Chapter 6
Though I'd put it rather harshly, what I actually brought out was a very tame soup.
A small white bowl held clear brown broth.
There was almost no oil on it, and a single green herb leaf from the dawn market floated on the surface.
To someone unfamiliar, it might have looked like nothing more than cloudy water, but everything had to change the moment they took a spoonful.
Mushrooms are all about aroma.
I thought that every time I worked with mushrooms in my previous life, too.
It isn't all about shaving expensive truffles over them.
Mushrooms are ingredients that carry the smells of earth and wood, along with the dampness of the forest.
If you steep them properly, a forest forms not in your mouth, but in your mind.
That was what the count needed today.
Not broth to fill his stomach, but the illusion that a living forest still existed behind this decaying mansion.
I handed the bowl to Marie.
“Walk slowly. If the steam escapes, we're dead.”
“Got it.”
“And the explanation?”
Marie drew in a small breath, then said,
“A clear soup steeped from young mushrooms of Monbel Forest. It holds a fragrance still warm beneath old earth.”
“Good. Don't get too solemn at the end. Nobles shouldn't be made to cry. You just want to make them feel like they might cry all by themselves.”
“That's harder.”
“I know.”
Marie went out carrying the dish with an aggrieved expression.
Her hands were still a little stiff, but her steps were much steadier than before.
People grow. Especially when their wages are on the line, they grow faster.
Low voices drifted from the parlor.
“A clear soup steeped from young mushrooms of Monbel Forest. It holds a fragrance still warm beneath old earth.”
When Marie finished speaking, a brief silence followed.
Count Klever didn't eat right away this time, either.
He looked down at the bowl, then smelled it first.
As someone who claimed to be a gourmand, he knew the proper order of things.
I liked that.
At least he wasn't the sort of man who stirred the soup with his spoon and drowned the herb leaf.
‘Those asshole restaurant owners and tattooed broth-brains did that all the time. Every time I saw it, I wanted to beat the shit out of them.’
The count put a spoonful into his mouth.
This time, his reaction came a little faster.
Ever so slightly, the tension left his shoulders.
‘It worked.’
I watched his face through the crack in the door.
Count Klever wasn't the type to put on a flashy reaction.
He wasn't the sort to spring up shouting, “What is this flavor!”, burst into tears and call for his mother, or suddenly tear up House Monbel's debts out of kindness.
I hadn't expected anything like that.
Those people only existed in cooking manga.
But before taking his second spoonful, he closed his eyes for a very brief moment.
That was enough.
People who eat delicious food sometimes close their eyes.
They shut off their vision for a moment so their minds can catch up with what their tongues are sensing.
Only after eating half the soup did the count speak.
“Strange.”
Elysia asked,
“Does it not suit your taste?”
“It's strange because the opposite is true.”
He took another spoonful, then set down the empty bowl.
“There isn't any meat fat or heavy spice, but it has depth. This is the first dish I've encountered that treats mushrooms this way.”
One of the servants silently clenched his fist in the kitchen.
I gestured for him to be quiet.
It wasn't time to celebrate yet.
A course meal is a staircase.
Just because you've safely climbed the first and second steps doesn't mean you've reached the top.
If you slip even once along the way, the guest starts to doubt even the admiration they felt before.
Next came the fish.
The freshwater fish hadn't been in perfect condition.
Still, the flesh hadn't fallen apart, and the smell wasn't too strong.
The problem was that people in this world generally overcooked fish.
They fried it with the bones in, pounded it with spices, or drowned it in sauce until they killed the fish's natural flavor completely.
I cooked it as lightly as possible.
I kept the flesh soft while giving the skin a slight crispness.
I used only a little raspberry vinegar. Too much would ruin it.
Acidity is like a knife: used properly, it saves a dish, but the slightest mistake makes it stab someone on the plate.
Marie carried out the third dish.
“White-fleshed fish caught in the river beneath the mansion. Raspberry's acidity awakens the chill of the water.”
Even though I'd told her what to say, it sounded a little obnoxious coming out.
Still, nobles liked that sort of thing.
If you said you'd simply put a sour sauce on fish, you couldn't charge much, but if you said you'd awakened the chill of the water, suddenly no one minded spending the money.
Count Klever cut the fish and put it in his mouth.
Then, for the first time, the hand holding his fork stopped.
This time, Elysia seemed to notice the change, too, and turned her eyes toward me ever so slightly.
I gave a small nod from behind the crack in the door.
The meat hadn't even come out yet, and the guest was already reacting strongly.
“Miss Monbel, how long has this chef been at the mansion?”
Elysia answered calmly.
“Quite a long time.”
“Then why have you never served a meal like this until now?”
That question left even Elysia momentarily at a loss.
I cursed quietly to myself.
‘My lady, don't trip me up here.’
Fortunately, Elysia had been tempered by taking responsibility for a house on the verge of ruin.
She smiled faintly.
“Shouldn't Monbel have at least one thing it kept hidden until the very end?”
Count Klever stared at her for a moment, then smiled.
“The very end.”
“Though I hope it hasn't come to that yet.”
My lady was better at this than I'd expected.
It was hard to believe she was the same person who had said yesterday that she'd go to the gambling house and die.
When people are driven to the edge of a cliff, their senses grow sharper.
The only hope we had today was that hers were being used for hospitality rather than gambling.
Now came the main course: venison haunch.
I took out the meat I'd cooked slowly at a low temperature.
Without a proper thermometer, I'd had to rely on my fingertips and instincts.
If I'd done this in my previous life, I would have started by cursing out the staff, but now there were no staff to curse and no equipment to use.
Complaining wouldn't make the meat cook itself again, so I had to get it right.
When I put the knife in, red juices slowly rose to the surface.
Not bad.
