What was he going to do if I didn’t return with rygel? I had a feeling that there would be blood if I wasn’t able to refine any sugar. Terrifying.
“Don’t expect too much. We can’t fully recreate our refining techniques here.”
This was true. They didn’t have a filtration device, a centrifuge, or even a refrigerator. That tied our hands, forcing us to do this with a primitive method. Since my knowledge on the topic was very fuzzy, Tiamat’s assistance was a must.
That being said, the method itself was not difficult. First, we would wash the roots of the sugar beets before peeling them, dicing them, and soaking them in hot, but not boiling, water. The hot water would extract the sugar from the beets. We needed a lot of water, and firewood to heat it up.
I had checked these matters with Mister Milon before leaving for the harvest trip. The city of Lishua had plenty of water, and he said that we wouldn’t be short on firewood. I mean, I never doubted the abundance of water in the city after seeing so many public baths. Since the dawn of time, water has been critical to a civilization’s growth. That’s why cities were built close to large rivers.
In addition, the common diet of rice in Lishua was an indication of how much firewood they spent. The forest appearing in the middle of a field seemed to epitomize the aftermath of this to me. The end result of humans chopping down tree after tree. Encroaching upon nature. Since they had no concept of planting and farming trees, this was sure to become a major issue in the civilization’s future. In other words, the distortion caused by the hero’s imported culture reached far beyond the outbreak of beriberi. In fact, there were sure to be countless examples.
At the moment, I didn’t have the ability to start tackling deforestation, too. First, I had to save the people of Azur from beriberi. That was my top priority. As pathetic as it sounds, my plate was full from that. I was about to make sugar to make the people eat edamame to give them enough vitamin B1. What a roundabout method. Half of my problems would not have arisen if they were at least eating brown rice.
Let’s get back on track. After an hour or two, the sugar would start melting out of the beets into the hot water. At that point, we would take out the beets from the water and simmer down what was left. Once it was reduced and thickened, we would pour it into a container and let the rest of the moisture evaporate on its own. When that’s completely dried, we would have beet sugar, which was nothing like the powder white sugar we know.
Beet sugar is brown, and has a little bitterness to it. Still, it was one of the few sources of sweetness in this world, and could be used to cook. This would drastically increase the variety in available recipes. Now this world would have two of the five principal ingredients of cooking in Japan: sugar, salt, vinegar, soy sauce, and miso. As for the other three: my apologies. I don’t know how to make them.
While I could ask Tiamat for the technique, and they already had soybeans, I guessed that making soy sauce and miso would still take an incredible amount of work and time. At this moment I didn’t have that kind of time. We were in early summer. In the hottest time of the year, the number of beriberi patients would explode, because they sweat. Before that happened I wanted to have gagd meat and edamame popularized as much as possible among the residents.
“I introduced the doctors in town to Senzu. They were overjoyed to find that the patients they prescribed the beans to have begun to improve.”
Mister Milon spoke to me as I was lost in random thought, watching the sugar refinement process. I returned a vague smile. The patients would need to eat too much edamame each day to call it a prescription for the disease. I don’t think anyone could eat 600 grams of edamame each day.
“They seem to be experimenting with it, like grinding it into a tea.”
“Ooh. That’s...”
That’s it. That was the desperate struggle of humanity. I nodded wholeheartedly. The people of this world were working to save themselves.
“I hope they succeed.”
“So do I.”
Mister Milon seemed genuine, too. As promised, he seemed to be working on the edamame front without too much concern for profit. Of course, that doesn’t mean he would hurt his bottom line. He had done the math to make sure that, even after selling the goods for next to nothing, he would end up in the black. We were about to distribute an incredible amount of it, on top of the added bonus of the Senzu brand. To boot, if a sweet Senzu dish were to come out, he would end up with a more than healthy profit.
Saving people, being recognized for it, and getting rich off of it. What a beautiful stroke of accounting genius. This was how Mister Milon had built up the business he had. I would never expect a businessman to work for charity, either.
“I can smell the sweetness in the air.”
Mister Milon formed a smile. As we engaged in chit-chat, it seemed that the sugar-making was coming down to the homestretch.
“Hm. It looks like we got more than expected.”
Tiamat nodded, looking at the test batch of beet sugar. We had used about ten kilograms of beets to yield about 500 grams of beet sugar. That wasn’t half bad.
The remains of the now-sugarless beets, by the way, were to become livestock feed. While it wasn’t something any human would enjoy consuming, the faintest leftover sugar made the livestock chomp it down with glee.
“Then, let’s give it a taste, shall we?”
Lightly tapping on the congealed brown beet sugar, I made them into bite-size pieces. It wasn’t sandy like white sugar, but more clumpy. Most likely because it still contained some moisture. This couldn’t be helped, as we didn’t have a method to mechanically dry it.
I tried popping a piece into my mouth. With some thickness to it, the sugar contained a particular hint of flavor. A gentle, natural flavor. Still...
“It’s not that sweet... Did we screw up...?”
It had no overwhelming sweetness like the kind you taste when taking a spoonful of sugar. In comparison, the beet sugar was maybe a little sweeter than half as much as that.
