Genius Baker, Possessed
[‘World Pastry Cup’ Coupe du Monde de la Boulangerie Winner is None Other Than ‘Korea’?]
[Genius baker Kang Tae-il from Korea... only 30 years old.]
[“The talent to lead Korea’s baking world” — Pastry Master Craftsman Kim doesn’t hold back his lavish praise for Kang Tae-il...]
Everyone had been buzzing with expectations about what even greater feats I’d accomplish by 40 or 50.
Or at least, that’s how it should’ve been.
“...Why the hell did I get isekai’d into another world?”
I never dreamed I’d possess the world of that romance fantasy web novel I read on my days off.
Lady Can't Be Stopped
A romance web novel with a quirky title that evoked some animation with a character shaking her hips wildly. The plot was straightforward enough.
A duke’s daughter who obeyed her parents like a puppet, endured everything, and followed orders—until she fell ill and died. Regressing, she now lived true to herself without holding back... something like that.
It wasn’t hugely popular, but the feisty duke’s daughter was charming enough that I’d dip into it whenever I had time.
The problem was...
“Why did I end up as Taylor von Duilstar?”
I stared into the mirror in my room and let out a deep sigh.
Short blonde hair, slightly tanned skin, and a thuggish face. It was straight out of the novel’s description of Taylor von Duilstar.
Taylor was the early-game villain in Lady Can't Be Stopped—abbreviated as Gongmotmal. The fiancée of the duke’s daughter and the delinquent young heir of a count’s family who tried to oppress her.
I had no idea how a mere count’s heir could act so brazenly toward a duke’s lady. There’d been plenty of reader complaints about that too.
‘Nah, he’s just a true-blue scumbag, that’s why.’
I recalled Taylor von Duilstar’s memories. For some reason, all of his memories had merged perfectly with my brain, making this possible.
This guy Taylor was a lunatic playboy beyond my wildest imagination.
He roamed the family territory getting drunk, kidnapped every pretty girl he saw to make them his personal maids, crashed shady noble heirs’ parties for debauchery, and so on. A textbook spoiled chaebol heir—that was Taylor von Duilstar.
One silver lining, though...
‘After the broken engagement episode, Taylor doesn’t appear in the story anymore.’
He was a villain, sure, but he vanished completely after the breakup with the duke’s family. Maybe they struck him from the family registry or something—who knew.
Either way, I had zero interest in the noble society’s petty intrigues or power games.
‘For this life, I just want to take it easy, bake some bread, and live peacefully.’
I looked down at my palms.
From my teenage years, I’d abused my body so much that I suffered from wrist tendonitis, carpal tunnel, tennis elbow, you name it.
But now? Not a trace of any of that. Even with his debauched lifestyle, he’d kept up some exercise—his body was in great shape.
I wanted to spend my days quietly baking in the Duilstar household with this body. Taylor’s father seemed keen to pass the territory to his magical genius daughter rather than his delinquent eldest son anyway.
If I just asked nicely for a little bakery, he’d probably say sure.
I was solidifying these new life goals when—
Knock knock.
“Master, breakfast is served.”
“Come in.”
A young woman in a maid outfit opened the door.
Brown bob haircut, plain but sharp impression. And her most notable feature... those massive breasts.
One of the women Taylor had dragged back from the territory to serve as his personal maid.
‘You crazy bastard, Taylor. Big tits that important to you?’
“I’ll prepare breakfast now.”
“Uh? Y-yeah.”
Rina set up the bed table with an emotionless face and placed the food on it.
Right, gotta eat to live. I sat up in bed and inspected the food on the tray.
The problem was that food.
“...This is today’s breakfast?”
“Yes, it is. Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, it’s just... never mind. Hm.”
This was the breakfast Taylor ate every single day: hard bread and a stew with a bit of meat.
‘A count’s family should be pretty well-off, right? And they eat this bread?’
Rock hard. I knocked on it with my fist, and it rang like a drum.
Surprisingly, this had a relatively high wheat flour content. Commoners’ rye or barley bread would be even worse. No wonder medieval folk used bread as plates.
‘It’s not just the crust—the inside’s a problem too.’
I sliced into it with a knife and struggled to take a bite.
The outside was tough, and poor fermentation made the inside sticky like dough gone wrong.
I dunked it in the soup as best I could and chewed while thinking.
Go from modern gourmet breads to this imitation crap? Every day, day in, day out?
‘No way I’m living like that.’
“Young master? What’s wrong?”
“No appetite. Clear it away.”
“Understood.”
“Bring the dishes and follow me. I’m heading to the kitchen.”
