30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue-Chapter 74

Straight extended hand, gaze and goal in a straight line.

Inhale, exhale halfway. Freeze.

Hold the recoil and tremor, slowly pull the index finger. Fire.

-Bang-

-Tang, pap-

The momentum from targeting, aiming, to firing is within a comma’s span. Ivan pierced twelve targets almost simultaneously, gauging the pistol’s performance.

“No, senior, you’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“Good.”

“No, um…”

If there’s an ally’s armory booth near the security target, performance checks and zeroing are basic knowledge. In case of unforeseen events, it’s a place to rely on resupplying battalion equipment.

Ivan received a large doll from the bewildered Dmitry, and handed it to Isabelle.

Amazing! Muttering. Impressive! Grumbling. He heard such comments but brushed them off. There was no need for praise for hitting targets within 5m.

“Next.”

“Um… uncle, you seem to be enjoying this subtly, don’t you?”

Isabelle clenched her fist with a sparkling glint in her eyes.

“Uwaaah! Let’s just crush the whole festival like this!”

She enthusiastically nodded and took the lead.

It was a satisfying flow for Ivan as well. Understanding the booth’s position and characteristics and, if possible, maximizing the stamina drain on these kids are advantageous for the security mission.

***

Breaking a pumpkin with a wooden sword while blindfolded… huh.

Hmm. Isn’t this a culture in Japan? Ivan was perplexed.

“Now, if you wear this and start four steps behind!”

“Um.”

Confidently donning the blindfold handed by the booth owner, Ivan gauged the weight of the wooden sword. It seemed like an ordinary item.

Naturally, splitting a pumpkin with a wooden sword is a skill beginners can’t easily master. Despite its seemingly solid exterior, pumpkins are crops that absorb shocks with their hollow insides.

To shatter it with such a light wooden sword, you need to strike precisely at the right point. Doing it blindfolded adds to the difficulty.

A skilled swordsman might estimate the direction they’re facing even with closed eyes, but aligning the sword in centimeter increments and driving it in requires advanced techniques beyond repeated practice.

-Snapping sound!-

Ivan took off the blindfold and handed the wooden sword, dripping with pumpkin juice, back to the booth owner.

Receiving accolades for the quick success and handing unnecessary large dolls to Ecdysis this time, Ivan turned his head calmly.

“Next.”

“You’re really enjoying this a lot, uncle!”

Isabelle seemed unusually thrilled.

***

Traditional game of catching small fish with an oiled paper scoop.

It’s a booth that tests skills useful for survival and trap dismantling with delicate fingertip sensitivity.

“Next.”

Throwing darts at a roulette.

It evaluates overall vision, reaction speed, and throwing technique. It could be classified as an assassination skill.

-Next.

Traditional game of tossing a small ball into a ring.

Since throwing small explosives was a fundamental skill, Ivan could record a score that even if Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch, he couldn’t overcome.

“Next.”

***

Isabelle, Ecdysis, and Elpheira received dolls, candy sticks, blankets, and fish tanks full of items on that day.

It was only two hours into the morning of the festival since they started exploring.

***

Surprisingly enjoyable.

When Isabelle first thought about going to the festival with this eccentric gentleman, she didn’t anticipate this situation.

She had expected him to merely follow along like a doll, occasionally uttering vague words like ‘um,’ but she didn’t expect him to genuinely enjoy the festival like this.

“Thank you, uncle. Hehe.”

“Um.”

Although what she received wasn’t just for her, Ivan generously distributed all the spoils he obtained while exploring the stalls to his party members.

Isabelle hugged the giant fire bear (a Krasilov soup dumpling) doll and laughed brightly. It was practically a monopoly she established after a bit of pushing.

“Now, have you had enough of the children’s games? Let’s go eat something! Oh, don’t take that out! Let’s have a proper meal!”

Ecdysis, humming, held Ivan’s arm and walked confidently ahead.