“...Are you kidding, Sir Eiji?” Syfer, standing beside me, asked, as if he was holding something back.
“It’s good. Really good. This’ll treat that disease, right?”
“Yep. More precisely, a bean dish using this sugar will.”
“I see... I wish mom could have tasted this...”
A streak of tears fell down the swordsman’s face.
6.
Syfer’s mother had already passed away. She was a hard worker who loved her family, smiled often, and ate a lot. Her favorite food was, as expected, white rice. She too fell victim to beriberi, with all the boxes checked off. After her death, Syfer became an adventurer to support his family financially.
It had been two years since then. I had no way of bringing someone back to life.
“Syfer...”
That was beyond my abilities. What a powerless man I was. Alternatively, if I had been transported to this world a few years back, could I have prevented this tragedy?
“But you’re going to avenge her, Sir Eiji. With Senzu and gagd meat.”
There were no more tears in Syfer’s eyes as he said this and smiled at me. The seasons of his heart were turning. He’s strong, I thought.
In just two years, a seventeen-year-old boy was beginning to overcome the death of his parents and walk towards the future. The impression of sorrow I felt in that very strength must have been a product of my arrogance.
“We aren’t in Japan anymore,” Tiamat said, with a slightly conservative tone.
“Life isn’t worth as much. Many lives are born and many lives are lost, every day. They’re desperate just to survive. No time to spend mourning the dead.”
And there are places like that on Earth, even today. My homeland just happens to be one of the most peaceful and wealthy places on the planet. Mister Hero, who hailed from that peaceful and wealthy country, must have felt sorry for the lives of the people here. That’s why he taught them some simple joys of li
fe, like better food and a hot bath.
“Not out of malice, most likely. Out of desire, perhaps.”
The desire for validation, acknowledgment, popularity. While he might have had those desires, I suspected that he felt pity for these people. He must have wanted to do something about this world, where everyone was struggling to survive.
“And that was definitely in good faith. In a court of law, anyway.”
In Japanese law, good faith (or bona fides in Latin) can translate to the defendant being unaware of a certain fact, not necessarily as any indication of morality. The hero wasn’t aware of the beriberi epidemic caused by the popularization of white rice and lack of balanced diets. He just wanted people to have good food. Therefore, he wouldn’t be held responsible in a court of law, and I had no intention whatsoever of prosecuting the man.
“You’re harsher than I am, Eiji.” Tiamat chuckled.
Even as we conversed, people were tasting the beet sugar. One clump after another. In fact, the team was starting on a second batch. I had thought we were only in for a tasting today. Why were they cranking up the gears for another batch?
“Before you can worry about that, our first batch is beginning to run out. At this rate, we won’t be able to taste any Zunda.”
“You said it. We have to stop them.”
With that, I intended to notify everyone to stop the tasting, when I was frozen in my tracks. Everyone was glaring at me! Boy, was that scary! Even the gentle Mister Milon and the formal Mister Garish were staring at me for trying to bring the tasting to a halt.
Was the sugar that good? It wasn’t all that sweet, and had a strange taste to it. It didn’t seem like much of a success. To me, it had only seemed less than pointless because we were able to yield more of it than expected. Why was I afraid for my life just for moving to cut off the tasting?
As I shuffled backward out of cowardice, Tiamat stood in front of me as if to protect me behind her back.
“Calm down, everyone.”
The clamoring room began to quiet down. Wow. I was awed by the power of a dragon’s voice.
There were some twists and turns, but we settled on making a trial batch of Zunda.
Syfer and Gorun pounded the steamed white rice. Since we were without proper equipment, we just threw it in some container and were poking it with some random stick. It seemed like quite the workout. As expected, it didn’t stretch as well as mochi rice.
“It looks delicious in its own right, though.”
This was the kind of mochi used for Ohagi and other treats. Personally, I didn’t dislike it.
“This would be a type of Uru mochi, which uses Uruchi, or gluten-free, rice,” Tiamat explained.
Meanwhile Millia, Maley, and the other ladies were creating the Zunda paste. The recipe was very simple. Grind down peeled edamame, stir in any amount of sugar, and add salt to taste. That was it. However, the beet sugar we created was of a bronze color, which could muddy the edamame’s beautiful green. We had to be careful not to overuse the sugar.
Besides, judging by the reaction from earlier, people here were not used to sweetness. Everything we’ve worked for would be in vain if people started developing different diseases from overconsuming sugar. It was probably best that we kept the sweetness subtle.
It wasn’t until our sixth batch or so when we had our first match of pleasing color and gentle flavor. All of the previous batches were utterly oversweetened. They kept putting in so much sugar that I was about to ask if they were screwing it up on purpose. 50 grams of sugar in 100 grams of edamame? Who in their right mind thought that was appropriate?
While this would vary a bit by preference, we figured out that we only needed about five grams of sugar for every 100 grams of edamame. That’s about a packet of sugar, for your reference. The failed batches, by the way, were properly disposed of by the ladies, Baze, and Hieronymus.
