Chapter 122
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 122
Chapter Title: Mayor and Consulting
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Consulting.
A refined form of mental torment inflicted by those in power on the powerless and desperate.
Especially look at the trendy alleyway revitalization content these days.
The so-called expert barges into a failing shop, publicly exposes the owner's incompetence, and yells at them.
"This is why you're going under!"
The camera zooms in on the owner's teary face, while the expert mercilessly dissects their problems.
Yells at them fiercely, screams for them to work harder, forces them to slash prices.
Viewers get vicarious satisfaction from the sadistic scene, and the expert earns honor as "a true mentor who doesn't shy away from tough love."
Views explode, and the shop enjoys a temporary boom.
But that's it.
The Nutuber squeezes out the views and moves on.
No responsibility taken. All that's left is the shop owner, plunging into deeper despair after a brief flash of success.
Racking up massive views while dodging any accountability—pure one-sided exploitation.
That's the true essence of consulting, isn't it?
A shop doomed to fail will fail no matter what. A shop destined for success will thrive regardless. That's just how the world works.
And yet.
"Alright, then. As a special, very special favor, I'll teach you myself."
Right now, before my eyes, my business partner—the menhera patissier—was gearing up to perform exactly that kind of consulting.
Sugar Girl declared it with her arms crossed and a haughty expression.
That expression. That tone. That posture.
She was already fully immersed.
Determined to become the God of Baking—or perhaps the Demon of Baking.
Her first command was concise and shocking.
"First off, get on your knees."
"Huh?!"
A radical opening.
Four magical girls on their knees. Perfect thumbnail bait.
"I said kneel! What you did wasn't just a simple mistake. It was blasphemy against bread!"
The four magical girls—no, magical aunties—looked around in confusion, eyeing each other.
But they didn't dare resist Sugar Girl's icy glare. Hesitantly, they knelt on the floor.
Her sermon began.
"Bread is a gift from heaven, humanity's greatest blessing. It's the alchemy of life born from flour, water, and yeast. Rice? Rice is just phlegm spat out by Satan!"
Rice as Satan's phlegm? As a proud member of a rice-eating nation, I couldn't let that slide.
Her sermon grew more radical by the minute.
Bread is great. Bread is sublime. Bread is human history itself. You defiled that great history.
"Um, Sugar Girl. Isn't this going too far? It's just that it tasted bad. Why bring faith into it…?"
"The mayor knows nothing! Be quiet! You taste-blind fool!"
Taste-blind.
Tasteless tongue. Someone without taste buds.
Harsh. You're the one who doesn't appreciate the true flavor of a hearty soup.
But this was her stage.
Wisely, I retreated to a chair in the corner.
"So what did you do? That wasn't bread! It was just dirt play! First, bow in apology to the loaves on display!"
"Huh?!"
"Hurry! Can't you feel the souls of the bread you mocked?!"
The four magical girls flinched, then awkwardly bowed toward the display case.
"More! Put your heart into it!"
"We're sorry! We're so sorry!"
Eventually, they were kowtowing, foreheads to the floor.
The shop turned into a scene of collective repentance.
"Waaah! We were wrong!"
"We didn't know! That bread was such a great being!"
"We! We took bread too lightly!"
A sea of wailing unfolded.
I quietly observed from my chair.
This was religion. A full-blown religious ritual.
The Bread Faith. Sugarism. Menhera Cult.
Sugar Girl, high priestess, baptizing her four new followers.
Get swept up in that madness, and I might end up bowing to bread ghosts myself.
After a long rite of atonement, the tear- and snot-streaked magical girls lifted their heads.
"S-So… does this mean we can appear on your Nutube channel too, Sugar Girl?"
Pink asked with hopeful eyes.
"Yeah! Like content called 'God of Baking Revives a Dead Bakery' or something!"
Blue chimed in.
"Oh! Then the mayor will be on it too, right? Can we see Nero? I follow King Nero on Insta!"
Green and Gold giggled among themselves, fawning excitedly.
Sugar Girl's brow twitched.
