Juwawawawa…

The pleasant sound of oil echoed through the quiet morning.

The time was early—six a.m.

I stood in the kitchen of Hibiki’s home, carrying out two tasks at once.

In my right hand were cooking chopsticks.

Inside a massive wok, pieces of chicken danced as I flipped them at precisely the right timing.

In my left hand was a miso strainer.

I carefully dissolved the miso into the dashi just before it reached a boil.

“Mmm… that smells good…”

Hibiki staggered out of the bedroom, her hair a mess of bedhead.

The moment she saw the breakfast lined up on the dining table—grilled salmon, rolled omelet, blanched greens and freshly cooked white rice—her face lit up.

“G-good morning, Jō… What is this perfect breakfast… an inn?”

“Go wash your face. The miso soup will get cold.”

When I set the bowl down, Hibiki hurried to the sink and came back in seconds.

The moment she sat down, she pressed her hands together and shouted, “Itadakimasu!”

First, a sip of miso soup.

“Haaah… it sinks right in…”

Hibiki exhaled with a melting expression.

“It’s delicious… It seeps into my five viscera and six bowels… I’ve been living on jelly drinks and supplements until now, but those were just ‘feed,’ weren’t they. This… this is ‘food’…”

“You’re exaggerating. Eat the salmon too.”

“Yeah! …Mmm! The skin’s crispy! The flesh is fluffy! It’s scary how fast the rice goes!”

Watching Hibiki shovel rice with a blissful expression, I felt reassured and turned back to the wok.

Juwaaaah!

I moved on to the second fry.

An important step to drive out the moisture trapped in the batter and create a crisp texture.

“…Hey, Jō. What have you been frying so much of this whole time?”

Hibiki stopped her chopsticks and pointed at the contents of the stacked trays.

They were piled high with fried chicken, shrimp fry and spring rolls.

“A fried food party in the morning? I’m more of a Japanese-breakfast person.”

“This is for lunch. I’ll be working at that place from now on. It’s a greeting gift.”

I set the freshly fried chicken onto the draining rack.

The oil crackled as residual heat finished cooking it.

“A film set is a test of stamina, right? I figured this kind of heavy stuff would be better received than fancy boxed sweets.”

“…Are you someone’s mom back home or something?”

Hibiki said that with exasperation, but she still sneaked a piece of freshly fried chicken and yelped, “Hot! So good!”

* * *

A few hours later.

We arrived at the Imperial Capital Film Studio.

The moment we entered the studio, I felt a change in the air.

“G-good morning, Jō-san!”

“G-good morning!”

Female staff members we passed greeted me with flushed cheeks.

Their eyes had changed—from looking at a ferocious beast to looking at their ‘favorite.’

Apparently, rumors had spread and been embellished: ‘scary-looking but with a good voice,’ ‘the man who made Karen-sama’s legs give out.’

“Jō!”

Just as I was about to put my belongings down in the dressing room, a shrill voice rang out.

It was Tennoji Karen.

She was still in the middle of preparation, her hair wrapped in curlers and her makeup unfinished, but the moment she spotted me, she ran over like a large dog wagging its tail.

“Morning, Jō! You’re early! Aren’t you thirsty? I brought you water!”

“…You’re about to go on set. Get yourself ready.”

“That doesn’t matter! I’ll wipe your sweat later! Want a shoulder massage too?”

She was completely attached to me.

The dignity of a top actress was nowhere to be found as she hovered around trying to take care of me.

That clinging only stopped when the makeup artist chased her, screaming, “Karen-sama! We haven’t done your eyebrows yet! Please come back!”

* * *

The morning shoot was a battlefield.

Set construction, lighting adjustments, camera-work checks.

Shouts flew as staff ran around carrying heavy equipment.

I waited off to the side so as not to get in the way, but it was clear just from watching how demanding it was.

“—Lunch break!”

The assistant director’s voice rang out and the staff let out a collective sigh of relief.

The long-awaited lunch break.

A production staff member came around handing out boxed lunches for the cast.

