In a world without genetic testing...
Hair color is a crucial indicator of which bloodline soone belongs to.
In the case of the Sichuan Tang Clan, even distant branch mbers 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 rember 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 an 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 Rembrance 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 ga 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 nu.
“You’ve finally decided! If you’re hesitating because of the Tang Clan folks here, don’t worry—our top-class chef can prepare sothing 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 mbers to recognize as an illegitimate child.
Sothing only those with Tang Clan blood can do in this world.
That is...
“Bring a pineapple pizza.”
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In this world, pineapple pizza can only be consud by those with Tang Clan blood.
Even in a martial arts visual novel where I once scread about Cooper conversions and carbonara, I didn’t dare challenge this setting.
Pineapple pizza. It’s poison, after all.
“What?”
“Co again?”
“Did he just say—what?!”
I ignored the shocked reactions from everyone at the table and calmly handed the nu to the shopkeeper.
“I must’ve misheard you—could you repeat that, sir?”
The shopkeeper tilted his head, refusing to take the nu, and asked again.
“Pineapple pizza.”
“Oh! You an for the Tang Clan mbers here, right? And what would you like, Manager Kang?”
“No, it’s for .”
“Oh... you must be a foreigner, sir. That may be a Sichuan-style dish, but it’s only eaten by the Tang Clan mbers.”
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 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 fernted skate?
“We also offer fusion Sichuan cuisine for Joseon-born guests like you! How about our Sichuan-style mala tteokbokki instead?”
Sounds like sothing another girl might enjoy. Not really my style.
“Nope. Bring the pineapple pizza.”
No jokes. I ant it. Bring it.
“P-Please wait just a mont!”
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 ti.”
“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 . Good. Look at . Focus on more.
“Excuse . I’m the head chef here at Gukhwaru.”
As I basked in the attention, a man erged from the kitchen and approached .
“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 mber is harassing our regular custor. That guy next to you?”
He looked at Dang-Pae as he asked.
“No, not at all. What do you an harassnt?”
“Back when I was in Sichuan, I sotis 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 ca in with Tang Clan folks. So if it’s not harassnt or a punishnt... 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 fernted anchovy sauce punishnt?
“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 eting King Yama in the afterlife, you’ll at least be able to tell him you had the best pineapple pizza of your life.”
...Excuse , 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 tis doesn’t help.
“Sir, please. Let 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 .”
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 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 an 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 like a sugar bomb, making 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 sll 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 sothing that doesn’t qualify as food—or even as a snack.
“What’s that sll?”
“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 soone?!”
“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 .
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 , 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 at, seafood, or vegetables.
“I—I can’t watch this!”
“Oh Almighty Primordial Heavenly Master, protect from this horror! Bestow upon the Supre Treasure Plate of Pangu and lead to the Celestial Realm!”
“Soone 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 eting with the King of the Underworld, was overloaded with the finest sweet ingredients. It was cloying. But maybe it did qualify as “good” in so 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 ti! Why isn’t he spitting it out?!”
“I blacked out when I tried it the first ti! 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—soone 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 soone testing poison, I’d take a deep breath, clasp my hands in prayer, assu 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 ti 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 so 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 ntal gymnastics were draining —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 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 custors returned to their als, and the Pavilion Guards all continued staring at 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 —or rather, acknowledge the blood in my veins?”
Ti to drive in the final nail.
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