“Hey, maybe this is a weird question, but are you Hugot’s wife?”

The hobgoblin woman shook her head without looking away from the noodles she expertly pulled between her hands. “Nope.”

“Dang.” Shin drummed his fingers thoughtfully against the table. “I’m supposed to give her his regards. I’m gonna have to visit a bunch more inns, I guess.”

“Inns?” Hilde questioned around her mouthful of pickled radish, “Why inns? Doesn’t Hugot’s wife own the bath house?”

Gero gestured with her empty cup towards Shin, prompting the other kobold to pour her another helping as she corrected their hobgoblin companion. “That’s not it. Hugot from the fortress, right?” The woman knocked back her newly filled cup, immediately waggling it towards Shin to be filled again. “I’m pretty sure his wife oversees the cleaning staff for the Oninu Sect Temple.”

Shin raised his eyebrows slightly as he refilled Gero’s cup. “Oninu Sect?”

“That’s my sect. I’m the Grandmaster.” The woman squinted an eye at Shin as she took a slower sip of her drink, her playfully perked ears undermining her attempt at a look of annoyance. “Try to keep up, eh Shin?”

“Of course Grandmaster.”

Gero snorted into her cup, splashing the clear liquor inside onto her face as Bex leaned across the table. “So wait, who is Hugot’s wife?”

“Ah! Allow me!” Mimasu flipped backwards in his book, producing a sheet of paper that was filled to the margins with notes. The scribe took a brief moment to reacquainted himself with his findings, set the paper down on the table, then sagely laced his fingers together. “We have no idea.”

Shin slapped his hand down onto the table, his face turning deadly serious. “Well we’d better find her soon! Hugot’s regards for her are already the fondest; who knows what levels of fondness they’ll grow to if we can’t find her in time?!”

“Oh damn.” Hilde lowered her fresh slice of radish, mirroring the kobold’s grim tones. “Fonderest, maybe?”

“Ooo, maybe Fondester!” Bex’s tail waggled excitedly as she got into the game. “Is that more or less than Fonderest?”

Yasmar seemed amused by the group’s wordplay, though he remained vaguely impatient for the food to arrive. “Fond is the word for the carmelized bits left on the bottom of a pan after you’ve browned something. It’s the closest evidence there is for the existence of a benevolent God.”

“Fondestest!” Gero gestured firmly with her cup, sloshing most of its contents over her hand. “Fondestestest. Est.” She giggled as she found herself trapped by the noise’s siren call, her cheeks beginning to flush with the beginning signs of her intoxication. “Est est~.”

Oh boy. The food had better get here soon.

The newly arrived Chef’s insistence upon a showcase of Shinki Itten’s native styles had sparked an impromptu dinner party of sorts, the motley crew of friends old and new having taken over a tavern near the docks to hold the culinary spectacle. Gero and Hilde had been at the right place and the right time, as had Bex and Mimasu, and the two extremely excited-looking fishermen had earned their seats by virtue of hauling Yasmar’s Dire Shrimp to their destination.

That had still left a seat unfilled, however. Momo had been forced to decline, however, busy as she was with the more mystic elements of her position of High Priestess. She seemed to imply that something was going on with Tasan Okaa Herself? Normally a thought such as that would have consumed Shin’s every waking thought, but right now his rumbling stomach held dominion over his ravenous curiosity. And while Shin had briefly considered inviting Bittercup along, he quickly realized that inviting the elf to join a Player for dinner was probably the quickest way to send her running for the hills.

And so Shin had left it up to the others to find their final dining guest, allowing him to be entirely surprised when the spot was filled by Old Hob. In all the excitement since first meeting the wizened hobgoblin, Shin had nearly forgotten about the ancient man. It was almost a pity that so many fascinating things had been happening all at once; details and twists that were entirely captivating couldn’t help falling through the cracks. He seemed as dazed and listless as ever, but Hilde seemed certain that being around people would do him good.

Well, Shin wasn’t sure about that; Old Hob seemed precisely as listless and doddering as he’d always been. But at the very least the company didn’t seem to be doing him any harm. The increasingly rowdy chatter and laughter of the group seemed to wash right over him, the world around him unable to pierce the armor of his dim, watery eyes. He was even unmoved by the raucous cheer that went up as the doors to the kitchen flung open and the first Grandmaster strode out, his apprentices filing out behind him with trays of bowls in hand.

The Kobold Grandmaster Chef was a slight man with a particularly bushy tails and who cares, oh Goddess what is that they’re bringing out? Shin couldn’t hold back his salivation as he gazed upon the massive filets of Dire Shrimp tail coming towards him, coated in batter as golden as a crown and regally perched atop a bowl of clear broth as if it were a throne. Shin knew precisely what was about to happen, and there was no force on earth that could stop him: a bowl would be put down before him, he would stick his face directly into that bowl, and he was going to devour every scrap of that Bigness even if it made his stomach explode.

