Chapter 34: Chicken Karaage

Thud!  

Irim landed in front of Ferguson’s blacksmith shop.  

A distance that would’ve taken over 10 minutes on foot was covered in just one minute using the Paragliding Mode.  

The Kilby Queen Cape lost its adhesive grip and returned to its normal state, leaving no unpleasant stickiness on Irim’s body.  

Meanwhile, nearby players were stunned to see him drop from the sky.  

“What was that?”  

“He just came down from the sky? An NPC?”  

“He’s hiding his nickname, but he seems like a player.”  

“Is he a mage? Wait, are there even players who’ve awakened as mages?”  

“There are. It’s a super rare class, so I’ve never seen one myself, but there are sightings posted on the cafe. Still… no one’s mentioned flying.”  

Ignoring the players’ murmurs, Irim entered the second floor of the blacksmith shop.  

There, Paltau was still fast asleep in his rocking chair.  

Snooze~!  

Irim headed to the kitchen.  

Ferguson, who had been watching something, flinched at the sound of Irim’s approach.  

“Oh, you’re here.”  

“Have you been here the whole time?”  

“No, I just came up.”  

Irim approached him.  

Ferguson was staring at the meat Irim had left marinating in soy sauce.  

“I really hope this can change my father somehow…”  

“I’ll do my best.”  

“I’ll be downstairs.”  

Ferguson tactfully left to give Irim space.  

Irim took out the marinated meat and poured cooking oil into a pot, placing it over the fire.  

After a while, he pinched off a tiny piece of meat, about the size of a grain of rice, and dropped it into the oil.  

Sizzle—  

The meat sank briefly before rising to the surface with bubbles.  

The oil crackled like a sudden downpour, frying the meat.  

Perfect.  

Irim lightly coated the marinated meat with potato starch and dropped it into the oil.  

Ssssssh!  

The starch-coated pieces began frying in unison.  

The savory aroma of frying filled Irim’s nose.  

This is driving me crazy.  

How long had it been since he’d smelled the rich scent of fried food?  

The unmistakable aroma of fried chicken, like the kind that hits you at the entrance of a chicken shop, made his mouth water.  

It was a different beast from the smell of grilled food or the smoky char of a flame.  

Frying makes everything delicious—it’s a universal truth.  

How could something that smells this good not taste amazing?  

The frying aroma filled the kitchen and wafted into the room.  

Snooze~  

Paltau’s nose twitched as he slept.  

“Hm?”  

He opened his eyes.  

As his vision cleared, he saw Irim cooking in the kitchen.  

“What? When did you get here?”  

Paltau called out, but Irim didn’t even glance his way.  

For a moment, Paltau thought he was being ignored.  

But that wasn’t it.  

Irim’s entire focus was on the meat frying in the pot.  

Paltau sensed it too.  

Sniff, sniff.  

He closed his mouth and flared his nostrils wider.  

This smell…  

It was eerily similar to a nostalgic scent buried in his memory.  

As if entranced, Paltau walked into the kitchen.  

Irim, oblivious to Paltau’s approach, was wholly absorbed in his cooking.  

When Irim cooked, he tuned out the world, immersed in his own realm.  

Sizzle, sizzle.  

The meat, coated in white potato starch, turned golden-brown as it fried.  

Not yet.  

Taking it out now would leave the inside undercooked.  

Frying isn’t as simple as it seems.  

If the oil’s too hot, the outside burns while the inside stays raw.  

If it’s too cool, the food absorbs too much oil and becomes greasy, losing its crispness.  

The key is frying at the right temperature for the right amount of time.  

Mastering that basic principle creates the perfect fry.  

Irim used tongs to gently turn the pieces, gauging the ideal timing.  

The surface of the chicken shifted from golden to a rich brown.  

Now.  

Irim’s eyes flashed.  

He lifted the fried chicken with tongs, shaking off excess oil, and placed each piece carefully onto a prepared strainer.  

The chicken karaage sat neatly on the strainer, still glistening as it shed excess oil.  

Paltau’s gaze was glued to it, unblinking.  

Gulp!  

He swallowed hard without realizing it.  

Only then did Irim notice Paltau’s presence.  

“Oh, you’re awake.”  

Paltau, still fixated on the food, asked, “What’s this?”  

“It’s called chicken karaage. It’s similar to fried chicken.”  

“Hmm… it does seem like it.”  

The coating looked thinner but still crispy, and the aroma was reminiscent of fried chicken.  

“Is it done?”  

Paltau instinctively reached for a piece, but Irim slapped his hand away.  

“Wait.”  

Flinch!  

Paltau was startled by Irim’s firm gaze.  

The gentle youth he’d met earlier had transformed, exuding a commanding presence.  

When it came to food, Irim was uncompromising.  

He believed a chef’s duty was to serve their dish in its most delicious state.  

