A Real Man Cooks His Own Food
The kitchen of Frigid Manor.
Bubbling. Bubbling.
"Young Master, please—let me do it!"
Today, once again, the maid was getting in my way.
"No. I said I'm fine. How many times do I have to tell you?"
No matter how often I said it, she fretted and interfered every single day.
"B-but…"
To the girl still wearing that dissatisfied look, I scooped a spoonful from the boiling pot and held it out.
"Just drop it. Taste this."
"I-I couldn't possibly dare!"
She refused every day, too.
"Ugh. Just try it, will you?"
"Yes… then, if you'll forgive my presumption…"
And in the end, she always accepted.
What was going on here, you ask?
Before I explain the current situation, I need to tell you about my past life again.
This time, though, it's the story of my second life.
As I've said before, a man must be strong.
Every time I trained, the knight who assisted me never held back her admiration or praise. The reason my swordsmanship improved so steadily—enough to earn recognition from a half-dragon of exceptional power—was largely thanks to the influence of my second life.
In that second life, too, I took the end of my first as a lesson. I never smiled easily at women. I never offered them even a hint of warmth. And I cultivated my strength as well.
No—it would be more accurate to say I had no choice but to cultivate it, given the world I was born into.
What kind of world? Another one straight out of a novel. I had been reborn into a martial arts world.
And the family I was born into was none other than the legendary Namgung Clan.
Even carrying the horrific memories of my first life intact, the circumstances were so favorable—family background included—that I could start over with a dream: to become the greatest sword under heaven.
My grandfather, the previous clan head, had stepped back into semi-retirement, but in his prime he had been a legendary figure whose name thundered across the martial world as the Sword Sovereign. My father, the current head of the Namgung Clan, was the leader of the Martial Alliance itself.
But being born into such a prestigious family usually comes with headaches—internal politics, succession struggles, and the like. I had nothing to worry about. My father was a pure-hearted man who had eyes only for my mother. He kept no concubines, and I was his only son.
Which meant every scrap of love and instruction from both my grandfather and father was concentrated on me—the clan's sole heir.
How was I supposed to not get carried away?
My first life's ending had been so thoroughly fucked that I was convinced some god had sent me here as compensation.
Or rather—I had been convinced.
Until something equally fucked happened.
Cough! Cough!
A sudden queasiness rose in my gut, and I vomited something up. When I looked, it was dark crimson blood. My vision blurred. Strength drained from my body by the second.
"Ghk… Young Lady, why…"
Until the moment I drank the tea from the cup in front of me, my body had been perfectly fine. That meant the cause was the tea—served by the goddamn bitch standing before me with an expression I couldn't read as anger or sorrow.
After dinner, I had been strolling leisurely under the moonlight when I happened to run into the daughter of the Sichuan Tang Family. She invited me for a cup of tea. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn't risk rumors of the Martial Alliance leader's son being inconsiderate. I couldn't let anything tarnish the reputation of my grandfather, my father, or the clan. So I accepted.
I'd only meant to share a polite cup and part ways.
Poison? Are you fucking kidding me?
I knew their family dealt in toxins, but they were still considered an orthodox sect. Trusting that had been my mistake.
No—more than that. To avoid any misunderstandings, I never smiled easily, and with women especially I never so much as curved my lips. So why the hell had another crazy bitch latched onto me?
Cough! Cough!
I drew up my internal energy, but the poison was too potent. It did nothing.
"This… this is all your fault, Young Master!!"
Fuck. What kind of bullshit was this?
"Wh-what are you talking about…"
"You said I was beautiful! You said so!"
What was I supposed to say instead—that her face looked like a damn potato?
As I mentioned, my father was head of the Namgung Clan and the current leader of the Martial Alliance. That meant countless meetings with other orthodox families, and inevitably, encounters with their young ladies. I couldn't smile freely or offer them warmth—but when they said things like:
"My, Young Master, you are so handsome."
"You look like a painting come to life today, Young Master!"
…what was I supposed to do? A little lip service in return was the bare minimum of courtesy.
"Haha. Thank you. You young ladies are beautiful as well."
"Th-that was just… ghk!"
You were never even my type!
I wanted to scream it at the bitch in front of me, but just like in my first life, I couldn't get the words out cleanly to the end.
Cough! Cough!
I no longer had the strength to speak. My life was running out.
"Haa… haa… It doesn't matter anymore… Even a corpse is fine…"
Rustle…
In my final moment, it seemed as though she reached for my body—but my memories of the second life ended there. I never found out what happened next.