Down went the bowl. Down went Shin’s face. And…then he paused? The kobold’s nose twitched as the aroma wafting from the broth twisted into his nostrils. What was that, lemon grass? There much more though, of that he was certain. Star anise? Ginger? A dozen scents curled around Shin’s mind, familiar and unfamiliar alike blending into a subtle tapestry he doubted anyone without Enhanced Sense could truly appreciate.

Shin abruptly realized that, rather than horking the entire filet down in one gulp, he was thoughtfully chewing on small bites as he continued breathing deep of the complex notes of the soup. The other kobolds were as well; even Gero, who had been dangerously close to being full-on drunk, was sipping soup with the manners of a queen. Hilde and the other hobgoblins weren’t quite as enchanted but clearly enjoying themselves, the guard captain even managing to get Old Hob to take a small nibble.

“...comes together in the right way.” Oh, the Grandmaster had been talking this whole time. “By setting two aspects of kobold nature to collide, it creates an experience so much better than simply gobbling up the biggest food available.” He took a sip of his own soup, nodding in approval before continuing. “That can be nice, though. Now and again.”

“Yes, I see.” Yasmar carefully chewed a bite of their own filet, their face inscrutable. “No utensils? I’ve seen chopsticks here and there.”

The Grandmaster nodded. “We use them, yes, but they aren’t entirely traditional. The Goddess already supplied us with the finest utensils that exist: Hands. So use them! Be connected with your food!”

“Right.” Yasmar lifted their bowl, taking a deep inhale before glancing towards the Grandmaster again. “So mechanically speaking. This gives extra bonuses to anyone with the Enhanced Senses perk, or an equivalent?” When the kobold nodded in response, Yasmar set their bowl back down. “Okay. Interesting. Next please!”

The doors to the kitchen burst open, revealing a handsome hobgoblin woman carrying a massive tray of shrimp fritters that still visibly steamed with heat. Shin felt like he knew this woman; she owned one of the taverns that off-duty Banken frequented, right? He had a few resurfaced memories of being dragged there by Hilde and cajoled into trying–

Shin stared at the innocuous little balls, packed full of shrimp and diced vegetables, with a growing sense of dread. It was coming back to him. Hobgoblin food was spicy.

“Go on, eat!” The Hobgoblin Grandmaster exclaimed, effortlessly dropping the sizable platter onto the table with arms easily as beefy as Koda the blacksmith’s. “You’ve gotta eat them while they’re still nearly hot enough to burn your mouth. That’s when they’re best.”

The fisherman clearly agreed, immediately popping fritters in their mouths and beginning to writhe in their seats in a mixture of pain and delight. Hilde hesitated, however, offering the Grandmaster a pleading look. “Come on, where’s the–” She cut herself off with a grin as the other hobgoblin produced a jar of chili paste so dark it was nearly black. “That’s the stuff!” She liberally smeared her frittered with the intense concoction before tilting it towards Shin with a mischievous grin. “Here you go!”

“I’m good, thanks.” Shin took a nibble of his unsauced fritter, noting that it was delicious and still quite spicy even without anything on top.

“Well I’ll try it!” Bex dunked her ball into the sauce, undaunted by Shin’s reluctance. “I’m not afraid of your fancy fantasy world spices!”

“Me too, obviously.” Gero practically doused her fritter with an obscene amount of the deeply fermented hobgoblin chili paste, alarm bells blaring in Shin’s brain. Goddess, he could almost see the steam lines of sheer spice bursting off of the pepper-drowned ball, clawing their way through the air to take the shape of a leering skull. This was going to be a problem.

Bex, for her part, seemed blissfully unaware of said problem. “We eat pretty spicy stuff in my family, you know?” She lifted her fritter for a bite, completely blind to Shin’s silent warnings. “So I don’t think I’ll even mmph?!”

The Player shot up from her seat a split second after taking a bite, her face bright red as her body instinctively attempted to fight off the forces from the Fire Dimension that were apparently invading her mouth. The hobgoblins roared in a mixture of laughter and approval as the girl screwed her eyes shut and swallowed the blazing hot mouthful, sinking back down and letting out a shocked gasp as soon as she managed to unseal her scorched lips. “Oh shits that is hot!”

Yasmar picked up the jar, giving it an approving sniff. “Huh.” They tapped a generous dollop of the fearsome stuff onto a finger, popping it into their mouth without a hint of reaction beyond measured approval. “This is good; how long does this ferment for?”

“How long? Why ever stop? It doesn’t get any kind of punch unless the flavors’ve spent at least a year getting to know each other” The Hobgoblin Grandmaster beamed down in pride at the jar. “That there is three generations old. The good stuff.”

As Yasmar and the Grandmaster continued to chat about proper fermenting procedures, Shin snuck a glance at Gero. The woman was staring helplessly at the chili-laden fritter in her hand, trapped between the anvil of her pride and the hammer of spice that was sure to absolutely destroy her mouth. She glanced up at Shin, silently imploring him to tell her what she should do.

