Our Hotel Is Open for Business as Usual Chapter 58

Episode 58.

 

“….”

 

“…Haha….”

 

Pressing the elevator button, Lee Yeonwoo let out a dry laugh.

 

“Please step inside first.” 

 

“….”

 

“Then allow me to excuse myself.” 

 

Lee Yeonwoo climbed atop the ‘Wet Person’, who sat crumpled inside the narrow elevator. Using the two of them as stepping stones, Coco scampered up and settled onto Lee Yeonwoo’s shoulder.

 

A thick, fishy smell of water emanated from them.

 

“I express my deepest gratitude for my friend’s devotion.”

 

[Soul Yeast]

 

[A mutated fermentation bacterium that grows in liquid environments. Capable of memorizing and reproducing memories, emotions, and sensory patterns during the fermentation process. Processed into medicines, poisons, and disguising agents.]

 

[Quantity: 99]

 

It had been a successful session of repetitive grinding.

 

“….”

 

“Yes.”

 

“….”

 

“Yes, pavlova order received. I will make it for you as soon as I refine the yeast.”

 

“….”

 

“Of course. It won’t take long.”

 

* * *

 

Stepping out the door, Lee Yeonwoo spoke.

 

“You must have been quite tired.”

 

Having handed the ‘Wet Person’ an armful of treats—from pavlova piled high with berries to fudgy brownies, glazed donuts, and macarons—Lee Yeonwoo leisurely departed the Aqua Park. The man had insisted on dining right there.

 

Stepping into the elevator, Lee Yeonwoo gently stroked Coco.

 

“If our friend wanted it, I was considering finding a way to arrange a residence on the 7th basement floor, but judging by that reaction, we won’t be visiting together anytime soon.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Still, he appeared to like the location itself. Given the nature of a water ghost, staying in the hunting ground rather than the Aqua Park is safer in many respects as well. I’ll have to bring up the topic again before long.” 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Before long.”

 

Since for now, he looked ready to vomit at the mere sight of any trace of a ‘drowned corpse’.

 

‘Does he find no interest in this sort of hunting? Then again, to a monster guest from the Open version, repetitive labor under the guise of hunting wouldn’t be very enjoyable.’

 

Lee Yeonwoo walked straight into the kitchen.

 

“…Now then,”

 

He muttered as he put on a fresh pair of cooking gloves. 

 

“I suppose I should finish what I have to do on my end.” 

 

Now, he had to craft a ‘golden egg’ right here that would instantly capture the attention of the ‘Guest Without a Sense of Taste’. Lee Yeonwoo took out a test tube from his inventory.

 

A pearlescent, viscous liquid sloshed inside it.

 

“Though I did prepare several versions….”

 

“Hello?”

 

“It doesn’t seem like this on its own would taste like much.”

 

“Ing.”

 

He lined up the test tubes in a row. When they were just icons in the game, there hadn’t been much difference, but seeing them in reality revealed subtle variations in their luster and hue. It felt as though he had returned to being a researcher.

 

“Whenever I see game items in person like this, I get an oddly excited feeling.”

 

“Happy!”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Lee Yeonwoo calmly continued.

 

“Since this ingredient is originally used as medicinal material, there is no telling what effect it will have when applied to cooking. In the first place, no official recipe utilizing it exists.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Which means I must create it entirely with my own hands from start to finish. While I can borrow some of the system’s corrections, I should also consider the possibility of producing a rougher outcome than usual.”

 

“No?”

 

“Isn’t your faith in the game system a bit too firm, Coco?”

 

“No!”

 

“I suppose so.” 

 

The objective of this project was to utilize ‘Refined Soul Yeast’ to reproduce, if only temporarily, the past flavors remembered by the ‘Guest Without a Sense of Taste’.

 

“While restoring his sense of taste completely would be difficult, using the properties of Soul Yeast should make it possible to create a ‘delusion’ that he tasted the flavor of those days.” 

 

A formula to restore the sense of taste did not even exist in the hotel, and furthermore, his counterpart was a failure of the ‘Annotations of the Crimson Core’. The scar ran far too deep for a single drug to restore his senses.

