6-3 The Thing I’d Been Waiting For

So Japan would be in Golden Week around now, huh.

That was a phrase that meant nothing to someone like me, who’d been living as a recluse for ages.

I’d been shut in for so long that Golden Week and all that had nothing to do with me, and just when I finally got my hands on an 800-million-yen lottery jackpot, I somehow ended up in a world like this.

Unlike Christmas or New Year’s, there weren’t really any events to celebrate, and since my birthday was in May, I’d just eat something good then anyway.

And since I was unmarried, Children’s Day hadn’t mattered to me once I was an adult.

Maybe I’d try it here.

At some point, I could even make carp streamers.

Then one day, the news arrived.

It was something I’d asked the commercial guild in the Royal Capital to procure.

I’d told them to deliver it to the commercial guild here as soon as it came in.

First, red beans, then buckwheat—and on top of that, shaved bonito flakes!

I already had packeted shaved bonito flakes from Japan, so I wasn’t desperate for it, but they even had rice.

Rice—something that would actually grow properly if you planted it.

And it had all arrived in bulk in quick succession.

The instant I heard, I panicked, and without even thinking, I teleported.

A low table for sitting on the floor, something like floor cushions, and in both hands, the little one’s meal.

And I’d even teleported the little Remi—who’d been sitting on my lap—right along with me.

The little one blinked and looked around.

Like, “Where did my food go?”

Then they spotted it and demanded it from the old man.

“Uhh.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

This kid had become a street child at such a young age that there’d been no time to properly learn words.

They’d probably been desperately searching for food every day.

They’d had companions, but because they’d started that life so young, they didn’t talk much.

I could understand that.

My niece didn’t talk much either, and she’d even gone to one of those children’s facilities, but it wasn’t really a problem.

Her grandfather had been a taciturn man, so maybe it just skipped a generation and showed up again.

It wasn’t an intellectual disability.

Given time, they’d probably start talking a lot later.

For now, this was fine.

They did properly call me “Uncle,” after all.

At first, they wouldn’t warm up to me at all, and it had been genuinely brutal.

I calmed down and fed the little one.

Even after finishing everything, they still looked like they wanted more, so I handed them a cupcake.

Logos looked down at us with that lukewarm, indulgent kind of gaze.

Was it my imagination, or did it feel like I was being looked after too?

“Hahaha. Even if you panic, the goods aren’t going anywhere.”

“Yeah, that’s… embarrassing.”

Honestly, I couldn’t help but laugh hard at myself.

But for a Japanese person, this was normal, right?

I mean, I was stuck in exile in a Western-style other world.

It wasn’t like I could casually pop into a nearby supermarket and buy sweet red-bean treats or buckwheat noodles.

Even after I got older, my stomach stopped accepting Western food partway through a Las Vegas trip, and I ended up haunting expensive Japanese restaurants for the second half—my food costs were ridiculous.

“For a Rare Visitor, these must be precious things.”

“If the first king saw them, he’d have clutched them to his chest and burst into tears without caring who saw. Or perhaps he’d simply stare at them in silence, tears spilling down one after another. That’s how much they mean.”

“That much…?”

“Well, I happened to be able to bring various Japanese things here, so I won’t cry. Even so, I’m happy to have these goods.”

I received the delivered items, stored them away, and paid.

Having scored a huge haul of exactly what I wanted, my face was practically glowing.

The little one didn’t really understand, but judging from my reaction, they seemed to conclude something wonderful was coming, and stared at me.

“Heh-heh-heh. Uncle’s gonna make lots of yummy things.”

Before I knew it, I’d grabbed the little one under the arms, lifted them up, and spun around together.

With a full belly, the little one’s adorable cat ears twitched, and their tail swayed happily.

After that, we returned to the Beast-Eared Preschool, and I decided to start by boiling the red beans in the cooking practice room.

At this point, the old man had basically moved in here too.

Come to think of it, the old man was homeless as well.