Well, crap. Shin supposed there was only one thing to do, wasn’t there? Calling upon every ounce of will he could muster, he reached out and plucked the fritter from Gero’s hand. Then, with a silent plea to the Goddess to take mercy and dull his senses, he popped the entire thing into his mouth and swallowed.

And then everything was swirls and madness for a while.

Shin might have been dead. It was hard to tell, what with all the swirls and madness and such.

After maybe a decade of oblivion, Shin thought he might have been coming to? But then the full brunt of the chili sauce thundered through his nose, and he realized it had been maybe three seconds and he was still swallowing the damn thing. Bluh. Back to swirls and madness, then.

By the time Shin finally blinked back into consciousness, it was clear some time had actually passed. Yasmar was no longer at the table, having apparently traded places in the kitchen with the two Grandmasters who joined the other dinner guests. Shin sniffed experimentally, wincing as the air rushed through sinuses that had been through the culinary equivalent of a brush fire. On the plus side, he was going to be able to smell everything exceptionally well for the next few days. Assuming his sense of smell ever came back.

“Hey.”

Shin glanced over, noting Gero’s sincere look of gratitude through bleary eyes. “Wha?”

“Thanks for that.” She kept her voice to a whisper as she pressed her cup into Shin’s hands. “If Hilde’d seen me back down, I’d have had to shave my head and become a monk.”

“Mm.” Shin took a long draw from the warrior’s cup, shivering at the way the clear spirits tingled down his clear-cut throat. “That might’ve been a good look for you.”

Gero laughed, throwing an arm around Shin’s shoulder as she poured more liquor into the cup. “Obviously. Everything’s a good look for me.”

Shin grinned back, though his rejoinder was cut short by the appearance of Yasmar. “Alright, this is my Proof of Expertise for you, Grandmasters of Shinki Itten and guests.” They stepped aside to allow a fanciful serving cart to glide out of the kitchen under its own power, bearing Dire Shrimp claws bright red and still steaming. “I could have done something fancier, but when you have ingredients this spectacular why get in the way of them?”

Bex’s eyes were very large as she hefted one of the claws. “This is a crab claw as big as a turkey leg. Oh my God.”

“I know, right?” Yasmar grinned in satisfied delight. “See, this is why I only cook in-game anymore. How could I ever go back to lobster ravioli and well-done tenderloin after finding this garden of delights?”

The sight of the giant claws sparked a swift resurgence of Shin’s senses, the kobold taking hold of the tip of the claw and wriggling the meat free from its pre-cracked shell. It was love at the first nibble: rich and sweet, almost creamy, melting away on his scorched tongue like a balm for his war-torn mouth.

“Now try it with the sauce!”

Sauce? Crap, Shin had somehow already eaten the entire thing. He watched in deep regret as the others dipped their claws into a golden yellow sauce, cursing his moment of gluttony until the heavenly scent of lemon and garlic knocked him out of his despair.”

“Here,” Gero offered, proffering her own claw. “Have a bite of mine.”

Apparently good deeds paid off. Paid off in shrimp claws. Shin leaned down for a courteously small bite, exulting in the way the sharp lemon, tangy garlic and rich butter somehow heightened the natural flavor of the Dire Shrimp. Yasmar clearly wasn’t a Pinnacle Master for nothing. They knew their stuff.

The Grandmasters clearly agreed, sharing a glance of silent agreement as soon as they’d stripped their own claws completely clean. “Okay, we’ve decided,” the Kobold Grandmaster started, pausing every so often to lick a bit of butter sauce from his fingers. “We’ll teach you everything we know, but on one condition.”

“Oh?” Yasmar queried, raising their eyebrows. “What’s that?”

The Hobgoblin Grandmaster gave the chef a hopeful look. “As soon as we’ve taught you everything, maybe you could teach us?”

The chef snorted, clearly flattered by the praise. “Of course! I actually had a few ideas already, we could–”

Yasmar’s proposal was interrupted by a gasp, Hilde clapping her hands onto the table in shock. “Look!”

It didn’t take long to find the source of the guard’s astonishment. Old Hob had actually lifted his claw with both shaking hands, his eyes closed as he took slow yet purposeful bites. He paused long enough to take in a gasp of air, and the eyes that reopened didn’t seem quite as dim as they had before.

Hilde gasped again as the old man’s lips moved, a sound so faint creaking from his throat that even the enhanced senses of a kobold couldn’t make sense of it. “What’s that?” Hilde asked insistently, pressing a supportive hand to the ancient hobgoblin’s shoulder. “What did you say?”

“...Ss…”

“Yes? Yes?!

“...Salt…”

The table was silent for a long moment, and then the two Grandmasters burst into laughter as Yasmar shook their head in rueful good humor. It seemed that even Pinnacle Masters still got critics, huh?