“Jō-san, this is your location bento.”

What I was handed was a cute, pastel-colored box.

I opened the lid.

Inside were three bite-sized sandwiches.

Two macarons.

And a token salad.

“…What is this? A snack?”

“No, this is a special menu for male cast! A low-calorie, vitamin-focused ‘Beauty Box’!”

The staff member answered confidently.

I see. So this is what men in this world eat to maintain their beauty.

But I’m a 192-centimeter man.

There’s no way this would be enough.

Looking around, I saw female set and lighting staff doing physical labor, eating similar—slightly larger—rice balls and bread.

“Haa… I’m hungry…”

“This won’t get us through the afternoon…”

“I want something hearty, like meat…”

Hungry voices drifted over.

This was a morale issue.

I grinned and lifted the large furoshiki bundle at my feet.

“…Yeah. This isn’t enough.”

I set the bundle down heavily on a nearby long table.

“Huh? Jō-san, what’s that?”

“My homemade lunch. I made a bit too much.”

I untied the cloth.

Revealed inside was a black-lacquered three-tier jubako (box).

The kind you’d only see at a funeral or New Year’s.

Pak.

I opened the top lid.

The surrounding air froze.

Before them spread a violently overwhelming ‘brown world.’

A mountain of fried chicken.

Golden shrimp fry.

Crispy spring rolls.

Bright red octopus sausages.

And thick rolled omelet soaked in dashi.

The only green was the plastic divider used as garnish.

Abandoning weak concepts like ‘presentation’ or ‘nutritional balance,’ this was a calorie jewel box devoted entirely to ‘making people eat rice.’

Mowaaa…

The moment the lid opened, the savory smell of soy sauce, garlic and frying oil exploded outward.

“W-what is this… amazing…”

“It’s so brown… everything I see is brown…”

“But it smells so good… it feels like it’s grabbing my stomach directly…”

Staff drifted over like zombies.

Karen ran over mid-makeup.

Hibiki stood behind them, glasses gleaming.

I crossed my arms and announced in a low, heavy voice.

“It’s a care package. Eat without holding back.”

That single line was the signal.

“I-itadakimasu!!”

The first to reach out was, of course, Hibiki.

She grabbed a piece of fried chicken and popped it into her mouth.

Crunch! Juwaaa…

The sound of batter shattering and juices spilling echoed through the silent studio.

“Mmm—!!!”

Hibiki threw her head back in ecstasy.

“It’s delicious!! What is this batter! Crispy but juicy inside and the garlic soy sauce hits hard! It’s criminal!”

Karen followed, biting into a shrimp fry.

“Crunch! …Ahh, the shrimp is springy! The oil is sweet! I’ve never had such a rough flavor before… but my body wants it!”

Seeing the two leaders fall, the restraint on the staff snapped.

“Me too!”

“May I have some!?”

“Securing fried chicken!”

“The sausage is an octopus! Cute!”

“The omelet is sweet and good!”

“Excuse me, do you have white rice!? I want rice with this fried chicken!”

In an instant, the set turned into a fried-food festival.

A crowd formed around the jubako as the brown jewels vanished one after another.

Everyone chewed happily, mouths glistening with oil.

No one said ‘calories are scary’ or ‘I’ll gain weight.’

They simply devoured fat and salt as the reward for labor.

“…Hmph.”

I snorted as I watched the boxes empty.

As a cook, nothing makes me happier than seeing food eaten clean.

Still—

“Jō-san, thank you for the meal! I’ll follow you for life!”

“We’ll finish the afternoon set change in five minutes!”

“Tomorrow too… will you bring something again!?”

The way the staff looked at me had completely turned into worship.

Apparently, seizing stomachs is stronger brainwashing than ruling through fear.

‘…I thought I made too much, but women’s appetites are something else.’

I gazed at the empty jubako and smiled faintly.

It seemed my position on this set had now been decided as both ‘the most terrifying villain’ and ‘the strongest mess-hall chef.’