"Out!!"
Her shout echoed through the shop.
"You think a viral boost will bring customers forever?"
Oh, surprisingly pragmatic advice.
"Two months? Three? You think you can handle that rush with your skills?"
True. Fame without skill is poison.
"Get famous, and villains might crash the place. What then?"
Also true. Even Insim-dang gets occasional villain trouble, only for Sugar Girl to mop them up.
Her sharp points silenced the magical girls.
"They'll come once out of curiosity. The key is giving them a reason to return. Basics! You need the fundamentals!"
"Alright, now the real lesson begins."
Sugar Girl rolled up her sleeves.
"I'll put you through hell training until you truly understand bread's flavor."
Hell training.
Another cliché kicks off.
'There goes my weekend…'
But what can you do?
Life never goes according to plan anyway.
Hey, spectating this mad consulting session has its own fun.
That was my self-consolation.
Sugar Girl knows a ton about bread.
No, correction.
She has faith in bread. A fanatic who worships it as religion.
And now begins the religious inquisition to convert four pitiful heretics.
Sugar Girl thoroughly inspected the shop.
First target: the fridge in the kitchen.
"Let's start with the fridge."
She flung open the fridge door.
And.
"……."
Silence fell.
She stared into the fridge without a word.
The fridge interior was pure chaos.
Fish piled haphazardly on cold butter, an open kimchi jar next to milk cartons. Peeled garlic cloves rolling around on fresh cream.
Most shocking: yeast and salt cheerfully mixed in the same container.
"It's a fridge, so we just toss everything in together, right?"
Pink asked innocently.
"Yeah. We sterilize it with magical power later anyway!"
Blue added.
Sugar Girl's face went pale.
"This isn't a fridge—it's a bacteria incubator! Dairy with dairy! Veggies with veggies! Ingredients by category! Even kindergarteners know that!"
She waved her hand, conjuring transparent sugar containers instantly.
"All ingredients in airtight containers like this! What if smells mix? And labeling! No dates? Selling cream without knowing when it was made?! Just close up shop!"
"Huh. She's right."
I chimed in halfheartedly from the corner.
Mm-hmm. Labeling matters.
Sugar Girl looks extra sharp today.
Bored, though.
I nibbled the corner of my baker's hat.
Nom nom.
Mmm. Delicious. Brioche flavor filling my mouth.
"Mayor! What are you doing?!"
"Huh? Nothing."
"Liar! You were eating your baker's hat again! I told you that's not food!"
"Got proof?"
"Crumbs on your mouth!"
Oh.
I hurriedly wiped my mouth.
"This is just… flour particles from the air landing on my face."
"If you want bread, just say so! I'll make some!"
Sugar Girl waved her hands, and macarons, éclairs, croissants, donuts, and tarts rained down.
"Here! Eat up! Chocolate cake! Cheesecake! Mont Blanc! All of it!"
"Wait! Too much! I'll get diabetes! Save me!"
I was buried under a pile of bread as punishment for my distraction.
The lecture continued.
"The yeast you'll handle from now on isn't just microbes. They're living beings. Pets!"
She conjured a blackboard and elegantly diagrammed yeast types and traits.
Fresh yeast, instant dry yeast, active dry yeast, natural sourdough… A passionate lecture on their differences.
"So what did you use?"
At her chilling question, the magical girls fetched a jar of dark powder from the kitchen corner.
Sugar Girl sniffed the open jar and yelled in horror.
"Expired by six months! This isn't yeast—it's yeast corpses! You've been holding funerals, not baking!"
Shocking truth.
They'd been kneading with dead yeast all along.
"What did you feed the yeast? Temperature? Humidity? It's like neglecting a pet—no food, no water! Abuse!"
The endless scolding went on.
Next: dough lecture.
"Dough is science and art. Water meets flour's proteins to birth gluten—a new life."
She drew a complex net on the blackboard. Gluten network. The skeleton of bread.
"When kneading, don't just pound. Gently, tenderly. Like handling a baby. Like massaging breasts."
