The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 148: Temporary Closure - 2

In a world without genetic testing...

Hair color is a crucial indicator of which bloodline someone belongs to.

In the case of the Sichuan Tang Clan, even distant branch members or illegitimate children are considered part of the family if they’re born with purple hair. Truly a convenient setting.

Aside from purple hair, what other genetic traits does the Tang Clan possess?

As we can see from Hwa-rin’s case, those born with Tang Clan blood have a natural resistance to poison.

I remember asking Hwa-rin about it once during our travels:

— If a Tang Clan kid isn’t born with purple hair, do they feed them poison to check? What kind of people do you think the Tang Clan are?

— But they’ve got poison resistance, right? So it’s safe, no?

— Resistance doesn’t mean immunity! Even kids born into sword clans start with wooden swords. Do you think poison is a toy? What Tang Clan children have is resistance to lethal poison—but even that is strengthened through poison arts training!

Resistance to lethal poison, huh. Well, even outside the Tang Clan, people might be born with mild natural resistance depending on their constitution, or they might expel poison through internal energy.

Thanks to that, the Pavilion Head didn’t go full psycho and demand that I prove I’m direct blood by eating poison. But still, doubts haven’t vanished.

The black-haired barbarian. I haven’t trained in poison arts, so I can’t prove anything by ingesting poison. Sure, I’ve got the Remembrance Ring, but it’s not an account-bound item. There’s still room for doubt.

So how can I prove that I’m truly of Tang Clan blood?

I do have a way.

“Use the settings from the martial arts visual novel.”

A world where you calculate in Cooper and eat carbonara. I wrote long feedback rants about this game while playing it, but not all of it was criticism.

There was one setting I actually praised—one tied to the Sichuan Tang Clan.

Let’s put that setting to use.

“Shopkeeper.”

I called out to the shopkeeper while browsing the menu.

“You’ve finally decided! If you’re hesitating because of the Tang Clan folks here, don’t worry—our top-class chef can prepare something satisfying!”

Yeah, I know. That’s why I told Dang-Pae to bring us here.

The setting from the martial arts visual novel I can use.

A way for the Tang Clan members to recognize me as an illegitimate child.

Something only those with Tang Clan blood can do in this world.

That is...

“Bring me a pineapple pizza.”

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In this world, pineapple pizza can only be consumed by those with Tang Clan blood.

Even in a martial arts visual novel where I once screamed about Cooper conversions and carbonara, I didn’t dare challenge this setting.

Pineapple pizza. It’s poison, after all.

“What?”

“Come again?”

“Did he just say—what?!”

I ignored the shocked reactions from everyone at the table and calmly handed the menu to the shopkeeper.

“I must’ve misheard you—could you repeat that, sir?”

The shopkeeper tilted his head, refusing to take the menu, and asked again.

“Pineapple pizza.”

“Oh! You mean for the Tang Clan members here, right? And what would you like, Manager Kang?”

“No, it’s for me.”

“Oh... you must be a foreigner, sir. That may be a Sichuan-style dish, but it’s only eaten by the Tang Clan members.”

I bet the back of his neck was sweating. He tried to keep a calm face but was clearly flustered.

“I have Tang Clan blood too.”

“Haha! Oh, Manager Kang, you joker. You’re a regular and all, but that’s not a very funny joke, you know?”

Thinking I was kidding, the shopkeeper gave a small wave of his hand and laughed awkwardly.

“......”

I looked back at him with a gentle smile—as if I’d just heard a really hilarious joke.

“W-Wait, are you serious?”

Of course not.

“You dare order pineapple pizza? You’re digging your own grave.”

The Pavilion Head looked at me like he’d just declared checkmate.

“Sir. It’s true that only those of the Tang Clan can eat pineapple pizza. But you have to be trained from childhood, little by little, to build up tolerance. You’ve probably never had it before—it’s far too dangerous.”

“Yeah, Yun-ho. I’m resistant to poison too, but even I can’t handle pineapple pizza. Don’t force it.”

Hwa-rin grabbed my arm, clearly worried.

So even those who can eat it need to be conditioned from childhood. In this world, pineapple pizza is basically a super-charged version of fermented skate?

“We also offer fusion Sichuan cuisine for Joseon-born guests like you! How about our Sichuan-style mala tteokbokki instead?”

Sounds like something another girl might enjoy. Not really my style.

