Chapter 123 - Fried Chicken and Older Male Friends
When they returned to the second floor, Dahlia was holding a black T-shirt. It was the same one Volf had borrowed before.
“Volf, please wear this if you can. Right now, you look like you’ve been mugged.”
“Thanks. Sorry for what happened earlier.”
“My bad, Dahlia-chan. We got a bit carried away.”
“Honestly, you two didn’t have to go so far that your clothes got torn...”
Her voice shifted from anger to concern, making Volf feel even more guilty.
As he pondered how to apologize, Marcella nodded.
“Yeah, we should’ve just taken our shirts off from the start.”
“...Marcella-san.”
“Hey, why don’t you two just strip and spar until you’re satisfied? Dahlia and I can grab some drinks and chairs and watch from the garden.”
“No way! Here, set these up. I’ll finish up the food!”
Dahlia handed the plates and cutlery to Irma and hurried back to the kitchen. Volf missed his chance to call out to her retreating figure.
“Dahlia’s mad...”
“We teased her too much. She’s acting like Irma’s family cat.”
“Cat?”
“Yeah, the cat at Irma’s parents’ house. Back when it used to hiss at me, its face looked just like Dahlia-chan’s earlier.”
It was a harsh comparison, but Volf could see the resemblance. Dahlia was acting differently, and it felt like she was keeping her distance.
If they weren’t careful, they’d either get an earful or be met with a cold smile. Volf wanted to avoid both at all costs.
“Our cat used to avoid Marcella. Back then, he was always carrying herb boxes between the capital and the outskirts.”
“Can’t help it if I smelled like cat repellent. But now, the cat comes straight to me.”
“Marcella, you’ve gotten really good at winning it over.”
Volf turned to Marcella with hope.
Maybe he could learn something about how to cheer Dahlia up.
“How do you win it over?”
“Feed it their favorite food and scratch all the good spots. I recommend the base of the ears, the neck, and the back.”
“I see...”
Volf felt a dull headache coming on. This wasn’t helpful at all.
When Dahlia brought out the first dish, everyone pitched in, shuttling between the kitchen and the table.
Volf prepared ale and wine, filling a bucket with ice to keep them cold.
“Volf, Marcella-san, drink a potion before we toast. The bruises on your arms look terrible.”
Once everyone was seated, Dahlia placed a bottle of potion on the table.
“I’m fine, really. This isn’t even a real injury.”
“It’s nothing serious... No, Marcella-san, let’s just drink half each.”
“Come on, that stuff’s expensive.”
“It’s better to drink it now before we have to pay a bigger price. I’ll cover it this time as a celebration. You can treat me to drinks later.”
“...Alright.”
Dahlia’s green eyes were fixed on them, and it was a little intimidating.
If they refused now, Volf had a feeling they’d be lectured over food and drinks.
Under Dahlia’s gaze, Marcella seemed to agree.
“Fine. I’ll take you up on it this time. Next round’s on me.”
“Then I’ll take half.”
As Volf reached for a glass, Irma picked up a small plate.
“Wait, Volf-san, can I have a little potion here?”
“Irma-san, are you hurt somewhere?”
“Not me. Dahlia, you tripped on the stairs earlier, right? Show me your palms.”
“...I’m fine.”
Dahlia looked away awkwardly, but Irma took her hand without hesitation.
“Here, open your hand. It’s not too bad.”
She dabbed a bit of potion on her fingertips and pressed them gently against Dahlia’s palm.
Dahlia winced slightly, her green eyes narrowing. She blew on her palm as if it were alcohol.
“Next, your knee. You definitely scraped it, right? Lift your skirt... Oh, men, turn around and drink your potions.”
“Sure.”
“Got it.”
Volf and Marcella obediently turned their backs and drank their potions.
Behind them, Dahlia let out a small yelp as the potion stung her knee. Poor thing.
“Wow, potions are amazing! The pain in my leg’s gone!”
Marcella exclaimed after downing his potion.
Volf looked at his arm and saw the bruises slowly fading. He hadn’t even noticed the dull ache in his legs until it disappeared.
“Marcella-san, if the potion worked, that means you were actually hurt.”
“Also feeling better after that fall down the stairs, Dahlia-chan?”
“Hey, I’m not joking here.”
“Dahlia, Dahlia, let it go. Marcella’s hopeless, and the ale’s getting warm.”
“Wait, isn’t my wife supposed to be head over heels for me?”
“Is there something more important than Dahlia’s cooking right now?”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
Volf agreed firmly.
Ignoring Marcella’s exaggerated sigh, Irma smiled at Volf.
Her gaze, like Dahlia’s, was simply observing him as an individual, and Volf felt immensely relieved.
Finally, the four of them raised their glasses for a toast.
“The ale’s from Volf, the fruits’ from Marcella-san, and the sandwiches are from Irma. The chilled vegetables come with mayo and dressing, so use whichever you prefer. This plate here is lightly salted.”
On a plate filled with ice, there were chilled cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, boiled broccoli, and carrots, all cut into bite-sized pieces. Next to it was another plate with thinly sliced radishes and eggplants.
