sweet.
“…….”
“You like it here?”
“The atmosphere is excellent.”
There was a genuine pleasure in simply looking at it.
Chaotic yet clean, dreamlike yet tidy. The cool yet somehow gentle temperature of the colors must have come from a designer who knew exactly how to blend white with soft pastels.
It was a grotesque and fantastical design, as if someone had given physical form to a single person’s beautiful dream.
The odds that a human designed this building are probably low…
A structure so complex and beautiful it felt like a dream made solid, and air so sweet it made one’s mouth water as though it had been distilled from pure fantasy. For an experience this novel, Ji-oh felt as excited as if he had stepped into an amusement park.
Earth had always had something called immersive dining—restaurants designed around a single concept, where you watched a performance and ate a meal that belonged to the same world. Participatory theater you could eat, one might say.
And this place is even better. It has a real story tied to an entire dimension—a dungeon. Unlike pure theater that can be dismissed as fiction, we’re sitting inside a story that actually existed. And the chef here is supposedly the protagonist of that story.
The restaurant soared high, yet its center was open, so even from the first floor one could look straight up to the ceiling.
It was not a simple circular void. Rounded lobbies without railings and staircases layered upon staircases filled the space, and guests dined upon them.
People seated in those aerial lobbies, enjoying their meals, looked as though they had been cast as the main characters of the performance, placed in the most photogenic positions.
“…….”
The table given to Ji-oh and Yu Seong-un was at the edge of the fifth floor.
“…….”
“Hmm…”
Yu Seong-un asked with a face that suggested he already knew the answer.
“You wanted to sit in the lobby, didn’t you? It’s a popular spot because that’s where the dungeon’s story actually played out.”
“No.”
“Oh, that was fast. You kept staring at the aerial lobby, so I thought you preferred it over there.”
“I was admiring the structure of the building. There is a pleasure in simply looking.”
Pride kept him from rejecting the idea too harshly, but he absolutely did not want to eat in the aerial lobby.
Having every eye in the room on me would be far too harsh an experience for someone as sensitive as I am.
If one thought of immersive dining, those seats were certainly part of the performance. Still, Ji-oh was shy around strangers; he had no desire to dine in a space where the gazes of people he did not know could reach him so freely.
“I was only looking.”
“Then that’s a relief.”
At Ji-oh’s clean, decisive tone, Yu Seong-un swallowed a quiet breath of relief.
…I can’t put Ji-oh on display in a place that public anyway.
Ji-oh was still wearing his hood, just as he had wished, yet even that could not completely hide his build or the atmosphere that clung to him.
No matter how carefully he imitated a human and lowered his presence, where exactly was his true nature supposed to go?
About nineteen pairs of eyes watching us… Eleven of them hunters. Four of them already on guard and preparing for anything. One C-class, two B-class, one A-class.
Istua was a novelty restaurant that had reused the remnants of a former dungeon exactly as they were, so ordinary people who had never awakened usually stayed away. The hurdle was simply too high for someone who only wanted a casual meal.
Price was one thing, but more than that, the fact that large numbers of people had once died here was enough to put most off.
A lot of people said eating here would give them nightmares.
Hunters, of course, saw people die every day as part of the job, so more than seventy percent of Istua’s guests were hunters.
Even among them, reactions differed.
The residual influence of the dungeon is still here, after all.
Istua’s building produced hallucinations and auditory illusions; in severe cases it could even trigger mental collapse.
Unless a guest started a scene, reaching that point was rare, yet plenty of people still could not endure the faint pressure that seeped from the structure itself.
“…….”
This bastard Ji-oh.
If you’re going to imitate a human, do it properly.
If he sat there calmly taking in the restaurant and enjoying himself, of course he would draw every eye in the room. In a space that grew more abnormal the longer one looked at it, he was openly broadcasting that he was not human.
…And besides…
Even setting aside that eerie atmosphere and those unnatural mannerisms, Ji-oh had a certain lofty quality about him.
He really does look like nobility. Maybe that’s why he suits a French restaurant so well.
Was it elegance, or was it sheer presence? He himself seemed to have no particular intention of projecting it—if anything he was trying to make himself smaller—yet dignity still rose from every small movement.
When we only spoke while he was still a portrait I never felt it this strongly, but once he’s outside the refined atmosphere practically radiates off him. There’s also that neat, composed feeling you get from temple priests.
Could someone who carried that kind of air honestly believe the words “ordinary person” still applied to him?
There aren’t even many humans like this to begin with…
Ji-oh held a high degree of respect and understanding toward humanity, yet here and there the seams still showed. Looking at those imperfect details, Yu Seong-un was once again certain he was not human.
