Black-Haired Dad Isn’t Something You Reap - Chapter 179

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 179. Everyone Is a Sinner (8)
“Please have some too, Pisha.”
That’s right—even after we’d eaten, there’s always room for intestines. Shirley and I each popped a piece into our mouths, chewing carefully to savor the flavor. They were so fresh they barely had any smell at all.
“Delicious.”
“It really is delicious.”
“What? I want some too!”
Right, Choco had missed dinner while washing up. We shuffled aside to make room for her, and grilled another skewer of intestines with a satisfying sizzle.
“Mmm!”
“Hey! You’re having all the fun by yourself!”
Watching Father drink alcohol, I couldn’t help myself. I’d been an adult before, so surely I could have some, right?! Besides, only people who knew the situation were here. I blurted out that I wanted to drink, and Father responded with a knowing smirk, as if he’d been waiting for this.
“You can’t drink alcohol in a young body.”
“But if my body’s young, wouldn’t I break down alcohol faster?!”
“Your impulse control is too weak.”
“I controlled myself just fine on my own!”
“If I left you alone, you’d drink unlimited cola without thinking twice.”
Father was just enjoying watching me drool over it! Don’t pretend you care about me! You were teasing me about this from the moment alcohol came up!
“What do you mean she’s been an adult before?”
“There are circumstances. You don’t need to know.”
Right, Nanakda was here too. It wouldn’t matter if he knew, but to preserve his innocence, it was better not to say anything.
“With something this fresh, it would be a waste not to salt-grill it.”
“Bring out the salted portions as well!”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
Excellent—let’s grill some scallions too. I’d tried Chef Bap’s apprentice’s hometown dish before, and it was genuinely sweet and delicious. Grilled in the fat from the intestines, it might taste completely different.
Since we’d suddenly opened an impromptu grilling party, the Emilys busily opened windows and doors to ventilate. Knowing the smell would linger and we’d have to replace all the bedding anyway, I gave the Imperial Guards and Palace Attendants permission to join the grilling party. They eagerly brought over burners and grilled tripe and heart on the griddle.
“Oh, tripe!”
Tripe has its own unique flavor. I grabbed a fork and ran toward it to taste it, and Shirley scolded me without dignity for running at the dinner table. She was increasingly starting to sound just like the Chief Chamberlain.
“Didn’t you say you were torturing me?”
Oh.
Nanakda’s sudden revelation of the truth made everyone in the room flinch. Now that I thought about it, there had been some plan to force-feed him organs, hadn’t there? But then again, the Princess Palace kitchens had their limits on ingredients, and we didn’t even have enough food for ourselves…
Father, Choco, Shirley, the Imperial Guard, and Emily all exchanged nervous glances, and the bravest among them—Shirley—stepped forward to protect the griddle.
“If you don’t want to eat, don’t eat. We don’t have enough for ourselves anyway…”
“I won’t eat it even if you give it to me!”
Huh? But this is incredibly delicious. You’d be missing out if you went through life without tasting this.
I stabbed a piece of intestine with my fork and thrust it toward Nanakda, but the man recoiled in disgust and refused the organs.
“Get that away from me! It’s gross!”
“Then how do you normally eat meat?!”
“Meat and organs are different!”
“What’s the difference? They both come from slaughtering cattle and pigs!”
In Kisomalos, we don’t just grill organs—we grill bones too and suck out the marrow. When I said this confidently, Nanakda made a retching sound and twisted his face in disgust.
“That’s barbaric.”
“You haven’t even tasted it!”
I thrust the skewer at Nanakda and insisted he eat, prompting the man to shriek and flee to the bed. I tackled him onto the mattress, pinned him down, grabbed his jaw to pry it open, and shoved the fork inside.
“No! I don’t want to! Don’t force me!”
“Kekeke, once you try it, you’ll change your mind?”
He’s thrashing around like crazy. Logically speaking, I should be stronger, but since I’m holding a fork, I’m restraining my strength to avoid hurting him—yet he’s resisting with superhuman vigor. He really must despise this.
“Play without injuring him.”
“Nyeee!”
“Pisha, anything in your hands becomes a weapon. Don’t forget that.”
“I know, I know.”
Since these people drilled assassination techniques directly into me, they’re probably worried I might accidentally kill him while playing around. I resolved to be more careful with Nanakda and cautiously pushed the skewer forward again.