“Nope. Bring me the pineapple pizza.”

No jokes. I meant it. Bring it.

“P-Please wait just a moment!”

Tearing up at my insistence, the shopkeeper scurried into the kitchen. You’d think I’d ordered hemlock, not food.

As I watched the door he disappeared behind, whispers started to spread from the Pavilion Guard’s side of the table.

“Did the Clan Head’s illegitimate son train in poison arts?”

“There’s no sign of any poison training on him.”

“Maybe he was raised by the Tang Clan.”

“Never heard of any black-haired kid being raised in the Tang Clan.”

“Then he’s just going to eat pineapple pizza without any training?”

“They say he has the Clan Head’s blood. The direct line eats it all the time.”

“They can because they’ve been eating it since childhood. But this nobody suddenly shows up and orders it?”

“I can barely manage a single slice myself, and he just orders a whole one? I wasn’t sure if he’s really an illegitimate son, but now we’ll find out.”

Every single gaze from the Pavilion Guard locked onto me. Good. Look at me. Focus on me more.

“Excuse me. I’m the head chef here at Gukhwaru.”

As I basked in the attention, a man emerged from the kitchen and approached me.

“So you’re the legendary chef I’ve heard so much about. A pleasure.”

“Who is it?”

He didn’t return my greeting. Instead, he scanned the room sharply.

“Huh?”

“I want to know which Tang Clan member is harassing our regular customer. That guy next to you?”

He looked at Dang-Pae as he asked.

“No, not at all. What do you mean harassment?”

“Back when I was in Sichuan, I sometimes saw Tang Clan martial artists trick others into eating pineapple pizza as a prank. Manager Kang is one of our regulars—I couldn’t stand by.”

“It’s not like that. I genuinely ordered it for myself.”

“You came in with Tang Clan folks. So if it’s not harassment or a punishment... is it bravado? Just eating pineapple pizza will have you vomiting and writhing. Even if you survive, your tongue will taste sweetness for ten days straight.”

So the Tang Clan uses pineapple pizza like a fermented anchovy sauce punishment?

“I’m fine. I carry Tang Clan blood.”

I smiled as I tried to convince the chef.

“...Are you serious?”

“Yes. So please, don’t worry—go ahead and make it.”

“...Very well. I don’t know if you’re lying or not, but as a top-class chef, I’ll apologize for my doubts by using only the highest-grade pineapple and ingredients to make Sichuan’s specialty dish: pineapple pizza.”

“I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“Certainly. Even if you end up meeting King Yama in the afterlife, you’ll at least be able to tell him you had the best pineapple pizza of your life.”

...Excuse me, King Yama?! That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!

But whether he knew what I was thinking or not, the chef returned to the kitchen, brimming with motivation.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

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“Here it is... y-your pineapple pizza!”

The shopkeeper reappeared, carrying the pineapple pizza. Good lord. Did he plug his nose to bring it out?

It was huge. The pineapple pizza, placed on the table, took up a ridiculous amount of space.

Why is there so much pineapple on it? It’s basically glazed over. I’ll never get used to the existence of this cursed food—even seeing it multiple times doesn’t help.

“Sir, please. Let me eat it instead. You can prove your Tang Clan blood once you get to the main estate.”

“Yun-ho... You don’t have to go this far because of me.”

They must’ve mistaken the hollow chuckle I let out at the pizza’s overpowering presence for fear, because both of them tried to stop me with desperate concern in their voices.

“Let him be. The silver-tongued brat will now be undone by that very tongue of his.”

The Pavilion Head crossed his arms and looked on, eager to witness my downfall.

“Yun-ho... Even if you can’t eat it, that doesn’t mean you’re not Tang Clan. There’s no need to create more suspicion—”

“I’m fine.”

I raised my hand, stopping Hwa-rin mid-sentence, then used the pizza tongs to place a slice onto my plate. The sweet scent hit me like a sugar bomb, making me wonder if this was pineapple or straight-up syrup.

In this world, only those with Sichuan Tang Clan blood can eat pineapple pizza. Just the smell triggers a visceral nausea in the locals.

It’s fine. Kang Yun-ho. You can do this.

I’ve tested this before. I can do this. I’m about to swallow something that doesn’t qualify as food—or even as a snack.

“What’s that smell?”

“Look at that! It’s pineapple pizza!”

