Between Hatred and Friendship
As Megri carried the dishes to the table one by one, both Kai and Chino froze.
Steam rose gently, curling into soft clouds.
The golden pumpkin soup released a rich, natural sweetness.
The fruit-braised meat gleamed invitingly, its flesh so tender it looked as though it might fall apart at a single touch.
And there was a plate of fried cakes, crisp and golden, their edges slightly curled, giving off faint pops of oil.
And then—
There was one more dish.
No matter how they looked at it, neither of them could tell what it was made from.
"…This is ridiculous,"
Chino muttered under his breath.
Kai said nothing, but his gaze had already locked onto the table, unable to look away.
Just then, the door opened.
Aaron was back.
The moment he stepped inside, the food caught his attention.
He stopped short, his nose twitching almost on instinct.
The next second—
he reached out, about to grab a piece of cake directly.
Smack.
A sharp sound echoed through the room.
"You just came in from outside,"
Megri looked up at him, her tone calm but leaving no room for argument.
"Wash your hands before touching the food."
Aaron instinctively pulled his hand back, clutching it, staring at her in disbelief.
"…Tch."
On the other side of the table—
Kai and Chino raised their hands almost simultaneously.
"We've already washed."
"Yeah. Both of us."
Their voices were uncannily in sync.
After speaking, they immediately sat down properly, backs straight, eyes fixed greedily on the food like children waiting for permission to eat.
Aaron watched the scene in silence for two seconds.
Then he sighed and turned toward the sink.
When he returned, Megri was already untying her apron, about to sit down.
Almost at the same time—
Kai stood up and pulled out the chair beside him.
Chino did the same on the other side.
"Sit here."
"Over here."
Their movements were so smooth it was as if they had rehearsed it.
Aaron stood there, frowning slightly.
Why are they suddenly this focused?
He didn't ask.
Compared to the food, nothing else seemed important.
He walked over in long strides and dropped into the chair beside Chino.
As the chair scraped against the floor—
Chino shot him a sharp glare.
Aaron, utterly oblivious, ignored him and focused on the table, eyes shining.
Because at this moment,
nothing in the world mattered more than this.
"Can we eat now?"
Aaron finally asked.
The tension around the table loosened instantly, like a tightly pulled string finally released.
Megri glanced at the three of them and nodded.
"Yes."
The moment she said it, three sets of utensils moved almost at once.
Chino was the first to act.
Already starving, he scooped up a large spoonful of pumpkin soup and brought it to his mouth—
The next second, he froze.
"…!"
His eyes slowly widened.
The moment the soup touched his tongue, sweetness and savory warmth bloomed together, sliding down his throat like a gentle flame kindled in his stomach—warm, comforting, never burning.
"Th-this is pumpkin?"
He looked at Megri uncertainly.
"Mm." She nodded.
Chino lowered his gaze to the bowl and took another sip, much slower this time.
"…It's nothing like what I've had before."
He said nothing more, simply continued eating, spoonful after spoonful.
Kai's movements were noticeably more restrained.
He tried the fruit-braised meat first.
When his knife cut into it, the meat parted with almost no effort.
The moment he tasted it—
his brow shifted slightly.
The fruit's sweetness wasn't bold or overpowering; it lingered within the juices, lightening what should have been a heavy flavor.
It was a delicate balance.
"…This dish,"
Kai lifted his eyes to Megri, his voice low,
"isn't something anyone can just make."
Megri merely smiled, saying nothing.
But in that instant, Kai knew—
This wasn't luck.
She truly understood what she was doing.
As for Aaron—
He had tried to keep his guard up.
Observe first. Act later.
But when Chino lifted one of the fried cakes—
the crisp surface cracked softly with a faint sound—
Aaron's gaze was immediately drawn to it.
He cleared his throat, as if convincing himself, then reached out and took one.
The first bite—
"…!"
He said nothing.
But his expression changed completely.
It wasn't just crispness.
