No One Understands King Arthur Better Than I Do

Karl transmigrated to Camelot, the royal capital, and opened a small restaurant there, intending to live a quiet, honest life.

He couldn't tell whether people here all liked bizarre food or simply never ate out, but his little restaurant had very few customers. The only regulars were a young lady named Al and her companions.

“Do you think King Arthur really doesn't understand people's hearts?”

“Do you think King Arthur really deserves to be called the Chosen King?”

“Do you think Mordred can inherit the throne?”

Though Karl was helpless in the face of the young lady's concern with all this random stuff, he answered her questions anyway, since she paid well.

Finally, one day, Artoria, who had been using the alias Al, couldn't hold back any longer.

“Boss, I'll come clean. I'm King Arthur!”

“What!? King Arthur can't possibly be a girl!”