Breasts.
My gaze instinctively drifted to Sugar Girl's upper body.
Flat. Vast plain. Endless prairie.
No breasts to massage.
Polaris channel popped into mind.
Her in workout clothes, sweating through training. That healthy vibe. Heh heh…
"What are you thinking right now."
Sugar Girl was glaring coldly at me before I knew it.
"Nothing. Just deeply moved by your profound, philosophical lecture."
I hurriedly averted my eyes, pretending otherwise.
She eyed me suspiciously but soon refocused on the lesson.
Now, fermentation demo.
"Bread is the aesthetic of patience! Yeast breathing, eating, growing to puff the dough—a sacred process! Never force it with magical power!"
I couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief.
Didn't she just mass-produce fluffy bread with Sugar-Sugar Power moments ago?
Ultimate double standard.
Undeterred, she explained optimal fermentation conditions.
27-30°C temperature. 75-80% humidity. First vs. second rise. Beautiful air pockets in bread.
After the long lecture, she crossed her arms smugly.
"Got it now? Why Insim-dang bread is special?"
Yours is power-boosted too.
I swallowed the truth rising in my throat.
Her early bread tasted awful too. Middle school dropout patissier, after all.
Insim-dang's secret? Mysterious Sugar Girl powder.
Her bread's appeal wasn't flavor, but artistic design and aesthetics.
She sculpted sugar, not baked. If she'd pursued sculpture or art instead, she might've been a successful artist, not a villain.
"Mayor."
"Yeah?"
"Why have you been looking at me with those impure eyes?"
"Nah, just realizing why everyone raves about Sugar Girl. Impressive. Admirable. But didn't you get famous with superpowered bread?"
Her eyelid twitched.
"Ahem! Knowing basics and skipping them is worlds apart from ignorance! I'm different now! My old bread is black history!"
She casually denied her past.
"Watch. Demo time."
Sugar Girl snapped her fingers.
In an instant, flour and water became dough, fermented in one second, and baked golden without an oven.
Steaming fresh bread.
Physics? Casually ignored.
"See? Like this!"
Sure, the world is full of master bakers.
French MOF artisans, Japanese century-old bakeries, Michelin-starred chefs.
They all bake better than her—traditionally.
But superpowered baking?
That's different.
Not even an MIT food science PhD or Oxford molecular gastronomy prof could fuse powers and baking like her.
Because she's battle-tested. The one and only who's lived daily with superpowered bread.
"I'll reconvene based on your powers!"
She checked each magical girl's abilities.
And assigned roles accordingly.
"Pink, body enhancement type? Your taste buds must be super-sensitive. Detect sugar or salt to 0.1% precision! You're quality control!"
"Blue! Ice magic specialty? Perfect! Low-temp aging fermentation and frozen desserts like ice cream are yours!"
"Green! Plant magic? Cultivate new natural yeasts and develop dough with special plant ingredients!"
"Finally, Gold! Precise flame control? You're the oven master! Perfect heat for perfect bread!"
Under Sugar Girl's direction, the magical girls baked using their powers.
Green's ultra-fast cultured natural yeast dough, aged cold by Blue, baked perfectly by Gold. Pink taste-tested and fine-tuned.
For the first time, "edible" bread emerged from their hands.
"Here, try it."
I took a bite of the bread Sugar Girl offered.
Not like chewing sand anymore.
Fluffy, soft texture. Subtle herbal aroma.
Not perfect, but definitely tasty bread.
"Oh… this is good?"
My praise lit up the magical girls' faces.
Sugar Girl smiled in satisfaction.
"Heh. Praise them, and they step up?"
"Still a long way to go!"
Whip.
"But potential's there!"
Carrot.
"Work harder, and you could franchise like Insim-dang!"
Torture of hope.
Perfect conditioning.
"Really?! Insim-dang franchise?!"
"We're becoming Insim-dang family?!"
Not family—subcontractors.
Headquarters exploits, franchises get exploited.
That's franchising.
No need to rain on their motivated parade with cold reality, though.