I had piles of money, but I didn’t have a home.

I’d stayed at inns, but still.

I asked Eri for backup, and somehow we completed chunky red-bean paste.

I had starch syrup and white sugar ready, too.

I’d been preparing all sorts of things in advance.

Because I believed we’d get red-bean paste someday.

Monaka shells, the outer batter for large pancake cakes, sliced bread for sweet red-bean toast, red-bean doughnuts, ohagi, daifuku, and the outer skin for dorayaki.

Other things like fish-shaped cakes were also standing by, ready anytime.

Sweet red-bean soup was fully prepared too.

Maybe we’d set up stalls for New Year’s.

Erin had been assigned close-protection duty for Eri, and the kids were lined up and ready for taste testing.

Eri was already skilled at handling Japanese-style ingredients, and she succeeded in making red-bean paste in one shot.

And then the whole preschool erupted in wonderful applause.

For snack time, it was a seriously heavy meal.

Man, it was bliss.

If I’d still been stuck in my old man body, my belly fat would have been absolutely doomed.

I was deeply grateful for the regeneration skill.

For dinner, we immediately decided to have buckwheat noodles.

We made a simple dipping sauce with soy sauce, sweet cooking rice wine, and stock.

For the stock, we used ingredients obtained by breaking down Japanese food I’d brought over.

We also prepared another version that included salt, cooking sake, and sugar.

Everyone squealed and chattered while making all sorts of variations.

Amazingly, Eri even handled buckwheat noodle making with ease.

Eri—what a terrifying child!

Erin watched with deadly seriousness and managed to make a pretty decent one by imitation.

What passion and obsession for food.

The shabby, broken ones made by me and the kids… those could only become buckwheat dumplings now.

Even that, when made well, was something specialty noodle shops served on purpose.

That was probably how people ate it in the old days, before long thin noodles became the norm.

I tried cooking the rice we’d obtained, but the taste itself made me groan.

It felt unfair to compare wild otherworld rice to something like premium Niigata rice.

If we looked, maybe better rice was circulating somewhere.

Or maybe I should set up an environment where we could do selective breeding.

By the time five and a half months had passed in this otherworld life, the food court was ready for a pre-opening.

Amazingly, His Majesty the King and the Chancellor came to inspect it.

They had attendants with them too—about twenty people in all.

The magistrate, Logos, me, and the food center’s director greeted them.

First, we guided them from the terminal station.

This was where chartered carriages from the Royal Capital and noble carriages could pull in.

A parking zone began beside the food-stall village, and noble-first parking extended behind the food-stall village, the event plaza, and all the way behind the food court.

There was a place to turn around with a roundabout.

Backing up a carriage every time would be rough.

Normally you’d use the road width to U-turn, but then you’d run into other carriages.

If that area was full, they’d go straight to the second parking lot behind the outdoor theater.

That one also had a roundabout, so to prevent accidents, when exiting the second parking lot to head toward the first, traffic staff would guide them.

If even that couldn’t contain the overflow, we’d have to ask the passengers to disembark first, then move the carriage to a leveled area beyond the facility.

We didn’t neglect horse care either.

There was VIP parking in front of the outdoor theater, so if it was open, we’d direct them there.

In front of the food court, there was parking for ordinary shared carriages.

And then, the food-stall village.

It was basically just simple chairs and tables placed in front of the stalls.

But it had an arcade roof, so it could operate even in the rain.

It wrapped around the facility in a U-shape, so even on rainy days you could get out of a carriage without getting wet.

Next to that was an event plaza, and beyond it, connected by a covered passage, was the food court building.

Inside, shops lined the walls, and in the central zone, rows and rows of white tables and chairs were set up.

Trash bins were properly installed, and plenty of cleaning staff were prepared.

Food was displayed in glass cases, and descriptions of the food were written with photos, with menu signboards posted as well.

For that part, the panels and signs were made by putting them into my item box and compositing them with photographs.