“…….”
Of course, Ji-oh himself was thinking of nothing of the sort.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a restaurant like this.
That was as far as the thought went—as Giovanni for a brief moment.
In truth, every bit of the dignity and bearing he displayed came from Giovanni, the nobleman, doctor, and priest. He simply never noticed the habits and atmosphere that surfaced on their own.
“Your pre-meal bread.”
“Thank you.”
Ji-oh’s heart gave a little jump.
Bread.
It had been so long that even a simple lump of flour felt this welcome. The memory of meals shared with his disciples when he had lived as Giovanni made the moment even sweeter.
Yu Seong-un seemed to have guessed his mood.
“You like bread?”
“Don’t worry. There’s nothing I won’t eat, and I don’t pick at my food.”
“You really do love to eat…”
“I do.”
Ji-oh tore off a small piece of the bread and set it on his side plate.
Small and round.
Then, instead of finishing it in one go, he broke it into smaller pieces and ate them little by little. Yu Seong-un watched the mannerisms that belonged so clearly to Giovanni.
“…….”
Inwardly, Yu Seong-un became certain.
He must have been nobility… or something of equivalent rank.
Looking at the careful etiquette he applied to every single bite, there was no other conclusion.
It didn’t stand out much at the Korean restaurant. Did he have some connection to France? Or maybe, separate from that, something Western in general…
While Yu Seong-un pondered, Ji-oh continued his meal.
“The bread is delicious.”
“Yeah? The aroma is nice, at least.”
“It’s mild and nutty.”
The crust was dry enough to seem almost brittle, yet it was not hard or tough the way a poorly made loaf would be.
Inside the pastry-like, shatteringly crisp shell waited soft, steaming crumb.
Definitely not the texture of sandwich bread or a morning roll. Closest thing I can think of is ciabatta, but even then it’s ridiculously soft compared to what I know…
It was as if meringue had been whipped into delicate layers, and between those layers lived a fragile chewiness.
One variation from the crisp crust, another from the soft, airy crumb, and a third from the gentle chew that melted away—there was real pleasure in the chewing.
The bread itself carried the clean, nutty flavor of the grain, and the faint wood-smoke of the oven was excellent as well.
Nothing overdone. Harmonious overall.
I want to kidnap whoever made this.
“This oil is good too.”
“Right? They say it’s a blend of olive and mushroom.”
“Olive and mushroom?”
“Both are improved dungeon cultivars. It might suit your palate even better.”
“It’s certainly a unique approach. I like it.”
Ordinarily the oil for dipping pre-meal bread came with balsamic vinegar.
That sticky grape vinegar was prized for its sharp, deep flavor, yet this oil contained salt instead.
It almost feels like eating raw fish.
For a moment Ji-oh recalled a mermaid with dark blue hair. A proud, prickly child.
…Aria hated strong flavors so much she always liked dipping bread in oil without vinegar. Salt like this would have been fine too… I just never thought of it back then.
Then again, salt had been expensive; stocking plenty of it had never been easy. Even living in a coastal village, salt remained a precious ingredient.
“…….”
It really does taste like sashimi.
Bread whose crumb texture remained vivid yet soft and yielding. Just as one might dip marbled tuna belly into oil and salt, this living bread invited the same appreciation.
…Because the oil and salt are together, the aroma is amplified while the natural sweetness of the grain stands out even more. It pairs perfectly with the texture of freshly baked bread.
While he was still nibbling the bread, the second course arrived.
“Onion soup with three cheeses.”
Unlike the creamy soups most people imagined, this was a clear brown broth that relied entirely on the sweetness and savoriness of onion.
“…….”
A broad layer of deep yellow and orange cheese, melted to exactly the right color, covered the surface so completely that the soup itself was invisible.
Ji-oh gently lifted a spoonful.
The cheese isn’t that thick.
Unlike the crisp, baked surface of the cheese, the underside was delicate and soft. Because it had been resting against the onion soup, the rich savoriness of well-caramelized onion clung to it.
The layers of onion are still distinct. Soft enough to crush against the tongue, yet the original shape remains so clear—this soup must have been made with extreme care. It would have taken a long time.
Cheese over onion soup was the most natural of combinations, yet Ji-oh had never liked the cheese to be too thick. Personally he disliked the way cheese turned rubbery once the soup and bowl cooled.
Some people might say it’s like the radish or meat in a clear soup, that it makes the texture richer… but not me. I want to eat soup.
This bowl, however, kept a gentle warmth, and the cheese was neither too thin nor too thick—perfect for scooping. As a result the pure flavor of the onion seemed even more vivid.
