40. Why the Master is so picky
“Mr. Ceres, is there something wrong with you?”
Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to taste it like that.
“It’s normal.”
But Ceres firmly defined his physical condition.
If your body is that normal... then what if?
“Are you poisoned?”
“...It’s not poison.”
But the look in his eyes said it was as tasteless as poison.
Diarin pretended not to hear and glared at the pie again.
If two people eat it and their opinions differ, you can call one more person to confirm.
Just then, Skinnell happened to be passing by across the hallway.
“Ah, Mr. Skinnell.”
"Yes?"
“Would you like to come and try this?”
“...Me?”
In this mansion, no one except Diarin is allowed to sit face-to-face with Ceres outside of working hours.
It was natural, as it was a relationship between a master and an employee.
To everyone working there, Ceres was already branded as a 'low-life gentleman'.
No one wanted to see each other's faces, even with a simple act of kindness.
When Ceres was seen, they would turn back from afar, and if they heard that he was doing something somewhere, they would not come near him.
Thanks to this, Ceres was able to maintain a much more peaceful life, which was a win-win for both of them.
“They say this is the chef’s new creation, but I can’t tell if it’s tasty or not.”
But now, with Ceres's evaluation being so harsh, there was no time to consider such things.
By Diarin's standards, it was the most delicious pie she had ever eaten in her life.
“Ah, ahh... Yes... It’s not poisoned, is it?”
Skinnell seemed to have a vague understanding of the situation, but he didn't look pleased about it either.
Having to eat some unknown food at the table with that insufferable young master who's already such a pain in the neck.
"Yes, really. I need to give the chef a proper review, but it's difficult, so I'm asking for your help. Please enjoy your meal and feel free to comment."
“Um, yes, then...”
Skinnell finally felt relieved and took a small bite.
Skinnell, who had been rolling his eyes and savoring the taste, looked down at the pie in surprise.
"Oh my goodness, this is so delicious! What is this? I've never had it before, but it's so delicious!"
“It’s delicious, right? It’s definitely delicious, right?”
“How can this not taste good?”
There are only two people who have tried this so far, excluding Skinnell.
Diarin said it was delicious, so the only one who said it wasn't delicious was Ceres.
Doesn't taste follow personality?
Skinnell's eyes said so.
“For the sake of fairness, let’s ask just one more person.”
It also broke her heart that Ceres was only receiving hatred.
This time, Diarin caught a masseuse.
“Ugh.”
The masseuse who took a bite expressed Ceres's comment that it was 'shit-tasting' through her actions.
“No, how can you eat this and say, ‘Wow,’”
“Oh my, where is this not! Wow, what is this? This is really so tasteless.”
“...Is it not tasty? Really? You’re not acting?”
“In the name of God, it really is tasteless.”
Ceres looked back at Diarin as if he was watching.
Although he appeared expressionless, the pride in his eyes was evident.
“...Does everyone else like it?”
The masseuse asked with a sad face.
“No. Mr. Ceres said it wasn’t tasty either.”
"Ah!"
Only then did the masseuse raise her head with a sad expression, as if she had just been saved.
“You don’t like it either, Young Master?”
“It tastes like sour shit.”
“That’s right! That’s right! It really tastes just like that!”
Ceres' expression may have touched someone.
Diarin pondered deeply whether this was the moment when she had to admit that her world was narrow.
“Still, it’s too harsh to give such a bad review to someone who made the food.”
"No, I agree with that assessment. It's exactly that flavor. There's no other way to describe it."
The masseuse came out in defense.
No, this isn't a question of expression... But still, manners between people... Social etiquette...
But it was also strange to see the Priestess teaching the young master the etiquette of a nobleman.
While Diarin was mumbling, the chef appeared.
“Oh, today’s dessert is on the heavy side, so I’ll have some light sherbet and fruit to wash it down... Oh, yeah?”
The chef was suddenly taken aback by the attention of the people pouring in on him.
