Chapter 73: At the Very Least, It's Not a Religion

The words “I want to eat ramen,” spoken by the woman whose mouth normally only uttered things like “food = supplements,” hit me with such overwhelming force that my mind went completely blank.

...Ramen. Did she just say ramen? And that she wanted to eat it? Huh? This woman? What on earth was going on?

Wait. Calm down. Keep your composure, Padron Zalfedahl.

Ramen. Speaking of ramen, that's right. I certainly remember talking about its appeal during the final battle. I remember feeling frustrated that I hadn't been able to explain its charm sufficiently. I remember it very well.

.............................................................................................................................................................................................. I see. So that's what this is. I understand perfectly.

In other words, I...

Padron Zalfedahl...

At this very moment, right here and now...

For the first time since I was born into this world...

I HAD SUCCESSFULLY SPREAD THE GOSPEL OF MY “FAVORITE”!!

The more I think about it, the more I realize that humans are truly strange creatures.

Take the beasts that live amid the harsh wilderness, for example. What do you suppose they do when they discover a pristine spring of crystal-clear water? What about when they come across a huge supply of delicious, highly nutritious nuts and berries? If those resources are completely untouched by others, then the answer is obvious. They keep them all to themselves. They drink their fill to survive, stuff their bellies, and claim the area as their territory.

Depending on the species and circumstances, they might share some with their mates, offspring, or fellow members of the pack. But conversely, if some stranger who isn't family or anything else—someone who merely happens to be “the same species”—dared approach their spring, the beast would do everything in its power to drive them away.

Why? Because at the very foundation of their behavior lies the instinct to survive. To ensure their bloodline doesn't die out, to prosper, to put it simply, to stay alive. For that sole purpose, they make the best possible choices.

Now, what about humans?

Of course, humans hoard things too. In fact, they're constantly thinking about how to line their own pockets. They're practically the embodiment of greed.

And yet, from time to time, we humans—for reasons that defy all reason—feel the urge to share our happiness with others.

We want others, as many others as possible, to know about the things we recognize as good: their very existence, their wonderful qualities. Our souls sometimes yearn relentlessly to share them, to spread the word.

And astonishingly, the people we want to share them with aren't necessarily our friends, family, lovers, benefactors, acquaintances, neighbors, or even rivals. Our desire can extend to complete strangers—people who have absolutely nothing to do with our lives.

We're happy when someone else says they like the things we love. Conversely, when someone viciously insults those things, we feel an incredible sense of displeasure.

In truth, there aren't many advantages to this emotion.

For example, that little hidden diner you were so pleased to discover? The moment it becomes popular, you'll have to stand in line just to get a meal. That quiet, nearly empty café with soft music playing? Once every seat is taken, it stops being a place where you can relax. And those favorite tea leaves you've incorporated into your morning routine? If someone buys up the entire stock, you won't be able to get your hands on them.

Even so.

Even so, humans continue to seek out others, searching for someone who shares their feelings.

And that mysterious, foolish emotion is...

...the desire to spread the gospel of one's “favorite.”

I knew about this emotion. Naturally, anyone aspiring to become a ruler should.

In economics, or in situations involving the formation and manipulation of public opinion, this emotion is remarkably useful.

But no—or rather, precisely because of that...

Until now, I had only “known” this emotion as a matter of knowledge. I realized that quite clearly just now.

My feelings were spreading to someone else. Like the seeds of a plant carried by migratory birds, taking root in some distant, faraway foreign land. The appeal of ramen was spreading to someone whose origins and way of thinking were completely different from my own.

That alone. Something as simple as that.

I had never imagined it could fill me with so much joy. I had never known.

"I see. Ramen, huh? All right, if that's what you want, then let's ask Tie—"

I was about to say that we should ask Miss Tierra to make some for her.

But then I suddenly realized something.

Was that really the right thing to do...?

I certainly knew ramen. After all, Miss Tierra had made it for me once, and I'd eaten it myself.

But could I really claim to “know” it?

I'd tasted it just once. Only once. Was that really enough for me to boast that I knew everything there was to know about ramen?

If having eaten it once was all it took, then even that barbarian cat would be in the same position as me. If Limient ate ramen now, she too would step into the very same territory I occupied.

Of course, having more fellow enthusiasts was something to welcome. There was no falsehood in that feeling. I wanted as many people as possible—even every living creature throughout this vast world of Chaos—to experience the excitement of slurping down ramen.

If Limient awakened to the wonders of ramen and a unique local ramen specialty exclusive to the Machine City was born, I couldn't imagine anything making me happier.

And yet, there was also such a thing as the pride of a veteran fan. To be perfectly honest, I was reluctant to give up the sense of superiority I currently enjoyed as the one person who “knew” about it.

But, but! Nevertheless!

I didn't want to become such a narrow-minded man that I'd reject new fans just to protect that feeling of superiority. That wasn't the kind of lord I aspired to become.

In that case, there was only one thing I needed to do. I simply had to learn more and more about ramen myself. I needed to dive deeper into the abyss of that bowl, plunging farther and farther into the depths of its rich, golden broth.

In short...

I wanted to wholeheartedly congratulate her, thinking, “So you got to experience it too. Good for you,” while standing behind her with my arms folded and a smug, imposing stance, thinking, “But I've experienced even more than you.”

That was all there was to it.

And so—

“Miss Tierra! I beg you! Please teach me the ultimate ramen recipe!”

“Huh? Padron, what? Isn't this kind of the wrong atmosphere for that?”

“The path of ramen is as long as its noodles and as profound as the richness of its broth. —My training will be rigorous, you know?”

“Miss Tierra?!”

And so—

“...And with that, I hereby declare the first-ever Chiki-Chiki☆I'm the Ramen King! Chaos Cup officially underway!”

Miss Tierra's declaration became the opening salvo of a brand-new war—

Wait, how did things end up like this?