Would that become “art” in the future?

Or maybe photos from a magic camera.

In this magecraft superpower, the Albatross Kingdom, that should be possible.

The basic principle behind a camera was simple, after all.

Of course, if you demanded high performance, there’d be no end to it.

Even if it was a field Japanese companies were strong in… yeah, still.

Start with a pinhole camera?

We also made it possible to take food to go.

Rough paper bags and paper shopping bags were the recommended packaging.

For nobles, we also offered expensive wooden containers for a fee.

If we used plastic bags or plastic clamshell containers, it would be bad if they got tossed somewhere as litter.

That kind of thing would last forever.

The food court was brightly lit with magic lamps, and multiple souvenir shops were set up.

There was also a café where you could relax, with a pretty modern interior.

For now, we also offered drinks like coffee and cocoa, cola and soda.

And then, the flagship attraction: the noodle-soup alley.

I prepared ten shops for it.

At first, the entire staff from the Noodle Soup Research Institute would operate them.

Beyond that, an outdoor theater had been built, where music and plays were performed.

It had a stage with a roof and dressing rooms.

The audience seating was open-air.

In fact, roof mounts had been installed, and since an item box was set in place, if needed, you just pulled the roof out and it automatically fitted into place.

It was basically like a convertible’s soft top or hardtop.

Since it was already a configured magic device, if a staff member pushed a button, the roof would shoot out from storage in an instant.

And normally it stayed open, so you could enjoy the refreshing outdoor atmosphere.

From sweets to hearty snacks to Japanese-style desserts, noodle soup, pizza, burgers, thick wheat noodles, fried noodles, savory pancakes—and at last, gentle sweet red-bean desserts had debuted too.

Even the king was unfamiliar with this style of dining street in this world, so he received it with surprise.

“You’ve made quite a variety of things. It’s interesting.”

“I think that going forward, facilities of a certain size will start building food courts like this. For now, though, there are many things you can only eat here.”

I explained while barely holding back a grin.

An invisible tail might have been wagging at full speed.

“Originally, this self-service dining hall called a ‘food court’ is built for the purpose of quickly and easily providing meals to large numbers of customers at facilities meant for other purposes. Here, since building the food court itself is the main purpose, the other parts are almost like extras.”

Then I explained again, like this.

“These are… things that would make a Rare Visitor cry with joy. Things the first king surely dreamed of, but never lived to see. If he were here now, he would have wept and sobbed. Please take them as souvenirs and offer them at the first king’s grave.”

“So that is how it is… Then I shall gratefully do so.”

“By the way, according to the story from the first king’s younger sister, he loved red-bean desserts, so I’d recommend ohagi, fish-shaped cakes filled with chunky red-bean paste, and large pancake cakes. He also liked dumplings quite a bit, so soy-glazed dumplings are recommended too. Next time, I might make red-bean dumplings as well and go offer them at his grave—hm? Your Majesty, is something wrong?”

“What… did you just say?”

“Hm?

Uh, that the first king loved red-bean paste.”

“That’s not it! You just said the first king’s younger sister—”

“Yes, she is called Mari Funabashi.

In Japan right now… ah, ‘Japan’ is the name of the Rare Visitor’s country.

She built a grave there, and she goes every month on his death anniversary to offer red-bean sweets.

She even bought a household altar.”

“You spoke with the first king’s younger sister?”

“Yes, we have a way to communicate. It’s only been two years, in their time, since the first king went missing.”

“W-what…?”

His Majesty the King froze in place.

If this were boxing, it would be fatal.

Ah—he looked like he’d taken a serious shock.

Well, I’d been pretty shocked when I first heard it too.

Right.

That would mean she was royalty in this world too.

“A younger sister… what kind of person is she, I wonder…”

Alright, I guess I’ll show him.

It’s way overdue, but still.

“Mari—”

“Yeees?”

“Come over here for a sec—”

“What is it?”

“Your Majesty, this is Mari-san.”