 

“And considering my own safety, it’s something I shouldn’t do anytime soon anyway.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“The key is to prevent him from slitting open the golden goose. If a way to obtain the golden egg by cutting open the belly presents itself, both you and I will be in trouble. I have no desire to do favors solely for the ‘Guest Without a Sense of Taste’.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Of course, formulating a drug of that caliber is close to a vain dream for now, though.” 

 

Though he was still studying it, the Annotations of the Crimson Core was truly a bizarre field. To think of restoring someone else’s senses when he couldn’t even restore his own body—what a contradictory delusion.

 

“….”

 

Yet humans were beings who truly advanced through delusion. Lee Yeonwoo put on a white mask.

 

“We need to decide on a base dish for comparison. What would you like?”

 

“Deer.”

 

“I was thinking of bone broth soup.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Very well, let’s make both.”

 

“Yes!”

 

Solid food and liquid food would likely differ in yeast reactivity. Since it was natural for results to vary depending on the ingredients, preparing both at once was not a bad call.

 

Since this was strictly a research process rather than mere cooking. 

 

“To humans, the senses are an extremely important element.”

 

Lee Yeonwoo continued as he received the ingredients from the kitchen staff.

 

“In particular, vision accounts for 70% to 80% of the information humans absorb.”

 

“Ing?” 

 

“Well, I don’t consider it absolute, but to answer your question… I believe the order would be sight, hearing, touch, smell, and then taste.”

 

“Hello?”

 

“No, as I mentioned, it is merely a personal opinion. However, I believe general importance follows a ranking like this.” 

 

Lee Yeonwoo added as he trimmed the raw meat.

 

“That doesn’t mean any sense is unimportant, of course. The pleasure derived from taste is also substantial. Even I myself have found it quite bothersome lately that every single meal tastes like blood.”

 

“….”

 

“All the more so if one completely loses the sense of taste—it would undoubtedly be a source of stress.”

 

It was better to taste blood, if anything. 

 

“Under such circumstances, it is hardly unreasonable that the ‘Guest Without a Sense of Taste’ has grown obsessed with blood. Whether he perceives others’ blood as a delicacy like I do, or if blood is the only thing he can taste even faintly, I cannot say, but….”

 

“I am not doing well.” 

 

“It is certainly something that would cause a human sense of deprivation. Especially since he seems to have been a gourmet in the past.”

 

Having said that, Lee Yeonwoo added after a moment:

 

“There is one concerning aspect, though.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Judging by how he still adheres to the formality of dining, some lingering attachment seems to remain. But if that very deprivation has lasted so long that he has grown numb to it… an appeasement like this might actually feel like a provocation.”

 

“Don’t like that.”

 

“What a shame, I do as well.”

 

No matter how large and thick a scar is, once it has completely healed, it no longer feels pain. If he had simply grown accustomed to the loss like a patch of calloused flesh, coaxing consideration out of him through gastronomy would be difficult.

 

“I can only hope we can pry our way beneath that surface.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Dear me… there’s more than one thing to worry about.”

 

Lee Yeonwoo evenly spread the refined yeast across the surface of the raw meat.

 

“….”

 

“….”

 

After a brief silence, Lee Yeonwoo pointed at the meat and looked at Coco.

 

“Isn’t it shining a bit too much?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Visually, it might not be bad.”

 

Personally, it looked terrible to him, but this was not something to be judged by the sensibilities of a 21st-century commoner from South Korea. His counterpart had been a member of the high nobility of the 18th-century Holy Roman Empire.

 

‘To those who enjoyed dining tables elaborately staged like theater, meat glistening like pearls would easily fall within acceptable bounds. After all, isn’t he a man from an era where peacocks were taxidermied to look alive and served as dishes?’

 

“Yes?”

 

In any case, he decided to look at it that way.

 

“Since his very name is the ‘Guest Without a Sense of Taste’, his sense of smell is likely intact. That might be why he insisted on lavish banquets despite being unable to taste anything. Still, the sense of smell, hm….”

