#1299 Junior’s Adventure – Backstage Battlefield 

I’m Junior. 

I was supposed to be invited to the royal castle for a welcome party they were kind enough to throw for me, but the moment I got there, everything started going off-script. 
Well, part of it is my poor planning, but still… 

Anyway, the point is, I’ve successfully infiltrated the royal castle. 
...Infiltrated? 

Strictly speaking, this isn’t anywhere near the party venue. 
It’s way more chaotic here, and in its own way, a lot livelier. 

“Appetizers are late! What’s taking so long?!” 
“We’ve gotta get every single plate filled before the guests arrive!” 
“What about the main dishes?! The stews won’t make it in time if we don’t start now!” 
“Make sure the drinks are prepared, too! Do we have enough wine in storage?!” 
“We’re short on hands! We need more people, now!” 

Hmm, this is... 

The kitchen. 
The place where they make the food. 

Judging from the frantic pace, this must be where they’re preparing for tonight’s party. 
Big events always crank up the chaos. 

Everyone’s got bloodshot eyes, knives flashing, pots clattering, moving like part of a living machine that spits out dish after dish. 
The atmosphere is almost fierce. 

“Hey, you there! Don’t just stand around, get cooking already!” 

The one shouting at me is the girl who brought me here. 

Now that I take a closer look, she’s wearing a white shirt and an apron tied around her waist. 
The unmistakable outfit of… well, a cook. Or at least an apprentice one. 
Is that why she dragged me here? 

“Big parties like this mean we waitstaff are swamped! I swear, the President’s got no idea what kind of hell we go through!” 
“S-Sorry…!” 
“Huh? Why are you apologizing?” 

Er, because this whole chaos probably started with me, that’s why. 

“There’s no need for you to be so apologetic, Junior,” says Veil, standing beside me. “These cooks are here to do the work ordered by their superiors. Even if it’s a sudden task, complaining about it isn’t right. They’re paid for this. It’s their duty.” 

Oh...! 
That’s surprisingly pragmatic of you, Veil. 

“Besides, they did seem to bring in more hands to help with the workload. That’s at least some consideration.” 
“Well, they did promise us a bonus for this chaos, so it's not all that bad.” 

Somehow, Veil’s logic and the apprentice cook’s words line up perfectly. 

Veil is apparently using some kind of invisibility magic. Nobody around here even notices her. 
She could probably wipe out everyone here with a glare if she wanted to, yet here she is, keeping quiet. 

She must have some plan in mind. 

But if the apprentice cook dragged me in here, that must mean they mistook me for one of the new kitchen helpers. 

...But why? 
Do I look that much like a cook? 

“Well, if you’re wearing that much white, of course people will assume you’re a chef.” 

I look down at myself. 

...White. 

The suit my dad gave me is completely white from top to bottom. 

That’s why they thought I was a cook? 
Seriously? 

“Master didn’t care what color it was,” Veil adds. “But Batemy insisted that if you want a formal suit that’s appropriate for any situation, it must be white.” 

Ah, Batemy and her artisan obsession strike again. 

“The suit is made from adamantine silk. It repels all stains and stays perfectly clean. In a way, it’s suitable for kitchen duty.” 

So that’s how I ended up mistaken for a chef. 

This party is supposed to be for me, right? 
And now, I’m the one making the food for it? 
What kind of irony is this?! 

“Hey, you! Quit spacing out!!!” 

A thunderous roar shakes the room. 
Both the apprentice girl and I jump like startled cats. 

“Can’t you see how slammed we are?! Newbie or not, we don’t have time to let anyone stand idle! Perina! If you brought in a latecomer, set him to peeling potatoes! We’ve got a mountain of work today!!!” 
“Yes, Chef!!!” 

Perina—that’s what they called the apprentice girl—grabs a knife and hurries over to the towering mountain of potatoes. 

So, her name’s Perina... 
And the man who shouted just now must be the head chef. 

He’s built like a fortress, solid and commanding. 
He looks older, too; definitely someone who fits the role of running a kitchen like this. 

“And you, the extra help. That station’s yours. Make whatever you can; anything’s fine, just keep it coming.” 

He’s pointing toward a small workspace in the corner of the kitchen. 
It’s complete with a sink and a stove, compact but fully equipped for a full round of cooking. 

Extra help, huh? That’s… me, isn’t it? 

“Is there no set menu? Shouldn’t we at least plan the overall balance a bit...?” 

Otherwise, we’ll end up with something like, “Guess it’s pork soup and rice again...good enough!” 

“There’s no time for that! We need speed over style! An empty table’s way uglier than a messy one!” 

His voice cracks like a whip. 

“Rushing for the sake of speed only cheapens the craft,” Veil mutters disapprovingly. 

Meanwhile, I make my way to the assigned station. 

I mean, saying “Actually, I’m the guest of honor for this party” probably wouldn’t get me very far right now. 

It’s better to help out first. If I can help lighten the load, maybe they’ll be more willing to listen afterward. 
Besides… it’s taking everything I have to keep my excitement in check while standing in front of a kitchen counter again. 

“There it is. The chef’s blood you inherited from Master.” 

Veil’s right. 

My dad could spend hours in the kitchen, creating dish after dish. 
He was a genius who could delight people with flavors they’d never even imagined before. 

I grew up tasting those creations, each one a surprise, and naturally wanted to imitate him. 
He taught me everything from scratch, so I’m confident enough in my skills. 

I grab a knife from the rack. 
The handle’s loose, and it’s nowhere near sharp enough, but the moment I grip it, my Hand of Ultimacy ability activates, and the blade gains the keen edge of a holy sword. 

Scanning the ingredients around me, I sort and match them in my head, arranging ideas in an instant... 

“All right.” 

My thoughts are clear. 
Now’s the time for this knife to dance. 

“Uryaryaryaryaryaryaaaaaaaahhh!!!” 

Dicing fury! 
Perfect simmering! Gutting and trimming with lightning speed! 
Kieeeeeeeeeeaaaahhh!!! 

“Done! First dish, Sole Meunière!” 
“How did that process turn into this dish...?” 

Behold! The cooking technique I forged under Dad’s guidance! 
There’s more! 

Next up: Rendang! 
Piadina! 
Carpaccio! 
Salteña! 
Tom Yum Goong! 
Buldak Bokkeum Myun! 
Coconut Banana Fritters! 
Welsh Scones! 

How’s that? The full lineup of dishes I mastered under Dad’s tutelage! 

“Junior, your cooking’s as confusing as ever, you know.” 

Huh? 
Is it really? 
But isn’t exotic food supposed to excite people?! 

“I know, but when people see a dish they’ve never even heard of, they don’t know what to expect, and that makes them nervous. Master’s dishes, on the other hand, looked and sounded fun right from the start.” 

Hearing that stabs me like a knife to the chest. So that’s another way I still fall short of Dad. 

I see now… He didn’t just cook well, he thought about how people would feel when they saw his food. 
Meanwhile, I’ve been too caught up in showing off my skills. 

All right, then. This time, I’ll make a Buldak Bokkeum Myun that everyone can instantly get behind! 

“What even is Buldak Bokkeum Myun?” 

========== 

buldak bokkeum myun: a korean instant noodle dish known for its extreme spiciness, literally “fire chicken stir-fried noodles.”