“Ahhh! No! It smells!”
“What smell! It’s fresh—there’s no smell at all!”
“I’ll tell you where Kirke is instead!”
“I don’t care about that! Just eat!”
Right now, Kirke’s whereabouts matter less than this child learning to appreciate something this good! I forcefully shoved the skewer into Nanakda’s mouth, and the man let out a wailing cry.
That’s when it happened.
“What on earth are you doing?!”
With a rustling sound, Croa appeared. Hadn’t he said he was searching the Golden Temple? How did he get back so soon?
“Pisha! Get away from that filthy wretch!”
“Huh? Nanakda isn’t dirty. I mean, he hasn’t bathed in a day, but…”
“Get away!”
“Waaah.”
As I reluctantly climbed down from the bed, Emily and the Imperial Guards, reading the atmosphere, grabbed the grill and relocated to the outdoor garden. We couldn’t escape anyway, and they’re all clever enough to know when to vanish.
“I asked what you were doing earlier.”
“Huh? A grilled offal skewer party?”
“Why are you having a grilling party in the room where you’re holding that man captive?”
“Oh, originally we were planning to torture him.”
“…Why would you need a grilling party for torture?”
That’s a long story. We’d been considering various torture methods, but after eliminating anything too cruel, too painful, or leaving scars, we arrived at this. Since Nanakda hates organ meat, I figured force-feeding it to him might make him confess everything.
As I finished explaining, Croa fixed Father with a resentful glare. It was terrifying.
“Torture? You call this torture?”
“Well, if food torture counts as torture, then it’s torture, isn’t it?”
“You said all that trampling and crushing us—deciding whether to kill or spare us—was education, and now you claim this is torture?!”
“Back then, I was full of youthful vigor…”
Oh! Father just lost his momentum. He’s turning his head away. So Father gets intimidated when Croa makes that resentful ghost face too. I’m starting to feel the transience of time. I should be more filial.
“Everyone leave. I’ll handle this.”
“Wait! You’re not going to kill him, right?!”
“I won’t kill him.”
No, but if I leave him to you, you’ll probably torture him brutally. Nanakda is my friend, and he’s the only connection Hisperon left behind in the Mortal Realm. Since he’s a sore spot in many ways and I’m reluctant to scar his body, I mentioned this, but Croa made that ghostly face again, so I lowered my tail and decided to just clean up the grill instead.
“Hiii…”
“Don’t come inside until it’s over.”
We surrendered to Croa’s coercion and headed outside with the party supplies. On the terrace connected to the garden, I continued roasting the leeks when sounds of destruction and screams erupted from the room—mostly Nanakda’s screams.
“Do you think the Cult Leader will be alright?”
“Well, judging by how he’s trying to settle this with brute force instead of sneaking in a curse, I don’t think he intends to kill him.”
I was getting full, so I grabbed another leek and munched on it. After about ten more minutes of arguing sounds, Croa emerged from the room with disheveled hair, and Nanakda stepped out with bruises covering his face.
“He says Kirke is locked away on Aiaia Island. Send someone.”
Aiaia Island? That’s practically a stone’s throw from Media—an uninhabited island right there. Kirke was there the whole time? Wow, this is what they mean by the lamp being darkest beneath its own stand.
I immediately contacted the Air Force to dispatch an airship, then examined Nanakda. Apart from the bruises on his face, he seemed otherwise unharmed—no puncture wounds or holes from being impaled anywhere.
“This doesn’t look like proper torture. Did you settle it just through negotiation?”
At my question, Croa nodded with an expression of utter disgust. Nanakda glanced around, then pointed to the Princess Palace building standing across from my room.
“I’ll live there. Give me that building, Princess Vishnabel.”
What? Why does he suddenly want to live here? And what is the Princess Palace, some kind of boarding house? Why do the guests keep multiplying? When I demanded an explanation from Croa, the man reluctantly explained the terms of the negotiation with that same expression of revulsion.
“In exchange for revealing where Kirke is, that man will stay here until his new house is built in Ljubljana.”
No, how could you make such an important decision on your own! Secrets are flying around everywhere here, and you’re letting an information broker—whose actual profession is espionage—into the Princess Palace?! I was about to say this needed further review when Father, downing another glass of alcohol, boldly interjected and made the final call.
“I permit it!”
How are you going to handle the fallout when you sober up?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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