Chapter 20 Exotic Food
Steam curled upward from the boiled bear foot placed right in front of Rudy, rising in thick, ghostly ribbons that made the entire wooden table look like it was smoking. I stared at it—no, I was petrified by it. Who in their right mind casually orders a massive, boiled bear foot as if it’s a side dish? Apparently, Rudy does, because the moment the plate touched the table, his eyes gleamed in a way that was both childlike and mildly terrifying.
“Ah, perfection,” he murmured as if greeting a long-lost friend.
Meanwhile, I sat very still, my hands folded on my lap, mentally questioning every life choice I had made that led me to this moment. But as I inhaled, cautiously, the scent that escaped the bear foot wasn’t actually bad. Oddly enough, it was… appetizing. Rich, smoky, almost buttery. The longer I sat there, the more my stomach betrayed me by rumbling softly.
Rudy wasted no time. He grabbed his cutlery with the eagerness of a man reunited with love, cut through the thick meat, and took his first bite. A satisfied groan escaped him immediately. “God, they do it so well here.”
I turned back to my own plate, my tragic plate and felt my soul quietly slip out of my body. I expected boiled seafood. I ordered boiled seafood. What was delivered to me instead was a bed of raw seafood served on ice chunks. Thick slices of raw scallop, translucent shrimp still practically glistening with sea droplets, stingingly fresh crab legs that looked like they’d been taken from the ocean and slaughtered right before my eyes. All beautifully seasoned… but still very much raw.
Beside the plate, the waiter had placed a small bottle of soy sauce as if that magically transformed raw into cooked and a tiny dish for dipping.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to complain. I wanted to raise my hand like a polite schoolgirl and say, “Please, this isn’t what I ordered.” But I couldn’t. Not when this whole dinner was Rudy’s idea. Not when the waiter had bowed so dramatically while presenting the plates. Not when I was trying desperately to appear composed and worldly.
Then I remembered the proverb: The rich also cry.
Well, this was exactly that moment. I felt the proverb embrace me like a mother welcoming her foolish child home.
With quiet resignation, I picked up my chopsticks, grabbed a slice of the crab—which, judging by its glossy red sheen, was freshly bled out and placed it into my mouth.
To my surprise, it didn’t taste horrible. It was cold. Fresh. A little metallic. But the seasoning did help. Still, my tongue remained unsure.
Across from me, Rudy was already halfway through his bear foot, devouring it with the kind of enthusiasm someone reserves for their true passion in life. I’d heard that quirk users burned more calories and needed much more food than the average person, but watching it in real-time was… insane. He ate like someone who hadn’t eaten a full meal in days.
Then, mid-bite, he slowed and studied me. “Why do you look like you’re in pain?”
I swallowed my raw crab and tried not to wince. “I… didn’t realize I ordered fresh seafood.”
Rudy snorted in amusement. “Ah, that happens to everyone the first few times. Trust me, I’ve made so many ordering mistakes here that I lost count.” He reached for his cup of water. “You’ll get used to it with time.”
Inwardly, I sneered. Time? As in, coming back here again? Me? To voluntarily battle ice-cold sea creatures that might still be spiritually alive? Never. Not even if someone paid me.
Out loud, however, I said nothing.
He grinned, as if reading the exact opposite of what I was thinking. “Don’t worry, the chefs here are picky and dramatic, so they only serve extremely fresh ingredients.”
“That explains… a lot,” I mumbled.
Suddenly, Rudy lifted his pinky finger, and with a tiny pop, a small flame burst to life at the tip. It flickered and danced around his pinky like an ember in the wind before stabilizing into a gentle, warm glow.
“If you want,” he said casually, as if conjuring fire from his hand were the most normal thing in the world, “you could warm it up a bit. The seafood, I mean.”
I blinked. “W-warm it?”
“Yeah.” He tilted his pinky closer to my plate. “Just pass it under the flame for a second or two. Won’t fully cook it, but it’ll take the chill off.”
Honestly, the idea sounded tempting. But pride is a stubborn creature.
“There’s no need,” I said with a small smile. “I’m already getting used to it. And the seasoning makes it… less obvious that it’s raw.”
He nodded and closed his fist, extinguishing the flame instantly. Then he continued eating for a moment, but I noticed from the corner of my eye that he kept glancing in my direction. Not curiosity. Not amused. It was something else.
Finally, he set down his cutlery and stared directly at me.
“I actually wanted to ask you a question,” he said.
I paused mid-chew. That tone—soft, hesitant, not at all like the Rudy who casually ate boiled bear limbs, made me straighten instinctively.
“What do you want to ask?” I asked, gently lowering my chopsticks.
He inhaled deeply, almost dramatically. “Do you… have a boyfriend?”
My brain bluescreened.
“What?” I squeaked. “Why… why would you ask that?”
Rudy shrugged awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just wanted to know. I mean… I haven’t seen you with anyone, so I thought maybe you were single.”
My cheeks burned instantly. Heat crawled across my face and down my neck. Memories of what happened in the car the other day, his arm brushing mine, the strange tension, and the embarrassing silence hit me like a truck.
“I…” I exhaled shakily. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” He nodded slowly, and a smile, small but unmistakably pleased, spread across his face. “I see.”
He returned to his meal, chewing thoughtfully, still wearing that subtle, blooming smile like he was trying very hard not to reveal more.
As for me, I felt too self-conscious to even swallow properly.
I wanted to ask him questions. I wanted to make a joke about how weird that question was. I even wanted to ask if he had a girlfriend. But after everything, the strange question, and the car incident, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Instead, I quietly picked up another piece of raw seafood and dipped it into the soy sauce, trying not to tremble like an idiot.
I ate in silence while Rudy kept smiling.