“Do you have anything you want to eat? Matching Uncle’s taste, um… how about meat dishes? How about meat?”

“Do as you please.”

Heading toward the street filled with restaurants and stalls, Ivan shook his head. Street food here was more or less the same.

They would be serving cheap ingredients with strong spices, resulting in nutritionally imbalanced, greasy dishes.

Despite finding it somewhat unsatisfactory, there was a certain sense of pride. After all, this bustling scene with abundant goods and lively streets was unimaginable just four years ago.

“Wow, there are so many people…”

Ecdysis whispered to Ivan’s chest, leaning on him. Around lunchtime, the street was excessively crowded with people enjoying the various stalls.

The aroma of grilled meat wafted from every corner. Ivan gently wrapped Ecdysis, who was pressing into his chest, providing protection, and surveyed the surroundings.

It wasn’t about what to eat but rather finding a place to sit was the initial challenge.

“Oh, big broooo!!!”

At that moment, a distant voice tearing through reached Ivan. When he turned his gaze, a familiar face was hopping towards him.

It was Eugene.

“Brother! Over here! Here! Wow! It’s really great to see you like this!”

“…?”

“Hurry up! If you’re not here, we’re in trouble!”

Indeed, the stall where Eugene stood emitted an oddly deserted atmosphere even in the bustling commercial area. The situation was so extreme that not even a single person was visible as a customer.

Soon, the reason became apparent. Passersby hurriedly covered their noses and moved quickly whenever they passed their booth.

Sure enough, a familiar yet peculiar stench wafted from the shop.

“Eugh, is this pickled herring…?”

“No.”

Ivan looked at Eugene with a puzzled expression.

Eugene, followed by Oswald and Yuri behind him. They were all looking at him with confident and warm eyes.

“Come here. Do you recognize this smell?”

Ah, yes.

It was like that.

That’s right. This was the smell.

Ivan struggled to open his almost parched mouth and responded.

“Kimchi…”

“…? Do you know this dish?”

“Know… somewhat.”

“Yeah… well, if it’s something Uncle likes, let’s try it!”

Just by smelling it, it seemed like some pickled salty dish. Wasn’t this another specialty of Drovian?

Indeed, the faces of Isabelle from Tylesse and Elpheira from Kalion had already hardened.

Ecdysis cheerfully smiled and led Ivan towards the shop.

***

“How on earth did you make it?”

“Pickled fish, vegetables, salt, and red pepper powder. If you mix these in order, surprisingly, it becomes kimchi!”

“…Impressive.”

Ivan genuinely admired. Among his numerous masterpieces, utilizing the sharp intellect of the 21st century, maintaining utility was as simple as nutritional bars.

Indeed, it seemed that with three Koreans around, they could contemplate making kimchi themselves.

In fact, this wasn’t a strange thing. Pickling vegetables in salt and spices was a common method even in Krasilov. (Carrot pickles and mushroom pickles are made this way.)

However, combining it with salted fish sauce, adjusting the seasoning, and allowing the pickled vegetables to oxidize as they are… in essence, it belonged to a somewhat unique cooking method, as it was closer to just spoiling the food.

With trembling eyes, Ivan looked at the plate filled with vibrant red cabbage.

“Hey, Uncle. Um… will you eat that?”

“…”

Though Ecdysis glanced nervously, Ivan didn’t stop his ‘chopsticks.’

Chopsticks.

Due to not having held them in a long time, he fumbled a few times, but the sensation from that time, the emotion of a bygone era, made Ivan tremble slightly.

-Slurp.

The crisp sound of unripe lettuce breaking cheerfully, and the mixture of red pepper sauce splattered around. Isabelle stepped back, lifting the competition.

And cautiously, slowly. After 30 years, Ivan put a piece of kimchi in his mouth.

-Crunch, crunch.

The inner Kim Sun-woo suddenly woke up and screamed (something like kimchi…! echoed), but Ivan quickly calmed his mind. Unlike modern individuals with narrow and picky tastes, Ivan was remarkably tolerant and generous.

