A Match Made in Heaven
A contract meant one thing: a place where money would start coming in. For Rian, who had no connections of any kind, the prospect of a distribution channel was something to welcome—inwardly, at least. Even so, he shook his head.
"I don't have any land to grow vegetables on. As you well know, I'm just a wandering traveler."
He added a caveat, just in case.
"I've no intention of going back to the village, either. That land is far too small for what I mean to accomplish, and I'd have to split nearly half the profits besides. The land I want—my end goal—is something like a wide-open plain. I want to be the landlord of a place like that."
Monica nodded along, then showed a spark of interest in his ambition.
"So your dream is to make a lot of money?"
"Everyone dreams of getting rich. But I'm different. I'm trying to earn money so I can put together an astronomical travel fund."
Monica tilted her head.
"You planning to spend your whole life on the road?"
"No. My home is very far from here. Have you heard of the Lorelai Kingdom?"
"Never."
"Anyway, my home is somewhere near there. But the Lorelai Kingdom is so far from here it'd take over a year just to reach it. Ordinary travel expenses wouldn't even begin to cover it."
"So in other words, you're saving up the money to go home?"
"That's the idea."
"Hmm..."
She thought for a moment, then spoke.
"You do know that owning land is nearly impossible unless you're a noble, right?"
"I know. I also know that even if you have the money, you can't buy or sell land without a title."
"Unless you distinguish yourself in war, a commoner getting land is like plucking a star from the sky. And a wide-open plain, no less? That's a dream you couldn't realize if you died and came back a thousand times over."
He already knew as much. In a place that ran on the same feudal system as medieval Europe, private land ownership was extraordinarily difficult—that much he had understood. But hearing it confirmed from the mouth of Monica, a native of this other world, the blow landed far harder than it had as mere knowledge.
Would it take an entire lifetime just to see Audria again...?
He was recalling Audria's face—now a faint, distant memory—his heart growing restless, when Monica stood up.
"A thought just occurred to me. I wonder if you and I aren't a match made in heaven."
"That's the kind of thing lovers say to each other."
"Take a look at this and you might think the same. Can you read?"
"Yeah."
"Well now, not bad. At least you're not some ignorant farmer. Plus ten bonus points."
"Bonus points? What for?"
"I'm scoring whether you'd make a viable business partner."
"What? Who said you could?"
"I did. Just read this first, then we'll talk."
She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment scroll. Sitting back down, she handed it to Rian.
"Go on. Read it."
Rian unrolled the parchment and began to read slowly. What was written inside was no ordinary letter. It was a notarized last will and testament, detailing an inheritance.
The decedent was Monica's adoptive father. A viscount, he had recently passed away, and the document stated that a portion of his land near the capital would be left to Monica.
I hereby bequeath farmland amounting to five thousand pyeong to Monica Bruni Hooks.
"Well? Don't I look a little different now?"
Rian lifted his head and met her eyes.
"So? What's this supposed to mean?"
In truth, Rian was a quick enough study that the implication had struck him in an instant. She wouldn't have shown him a bequest of five thousand pyeong for no reason, and a hopeful suspicion—surely not...?—made him watch her closely.
"Did you show me this just to brag?"
He kept his face blank and played dumb. As he had guessed, she came out with something astonishing.
"..."
He had more or less seen it coming, but he still couldn't quite accept it. For a moment, Rian was at a loss for words.
"...And what makes you trust me that much?"
Rian was entirely serious. She, on the other hand, was smiling.
"I may not look it, but I'm a seasoned merchant who's dealt with more farmers than I can count. I've got an eye for telling jade from gravel. And land doesn't lie. It shows you, in the harvest, exactly how hard a farmer has worked. I was genuinely amazed when I saw the carrots you grew. Harvesting carrots that precious—the kind you can't raise without enormous effort and diligence—earned you a great many points, let's say."
Monica's smile faded, and she grew serious in turn.
"You're an extraordinarily hardworking, earnest man. You're the kind of person I want to entrust my land to."
A smile bloomed at the corners of her mouth once more.
"And the deciding factor is that I don't know the first thing about farming. So I'm looking for a proxy, that's all. You've got nowhere else to go anyway, right? Wouldn't it be nice to come settle in the capital with me?"
"..."
Rian fell silent for a long while, turning it over in his mind. Monica's proposal had come out of nowhere, but given his present circumstances, it was far from a bad one. Land situated in the densely populated capital region. Convenient, too, for producing crops and selling them. Perhaps this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the kind that would never come again.
And yet he still wondered why she was extending him this much goodwill. She had offered an explanation, but he didn't trust it—not yet.
"You're going to wrap up your whole life here and head up to the capital?"
"That's the plan."
"You've worked this region for a long time, haven't you? Doesn't it feel like a waste to throw it all away overnight?"
"Not even a little."
Monica answered easily, then slipped one hand inside her robe. She frowned slightly, rubbing at her chest.
"Aaah, this is so annoying—the milk just keeps coming. My robe's already soaked through. Damn it."
When she withdrew her hand, her palm was smeared with white liquid. She wiped it on her robe and went on.
"Let's get back to business."
