Chapter 5
The kitchen fell silent as soon as I said it.
Marie wore an expression that couldn't decide whether she ought to be moved or whether this bastard had started saying something strange again, while the servants stood frozen with plates in their hands.
Elysia leaned against the doorway and looked at me, then smiled faintly.
“An illusion.”
“Yes.”
“Not bad. Nobles live on illusions, after all.”
The young lady had said something rather frightening as casually as if it were nothing.
The insight of a noble young lady driven to the brink of ruin could be sharp at times.
The problem was that her insight was also aimed at her own neck, but at least today it had been redirected toward someone else's, which was fortunate.
Uncle Bernard said quietly from the doorway,
“Count Klever has arrived at the front gate. He has two attendants.”
“That's a rather small entourage for someone here to seize our property.”
“It's a visit that also serves as a final notice. He seems to believe the actual seizure will begin tomorrow or later.”
“Then we have to finish this today.”
I dusted off my hands and looked at Marie.
“Marie, you memorized the explanation for the first course, right?”
“Young cheese made from Monbel's goat's milk, enhanced with the fragrance of the herb garden behind the mansion. The first greeting from a house that has endured for generations.”
“Good. And your expression?”
Marie forcibly pulled the corners of her mouth upward.
“Like someone who's about to wring money out of a rich person.”
“You've learned well.”
The results of my training were appearing quickly.
I wasn't sure the direction was entirely correct, but it would at least help this evening.
I turned my head toward Elysia.
“My lady.”
“Yes.”
“Don't smile too much in front of the count.”
“Why?”
“If you smile like you did yesterday, you'll look happy that this house is going under. Or like you've lost your mind. The latter is closer to the truth, but there's no need to advertise it.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Like someone who hasn't gone bankrupt yet.”
Elysia thought for a moment, then nodded.
“That's difficult.”
“It's difficult for me, too.”
We looked at each other for a moment.
A fallen noble young lady pretending she hadn't gone bankrupt, and a chef trying to sell a 150-gold meal out of a ruined kitchen.
Objectively speaking, neither of us was normal.
Still, businesses have never been run solely by normal people.
Soon, a low commotion came from the direction of the front gate.
The sound of the carriage door opening, hard shoes striking the stone floor, and a servant bowing to greet the guest followed one after another.
I glanced down the hall through the crack in the kitchen door.
Count Klever was a tall man.
Silver buttons ran in a line down his black coat, and his hair was slicked back without a single strand out of place.
His face looked expensive rather than handsome.
He was the sort who priced people with his eyes before doing anything else.
He looked around the mansion and gave a short laugh.
“Monbel Manor is still quiet.”
It wasn't a compliment so much as the aristocratic way of saying there were no people, no money, and no vitality here.
As she'd practiced beforehand, Elysia greeted him with an expression that was neither too bright nor too miserable.
“It's been a long time, Count Klever.”
“Miss Monbel, you do understand that I haven't come here to exchange pleasantries today.”
“I understand.”
“Then this should be quick. The repayment deadline has already passed, and no further extension will be possible. Today, I will confirm the list of remaining collateral, and beginning tomorrow, I will proceed with the formal measures one by one.”
The servants standing in the hallway visibly stiffened.
I clicked my tongue inwardly.
A good voice, a cold attitude, and the ability to discuss someone else's ruin as casually as the weather.
He had a remarkable talent for being a creditor. As a guest, he was the worst.
Elysia dipped her head slightly.
“I have prepared a meal before that.”
Count Klever's eyebrows twitched.
“A meal?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Monbel, I don't recall receiving an invitation to dinner.”
“I didn't invite you. I simply wanted to extend the Monbel family's final courtesy.”
The count's gaze shifted for the briefest moment when she said final.
‘Got him.’
Nobles were weak to the word final.
The last ball, the last concert, the last letter, the last confession. They laughed at such things as trite when they appeared in ordinary life, but once the word was placed before them, they couldn't take their eyes off it.
Count Klever looked at Elysia, then slowly smiled.
“The final courtesy. What a beautiful expression.”
“Will you accept it?”
“A single meal won't make your debt disappear.”
“I know.”
“Then very well. I may as well see what sort of table the House of Monbel has set for the last time.”