The chef would always bring out the food, give a brief explanation, and then disappear.
Neither of them was very knowledgeable about cooking, so they just listened.
Since Diarin is not a picky eater, she did not ask for changes like this or that.
But what is this amazing atmosphere that makes it seem like shit came out of the dish?
“Is it normal for this pie to taste different to different people?”
Diarin asked as the representative.
"Ah...! Yes! It's a food ingredient that some people may or may not like. It's imported from the far reaches of the continent, and its name is Rinzo... It's a mixture of mushrooms and cheese. However, if it suits your taste, nothing tastes as good as this, so I tried it...."
The chef was so excited that he started to describe the food at length.
The four people who heard the explanation looked at each other at the same time.
The tasteless side, the tasteful side, they were all correct.
“Then what kind of taste is normal?”
“Ah, those who find it delicious will be able to feel the rich, savory heaviness of the cheese, the refreshing aroma of the mushrooms, and the sweet, honey-like aftertaste.”
The chef, still in high spirits, completely forgot his usual timidity.
It was a great description.
Even though he was not very good at speaking, he was a person who could give such a long description in his field of expertise.
Diarin's expectations have risen.
Since he described something delicious so well, he'll probably describe something that isn't delicious as well.
She hoped that he would come up with an expression so good that Ceres could hear it and learn from it.
“Then how do people who don’t have taste feel?”
The chef smiled brightly, which was rare.
“Yes, it tastes like sour shit.”
“...”
“...”
“Hehehe, isn’t that funny? But they say it tastes like real, sour shit.”
It was so funny that she laughed.
It must have been really funny to the chef because the food tasted like shit.
“See, it tastes like shit!”
The masseuse vented her frustration.
Diarin became complicated.
He just called it the taste of shit, the taste of shit... That’s it.
Even the creator said it was accurate, so Diarin couldn't change it any further.
But, as expected, she felt like she shouldn't use the expression "shit taste" in social circles.
“So it was because you were so discerning that you were so particular, young master!”
The masseuse, impressed by the taste of shit, abandoned her usual coldness and treated Ceres with utmost care.
"As expected, people with keen senses can sense the same flavor more strongly, so it can't be helped. After all, even the smell of farts, if diluted, smells like roses. Those with keen senses like you and me smell farts as they are, while those with duller senses sniff them, thinking they're roses."
Between the two shit-tasting comrades, only Diarin was the one who enjoyed it.
She suddenly felt lonely.
Diarin, who had become silent, sat quietly in the corner of the massage room.
"I now understand that your scruples weren't simply due to your ill-temper... but rather because you possessed a remarkable sensibility, one that stands out from others. Today, I will definitely discover your tastes and cater to them."
The masseuse suddenly became passionate.
This is how scary the sense of camaraderie was.
The lonely Diarin remained silent.
Normally, Ceres had no reason to express himself directly to the masseuse.
Expressing things as “like” or “dislike” has become so ingrained as a habit that I initially expressed it as ‘like’ or “dislike.”
"Oh, you don't like this? Yes. How about this?"
There's a like, dislike.
There was no need to hear any more of the story.
"How about this oil? It's the one you usually least like to dislike."
"Good."
"What do you like about it? How it feels on your skin, the scent, how it rubs against your skin, the viscosity, the heat—if you could tell me what you feel, it would help me choose."
The masseuse's questions were different from usual.
Diarin also looked up, her head lowered in dejection, as if she was amazed.
Ceres stared blankly down at the few drops of oil she had applied to his forearm as a test, then finally opened his mouth.
“The feeling when applied to the skin is...”
As long as there is no shit, that's fine.
Diarin waited nervously for the next words.
“It feels like when Diarin’s wet hair touches my skin.”
“Coo-hoo!”
The pie she just ate almost vomited back up.
The song about Diarin, which she had barely forgotten, has returned.
Is it shit or is it Diarin's lament?
Either way, it was an expression that made her want to faint.
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