Rina’s expression darkened. Maybe she thought I was off to complain in the kitchen?
“Hurry up.”
“...Understood.”
She didn’t ask twice and packed up the dishes. She probably figured the delinquent was just up to his usual antics.
I headed downstairs to the first-floor kitchen with Maid Rina in tow.
“We’ve arrived. This is the kitchen.”
Even though we’d just eaten breakfast, the count’s kitchen was a battlefield.
“Meat not prepped yet?”
“Almost done, Chef!”
“Coming through! Onions coming through!”
“Stew’s on high heat!”
A dozen cooks moved in perfect sync, each handling their tasks.
And amid it all, my eyes locked on the baker.
‘What the hell’s that guy doing?’
He was clearly the baker, loafing around at the dough board.
Everyone else working, and this clown slacking off. Plenty of time before lunch—he could’ve been kneading or starting fermentation. What was with that confidence?
I was dumbfounded when an elderly man in cook’s whites spotted us.
“What? Why’s a maid in the kitchen... Y-Young master?”
“Don’t chew out Rina. I’m the one who wanted to come.”
“But... young master, you can’t be here.”
The old man whispered anxiously to me, fidgeting.
He’d been barking orders at the cooks earlier... probably the head chef.
“If there’s something you’d like, just say the word. I, Head Chef Marco, will do my utmost to prepare it.”
Marco spoke with pride but kept glancing at me warily, like he had no clue what this delinquent might do next.
He didn’t forget to shoot Rina a glare too—a reprimand for bringing the young master here.
Sorry, but I’m about to pile on.
“I want to make bread.”
“B-Bread, you say?”
“Yeah, bread.”
I pointed at the baker still staring blankly our way.
“It’s not that you want to eat it... you want to make it?”
“Right.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”
Then the loafer approached, scowling. Fiddling with his French-chef-style mustache was seriously annoying.
Why’s a baker stroking his mustache instead of working?
“Baking isn’t that simple. It’s intense physical labor, and as a specialized profession, beginners can’t even make proper bread.”
“Oh yeah?”
I crossed my arms and glared at him. The subtle disdain in his eyes was ridiculous.
He knew damn well who I was in this household, yet he openly challenged me like this. No clue what backing he thought he had.
“Y-Young master, let me apologize on behalf of Baker Pierre.”
“What?”
Head Chef Marco whispered in my ear.
“As you know, that Pierre came from the duke’s house. He’s awfully stubborn because of it.”
“The duke’s house? Oh... right.”
Marco’s words jogged another of Taylor’s memories.
The family baker had died of illness, so they’d been scouting talent. Then the duke’s family—tied to Taylor by his engagement—generously sent one of their own bakers.
No wonder Pierre’s nose was in the air. Sure, a count was beneath a duke, but he wasn’t the duke himself—why strut like that?
“We’ve tried sweet-talking and coaxing him, but he’s so bullheaded.”
Typical prideful type from the duke’s house.
Baking had its share of these guys. Bragging about what school they went to or famous bakery they trained at, acting superior.
But here’s the funny part.
“Guys who stake their life on their background are usually crap at the actual job.”
“Y-Young master?”
“Marco, stay here.”
I approached Pierre and shrugged.
“You said baking’s tough and specialized, hard for newbies?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t think so. Even if we make it right now, I bet I could beat you.”
“What the—?!”
My blatant provocation made his mustache quiver with rage. Hit a nerve, huh?
I’d been pissed eating your bread earlier, so we’re even.
“How about this? A simple contest between us?”
“A contest?”
“Same ingredients, same time. See who makes tastier bread. We’ll have everyone taste-test.”
The mustached baker, Pierre, burst out laughing like it was absurd.
“Haha, then everyone would say your bread’s better, young master.”
“Worried I’ll pull rank?”
“Isn’t that it?”
“Fine. We keep it anonymous—no one knows who made what. Vote on the bread alone.”
“...You’re serious?”
My confident words crumpled his face. Had to sting his pride.
A duke-house baker getting challenged to a bake-off by the young master who doesn’t know the first thing about baking? Backing down would make him less than a man.
“Very well. If it’s purely on taste...”
“Yeah. Let’s start right now. If I lose, I’ll apologize on the spot and give you a gold coin.”
“!”
“But if you lose, you leave this count’s house.”
I rolled up my sleeves and stared him down.
A guy from the duke’s house who couldn’t even make decent rye-mixed bread properly. Strutting around with sky-high pride? Irritating as hell.
“...If I win, don’t forget that one gold coin.”
“I won’t. Let’s get started.”
This contest would flatten his nose and boot out the salary-thief.