 

There were many variables to prepare for.

 

“I don’t think it will take all that long, but I’d prefer to establish the recipe as quickly as possible. Though personally, I rather enjoy this sort of research process.”

 

“Hello.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

Lee Yeonwoo dryly rolled his eyes and stared at the kitchen door. Through the crack in the door, a silhouette could be seen.

 

“…Because it seems his patience is running thin.”

 

It was time to present the golden egg he had crafted.

 

* * *

 

“….”

 

He had known for a long time.

 

That on the day the ritual failed, his flesh and self had solidified into an abomination.

 

Harsh was the price of the hubris that dared usurp the realm of God. Yearning for an untouchable nobility, he was trapped forever on a wretched threshold, belonging nowhere.

 

“Ah….”

 

Blood.

 

Blood.

 

He wanted blood.

 

Driven mad solely by a thirst for blood, he had drifted through an eternity.

 

When he barely regained his reason, whatever former nobility he had once possessed was already lost. Countless foul-smelling obstinacies and the souls of others had already intermingled into a sticky mess.

 

And so, in the end, there was a question that clung to his tongue.

 

“May I eat it?”

 

Reason was the final rampart separating man from beast. It was the authority he wielded as a monster, and the sole restraint he retained as a human being.

 

Chasing afterimages of taste with nothing but metallic blood. Yet no fresh blood could ever fill the void in his soul. Before despair could even set in, the thirst usurped control over body and mind.

 

One day, as he lived among humans while mimicking mere skin….

 

“….”

 

He saw his own kind.

 

“May I eat it?”

 

“No.”

 

It was a blood mage with a neat countenance.

 

‘He is young.’

 

Had such a young Servant still remained?

 

When he first hovered around him, it was merely the habit of Blood Magic toward high-quality blood. A raw, bloody greed shared by all of their kind—to drink fine blood, substitute it into ‘oneself,’ and soothe this hunger.

 

‘He is vomiting blood.’

 

‘Is he in a weakened state?’

 

‘At this level, just once….’

 

A pitiful prey who, unable to keep his own body intact, went about spilling pieces of himself.

 

In this vulgar era where beasts, castrated of reason and dignity, roamed the underworld reeking of blood, he alone gave the illusion of having stepped right out of a bygone golden age.

 

‘He would be better than any delicacy crafted by the fragments of myself.’

 

‘The blood of such an exquisitely finished masterpiece would surely be supreme.’

 

For someone in a weakened state, the sheer excellence of his blood’s quality made him covetous. While this colossal sanctuary was unlikely to permit it, having him would be fine, and once tired of him, he would make for a feast.

 

‘If only I could taste a single bite.’

 

It was merely a scheme to watch for an opening and fill his stomach with the precious blood that man produced.

 

But the moment he faced that ‘severed hand’ that seeped blood between the cracks of the walls and floor, all calculations crumbled. He had thought it was merely blood with an exceptionally pleasant aroma, but never had he imagined that very body was a mass of blood itself.

 

“May I eat it?”

 

Ah, yes. It is you.

 

“…May I eat….”

 

The broken shutter. When he licked up the traces of blood stuck thick in the crevices of that metal—it is you. It really is you. At the tremor coursing through his brain, reverence and disbelief welled up within him.

 

“….”

 

This was not merely the blood of some outstanding Blood Magic. It was a primordial sanctuary, a perfection that ought not to exist.

 

Possessed by madness, he pursued him. He devoured every last remnant of that person. Licking the floor, clawing at the walls, he greedily swallowed the divinity left in his wake.

 

Ah,

 

“Belmares.”

 

A form he had sought to attain yet never dared set eyes upon. A sanctuary he had yearned to become yet could not even fathom its origin. The absolute perfection of blood lay beneath the very same roof.

 

“Belmares. Belmares. Belmares.”

 

The moment he realized it, instinct trembled and whispered.

 

‘If only I could tear apart a piece of him and swallow it.’

