Chapter 5
On the Safety Guidelines of the Haunted Duke’s Castle
“Oh my, heavens!”
“Could there be food that looks more delicious than this?”
“The smell is so good I feel like grabbing a fork and digging in right now!”
“They must have used only the freshest ingredients.”
Of course, their voices were all equally flat, lacking any rise or fall in tone, and their mannerisms were so obviously artificial it was almost like bad acting.
Yep, definitely a lot of problems here.
With behavior like this, even a player who had been enchanted by the virtual reality visuals the game company provided would quickly lose immersion—just like I was doing right now.
On top of that, once the maids’ exclamations faded, the atmosphere seemed to sink into an ominous lull.
It felt like the calm before a storm, as if something bad was about to happen.
But honestly, that didn’t matter much to me.
Now then, let’s see…
I turned my gaze to the uncovered dish.
Oh.
Even if their delivery had been awkward, the meat before me really did glisten with an appetizing sheen, just as they’d said.
The golden-brown crust looked crispy, and I was already anticipating how juicy the meat inside would be.
But just as I reached for my fork, a blinking message popped up in front of my eyes:
[Warning! It is recommended you follow the safety guidelines.]
Come on, I at least have to taste it…
[Warning! It is recommended you follow the safety guidelines.]
The persistent pop-up followed my gaze no matter where I looked, until I eventually gave up, my face cooling with disappointment.
I couldn’t believe I had to turn down something that looked this good.
Still, I could kind of understand why the game company was acting like an overbearing control freak.
If there were still unfinished elements in the build, they’d obviously prefer players to follow the set storyline rather than risk unplanned behavior.
Clink.
I set my fork down and spoke firmly.
“Chef.”
At my call, the dining room went completely still.
In the strangely oppressive quiet, he bent his head toward me and answered,
“Yes, what is it?”
“What kind of meat is this?”
I nodded toward the steaming dish.
“Oh my, I forgot to tell you what kind of meat it was!”
He responded with exaggerated politeness before shifting his tone completely and saying,
“It’s the meat of ■■ ■■■.”
Just as I thought—they hadn’t programmed it in.
The game could simulate sensations like touch, sleep, and hunger in detail, but taste was a different matter.
If I hadn’t actually eaten something before, my brain couldn’t fabricate the taste.
But then, as I looked back at my plate—
Huh?
Now that the steam had cleared, I could see it:
Curled up on the plate like strands of spaghetti was… black hair.
“T-This is…”
A wave of instinctive disgust washed over me, goosebumps prickling my skin.
It was definitely hair—complete with roots. Not just a strand or two, but an actual clump.
Having cleaned my tiny apartment floor countless times, there was no way I could mistake it.
My appetite vanished instantly, and I made no effort to hide my disappointment.
“Sigh…”
No sane chef would ever put hair in food on purpose, so this had to be some kind of system error.
Maybe the low-grade AI had mistaken the white plate for a face and decided to slap some hair onto it?
I’d heard of game companies using AI to cut animation costs, but this was VR, not some cheap cartoon!
Seeing cost-cutting measures this blatant in person was just depressing.
Maybe I should lower my rating for this game.
I was still mulling over the bizarre gap between the game’s perfect elements and its shoddy ones when—
“Won’t you taste it?”
The chef asked in a cold voice.
He stared at me without moving a muscle, none of the earlier enthusiasm from when he’d been describing the dish remaining.
[Affinity –3]
If a key character’s affinity falls below a certain threshold, you may lose access to important information.
Try using the various features and items the game provides to interact with NPCs.
And just like that, my affinity plummeted.
So it could go below zero…
“Uh, well, you see…”
I didn’t bother hiding my troubled expression.
This? Eat this? This pile of hair?
When I didn’t respond right away, he spoke again—this time in a strangely hesitant, almost timid tone.
“Why won’t you pick up your fork? Is there something wrong?”
That confirmed my suspicion.
If he’s an AI-controlled NPC, he might actually feel hurt.
If the hair was just a visual glitch, then in the chef’s eyes it would still look like perfectly fine spaghetti.
Even so, I wasn’t about to pretend to eat this visual nightmare.
I didn’t want to have to do this, but…
Glancing at the still-blinking warning window in the corner of my vision, I stabbed my fork into the “food”—specifically, into the hair.
Even by touch, I could tell.
“What does this look like to you?”
“…Pardon?”
“Look closely.”
I shook the clump dangling from my fork.
The chef’s composure cracked, and he began to fidget.
“S-Spaghetti…”
“No, really, look. Does this seriously look like spaghetti to you? Honestly?”
Shake, shake.
With each swing of the hair, his shoulders trembled.
“It’s hair.”
“That… can’t be…”
He could deny it all he wanted, but from his perspective, I was insisting that something he thought was spaghetti was actually hair—it must have been maddening.
But AI like him couldn’t actually verify facts. They worked by predicting the most plausible response from the flow of conversation.
Which meant if the user insisted on something—even if it was wrong—they’d eventually have to agree.
They were, in short, perfect for gaslighting.
“Open your eyes—well, metaphorically—and you’ll see this is hair. There’s no such thing as spaghetti this black, this thin, and this wiry. Right?”
“I… don’t think so…”
“It’s true.”
“Uuugh!”
Clutching his head in confusion, the chef finally nodded when I dangled the hair right in front of his face again.
“M-Maybe you’re right…”
Against the ruthless force of human brainwashing, AI was powerless.
“You’re not telling me to eat this hair, are you? I’m a guest. Surely the Duke of Belmond’s household wouldn’t serve me this, right? Right?”
“U-Uh… er…”
Like a broken wind-up doll, he jerked his head awkwardly before suddenly seeming to realize the error. His voice shot up dramatically.
“My word!”
“?”
“There must have been a mistake in the cooking process. Thank you so much for pointing this out!”
[Affinity +3]
As my lost affinity returned to normal, the chef bowed deeply.
“If you’ll forgive this oversight, I’ll bring you a perfect dish this time.”
At that, the maids who had been praising the food earlier moved in immediately to clear the plates.
Basking in my small victory, I quickly sobered and said,
“Ah, no, I’m not feeling well. I think I’ll take my leave.”
“But—!”
The chef tried to stop me, but I’d already loosened the napkin at my neck.
“Ha-ha! Take care!”
I slipped smoothly out of the dining room.
I could almost feel their empty stares on my back—though wait, how could I feel a stare when they didn’t even have faces?
Whatever. There was no way I was eating that.
Sorry, Chef!
Just in case he tried to follow me, I hurried straight to my room.