“…….”
“Like it?”
“It makes my whole body feel warm. I like it.”
“Onion soup does have a bit of that restorative quality.”
“I feel the same.”
The process of slowly cooking hard white onions until they turned deep caramel brown was the true heart of onion soup. Burn them or undercook them and all you got was bland onion water, not savoriness.
But this soup, which had wrung every last drop of sweetness, savoriness, and fragrance from the onions, deserved to be called restorative. Ordinary care and time could never have drawn out the onion’s full flavor to this degree.
Kidnap.
Kidnap the chef.
“Cheese-flower salad with amra purée.”
At the newly arrived dish and the unfamiliar word, Ji-oh naturally turned to Yu Seong-un.
A beautiful salad: flower-shaped cheese dotted across a pale yellow sauce, surrounded by carefully prepared petals.
“…….”
“…….”
An explanation was required.
“…….”
“Ah… curious about the ingredients?”
“If you don’t mind, may I ask what amra is?”
“One of the representative fruits successfully improved after being brought out of a dungeon. Do you know avocado?”
“I do.”
“It has similarly soft flesh, but the nutty aroma is as strong as actual nuts. The oil content in the flesh is enormous, and that oil doesn’t burn even at high temperatures, so it’s often used in Chinese cooking.”
“And the flesh itself…?”
“That’s the thing—I’ve never seen amra used as a purée before either. Last season they were still serving a fruit salad. Istua changes its menu every four months, so there’s always something new to look forward to.”
“I see.”
The fruit called amra was a pale yellow even lighter than a chick’s down.
…Nutty on the level of peanuts or walnuts.
Yet it did not immediately call nuts to mind. If anything, it resembled the nuttiness and sweetness that appeared after chewing rice for a long time.
Then at the end a honey-like deep sweetness and the bright tartness of fruit would strike, creating a variation in flavor.
Definitely oily. Almost like the marbling in beef…
That sweet oiliness, somehow reminiscent of bone broth, paired wonderfully with the refreshing petals. Ji-oh’s gaze naturally settled on the cheese flowers, which resembled azaleas in shape.
“…….”
When he gently split one open, he could tell it had grown this way from the beginning—an actual flower.
“…The cheese flowers…”
“Interested? Want me to get you some seedlings later?”
“Please do.”
“All right. I’ll buy some on the way back after the trip.”
“Thank you.”
A flower that grew into cheese— the idea was enough to drag every scrap of childhood wonder out of hiding and set it fluttering. It was the sort of being that belonged only in the fairy-tale books one read as a child.
When you think about the laborious process humans go through to make cheese, this flower is incredibly attractive.
What was cheese, after all? A symbol of effort—milk stirred and rolled endlessly until only a tiny amount remained.
For such a processed food to simply bloom as a flower was astonishing. The petals were thin and as beautiful as a work of art.
How does it even work? The flavor itself is close to Tête de Moine…
A semi-hard cheese that held its shape yet crumbled at a touch. It possessed the gentle creaminess of milk while boasting a strong nutty aroma and a sharp, peppery bite.
The cheese flower was a little more pungent on the tongue than Tête de Moine, yet never unpleasantly so. It was just enough to cut through the rich amra purée and the natural greasiness of the cheese.
The harmony is so perfect I half wonder if the chef is a living cultural treasure.
Above all, the cheese flower was twice as sweet and nutty as Tête de Moine, and somewhere in it one could even taste the flavor of honey. It was the fragile sweetness one found when sucking the nectar from an azalea blossom as a child.
That sweetness matched the flower salad with terrifying perfection. Ji-oh’s thoughts already raced ahead to planting the flower back at his cabin.
“You look truly happy.”
“Yes.”
What an obvious thing to say.
“Humans are always happiest when they’re eating.”
“Uh… is that so?”
“At least I am.”
It had been that way ever since he was a child picking roasted potatoes from his grandmother’s hearth. He had never been able to free himself from this most visceral of pleasures.
After that the fantastical course continued. A gratin heavy with the scent of truffle, French fries lightly crowned with cheese, brisket slowly roasted at low temperature and scented with wood, garlic chips fried crisp on top.
For French cuisine, famous for its richness, the course was so delicately balanced that one never grew tired of it.
“Was it decent?”
“Not merely decent—it was excellent.”
“You look like you enjoyed it, so I’m glad…”
If you’re going to imitate a human, maybe at least pretend to notice the people around you?
Humans are more social creatures than you think…
Yu Seong-un, who had spent the entire meal absorbing every “What the hell is that?” stare in Ji-oh’s place, smiled a little bitterly.
(To be continued)