I spread a very thin layer of sauce made from deer bones, onions, and herbs, set the meat on top, and added young carrots.
The plate still looked empty.
But today, that emptiness had to become a weapon.
It had to look like deliberate negative space, not something left empty because we were poor.
“Marie.”
“Yes?”
“Don't say this one. I'll ask Uncle Bernard to do it.”
Uncle Bernard looked at me.
“You want me to?”
“Yes. The main course has to carry the house's dignity. Your voice is the best.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded.
The old butler was different from the moment he took the plate.
There was anxiety, but his dignity didn't waver.
If that man had kept holding on, it was probably why this house hadn't completely collapsed yet.
Uncle Bernard went out to the parlor.
“A deer caught in Monbel Forest. Its coarse flesh was gently softened over a low fire, then served with a sauce made from its bones and herbs. We wished to convey that even in a house that is collapsing, a warm fire still remains.”
I admired him silently.
‘Uncle, why are you so good at this?’
It was far better than the words I'd given him.
A butler was a butler, after all. Someone who had spent years serving people knew how to set a plate beneath his words.
Count Klever cut the meat, took a bite, and immediately lifted his head.
His expression changed.
With the cheese, soup, and fish, curiosity had come first. With the main course, recognition came first.
He had come to watch someone else's house fall, but one piece of meat from its kitchen had made him reconsider his attitude.
He chewed slowly, swallowed, and took a sip of the herbal drink we'd prepared instead of wine.
“This…”
He stopped.
I held my breath in the kitchen.
“Good.”
It was a short word.
But that one word loosened the air in the kitchen.
Marie looked as if she might cry, and the servants looked at one another.
I raised a hand to silence them all.
Dessert was still left.
If we ruined the final impression, all the dishes before it would end as nothing more than a strange experience.
The last course was very small.
Cheese and honey, thinly toasted bread, and a few raspberries.
It wasn't small because we had no money.
Dessert was supposed to remain like the final sentence.
If it was too long, it became gauche, and if it was too sweet, it covered up the memories that came before.
Marie served the final plate, and Elysia spoke herself.
“Monbel honey and cheese. The sweetness may not linger long, but I hope you'll remember this evening.”
A little sincerity was stronger than any packaging.
Count Klever ate the dessert and said nothing for a while.
He looked at the empty plates one by one.
Small cheese, clear soup, fish, venison, honey and cheese.
None of them were remarkable ingredients on their own.
But fed to someone in that order, they became a story.
A house that had endured for generations offering its first greeting to a guest, passing through forest, river, and deer, before presenting the sweetness it had left at the end.
The Last Banquet of House Monbel.
It must have sounded fairly convincing for the desperate struggle of a poor house.
The count set down his napkin.
“Miss Monbel.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Let me be honest. I never expected to have a meal like this at this mansion today.”
“You're too kind.”
“It isn't kindness. Nor do I have any reason to flatter you. I came to collect a debt, and you are the person who failed to repay it.”
The air in the parlor turned cold.
No matter how well we fed him, a debt was still a debt.
Cooking could move people's hearts, but it couldn't immediately erase numbers from a ledger.
It had been the same in my previous life. No matter how moved a customer was, if the payment terminal was turned off, the business still failed.
Count Klever slowly tapped the table with one finger.
“However, I've changed my mind a little. House Monbel still has something it can sell.”
Elysia's eyes wavered.
“Do you mean the mansion?”
“No.”
The count's gaze turned toward the kitchen, landing precisely on me.
I felt disgusted.
I felt like a red sea bream put up for auction at an extremely expensive fish market.
“The chef.”
Elysia's expression hardened.
Count Klever smiled gently.
“Kyle Pratt, was it? Send him to my estate. I'll adjust House Monbel's debts. It would be a waste to keep such talent tied to a house that's falling apart.”
Marie drew in a sharp breath in the kitchen.
I wanted to put a hand to my forehead.
‘Ah, fuck. I fed him, and now he wants to buy me.’
It wasn't unexpected.
When a powerful person eats something delicious, they generally do one of two things.
They either come back for more, or they try to take the person who made it.
Even on Earth, wealthy people sometimes asked chefs to come work exclusively for them in their homes.
Here, the offer was simply a little more blatant and aristocratic.
Elysia was silent for a moment.
Then she laughed.
This time, it was different from yesterday.
It wasn't the deranged laughter of someone going to die, nor the laughter of someone about to wring money out of a rich man.
It was the smile of a cat that had seen someone reach for its plate.
“No.”
Count Klever's eyebrows rose.
“No?”
“Kyle is Monbel's chef.”
“Monbel may soon be a name that no longer exists.”
“That's why you had your meal under that name today.”
Elysia didn't back down in the slightest.
Watching her from behind the crack in the door, I felt strangely moved.
Just yesterday, the woman who had said she'd go to a gambling house and die if she lost was standing up to a creditor count today, refusing to sell me off.
People can change in a single day.
Count Klever slowly smiled.
“Very well. Then let us discuss it another way. How much did today's meal cost?”
At last.
I left the kitchen and stood beside Elysia.
The count's gaze settled on me.
He was no longer hiding his interest.
If this meal wasn't complimentary, he wanted to know what price I would name.
I lowered my head, then said as calmly as I could,
“150 gold, my lord.”
Silence descended over the parlor.
Count Klever stared at me for a moment.
“What did you just say?”
“Today's meal costs 150 gold.”
The corners of the count's mouth slowly rose.
I knew what that smile meant.
He wasn't angry.
It was more dangerous than that.
He was enjoying himself.
“Miss Monbel.”
He said to Elysia,
“Your chef is insane.”
Elysia glanced at me once, then answered with perfect composure.
“I know.”
I muttered to myself,
‘That fucking bitch.’