Enrico, faced with the chawanmushi, listened intently to the voices filling the world.
In Enrico’s understanding, the world was full of wonders and miracles.
Even without considering matters as grand as the movements of celestial bodies like the sun and moon, everything he encountered daily was imbued with God’s deep love, which determined its behavior.
Therefore, even a savory pudding with various ingredients was imbued with God’s grace.
The order in which the ingredients appeared from within was used to divine God’s will.
This was one of the skills Enrico had acquired after long and arduous training.
It was a legitimate form of divination.
It was a method recorded in the ancient records of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, along with methods like sliding a copper coin on parchment inscribed with letters and astrology.
Recently, due to the reforms promoted by Hülchtegott, ancient divination practices were considered outdated, but the Archbishop held Enrico’s abilities in high regard.
He took the wooden spoon and focused his mind.
The hustle and bustle of the pub Nobu gradually faded away, and only the chawanmushi in front of him gradually increased in presence.
When the surface of the water he imagined in his mind became completely calm, Enrico asked his question.
(…What kind of existence should the Holy Office of the Inquisition be?)
He slowly inserted the wooden spoon into the chawanmushi and touched something.
This was the answer.
Lifting it gently, he found a thin, quivering, white, semi-circular food item. The edges were colored pink.
“That’s kamaboko. It’s made from fish paste,” the waitress called out from outside his concentration.
Her voice sounded strangely distorted, like when he listened to sounds from the outside while floating in water.
Kamaboko.
This semicircle represented half of the world.
I see. It’s as the old teachings say, the Holy Office of the Inquisition occupies the world of religion, and other matters should be left to the emperor and kings.
He wanted to move on to the next question, but to do so, he had to empty the spoon.
To avoid suspicion as a spy, he had to pretend he was eating. That was all he thought about as he brought it to his mouth.
However, Enrico almost dropped the spoon.
It was delicious.
Smooth, fluffy, and delicious.
It was completely different from the bland pudding served at the monastery.
The kamaboko was also good. He had never tasted this unique, springy texture before.
The flavor was overwhelmingly rich, dense, and substantial. Could such a food really exist in this world?
Or perhaps, this was a type of magic wielded by witches.
He eagerly tried to scoop up the next bite, but restrained himself at the last moment.
No. That’s not it. This was a dialogue, an inquiry.
Don’t lose focus. He must not fall into the witch’s trap.
To calm his mind, he asked a question he often asked.
(What is the nature of God’s existence?)
As he thought, he inserted the spoon.
Then, he hit something again. It seemed to be a leafy vegetable.
Wondering what it was, he examined the spoon closely and found something unbelievable.
“That’s mitsuba (trefoil),” the waitress commented.
Mitsuba. Three leaves, yet one at the same time.
This represented the three aspects of God.
The dialogue was working. With this, he should be able to ask about this shop without any problems.
But for that, he needed another bite.
This wasn’t eating because he wanted to eat; it was eating to empty the spoon.
It was definitely not a fall into desire.
He took a bite.
As he put it in his mouth, he realized that the vegetable wasn’t just steamed.
It seemed to have been parboiled beforehand and seasoned.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be this delicious.
It wasn’t just delicious; it was delicious.
Why was it so delicious?
A sudden doubt arose in Enrico’s mind.
Was the next question he should ask really, “Is this a witch’s lair?”
If the answer was that this was indeed a witch’s lair, Enrico, as a member of the clergy, would have to leave this shop immediately.
If that happened, what would become of the remaining chawanmushi?
Would it be thrown away as a customer’s leftovers?
That would be a terrible waste.
Was there any way to eat the chawanmushi to the end?
There was a way.
He would ask the question with the very last bite of the chawanmushi.
That way, even if this was a witch’s lair, he could finish the chawanmushi before leaving.
With each question, the spoon found an ingredient.
Chicken, representing time. Lily bulb, showing that the important thing was not the contents but continuing to ask. Ginkgo nuts, which continue to propagate their seeds even after the passage of eons.
Each ingredient provided a satisfactory answer to his questions.
And it was delicious.
Before he knew it, only one spoonful was left in the bowl.
Reluctantly, Enrico asked his final question.
(Is this shop really a witch’s lair?)
If it was a witch’s lair, there should be an ingredient indicating that.
However, only the quivering chawanmushi custard itself was on the spoon.
The result of the divination was blank.
Licking the spoon clean with the last bite, Enrico thought.
Was this really not a witch’s lair?
Indeed, judging from the harmonious atmosphere, it was hard to believe that this was a den of a heretical sect that opposed the faith.
Besides, the information that this shop was suspicious came only from Damian.
It was important for the classical revivalists that there be a witch in the old capital, but there was no need for this shop to be it.
Above all, the chawanmushi was delicious.
Perhaps he should order another chawanmushi to ensure the accuracy of the divination.
Just as he thought that, Enrico felt an intense gaze from behind.
This was not a human gaze.
Trembling, he slowly turned around, but there was no one there.
Only an altar of a foreign religion was enshrined.
“Excuse me, sir, is there something wrong with the kamidana?” the waitress asked.
Something was definitely residing in the altar that the waitress called a kamidana.
It wasn’t something evil. It was something with holiness, but what it was was beyond Enrico’s imagination.
“T-Thank you for the meal!”
Taking out a silver coin from his pocket, Enrico thrust it into the waitress’s hand and rushed out into the autumn rain-soaked night of the old capital.
What witch’s lair?
There was no way a witch could enter a shop guarded by such a high-ranking sacred beast, probably a fox spirit or something similar.
With a feeling of helplessness and an empty stomach, Enrico was troubled about how to report to the Archbishop.