The Reincarnated Lizardman Wants a Hamburger

As the meal resumed, Mari rushed towards Kurt’s cooking like a puppy after hearing “Wait.”

Just this morning, she had hidden a cat (deer tree) from Kurt and skipped breakfast. Misunderstanding her condition, Kurt specially prepared a unique fried dish just for her.

Her rushing in was almost expected.

However, upon seeing the dish, Mari abruptly stopped in her tracks.

The chicken Kurt had made looked similar to what she knew, yet so different.

It was a single piece of fried chicken, sized perfectly for holding, with three legs—resembling a typical fried chicken.

But only in shape.

The chicken shimmered not in the golden hue she expected, but in a bright, glaring red.

It wasn’t just the color.

The texture wasn’t the usual crispiness from frying oil but something sticky and gooey.

“What… what is this…?”

“Ah, you don’t know? This is called seasoned chicken.”

“Seasoned chicken?”

Mari deduced from the name and appearance that it wasn’t chicken with seasoning on the side but chicken drenched in seasoning.

Realizing this, she looked at Kurt in disbelief.

“Pouring seasoning on chicken… Why would you do such a thing?”

Her expression was like a puppy betrayed by its trusted owner.

In her understanding, sauce for fried dishes was meant for dipping, not pouring.

Even if you pour sauce on a steak, it’s understandable, but never on fried chicken.

Because…

“Won’t… the coating get soggy?”

Exactly.

Pouring sauce means the coating gets soggy.

And soggy coating means it’s no longer fried chicken.

At least to Mari.

“Can’t you complain after tasting it first?”

“Ugh… fine…”

Reluctantly, Mari agreed.

After all, her role was simply to eat what Kurt prepared.

Whether he brought the chicken with sauce poured or on the side, she had no right to complain.

So, aside from her initial shock, Mari couldn’t voice any more complaints and had to pick up the seasoned chicken.

“Ugh… I can’t even pick it up with my hands because of the sauce.”

To think her precious chicken would be drenched like this.

With a sorrowful expression, Mari lifted her fork.

Hap.

She bit into the heavily sauced chicken leg.

Crunch.

“…It’s not crispy.”

The first bite was sticky and gooey.

The texture was the complete opposite of the light, crispy fried chicken she was used to.

Disappointed, Mari reluctantly savored the flavor.

And then.

“…Huh!? This taste!”

A burst of intense flavor forcibly lifted her spirits.

She had vaguely thought the red sauce would taste like ketchup, but it was entirely different.

It was spicy, sweet, and salty all at once.

There was no harmony or progression of flavors, just an unrelenting assault of sweet, spicy, and salty sensations.

It was like a flavor gang of spiciness, sweetness, and saltiness.

The thick sauce clung to her tongue, aggressively selling its spicy, sweet, and salty flavors.

Perhaps the thickness was due to the concentrated flavor, making it bold and unrestrained.

The sauce dominated her mouth, not allowing any other flavors to be noticed.

It was a taste that was both self-indulgent and excessive.

For Mari, who already had a bad first impression of seasoned chicken, the taste was hard to appreciate.

No, it should have been.

But.

“Why… does it cling to my tongue like this!?”

The sauce didn’t just physically stick; it clung to her taste buds, refusing to let go.

The spiciness of chili paste and sun garlic forcibly woke her tongue, while the intense sweetness of corn syrup and strawberry jam imprinted itself.

Just as she was drowning in sweetness, the saltiness struck.

The interplay of sweet and salty created a rich, cycling flavor.

Then came the spiciness again.

The spiciness dulled her taste buds, making the intense flavors seem less heavy than they were.

This sensory mismatch made her crave more, even as her taste buds were overwhelmed.

It was a systematic flavor extortion.

Once you tasted it, you were completely under the sauce’s control.

In the end, anyone who tasted it knew it was fattening but couldn’t stop themselves.

Mari, who had been stubborn about seasoned chicken, was now helplessly addicted to the sauce.

“Even so, this is just the sauce’s power. It’s not the fried chicken’s flavor. If the sauce and fried chicken were served separately, I could’ve enjoyed the crispy coating and the spicy-sweet flavor twice as much.”

Honestly, it was delicious.

But Mari couldn’t admit to enjoying sauce-poured fried chicken, so she rationalized it as the sauce’s influence.

As she continued to eat, she reached the fried coating.

Crunch.

“Huh?”

Contrary to her expectations, the coating wasn’t soggy.

It wasn’t the usual crispy texture of Kurt’s fried chicken, but it wasn’t soggy either—it was crunchy.

The reason was clear.

The coating was thinner and harder than usual, preventing it from getting soggy even with the sauce.

In fact, the sauce made the coating just right.

“Not… as bad as I thought…?”

Even the coating, which she valued most, was better than she expected, leaving Mari bewildered as she kept eating.

Hap.

Crunch.

Munch munch.

Another bite.

Hap.

Crunch.

Munch munch.

Another bite.

After finishing one leg, Mari reached for the next without hesitation.

“Hey! Don’t just eat the legs!”

“Ugh…”

She reached for a wing instead.

Hap.

Crunch.

Munch munch.

What she realized was…

Seasoned chicken wasn’t just “not bad.”

It was fantastic.

And she understood why.

She realized why Kurt had poured the sauce on the fried chicken.

The coating puffs up because the moisture evaporates in hot oil, creating air pockets.

What happens if you pour sauce into those pockets?

It’s instantly absorbed, as if replacing the lost moisture.

While normal fried chicken would get soggy, the combination of a harder coating and thicker sauce created a perfect balance.

The sauce seeped into the coating without ruining its texture.

If she had dipped regular fried chicken into the same sauce, it wouldn’t have been as magical.

Yes.

This coating.

This sauce.

They were made to become one from the start.

As she ate, Mari suddenly realized this and quietly closed her eyes, reflecting on her arrogance.

“I see. In this world, there are fried dishes where pouring sauce is the right answer.”

Having gained this insight, Mari did her best to make up for her earlier arrogance.

Namely, she enthusiastically ate the seasoned chicken, getting sauce all over her mouth.

.

.

.

And that day, everyone at Kurt’s party consumed an enormous amount of calories.

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