“It’ll be greasy if you eat it now. The oil needs to drain more. While we wait, I’ll make the sauce.”  

Irim took out a Mayonejo egg, cracked it into a bowl, and added salt and sugar, mixing swiftly to create mayonnaise.  

He then added honey and some lemon juice he found in the kitchen, stirring well.  

The sauce was complete.  

Irim turned to Paltau.  

“Can you handle another beer?”  

Paltau nodded eagerly.  

“As many as you want.”  

“Then grab some. If it’s not too much trouble, could you get one for me too?”  

Irim tested the waters.  

He’d found it odd from the start that Paltau was drinking beer.  

There were no places selling alcohol in Tirko Village.  

Yet Paltau was always drowning in drink—where was he getting it all?  

Paltau grabbed two glasses, dashed downstairs, and returned quickly.  

The empty glasses were now filled with rich, dark beer.  

Ferguson trailed behind the excited Paltau.  

“Father, I told you to stop drinking!”  

His shout cut off as his eyes landed on the food on the table.  

A plate of bite-sized, mouthwatering fried food.  

Irim smiled at the father and son.  

“Let’s eat.”  

As if spellbound, Paltau and Ferguson approached the table.  

The savory aroma filled the air.  

Paltau picked up a piece of karaage with a fork.  

Crunch.  

The fork pierced the thin, crispy coating, the tactile and audible feedback already making his mouth water.  

“What’s this…?”  

“Chicken karaage.”  

Ferguson also grabbed a piece with his fork.  

The two bit into their pieces simultaneously.  

Crunch, crunch.  

The initial texture was, as expected, delightfully crispy.  

At the same time, an indescribably rich, savory aroma hit their nostrils with force.  

“!”  

Paltau’s eyes widened.  

This was the exact texture and smell of the fried chicken he’d longed for.  

But as his teeth sank into the perfectly cooked meat, it was clear this wasn’t fried chicken.  

The meat burst with juice, like a gush of fresh juice!  

Fried chicken couldn’t deliver this level of succulence.  

This was a realm only achievable by frying chicken to perfection.  

“Mmm.”  

Ferguson let out a groan as he chewed.  

The juiciness was one thing, but the sweet-salty marinade infused into the meat was divine.  

Gulp!  

Both father and son swallowed in unison.  

By then, Irim couldn’t hold back and was savoring a piece himself.  

Oh…  

Words failed him.  

Chicken is always right.  

Any dish made with chicken is a winner.  

Frying chicken? 

That’s the mark of a master.  

The perfect crispness of the coating, the rich flavor of the juicy meat, and the unmistakable savory aroma of fried food.  

It was a flawless trifecta.  

Irim’s hand moved like magic to the beer glass.  

The glass was surprisingly cold.  

With the lingering taste of karaage still in his mouth, he took a big swig of beer.  

Gulp, gulp.  

“Mmm!”  

It was insane.  

The sharp, fizzy beer hit his throat with a refreshing sting, an indescribable ecstasy.  

The cold beer washed away any hint of greasiness, leaving a clean finish.  

“Haaa.”  

Irim sighed with satisfaction.  

Seeing this, Paltau hurriedly downed his beer.  

Gulp, gulp!  

“Kraaah!”  

Slam!  

He slammed the glass onto the table, his face contorted with delight.  

Chicken and beer—the ultimate combo.  

Chimaek is the truth.  

“This is…”  

Paltau didn’t know what to say.  

His tongue still couldn’t fully taste, but the texture and rich aroma of the karaage brought immense satisfaction.  

It surpassed the fried chicken in his memory.  

Paltau and Ferguson’s hands moved quickly, devouring the karaage.  

Irim only managed to eat three pieces.  

Having cleared the plate, Paltau closed his eyes tightly.  

Irim studied his face, wondering, Did I clear the quest?  

The yellow exclamation mark above Ferguson’s head hadn’t disappeared yet.  

“Young chef.”  

Paltau opened his eyes and called out to Irim.  

“Yes?”  

“Thanks to your dish, I remembered something I’d forgotten.”  

“What do you mean…?”  

“The Demon King’s machinations caused humanity to lose much. Not just cultural achievements, but for some, even their memories.”

“I was one of those people, and I only realized it now. To revive those memories, you need a key. Your dish was that key for me.”  

Paltau’s words revealed another piece of the game’s lore to Irim.  

People had lost not only their cultural heritage but also their memories.  

To recover them, a trigger—a key—was needed.  

Irim had just provided that.  

Ferguson, standing beside Paltau, also looked like he’d recalled something.  

“I remember too, Father.”  

Paltau turned to him.  

“You forgot as well, didn’t you?”  

Nodding, Ferguson’s eyes reddened.  

For a year, both father and son had forgotten something precious, and now they’d recalled it together.