After breakfast, Zane followed his usual routine—heading to the local meat and vegetable market to replenish the tavern's stock. Though the system occasionally rewarded him with staple ingredients, they were never enough to meet the growing demands of his bustling tavern. The "anything-you-want" policy meant that he had to be prepared for any possible order, from basic bar snacks to elaborate gourmet dishes.
"I need to go buy some ingredients later. Do you want to come with me?" he asked, glancing toward Erina as he adjusted his sleeves.
"Yes!" she replied almost immediately, then blushed and added more softly, "I… I want to go."
She wasn't sure when it started, but more and more, she found herself responding instinctively to Zane's wishes. Maybe it was part of her roleplay. Or maybe, just maybe, she'd been too immersed in the act—and didn't want to leave.
The food street near the market was a sensory overload.
The shouts of vendors, the sharp crack of knives on cutting boards, the aromas of fresh meat, earthy vegetables, and simmering soups—it was like the whole world condensed into one chaotic, vibrant artery of life. Erina walked beside Zane, her steps light, eyes scanning the stalls with curiosity.
As the elite heiress of the Nakiri family, she'd never needed to shop for ingredients herself. Hisako had always handled such mundane chores. Now, faced with bins of produce and rows of meat hanging under sun-touched awnings, she found herself inexplicably fascinated.
At a vegetable stall, Zane casually picked up a carrot, gave it a glance, and nodded.
"Not bad. The quality's quite good."
With deft hands and discerning eyes, he quickly swept through the stand, selecting a variety of vegetables with precision that seemed casual—but wasn't. He would glance over a row of produce and instantly pluck out the best of the bunch.
At first, Erina thought he was being careless. After all, this was just a tavern—bar food didn't require premium ingredients. But the more she watched, the more she noticed something unsettling.
No—something impressive.
"Is it just my imagination?" she thought, watching his hands move effortlessly. "He's not even checking them like a professional chef. He's just… looking. But every single one he picks is the best of its kind."
It started to gnaw at her.
"I've never once seen low-grade vegetables or spoiled meat in his kitchen. Could it be—"
Her eyes widened. "Could it be that he… like me… can see the quality of ingredients at a glance?"
While she was spiraling into that revelation, another surprise awaited at the fishmonger's stall.
"Two top-grade saury," the vendor stammered, still in disbelief as Zane handed over the money. "And at that price…"
Zane gave a polite nod, lifting the paper-wrapped fish into his bag. Behind him, Erina stared, unable to stay silent any longer.
"Zane," she said, stepping forward, "did you just identify those saury as top-quality by looking at them?"
"Of course," Zane replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"But that's impossible! Most vendors use chemicals to soak saury so they look fresh. The color can deceive. You'd need to check the dryness of the surface, the clarity of the gills, and the scent for oxidation—"
"And you'd need to hang it to test if it stays straight," Zane added mid-sentence, grinning.
"Huh?"
He turned to her and said seriously, "You're right. Judging saury freshness at a glance is impossible."
Erina blinked. "Then—?"
Zane raised a finger. "Which is why I take two looks."
Erina: "???"
That damned smug look on his face made her want to slap him—and also made her heart skip a beat.
"You mean to say… my God's Tongue can only assess food once I taste it, but you—"
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Wait a minute. Can you… see the truth of ingredients just by looking? Is that… the legendary 'Eye of God'?"
Zane smirked and crossed his arms theatrically. "Heh. Now that you've guessed it… I suppose I won't hide it anymore. That's right—I have the Eye of God."
Erina: "(⊙_⊙)"
Her mind raced. The Eye of God—a hypothetical counterpart to the God's Tongue. If Zane truly possessed that, then it all made sense. His unnatural talent, his ability to outcook even her and her mother, his infuriating confidence…
But then, his voice shattered her thoughts.
"Seriously? What kind of expression is that?"
He flicked her forehead gently, a teasing smile on his lips. "There's no Eye of God. I've just cooked with enough ingredients, every single day, for years. After a while, you learn to see their quality. That's all."
"Experience?" Erina muttered, rubbing her nose.
"If that's experience," she grumbled, "then you're scarier than God Himself."
"Maybe I'm just a genius," Zane offered with a wink.
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
Because deep down, she suspected he wasn't entirely joking.
The rest of the shopping trip went smoothly. Erina helped carry the bags, trailing close to Zane, her eyes darting from stall to stall. A sense of comfort settled between them—a rhythm, unspoken but real.
And somewhere along the way, Erina realized she didn't mind playing the subordinate anymore. As long as it was with him.
Meanwhile, halfway across the world…
In a quiet town at the foot of Mont Blanc in the French Alps, where winter's snow transformed the landscape into a postcard and summer revealed rolling greenery, the famed five-star Chamonix Mont-Blanc hotel bustled with activity.
Its golden-topped towers sparkled like a fairy tale. Its decor was both regal and warm—bronze zodiac statues stood at the entrance, guarding like ancient sentinels. The air inside carried hints of aged wine, roasted meats, and fresh pastries. Music whispered through the halls, giving the lobby the charm of a romantic Parisian ballroom.
In this palace-like setting, a single bowl of onion soup created a ripple.
A long-time noble guest lifted the spoon, sipped once—and froze.
"This… this flavor…"
He sat up sharply. "Has the chef changed?"
"Yes, sir," the staff replied, bowing. "We've just welcomed a world-class chef to our kitchen."
The man's hands trembled slightly. "Is it… Joichiro Saiba?"
There was no answer—but there didn't need to be. The next spoonful confirmed it.
"The broth… the depth… the way the onions are caramelized just shy of bitterness… Only Joichiro can do this!"
Tears welled up in his eyes. "He's back… My greatest regret in life is undone. I've tasted his food once more…"
In the kitchen, Joichiro Saiba remained calm.
He was plating a beautiful steak tartare—finely chopped raw beef laced with lemon juice, olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, pepper, and salt. A bright egg yolk rested in the center like a crown, surrounded by chopped pickles, onions, parsley, and his own spicy sauces.
Beside it, golden fries sizzled in the fryer.
"That's art," a fellow chef whispered, awestruck.
Then the kitchen doors slammed open.
"I want curry chicken cutlet rice!"
A skeletal monk burst into the room, eyes glowing with longing.
"Master Alba!" someone gasped.
"You're supposed to be a vegetarian! You swore off meat for the sake of the planet!"
"I don't care!" Alba wailed. "I've eaten leaves and bark for thirty years! Let me taste Joichiro's curry just once before I die!"
Everyone tried to stop him.
But Joichiro only smiled faintly.
After all… if one bowl of curry could bring a world-weary monk to tears—
Then what kind of godly chef would deny him?