When we arrived at the town of Tibar, the sun had long since set. It appeared the road conditions in this world were rather good. Also, the wagon had illumination mana tools that allowed it to travel at night if desired. Still, that wasn’t the safest option, so it was rarely taken. But as the driver had a golem wielder like me as a bodyguard and his cargo was perishable, it was both somewhat necessary and somewhat easier to do so this time. In any case, we had no problems.
After we returned to Mr. Chotos’s home and put young Teru to bed, three men sat in the living room to drink alcohol and snack on Mr. Chotos’s promised potato dish. I thought of it as a modest celebration for Mr. Chotos repaying his debt. The roster for this banquet included Mr. Chotos, me, and Ginem Bari. Gol folded laundry behind me.
Yup, Ginem Bari sat with us. I had forced him to come to Mr. Chotos’s house. He’d resisted, but I was to blame for all his injuries. My moral code refused to simply abandon him and go on my way.
If I thought logically about sitting down to drink with someone who had tried to kill me, it really didn’t make sense. Mr. Chotos was definitely baffled, and Ginem Bari was bewildered. But I couldn’t help it. I mean, I felt bad that while Mr. Chotos and I had been planning to drink, Ginem was being left out.
More importantly, the snack we shared with our drinks, the potato dish, used normal-looking potatoes, though they were slightly different from the ones in my original world. They were a little larger and a bit elongated. However, the difference in appearance was so slight it seemed like a mere graphics error.
We got this world’s version of potatoes from the old driver when he heard us excitedly discussing potato varieties. He ended up stopping at a village along the way and buying them for us. That grandpa really took good care of us all the way to the very end of the journey.
When we got home, Mr. Chotos skillfully prepared the potatoes in the kitchen. He boiled them, mashed them, and mixed them together with milk, eggs, butter, and salt.
You’re quite the cook, huh, mister? You’re a model single father caring for his child.
He poured the runny potato mix into a mold, plopped a small scrambled egg on top, and finished with a brush of a sweet-and-sour red sauce. He placed everything into an oven-like mana tool set and baked it until golden brown, at which point the kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma. Finally, the strange potato dish from another world was complete.
However, how can I properly describe the appearance of this pie made from potatoes? Mr. Chotos placed the round dish on a large plate, cut it into slices with a knife, and set it on the table together with wine and grilled fish that resembled rainbow trout (we had bought it together with the potatoes at that one village.)
When I took a bite of the potato dish, my eyelids fluttered in satisfaction. Ah, it was like the potato version of Yorkshire pudding. Freshly baked, soft and flaky, and utterly delicious. Most importantly, the unfamiliar aroma overflowing with the emotions of this new world was…nice.
Mr. Chotos told us a story as we ate. Apparently, this was a classic home-cooked dish of this world and his deceased wife had often made it, though he claimed her version was far more delicious.
As Mr. Chotos and I talked potatoes, the bandaged Ginem Bari quietly chewed and muttered, “Accenting a dish with the unique aroma of sweet peppers is characteristic of far western cuisine.”
It was the first thing Ginem Bari had said since entering Mr. Chotos’s house.
“Is this a western dish, mister?” I asked.
“Hm? Ah. Yes. My late wife was born in the west,” Mr. Chotos replied.
“Huh…you know a lot, huh, Ginem? Are you also a potato dish enthusiast?” I asked.
“Hey, Nemaki, I ain’t some kinda enthusiast, got it?” Mr. Chotos snapped. “I just desperately tried to recreate this by imitating others so Teru could enjoy it like…like she used to make…”
“Ah, yeah, yeah. I get it, I get it. You keep repeating yourself. Hey, mister, you’re pretty drunk already, huh?”
As I bantered with the red-faced middle-aged man, Ginem Bari stared at the half-eaten potato dish with an odd cast of shame and said, “I was…also born in the west.”
“Hmph,” I said.
“It’s a nostalgic flavor. Just like the one my mom used to make for me as a kid,” Ginem said.
Before long, the hopeless Mr. Chotos had descended into the kind of drunk where he babbled fondly about his late wife with reddened eyes. This man was so devoted to her memory that it was kind of sad.
The utterly sauced merchant told his tale with tears welling. Back when he peddled as a young man, he had stopped by a small town in the far west, where he met and fell in love with a hairdresser’s daughter. She had beautiful chestnut hair and an innocent smile, making her exceptionally adorable. She was like an angel. The first two times he confessed his love to her, she rejected him. Yet he persisted, visiting the hairdresser whenever his bushy hair grew out. Finally, she gave in.
As the pair peddled through the territories together, they saved money until they could open a shop in Tibar. They were also nearly on the verge of giving up on children when they were blessed with one five years ago. Their adorable baby girl was born on a cold, snowy night. Mr. Chotos spent those days in bliss with his gentle wife and daughter.
Then both wife and daughter fell gravely ill. As his sickly wife weakened, she entrusted their daughter’s future to him. The last thing his wife told him was that she was happy. Those words had continued to support him through all the tough times.
Jeez, such a pure love story was like poison to the ears of single guys like Ginem Bari and me. I silently chugged the oddly salty wine left in my cup.
“Like I said…I would…no matter how much hair I lost… Just this hairstyle…filled with her feelings…” Mr. Chotos belched forlornly.
“Jeez,” I slurred. “You’ve gone an’ talked and drunk yourself t’sleep. What a hopeless drunkard, ha ha.”
At this moment, I heard sniffling from somewhere—like someone sobbing. When I looked to my side, I was surprised to find Ginem Bari crying.
Ughhh, come on! Give me a break.
“Ginem, don’ tell me yer cryin’ from Mr. Chotos’s love story. Jeez, yer a pitiful guy…”
“Guh… Yer sayin’ that, but aren’t you cryin’, too, Nemaki?” Ginem sniffed.
“Huh? Me, cryin’?” I sniffed. “I want you to stop…spreadin’ such base slander.”
Ginem Bari and I carried the lovely late wife’s drunken widower back to his bedroom so he wouldn’t catch a cold.
The night in sleepy Tibar wore quietly on. The starry sky peeked through the small window of the bedroom I shared with Gol, twinkling silently.