 

If only I could transfuse that noble essence into my lowly vessels, even this eternal hunger would finally meet its end. It would be a holy violation and a blasphemous union. It would put an end to this hunger that would otherwise last forever, liberating me into the abyss below. The imagination of forcing that being who possessed a stature daringly higher than mine—no, that primordial usurper—to bow beneath my feet, and ripping to shreds that pale nape, that pulsing channel of life. The scalding abscess of a god and the metallic, fishy liquid bursting between my teeth. That alone sends a vile, sticky ecstasy surging down through my spinal fluid, coursing through my entire body. If only I could throttle that blood-reeking god, crush him, lick him, dismantle him piece by piece and exile him into the abyss of my stomach. If only I could kill him, eat him, swallow him whole….

 

“May I eat….”

 

“No.”

 

“….”

 

“You may not.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Yet at the same time, he realized.

 

[―■■■ ■■]

 

“I see.”

 

He possessed a stature far higher than mine.

 

‘To think blood could be so vivid and arrogant.’

 

What he encountered after circling around, mistaking him for a dying beast, was the voice of a god that bore down as if to swallow him whole, even while battered and broken.

 

‘Even in a weakened state, he is like this.’

 

Restraint. It was a plausible excuse—the last vestige of honor to be upheld as an aristocrat—as well as a tenuous patience born from the dread that reaching out rashly might result in being torn to shreds instead.

 

The calculation held him back: if he failed to suppress this craving and succumbed blindly to the fleeting temptation, he would be reduced to a lowly corpse before he could even taste this immense fortune that had rolled his way.

 

“….”

 

Even a parched sinner shrinks back before holy water.

 

“Ah….”

 

Yet for one born arrogant, patience was an unfamiliar thing.

 

When the chalice of a god sat right before his eyes. Even knowing that the moment he reached out he would face ruin, all manner of souls blinded by the delicacy shrieked inside and out.

 

‘Eat it.’

 

‘You can become complete.’

 

‘Please, just one bite.’

 

Because of that fleeting delicacy tasted with his tongue pressed against the filthy wall, he could not keep his balance. He had lived in thirst for far too long. He had walked such a distant path, tormented by pain and hunger.

 

Yet do you not know? You too surely know that you must not do so.

 

‘Do not dare lay a hand on him.’

 

‘He is a noble and exalted one.’

 

‘You pursue an even deeper abyss.’

 

The inner voices slashed at one another, screaming. But… ah, nevertheless. Still, I. No, we, the fragments of these countless yearning souls.

 

“….”

 

I.

 

I am by no means honorable. Not even human. Couldn’t I tear off just one bite, just one more bite? Even if he is a god, wouldn’t there be a flaw within these narrow castle walls?

 

Just as he was about to cast aside the shallow fragments of honor and rightfully bare his hideous fangs.

 

“Guest.”

 

“….”

 

“Do you plan to visit the dining room?”

 

To his table, he was invited.

 

* * *

 

[Memory of the Hunt: An Aristocrat’s Table (Sample Course)]

 

Appetizer

 

Venison Liver Pâté with Rustic Bread

 

A pâté finished by finely grinding venison liver and spices, then slowly cooking it with herb butter. Soft on the outside and holding a deep, rich flavor within, it is served warm atop freshly baked bread.

 

Soup

 

Wild Herb Game Consommé.

 

A soup infused with wild thyme and rosemary, made from a clear broth simmered and strained from the bones of beasts caught in the hunting grounds. Warming the body with every sip, a prelude to an aristocrat’s evening liturgy.

 

Main Dish

 

Mouflon Steak_Truffle and Red Wine Sauce

 

A main dish featuring mouflon tenderloin tenderly cooked in a red wine and truffle sauce. Finely minced truffles harmonize with the meat juices, embodying both the glory of the hunt and a mellow maturity.

 

Dessert

 

Candied Fruit

 

Candied fruit adorning the conclusion of the hunt and the banquet’s finale. Juices are packed beneath a transparent, shimmering sugar shell, with sweetness and subtle acidity lingering on the palate for a long time.

 

[Registering the new recipe in the compendium.]

 

[Yes/No]

 

[Yes]