Having cleared her throat, she continued.
"If your dream is to become a great landowner, then mine is to own a great trading company. We could make a perfect pair. You grow it, I sell it. If the company produces high-quality crops itself and puts them on the market, consumers get produce at lower prices, and the company cuts out all those tedious middlemen—so there's more left over for us."
A smile rose unbidden to her lips as she pictured that bright future.
"We might earn dozens—hundreds—of times what I make hawking goods on the road around here. I keep seeing myself sitting on a great big, magnificent golden chair, and I just can't shake the image. How am I supposed to let this go?"
"There's no telling whether we'll even succeed yet."
"I became certain the moment I saw the carrots you grew. We will succeed."
"And if you hadn't met me?"
"Then I would have hesitated. I wouldn't have dreamed of going back to my adoptive father's house. And that five thousand pyeong of land might have ended up in the hands of his family."
She added,
"Truth is, I haven't seen my adoptive father's face in over seven years. Showing up out of nowhere and asking for land would make me a shameless bitch."
"And now?"
She grinned.
"I've got you, don't I?"
Silence settled after that. Monica, her chest still uncomfortable, fetched a bucket that had been lying around the room and set about expressing her milk in earnest, while Rian, catching the peculiar raw scent of it, sank into deep thought.
From time to time he glanced over at her, and a certain idea crossed his mind.
If I gave her a chest massage, wouldn't that help a little...?
He considered offering to help, but he couldn't quite bring himself to speak up. He had never formally learned massage technique—everything he knew he'd picked up from watching porn—and the thought of stepping in with such amateurish skills was, somehow, embarrassing.
"What should we name the company? Let's settle the profit split right here, too."
He hadn't even said he was in, and Monica suddenly came out with that. Rian regarded her evenly.
"So you've already settled things with Peter, then?"
"Peter?"
"I heard from the village chief that he's the owner of the trading company you work for."
She made a face as if to say who?—then burst into peals of laughter.
"Peter is a fictitious person."
"He doesn't exist?"
"I've always worked alone. People get suspicious when they hear a woman is running a merchant business, so I had no choice but to invent a fictional partner. Honestly, these days most people don't even want to deal with a woman. They figure she wouldn't be able to get a word in among all those loud, burly men, so they don't trust her—afraid she won't be able to sell their goods. There's that, and then there are plenty of country folk who believe the superstition that selling to a woman merchant brings bad luck."
Having finished, Monica dragged a chair over and sat down beside him.
"Which means my proposal is advantageous to you no matter how you look at it. Agonizing over it would just be a waste of time. Why? Because I'm going to put you forward as the face of the company. Only on the surface, of course. But the intangible benefits of being the figurehead won't be anything to sneeze at, either."
The lord's castle.
Lisa slipped out of her nightclothes and into a form-fitting violet silk dress. She would have to take to the road again this morning. There was still a long way to go to the imperial capital.
After packing the belongings she had temporarily unpacked back into her bags, she stood before the mirror and brushed her hair by herself. Yesterday's events rose unbidden to her mind.
"Did Emily give that merchant bastard a piece of her mind yesterday? Why hasn't she said a word?"
She was curious about the result. A short while later, Emily appeared together with the maids carrying in breakfast.
"Did you sleep well, my lady?"
"What is that?"
Lisa's gaze went to the breakfast far more readily than to Emily.
"I distinctly said I wouldn't be eating."
She kept a strict personal routine of skipping breakfast. She had already informed the lord that she would not be attending the morning meal—so having food delivered to her room was simply absurd.
The maid who had brought the meal lowered her eyes and spoke.
"This was sent by Lord Jishutrazhu, His Lordship's eldest son. He said that skipping breakfast is bad for a woman's skin, and that he would be most grateful if you would please eat."
On the food cart, alongside the fine dishes, lay a rose and a letter. Emily took one look and gave a little snort of laughter.
"What a pointless gesture."
"Emily."
Lisa gestured, and Emily strode over, scooped up the rose and the letter, and waited.
"Please tell him I said thank you."
"Yes, my lady."
"And please tell him that Lady Lisa abstains from breakfast for the sake of her figure. She will accept only the sentiment."
"Understood."
Once the maids had wheeled the food cart out, Emily tossed the flower and the letter into the fireplace. For Lisa, who had long since grown accustomed to receiving men's advances at all hours, regardless of their age, such gifts were nothing more than kindling.
"Emily, why haven't you reported on how you dealt with that carrot merchant? Did you go mute when I wasn't looking?"
"I was just about to, my lady. Last night you fell asleep the moment the banquet with His Lordship ended."
"Did I? Then get on with it."
"As it happens, I have something to tell you regarding that matter."
"Which is?"
Emily looked toward the door and called out.
"Lady Kestiria, come in!"
The door opened and Kestiria entered, a lidded dish held in both hands. Taking it for breakfast, Lisa frowned.
"Take it back out."
Emily looked at her with expectant eyes.
"Look at what's inside."
Kestiria, too, was smiling with anticipation.
"The flavor is truly exceptional."
She lifted the lid at once. There, sitting all by itself on a silver plate, was a serving of steamed carrots.