Because of that horrific end to my second life, I never treated women kindly. Invitations, promises—I refused them all without exception.
Fortunately, this was the cold northern Grand Ducal house. As the second son of the frigid Frigid family, pushback against my rejections was relatively mild.
And the greatest cause of my second life's death—eating and drinking—I treated with extreme caution. Everything that entered my mouth was suspect. Even food prepared by the family chef.
Of course, when I was very young, I had no choice but to eat whatever was given to me. But thorough as I was, I always had my personal maid taste my food before I touched it. Women outside the family were hard to trust, but she had attended me since childhood, so she was the closest thing to reliable. I entrusted her with the role of food taster before every meal.
And the moment I was old enough to think for myself and move freely, I stopped eating the chef's cooking entirely. I cooked for myself.
At first my parents and older sister were horrified and tried to stop me. But they were dealing with me. No one could stop me.
Which is why, even now, I was cooking my own food.
"Taste this too."
"Hup! Yes, Young Master."
There was always the chance poison had been mixed into the ingredients, so I still had the maid taste everything first.
"Well?"
"It's delicious!"
"No—I mean, is there anything strange about it?"
"Strange, sir?"
"Ugh… never mind."
The ingredients seemed fine, at least. The dish would be finished soon.
Emma, personal maid to Edward, second son of the northern Grand Ducal House of Frigid.
She was happy again today.
She had been worried that morning—it had sounded as though the Young Master had cried out from a nightmare—but seeing him perfectly fine in the kitchen, cooking away, put her at ease.
"Taste this too."
Ah, how could he be so thoughtful?
Just watching him cook was the picture of masculinity, and yet this considerate Young Master always had her taste everything first.
And before he started cooking for himself—back when he was little—he would always share precious dishes with her under the pretense of food tasting, just to make sure she was looked after.
Who would dare put poison on a Frigid family table? Clearly, it had all been his way of looking out for her.
As a child, the Young Master had shared his food with her. Now she got to eat dishes he made with his own hands. Every single day. And she was always the first.
For that reason alone, everyone in the household couldn't help but envy her. Every time the Young Master cooked, he offered her a taste.
Emma wanted nothing more than to accept immediately—but she had her station to consider, and more importantly, she loved watching him get flustered. So she always refused first.
"No, just eat it already…"
To an outsider it might look like he was losing his temper. But Emma, who had served him for so long, knew better. He was hiding his embarrassment and offering her the food all over again.
Ah! My adorable Young Master!
She had been his personal maid since childhood—chosen for him. Her mother was the Grand Duke's own personal maid, so Emma had begun serving the household from a young age as well.
But she hadn't taken after her mother. She'd inherited her father's timid nature instead, and as a child she was always clumsy, always easily discouraged.
One day, fretting as usual that she might cause her mother trouble, she had been being extra careful.
Splash!!
"Ah… ah!!"
"You little—! What have you done?!"
It was an accident. She had been carrying a bucket of water for cleaning, tripped, and dumped the entire thing—right onto the Young Master who happened to be walking past.
"Uwaaa…"
"Young Master, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"
Unfortunately, the Grand Duke and her mother were standing right there beside him.
Because of me… my whole family is…
They would be ruined. She hated herself so much in that moment. Please, she thought—just spare our lives…
"Mother."
Was he about to order her death? The Young Master wore a deeply uncomfortable expression.
"Come to think of it, you said you'd assign me a personal attendant, didn't you?"
A personal attendant? What was he talking about all of a sudden?
"I'll take her."
"!!"
"Young Master?!"
She was stunned. Her mother beside her was equally so. The Grand Duke, receiving his son's request, thought for a moment.
"My son. As kind as ever. You have my permission."
He said it while ruffling the Young Master's hair.
"It's not kindness! Having some useless attendant of mine make people look bad would be worse."
He snapped it out, batting away the hand on his head—but Emma couldn't help agreeing with the Grand Duke's words.
"She looks like a total airhead, but if I have to pick someone, I'll take her."
Far from punishing her crime, he had taken in a girl who was clearly not enough. That day was one Emma would never forget for the rest of her life—the moment she met the master she would devote everything to.
"Hoo…"
Finally finished.
I'd had the airheaded maid taste everything, so there was no poison. Of course, I didn't actually believe anyone in this Grand Ducal house would try something that insane—but you never know how the world will turn.
This meal, too, was perfect. No risk of being poisoned.
As expected.
If you're a man, you cook your own food.