Moreover, he only wanted to savor the emotions of this moment.

With a devout heart like a practicing monk, crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“Are there other things?”

“I’ve prepared everything we can. Big Bro. Hehehe…”

Eugene smiled slyly, waving his hands.

“Kimchi stew, stir-fried kimchi, tofu kimchi. Where would you like to start?”

“Tofu…? Tofu too?”

“I didn’t know how to make tofu, so I prepared something as similar as possible. It looks the same. Might as well try that first!”

As Eugene gestured, Oswald brought a large dish with an uneasy expression.

With exaggerated gestures, Eugene elegantly set the dish on the table and opened his mouth.

“Our masterpiece at Fine Dining, stir-fried kimchi with feta.”

“Oh… wow…”

Uniformly distorted cubic, perfectly squared, white pieces. Underneath, neatly laid stir-fried cabbage.

With a bit of imagination, it was undeniably tofu kimchi itself!

“Feta?”

“Yes, feta cheese. It’s a traditional cheese made from sheep’s milk. Taste-wise… well, let’s put that aside for now. But visually and in terms of texture, it’s really the same.”

“Oh…”

Ivan exclaimed as he picked up his chopsticks. Indeed, when he applied force, the crumbling sensation wasn’t significantly different from that of aged tofu.

Adding a piece of stir-fried lettuce, a burst of saltiness filled his mouth.

Feta cheese is one of the most salty cheeses. Combined with kimchi, a basic salted vegetable, the synergy of the two made this honestly something humans shouldn’t eat.

But Ivan didn’t care. The important thing was not the taste.

-Crunch!!

Magical energy surged through his nerves. With the precision of a surgeon, he cut off his sense of taste with no margin for error.

Inducing a neural overload, he fully focused the raging magical energy on his sense of touch. Now, his tactile sense had become so sensitive that he could predict the precursor of an attack even in the direction of the swaying cotton.

Using all his skills, he slowly bit down.

-Crunch.

Commonly referred to during chewing, ‘texture’ is a complex harmony of taste and touch. Since he gave up taste, it could be called half, but with an enhanced sense of touch, an esper’s sense could discern each ingredient that touched the tongue, gums, and teeth.

The result of this beautiful combination was as follows:

A cheese lump that felt remarkably similar to the firm texture of dried tofu, visually resembling tofu.

Crisp, red cabbage kimchi, not fully cooked, still crunchy.

Savoring the playful resistance of the vegetable stems and the soft texture of the cheese beneath his teeth…

What did taste have to do with it? This was the sensation of his homeland. And Ivan’s extremely developed empathy naturally extended his tactile sense to a level where he could evoke the sense of taste from touch.

“Brother… are you okay right now?”

“Excellent… I must say.”

Amidst the shocked avatars, terrified Isabelle, Elphiera who spat out everything she took a bite of, and Ecidice forcibly putting one piece after another into her mouth,

Ivan shed a single tear.

*

“Hey, waiter.”

“Yes, sir!”

The man who was stir-frying the meat gestured to the stall’s attendant.

The attendant, with an overly bright face, rushed over to the customer who paid an unusually large amount of money.

“Do you see the man sitting at that booth over there?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Can you deliver this to him?”

“Yes? Um… just deliver it? Is that all?”

“Please. This is a token of gratitude.”

“Oh my! Why are you doing this! Yes, sir! I’ll go right away!”

The attendant couldn’t resist his curiosity and opened the note halfway. The note had seemingly random numbers written disorderly, seemingly without any meaningful content.

What is this, some kind of assignment?

Thinking like a typical university student, the attendant delivered the note to the man.

The man stared blankly at the note for a moment, then suddenly grabbed the attendant’s collar and growled menacingly.

“Who sent this?”

Ivan, forgetting the overflowing kimchi stew (which wasn’t kimchi or stew), stared at the bewildered student.

The frightened student pointed to an empty seat.

“Sen…ior.”