* * *
“That’s an unusual scent. Is it edible?”
“Yes. It’s fine.”
The exotic chef Felix had summoned for the first time served a dish that closely resembled pilaf.
It was certainly spicier than what the castle’s chefs usually made, but it still lacked the deep, fiery heat that Lowell craved.
Felix took a bite and immediately covered his mouth—whether it was the spiciness or the distinctive aroma, his nausea, which had been improving, suddenly worsened.
‘Well, at least this has some spice to it.’
Lowell still missed the rich, spicy fried rice soaked in flavorful broth, but he figured he should be satisfied with this much.
He ate more than he had at lunch, and Felix seemed relieved.
But that sense of relief shattered that very night.
Just as usual, Lowell was asleep—until he suddenly woke in the middle of the night.
“Lowell, another nightmare?”
Felix, ever sensitive, immediately noticed Lowell stirring and woke up as well.
Lowell was clenching his teeth with an expression Felix had never seen before.
He looked either angry or frustrated.
Felix, convinced something serious had happened, sat up and gently brushed Lowell’s face.
“What’s wrong? Did something bad happen?”
“I’m fine.”
Lowell let out a deep sigh, but he looked oddly dejected.
Felix, still anxious, ran his hands from Lowell’s shoulders down to his waist, checking for any signs of distress.
“Lowell, don’t keep things from me. If something serious happens, it’ll be too late to fix it.”
The faint light of the crescent moon spilled onto the bed.
Lowell’s hands trembled.
But the problem felt too trivial to confess to the deeply concerned Felix.
‘I just really want some stir-fried pork!’
Yet, the craving was so intense that he couldn’t shake it off.
“Lowell.”
How was he supposed to explain that to Felix?
Even if he said “stir-fried pork,” Felix wouldn’t understand.
Besides, telling someone who looked that serious that he couldn’t sleep because he was craving food just felt ridiculous.
“I can’t let this go on. I’m calling a priest.”
But the longer Lowell kept his mouth shut, the more Felix’s worry snowballed.
Eventually, Lowell had no choice but to raise the white flag.
“I just remembered something I really want to eat.”
“…What?”
“There’s a dish I’m craving so badly that I can’t sleep.”
Lowell buried his face in his hands.
The fact that he couldn’t eat what he wanted was infuriating, and having to admit that it was keeping him up at night was, to put it bluntly, humiliating.
Felix, at first, looked doubtful—was that really why he was so worked up?
“Are you seriously upset over that?”
“Why would I lie in this situation?”
But the way Lowell licked his lips gave it away.
Felix had no choice but to believe him.
It was a little bewildering, but food was important, after all.
“Then just ask them to make it now.”
Lowell, however, wasn’t shameless enough to do that.
Waking up the servants in the middle of the night to cook for him would go against every instinct of his past life as a working adult.
That was a line he refused to cross.
“It’s fine. Eating at night isn’t good for your health anyway.”
“But you’re not even able to sleep.”
“If I just lie down with my eyes closed, I’ll be fine.”
Lowell pulled the blanket over himself, signaling the end of the conversation.
Felix, unwilling to drag him out of bed against his will, simply muttered, “Alright,” and lay back down beside him.
But no matter how much Lowell tossed and turned, he couldn’t calm down.
‘White rice with fatty stir-fried pork… It’d be so good, wouldn’t it?’
His craving only grew stronger.
After spending the whole night wide awake, Lowell finally made a decision.
“I need to borrow the kitchen.”
Waiting around for someone to feed him wasn’t his style.
‘If you want something done right, you do it yourself.’
For the first time in a while, Lowell’s eyes burned with determination.
“Borrow the kitchen? For what exactly?”
Felix, barely awake, was caught off guard by Lowell’s abrupt words.
He tried to grab Lowell, who was hurriedly changing clothes, but stopping someone with this much conviction was impossible.
“Obviously, I’m going to cook! I should’ve just made it myself from the start.”
“Isn’t that what chefs are for? More importantly, can you even cook?”
No matter how much his family had cast him aside, Lowell was still a noble’s son.
There was no way he had been taught how to cook.
Lowell hesitated for a split second but decided to push forward.
More than anything, his craving for stir-fried pork refused to die down.
“Don’t worry, just leave it to me.”
When Lowell dragged Felix down to the kitchen, the servants who were preparing breakfast tensed up.
They had already noticed Lowell’s dissatisfaction with the food lately, especially since a new chef had been hired, and now they thought, ‘So the trouble has finally started.’
“Would it be alright if I borrowed a corner of the kitchen?”
Lowell asked politely, trying to ease the stiff atmosphere.
The servants glanced at Felix, who loomed behind Lowell like a shadow.
Their expressions said it all—‘What’s going on? Is it really okay to let him cook?’
“Let him do as he pleases.”
Even Felix was unsettled by this.
Meanwhile, Lowell rolled up his sleeves and checked the ingredients.
“Is there any leftover pork?”
“Ah, here.”
The head chef, though clearly displeased, had no choice but to respond.
He led Lowell to the storage, where cuts of meat were kept cold with ice magic.
“Can I use this?”
“That part doesn’t have much lean meat, so we rarely use it.”
The chef carefully avoided saying that it was usually discarded, but Lowell hummed in satisfaction.
It wasn’t exactly like pork belly, but it was closer than using pork shoulder.
“That’s fine. I’ll use this.”
From that moment on, Lowell’s hands moved nonstop.
‘No green onions, so I’ll use leeks.’
It wouldn’t taste the same, but he had to make do.
As soon as he picked up a kitchen knife, the tension in the room spiked.
Felix, about to stop him, was taken aback by Lowell’s swift, precise movements.
‘Well, at least I haven’t forgotten how to chop things.’
His body remembered more than he expected.
“You’re good at this.”
Felix, impressed by Lowell’s steady rhythm, let him be.
Unlike modern frying pans, the one here was uneven and rustic, but Lowell heated it up with some leek-infused oil, then added the pork.
As it sizzled, he sprinkled in a little sugar, followed by roughly chopped onions.
The onlookers, mesmerized, couldn’t take their eyes off him.
Completely focused on his dish, Lowell didn’t even notice.
He was busy searching for something to substitute mirin.
‘Even a mild liquor would help.’
But the bigger problem was the gochujang.
“Do you have any chili paste?”
The head chef frowned.
“We have a little, but… it’s quite spicy and has a strange taste.”
“That’s fine.”
Lowell sighed at the lack of soy sauce but proceeded anyway, mixing in chili paste and red pepper powder.
“You’re adding that much garlic? It’ll be too spicy!”
“It’s fine.”
* * *