There were also thick sandwiches, colorful cut fruits, grilled kraken with fish sauce, and a cheese platter.
But the largest plate in the center was still empty.
“Alright, I’m going to double-fry it now.”
“Need any help?”
“No, I’ll be right back.”
Dahlia smiled and disappeared into the kitchen.
Volf watched her go and finished his glass. The black ale was cold and tasty, but he still felt uneasy.
“Volf-san, it’s fine. She’ll be back soon.”
“I wish I could help with something.”
“You can help with the cleanup.”
Irma laughed as she answered, but later, when she heard that Volf had been doing the dishes all along, she froze in shock.
“Sorry for the wait.”
A few minutes later, Dahlia returned with a large plate still sizzling with oil.
“It’s fried chicken. There are two flavors, so try both and see which you like.”
Fried chicken wasn’t anything special—it was a common dish at cafeterias and pubs.
But the spicy aroma and the slightly darker, crispier appearance made his mouth water.
Following the recommendation, he stuck his fork in and brought it to his mouth.
“By the way, make sure to brush your teeth well tonight. I didn’t hold back on the garlic.”
As Dahlia spoke, Volf chewed carefully to savor the flavor.
The crispy coating made a satisfying crunch, and the heat hit his lips.
The rich aroma of garlic and ginger hit first, followed by a burst of savory meat juices. The heat caught him off guard for a moment, but as he chewed, the slightly strong saltiness balanced out perfectly.
After savoring the chicken and swallowing it down, Volf naturally reached for the black ale.
As he let the drink wash down his throat, the taste of meat and fat faded, replaced by a refreshing bitterness. It was fascinating how even the flavor of the ale seemed to stand out more.
“This again, an absolute chain reaction...”
The comment of the man beside him as he emptied his ale resonated strongly with Volf.
The second batch of fried chicken was a shade darker.
Thinking it might be slightly burnt, Volf took a bite and was surprised by its tenderness and sweetness. The juiciness was the same, but the flavor was entirely different.
Chewing slowly and swallowing, he noticed the lingering sweetness that followed—perfectly complemented by the ale.
Fried chicken could get tiresome after a while, but with these two flavors and the black ale, Volf couldn’t stop.
“Dahlia, what’s the seasoning on this one?”
“Honey, fish sauce, and a hint of lemon. It’s good even when cold, so it’s great for lunchboxes.”
“Can I get the recipe later?”
“Sure. I’ll write it down for you.”
As they exchanged brief comments, the fried chicken disappeared quickly.
Seeing the empty plates, the red-haired girl smiled with satisfaction.
“Want more? I can fry up another batch.”
“Dahlia, I love you!”
“Mind if I take you up on that? I’ll bring some fresh chicken to your garden next time.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not raising chickens.”
Volf found the banter between Dahlia and the couple endearing, but something still nagged at him.
“I’d love to have some too.”
“If you help with the dishes later, I’ll fry up a lot more.”
“I’ll do more than just the dishes. I’ll polish the magic stove and the sink.”
“Then I’ll make the kitchen walls and floors sparkle.”
Irma burst out laughing at their overly serious tones.
“That’s great, Dahlia. Your kitchen’s going to be spotless.”
“Hehe, I’m looking forward to it. I’ll go fry up some more. It won’t take long, so wait a bit.”
Dahlia hurried back to the kitchen.
Would it be the same two flavors, or, since it’s Dahlia, she might surprise them with a new one? Volf couldn’t wait to find out.
The Green Tower, Dahlia by his side, easygoing conversations, great drinks, and delicious food.
These were things Volf hadn’t known just a few months ago. While he was happy, he also felt a little scared. If someone told him to go back to how things used to be, he didn’t think he could.
“...It’d be great to drink together again.”
“Yeah. Next time, come to our place with Dahlia-chan.”
Marcella responded immediately to Volf’s almost-muttered words.
“We’ll be waiting. I’ll show off my cooking skills next time.”
“Thanks. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to.”
It made Volf incredibly happy to be able to talk like this.
But he couldn’t help but worry if he was imposing on this couple. His gaze dropped slightly.
“If it’s a problem being seen near our place, you can just go by the name ‘Wolf’ when you’re wearing your glasses. We can always play dumb and say we didn’t know—it’ll hold up as an excuse.”
“That might work. If you’re worried, coming in the evening would make you less noticeable.”
“Thanks, both of you.”
Volf felt both embarrassed and relieved that they’d seen through him. Maybe it was because Marcella was older, or maybe he was just being swept along.
“If we go to the back alleys in the lower town, no one will recognize us. We can drink freely there. Though I wouldn’t recommend it for the ladies...”
“That sounds fun.”
“Great. Then let’s hit up some back-alley spots with questionable booze, some dingy standing bars, and those places only guys can go to. What do you say, ‘Wolf’?”
“Yeah. I’ll look forward to it, ‘Marcella.’”
As their conversation gained momentum, Irma narrowed her reddish-brown eyes suspiciously.
“I have a feeling my husband’s trying to teach Volf-san something bad...”
“What, dear, didn’t you know?”
Marcella, holding his black ale, put on an innocent face.
“Teaching bad pastimes is what older male friends are for.”
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