“Dad, that’s not cooked yet.”
Hans gently chided Lorenz, who was reaching for a piece of chicken that had just been added to the pot.
In contrast to Lorenz, who tried to eat the meat the moment it was put in, Hugo had been eating nothing but Chinese cabbage and enoki mushrooms. Hans, for his part, had only been adding ingredients and hadn’t eaten much yet.
Hans was spending his day off with his father and brother, visiting Izakaya Nobu as customers.
“Hugo, eat some meat. Meat. Or you’ll never grow big.”
“Eating meat won’t make me any bigger at this point. More importantly, you need to eat some vegetables too, Master.”
“I told you, you can just call me ‘Dad’ when we’re not at the workshop, Hugo. Hans, this is a celebration, so keep adding more meat. More meat!”
“Yes, yes. As you wish.”
He raised his hand and called for Liontine, ordering three more servings of chicken. Today’s hot pot was mizutaki, and the chicken was delicious.
Translator’s note
Mizutaki is a type of Japanese hot pot (nabe) where chicken and vegetables are simmered in a simple broth and dipped in sauce.
It was Hugo, surprisingly, who had suggested they eat something delicious to celebrate.
The lens-grinding job they had undertaken for Thomas, a priest from the cathedral, had been a success.
It was Hugo’s perseverance that solved a problem that even the skilled Lorenz had been unable to meet the requirements for. Both Hans and Lorenz knew all too well that he had stayed cooped up in the workshop late every night after finishing his regular work.
It was only natural that Lorenz was even happier than Hugo when the completed work was recognized.
“But man, your skills have really improved.”
Lorenz was in high spirits, draining a glass of sake he’d long lost count of.
“Master—I mean, Dad. That’s the fifth time you’ve told that story.”
“It’s fine, Hugo. A happy story is worth telling over and over again. Over and over.”
Lorenz was sipping his sake from a special glass cup he had been given permission to bring with him. It was made by Hugo, and even from Hans’s perspective, it was quite good.
When it came to thin, highly artistic work, Lorenz was still superior.
The delicate, aristocratic shades of glass created by the experienced Lorenz were something no other artisan could imitate.
In contrast, the glass cups Hugo made had a certain gentleness to them. The thick glass had a rustic charm, and the satisfying weight in one’s hand when filled with sake felt just right.
Taisho seemed to like it a lot and would likely be placing a personal order for a few.
He dipped a piece of limp, boiled cabbage into the ponzu sauce and ate it, puffing out his breath.
In this season where the cold still lingered, warmth was the greatest feast of all.
The feeling of heat gradually spreading from the pit of his stomach as he ate was incredibly pleasant.
“Bugyō, we need more meat.”
“Yes, yes, Dad. Just a moment.”
At the request from a bleary-eyed, tipsy Lorenz, Hans immediately added more meat to the pot.
At Nobu, the person in charge of managing a hot pot meal had come to be called a “Bugyō” or “Nabe Bugyō.”
Translator’s note
A “Nabe Bugyō” (Hot Pot Magistrate) is a playful term for the person at a hot pot dinner who takes charge, deciding what to add and when things are cooked, and serving everyone often seen as being bossy about the “right way” to do it.
According to Shinobu, it was an old word for an official like a magistrate, but it had somehow spread among the customers, giving rise to many a “famous bugyō.”
Incidentally, the most famous bugyō at Izakaya Nobu was Eva; any customer who couldn’t get their hot pot right would end up asking for her help.
“But still, this sake really warms the soul tonight.”
As Lorenz took a quick swig of Kumanosho from his cup, his face was the very picture of happiness.
After losing two wives in a row, he had raised two sons all by himself. He must have faced hardships that Hans could never even imagine.
Lorenz loved his drink, but he had often drunk simply for the sake of getting drunk, perhaps to distract himself from his loneliness.
Tonight, there was no such shadow over his drinking; it was pure and pleasant. Hans was drinking along with him, and he had to agree that it seemed to warm the soul more than usual.
“Then don’t drink too much, Mas—I mean, Dad.”
“It’s fine. It’s not that it tastes bad. Warming the soul is a good thing.”
From the bottom of the gently simmering pot, he scooped up a piece of tofu with a Chinese soup spoon.
Of all the ingredients in mizutaki, Hans liked tofu the best.
It was soft and unassuming, yet it had a solid presence. He supposed it was a bit like his older brother, Hugo.
“Bugyō, some tofu over here, too.”
“You could just get it yourself, big brother.”
“It’s alright, Hans. Just for today.”
His older brother, who usually couldn’t and didn’t drink, was sipping sake, if only for tonight.
He must have been incredibly happy about his success. Until now, lens grinding had been the exclusive domain of the Holy Kingdom; Hans had heard that even Gernot’s monocle had been specially ordered from there.
If Lorenz’s workshop could build a reputation for being able to grind lenses properly, the profits to be gained would be immense. In an era where simply being skilled at glasswork was no longer enough to differentiate oneself, Lorenz and Hugo’s joy was surely that much greater.
“Welcome!”
“…’come!”
Behind Hans, Shinobu and Taisho were greeting new customers.
From the sound of it, it was a party of three.
Hans couldn’t see them from where he sat, but from the tone of their voices, they seemed to be quite close.
Lorenz’s chopsticks, which had been moving as he idly watched the customers sit at the table behind them, stopped.
“…Hey, isn’t that the former Emperor?”