“Fruit on pizza? A true citizen of the Central Plains would never defile pizza like that!”

“Pineapple pizza?! Is the head chef finally trying to kill someone?!”

“Why is that cursed dish even served here? Is this a Sichuan restaurant or a den of hell?!”

“He’s actually going to eat that cursed thing? As expected of the Tang Clan—or wait! Why is a black-haired guy reaching for pineapple pizza?!”

The sickening sweetness from my pizza was causing not just the Pavilion Guard, but the entire restaurant to stare at me.

I’m eating it.

I picked up a slice, folded it lengthwise, and boldly shoved it into my mouth.

“He ate it!”

“The barbarian ate the pineapple pizza! He’s going to start vomiting and convulsing any second now!”

“Hurry! Get a doctor on standby!”

Despite the shrieks around me, I calmly chewed and swallowed. The sweetness was... overwhelming.

Calling this “pizza” is an insult. I only ate this kind of junk when I was starving. My tongue was in agony. Pizza should only ever have meat, seafood, or vegetables.

“I—I can’t watch this!”

“Oh Almighty Primordial Heavenly Master, protect me from this horror! Bestow upon me the Supreme Treasure Plate of Pangu and lead me to the Celestial Realm!”

“Someone stop him! Life may be cheap in this world, but this is just wrong!”

I heard every scream, but all I could focus on was the sensation on my tongue.

This is good. No, it’s not. There’s no way it’s good.

The pizza, made by a top-tier chef hell-bent on preparing my meeting with the King of the Underworld, was overloaded with the finest sweet ingredients. It was cloying. But maybe it did qualify as “good” in some twisted sense?

No. What am I thinking? Calling pineapple pizza “good” is heresy.

I smothered the dissenting voice in my head and silently forced the slice down.

“Look at that! He’s barely flinching, but he’s definitely eating it!”

“Wait, is that... not pineapple? Is it ananas?”

“Even direct-line descendants gag the first time! Why isn’t he spitting it out?!”

“I blacked out when I tried it the first time! How is he still conscious?!”

Because I already tested this before.

Back when I wandered the Central Plains. While working dish duty at a guest inn, I overheard that they were preparing pineapple pizza for a visiting Tang Clan guest.

The problem? Even the chef had never dared taste pineapple pizza and couldn’t verify the flavor. But it was a VIP guest—someone had to test it.

— I’ll try it.

Maybe it was because I wasn’t possessed by the lunatic Kang Yun-ho back then. Or maybe it was due to the Fate-Reverser ability.

Even though my body belongs to this world and instinctively rejected the taste, I had no real trouble eating it.

Thus began the "Ten Gratitude Bites of Pineapple Pizza" ritual every day.

Like someone testing poison, I’d take a deep breath, clasp my hands in prayer, assume a solemn posture—and begin eating pineapple pizza with reverence.

To make money, you have to make easy things look hard.

At first, I ate two slices and pretended to gag on the third.

Then I ate three, spit out one. Later, half a pie. Then a whole one. Then two.

By the time I left that inn, my severance pay was surprisingly generous.

So eating this pizza now? Easy.

Compared to the garbage made by that inn’s clueless chef, this still counted as food.

Not that I’d ever recognize it as authentic pizza.

“Does that black-haired man have poison flowing through his veins instead of blood?!”

“He must be Tang Clan! There’s no doubt!”

“He’s not human! He’s some kind of toxic bird that drinks venom! Keeeehhhk!”

I devoured the pizza without hesitation.

“H-He finished it!”

“He actually ate the whole thing?! An entire pineapple pizza?!”

I’d been working hard all day, and mental gymnastics were draining me—so clearing a whole pie didn’t take long.

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“Whew. It’s been a while since I overate.”

I patted my stomach and spoke confidently to the Pavilion Head, whose jaw was still practically hanging ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) open.

How’s that? Can’t get more perfect than that for proof, right?

“Ghhk...”

The Pavilion Head groaned, staring at me like I’d just done the impossible.

The restaurant, once a storm of shrieks and protests, had gone quiet—like the aftermath of a typhoon.

The customers returned to their meals, and the Pavilion Guards all continued staring at me in stunned silence.

They’d all heard my identity. They’d seen the proof.

There was only one thing left to say.

“Pavilion Head. So... have you finally decided to acknowledge me—or rather, acknowledge the blood in my veins?”

Time to drive in the final nail.