Even as he said it, the count looked slightly amused.
He seemed to intend to enjoy the sight of a fallen noble trying to preserve her final shred of dignity.
It left a bad taste in my mouth, but it didn't matter.
No matter what state of mind a guest sat down in, once the plates went out, the kitchen did the talking.
Uncle Bernard led the count to the small parlor.
The parlor looked quite different from how it had that morning.
A bundle of herbs had replaced the cracked vase, while the stains on the worn carpet were hidden behind a candelabrum and a small side table.
The evening light came through the window, and although the white tablecloth was old, it had been ironed within an inch of its life.
It looked like a poor but conscientious household.
It was exactly the atmosphere we needed to sell.
Count Klever took his seat.
His attendants stood behind him, and Elysia sat across from him.
I finished the first course in the kitchen.
A piece of goat's-milk cheese, a few drops of herb oil, a thin slice of toasted bread, and a single green herb leaf.
Judging by the portion alone, it was practically begging to be cursed out. If a picture had gone up online in my previous life, the comments would have been full of things like, “Is this 30,000 won? Did the chef's conscience (or his mom) fucking die?”
But this was a world without the internet.
Thank God for that.
“Marie.”
“Yes.”
“Go.”
Marie carried the plate out.
Her hands trembled slightly, but the plate did not shake.
Holding my breath, I watched her through the crack in the door.
Marie quietly set the plate down in front of Count Klever.
Then she recited the sentence she'd practiced.
“Young cheese made from Monbel's goat's milk, enhanced with the fragrance of the herb garden behind the mansion. The first greeting from a house that has endured for generations.”
Count Klever stared down at the plate for a long while.
I could tell what he was thinking just from his expression.
‘Is that all?’
Yes, that was all.
In exchange, another course would be going into that creditor's mouth soon enough.
Before picking up his fork, the count looked at Elysia.
“An interesting approach. Having the dish explained to me.”
“It's best to enjoy tonight's meal by following its story.”
“Its story.”
The count gave a short laugh, cut the cheese, and put it in his mouth.
I froze in the kitchen at that moment.
The moment a first guest eats the first course is always terrifying.
No matter how much you prepare, everything is decided by that one bite.
The flavor, temperature, texture, aroma, and even the mood the guest had arrived in that day.
The moment food enters a guest's mouth, it leaves the chef's hands.
Count Klever moved his jaw slowly, then narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.
He didn't immediately express his admiration.
He wasn't that easy to impress.
Instead, he didn't put down his fork.
He cut another piece of the remaining cheese and quietly ate the piece of bread coated in herb oil as well.
It was a more definite reaction than words.
A noble could praise bad food out of politeness.
But they wouldn't take another bite.
After Count Klever emptied the plate, he asked,
“Who made this dish?”
Elysia called for me.
“Kyle.”
I wiped my hands and stepped into the parlor.
The count's gaze swept over me.
It was less the gaze of someone looking at a chef than that of someone appraising a strange object.
“You made it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“The ingredients aren't particularly lavish.”
“I prepared them to suit Monbel's current circumstances.”
Elysia's eyes widened slightly. Uncle Bernard froze, too.
They probably thought I'd been too honest. But the count laughed instead.
“You mean you've put the fall of the house into the dish?”
“I've put in what remains even on the verge of ruin.”
Count Klever looked at me without a word.
His eyes changed slightly.
At first, they had been the eyes of a noble who had come to collect a debt, and just before, they had been the eyes of a gourmand looking at a strange dish.
Now they were somewhere between the two.
The eyes of someone who could smell money and flavor at the same time.
“What comes next?”
“It will be ready soon.”
“Good.”
The count leaned back in his chair.
“Continue.”
I bowed my head and returned to the kitchen.
As soon as the door closed, Marie whispered,
“He ate it?”
“He ate it.”
“How was it?”
“Next month's wages have come a tiny bit closer.”
I took out the second course.
Thin wisps of steam rose from the clear soup made by steeping woodland mushrooms.
It wasn't over yet.
But we'd gotten past the first bite.
Checking the temperature of the broth, I muttered inwardly,
‘Good. Now let's put a forest in the creditor's mouth.’