It was contrast—crispy on the outside, soft within, carrying a subtle sweetness and oiliness.
Simple.
Yet impossible to stop eating.
He ate faster than anyone else.
By the time Aaron realized what he was doing, half the plate of cakes was gone.
"…Slow down,"
Chino finally protested.
Aaron shot him a glance, utterly unapologetic.
"Just replenishing my strength."
Kai didn't intervene.
His attention had already shifted to the dish whose ingredients none of them could identify.
Its pale color and smooth texture had been shaped into small mounds, lightly drizzled with oil that caught the light.
"This is…?"
Kai asked.
"Just try it,"
Megri replied, offering no explanation.
Chino dipped his spoon in first.
He was only curious—but the moment it entered his mouth—
he froze.
It was nothing like anything he knew.
No chunks. No fibers. Yet surprisingly substantial.
Smooth. Warm. Dense.
As if the food had been gently ground down, then soothed back into shape.
"…What is this?"
He took another bite without thinking.
Aaron, still wary, couldn't help following suit after seeing Chino's reaction.
Then he fell silent.
The dish didn't assault the senses with fragrance.
Instead, once in the mouth, it slowly claimed the entire space.
Not stimulating like meat.
Not fleeting like soup.
It was grounding.
So grounding it gave the illusion of something that could truly sustain a person.
Kai was the last to taste it.
He ate slowly.
Almost reverently.
One bite.
Then another.
The tension in his brow gradually eased.
"…This dish,"
he looked up at Megri, voice low and sincere,
"was made to help people survive."
Megri blinked.
She hadn't expected that description.
"This isn't food for nobles,"
Kai continued.
"It doesn't belong at a banquet."
"But it tells you—"
"Tomorrow, you'll make it through."
Chino nodded without hesitation.
By the third bite, Aaron finally frowned.
Not in suspicion, but confusion.
He looked down at the pale, delicate mash, scooped another spoonful, making sure his senses weren't lying.
"…Is this potato?" he asked.
Chino blinked. "Is it?"
But it didn't taste the same.
In their world, potatoes were the staple of commoners.
Cheap.
Filling.
Easy to store.
There were only a few ways to eat them—
Boiled whole.
Steamed and eaten plain.
Or chopped roughly and tossed into stew.
No one ever treated them.
There was no reason to.
As long as the stomach was full, that was enough.
And yet this dish—
The potatoes had been mashed into something smooth and delicate, soft but not watery.
The salt was perfectly balanced.
It required almost no chewing, yet slowly warmed the stomach.
It wasn't the food they knew.
And yet—
this was exactly the kind of food they ate every day.
"This isn't a salad, right?"
Chino hesitated.
"And not soup either."
Megri glanced at him casually, as if stating the obvious.
"I just steamed the potatoes and mashed them."
"Added a bit of salt, a little oil, and stirred slowly."
Aaron stared at her.
"…That's it?"
"That's it." She nodded.
Kai had remained silent until now.
Finally, he spoke.
"Then why has no one ever done this before?"
The question was gentle—
but heavy.
Megri didn't answer right away.
She looked at the nearly empty plate of mashed potatoes.
After a moment, she said:
"Because people thought there was no need."
Her voice was calm.
"As long as you're full, that's enough."
"Who would spend time treating food meant for commoners this way?"
The kitchen fell silent.
Chino let out a small, almost foolish laugh.
"But now… potatoes feel different."
"They were never bad to begin with,"
Megri replied.
"No one ever cared enough to see them."
At those words—
Kai's gaze shifted slightly.
He suddenly realized—
She hadn't used rare ingredients.
Nor expensive spices.
Nor food meant only for nobles.
She had taken the staple everyone looked down on—
and turned it into something irresistible.
That was far more dangerous than any delicacy.
Because it meant—
If she wanted to,
she could make an entire town
rethink what they ate every day.
And that kind of power—
had never existed only in the kitchen.