And so, our Zunda mochi was complete. I took another bite-size piece. I had done nothing but eat all day, and, at this point, I was getting tired of the sweetness. I could have definitely gone for some meat.
“Hm...”
After trying it, edamame and beet sugar paired better than expected. They were great along with the mochi too. Could this really work?
“What do you think? Mister Milon, Miss Millia?”
I turned to our sponsor and his daughter.
“It’s wonderful! Simply wonderful, Sir Eiji!”
His compliments came with tears. This was too much.
“Will it sell?”
That was the million-dollar question. With the people of Lishua not used to any kind of sweetness, I was sure that they would accept the dish’s taste. That much I could tell by watching the tasting, but our problem laid with the price. Set it too high and commoners would not be able to afford it, and business wouldn’t last if there was no profit made from each sale. This was something we had to think through.
“We would need to charge for labor.”
The ingredients were practically free since they were livestock feed and the roots of a weed. However, harvest and treatment cost time and money. This had to be accurately accounted for in its price.
“I would have to do the actual calculations, but I imagine that a price for one would be about one silver coin.”
That was pretty steep. About 1000 yen or so. At that price I doubted anyone in modern-day Japan would buy it. Still, with no industrialization and all work done by hand, it was undeniable that labor costs would skyrocket in comparison.
“Does that include your cut, Mister Milon?”
“With my cut, I would price it at one silver coin and one bronze coin.”
“That’s not enough.”
He had to set up at least a 30% profit margin for himself. If Mister Milon’s business were to go down, we, and eventually the entire city of Lishua, would suffer.
In the end, we set the price temporarily at one silver coin and three bronze coins. There was no point in considering shelf life at this stage. We would only allow people to eat it at the establishment. No take-outs, since there was no form of preservatives. The dish wouldn’t last at all. If we didn’t have them eat it right away, it would spoil before they knew it... especially once it was summer. The beet sugar itself should, once completely dehydrated, last for a while though.
“I understand.”
“I’m glad you understand, Syfer. Now take the sugar out of your pocket.”
“Well... I just wanted my little brothers to have a taste...”
“At least wrap it in something... Why would you shove it straight into your pocket?”
Very telling of the hygienic standards of this world.
7.
Day by day, it became hotter as we approached midsummer. Our Hermit Beans sales were only rising, along with the sales of Zunda mochi. Both were selling out every day, enough that I was beginning to worry if there would be any edamame left to use for livestock feed. But that problem was somewhat mitigated by feeding the livestock leftover beets after taking out their sugar.
A research team and harvest team were sent to the beet field, in order to experiment if the plant could be farmed closer to the city. We were having more trouble when it came to gagd meat. While demand was high, supply couldn’t catch up. Half a month had passed since we introduced the meat to the public, but we had only been able to hunt four gagds.
Apparently this was a decent outcome, but it definitely wasn’t enough for the meat to reach each of the tens of thousands of people in Lishua. It wasn’t the season for storing food to boot. While its climate was similar to Hokkaido, the northernmost prefecture of Japan, it was still hot in summer.
“Do we have to make refrigerators...”
“Even the most basic of electric refrigerators would be impossible to make with the current technology in Azur.”
“Thought so.”
We had completely settled into Mister Milon’s manor. Since we had gone hands-off with the endeavor itself, we had some time on
our hands. True to a Japanese saying ‘small minds and free time make for no good,’ we had begun talking about inventing a refrigerator.
The predecessor of the refrigerators we have today was a model that chilled its contents with ice. Its structure wasn’t complicated: a box with two compartments. The top compartment held the ice, while anything that needed to be chilled was put in the bottom compartment. Since cold air falls, this would chill the contents at the bottom.
However, we were missing a couple of things before we could recreate this contraption in this world: insulation and ice. Without the former, the ice inside it would melt in no time, and how could we obtain the latter at this time of the year? Perhaps we would need to transport it from a high altitude, or have spellcasters create some with their ice magic.
Both options seemed extremely impractical. The ice would melt over such a long journey, and the thought of creating ice by hand (in a sense) was madness. We would run through every qualified spellcaster in the blink of an eye. Whether it was called magic or superpowers, it was unthinkable for a society to rely on the ability of a select few of its inhabitants.
What would happen if, after completing the refrigerator and popularizing it to the point where it was a necessity and each house, the spellcasters went on strike? People’s lives would be drastically altered, since they could no longer store any food.
In order to prevent such an instance, the spellcasters would have to be constantly paid and treated well, not to mention enough of them would need to be employed so they can take vacations. They would be treated differently. In other words, they would be elevated to a privileged class. Without them, life would become unsustainable.
“The birth of arcane rule.” Tiamat cackled.
This was more than a certain group of people ruling by force. In this hypothetical world, the spellcasters controlled the very aspect of life.
There was a novel I really enjoyed that had a similar premise, where a high school-aged girl is transported to a world where magic rules all. People who can’t use magic are not simply ruled by those who could, but protected, like animals being protected by humans. That was a good one.
Isekai Rebuilding Project: Volume 1 Page 12