Syfer’s mother had already passed away. She was a hard worker who loved her family, smiled often, and ate a lot. Her favorite food was, as expected, white rice. She too fell victim to beriberi, with all the boxes checked off. After her death, Syfer became an adventurer to support his family financially.
It had been two years since then. I had no way of bringing someone back to life.
“Syfer...”
That was beyond my abilities. What a powerless man I was. Alternatively, if I had been transported to this world a few years back, could I have prevented this tragedy?
“But you’re going to avenge her, Sir Eiji. With Senzu and gagd meat.”
There were no more tears in Syfer’s eyes as he said this and smiled at me. The seasons of his heart were turning. He’s strong, I thought.
In just two years, a seventeen-year-old boy was beginning to overcome the death of his parents and walk towards the future. The impression of sorrow I felt in that very strength must have been a product of my arrogance.
“We aren’t in Japan anymore,” Tiamat said, with a slightly conservative tone.
“Life isn’t worth as much. Many lives are born and many lives are lost, every day. They’re desperate just to survive. No time to spend mourning the dead.”
And there are places like that on Earth, even today. My homeland just happens to be one of the most peaceful and wealthy places on the planet. Mister Hero, who hailed from that peaceful and wealthy country, must have felt sorry for the lives of the people here. That’s why he taught them some simple joys of life, like better food and a hot bath.
“Not out of malice, most likely. Out of desire, perhaps.”
The desire for validation, acknowledgment, popularity. While he might have had those desires, I suspected that he felt pity for these people. He must have wanted to do something about this world, where everyone was struggling to survive.
“And that was definitely in good faith. In a court of law, anyway.”
In Japanese law, good faith (or bona fides in Latin) can translate to the defendant being unaware of a certain fact, not necessarily as any indication of morality. The hero wasn’t aware of the beriberi epidemic caused by the popularization of white rice and lack of balanced diets. He just wanted people to have good food. Therefore, he wouldn’t be held responsible in a court of law, and I had no intention whatsoever of prosecuting the man.
“You’re harsher than I am, Eiji.” Tiamat chuckled.
Even as we conversed, people were tasting the beet sugar. One clump after another. In fact, the team was starting on a second batch. I had thought we were only in for a tasting today. Why were they cranking up the gears for another batch?
“Before you can worry about that, our first batch is beginning to run out. At this rate, we won’t be able to taste any Zunda.”
“You said it. We have to stop them.”
With that, I intended to notify everyone to stop the tasting, when I was frozen in my tracks. Everyone was glaring at me! Boy, was that scary! Even the gentle Mister Milon and the formal Mister Garish were staring at me for trying to bring the tasting to a halt.
Was the sugar that good? It wasn’t all that sweet, and had a strange taste to it. It didn’t seem like much of a success. To me, it had only seemed less than pointless because we were able to yield more of it than expected. Why was I afraid for my life just for moving to cut off the tasting?
As I shuffled backward out of cowardice, Tiamat stood in front of me as if to protect me behind her back.
“Calm down, everyone.”
The clamoring room began to quiet down. Wow. I was awed by the power of a dragon’s voice.
There were some twists and turns, but we settled on making a trial batch of Zunda.
Syfer and Gorun pounded the steamed white rice. Since we were without proper equipment, we just threw it in some container and were poking it with some random stick. It seemed like quite the workout. As expected, it didn’t stretch as well as mochi rice.
“It looks delicious in its own right, though.”
This was the kind of mochi used for Ohagi and other treats. Personally, I didn’t dislike it.
“This would be a type of Uru mochi, which uses Uruchi, or gluten-free, rice,” Tiamat explained.
Meanwhile Millia, Maley, and the other ladies were creating the Zunda paste. The recipe was very simple. Grind down peeled edamame, stir in any amount of sugar, and add salt to taste. That was it. However, the beet sugar we created was of a bronze color, which could muddy the edamame’s beautiful green. We had to be careful not to overuse the sugar.
Besides, judging by the reaction from earlier, people here were not used to sweetness. Everything we’ve worked for would be in vain if people started developing different diseases from overconsuming sugar. It was probably best that we kept the sweetness subtle.
It wasn’t until our sixth batch or so when we had our first match of pleasing color and gentle flavor. All of the previous batches were utterly oversweetened. They kept putting in so much sugar that I was about to ask if they were screwing it up on purpose. 50 grams of sugar in 100 grams of edamame? Who in their right mind thought that was appropriate?
While this would vary a bit by preference, we figured out that we only needed about five grams of sugar for every 100 grams of edamame. That’s about a packet of sugar, for your reference. The failed batches, by the way, were properly disposed of by the ladies, Baze, and Hieronymus.
And so, our Zunda mochi was complete. I took another bite-size piece. I had done nothing but eat all day, and, at this point, I was getting tired of the sweetness. I could have definitely gone for some meat.
“Hm...”
After trying it, edamame and beet sugar paired better than expected. They were great along with the mochi too. Could this really work?
“What do you think? Mister Milon, Miss Millia?”
I turned to our sponsor and his daughter.
“It’s wonderful! Simply wonderful, Sir Eiji!”
His compliments came with tears. This was too much.
“Will it sell?”
That was the million-dollar question. With the people of Lishua not used to any kind of sweetness, I was sure that they would accept the dish’s taste. That much I could tell by watching the tasting, but our problem laid with the price. Set it too high and commoners would not be able to afford it, and business wouldn’t last if there was no profit made from each sale. This was something we had to think through.
“We would need to charge for labor.”
The ingredients were practically free since they were livestock feed and the roots of a weed. However, harvest and treatment cost time and money. This had to be accurately accounted for in its price.
“I would have to do the actual calculations, but I imagine that a price for one would be about one silver coin.”
That was pretty steep. About 1000 yen or so. At that price I doubted anyone in modern-day Japan would buy it. Still, with no industrialization and all work done by hand, it was undeniable that labor costs would skyrocket in comparison.
“Does that include your cut, Mister Milon?”
“With my cut, I would price it at one silver coin and one bronze coin.”
“That’s not enough.”
He had to set up at least a 30% profit margin for himself. If Mister Milon’s business were to go down, we, and eventually the entire city of Lishua, would suffer.
In the end, we set the price temporarily at one silver coin and three bronze coins. There was no point in considering shelf life at this stage. We would only allow people to eat it at the establishment. No take-outs, since there was no form of preservatives. The dish wouldn’t last at all. If we didn’t have them eat it right away, it would spoil before they knew it... especially once it was summer. The beet sugar itself should, once completely dehydrated, last for a while though.
“I understand.”
“I’m glad you understand, Syfer. Now take the sugar out of your pocket.”
“Well... I just wanted my little brothers to have a taste...”
“At least wrap it in something... Why would you shove it straight into your pocket?”
Very telling of the hygienic standards of this world.