Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Father's Approval and BlackWood Merchant Group
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That evening.
In our family’s dining hall, only the quiet clinking of cutlery echoed softly.
Father, Count Del BlackStone, was a man who placed great importance on dining etiquette.
Because of that, our family had an unspoken rule: no unnecessary talk during meals.
But tonight, that silence had to be broken.
“Father.”
“Hm?”
Father paused mid-slice on his steak and set down his knife, looking at me.
He didn’t seem particularly displeased that I’d spoken up during the meal.
“Shouldn’t our family run its own merchant group by now?”
For a moment, Father’s eyebrow twitched subtly.
That was a sign something didn’t sit right with him.
“...A merchant group, you say. When excessive wealth piles up, dirty things are bound to follow. It could tarnish the family name.”
“It’s not about making money. It’s an expansion out of necessity.”
I calmly laid out the prepared response to convince him.
“Our family finances have loosened up lately... And if I’m going to produce and sell videos, it feels like I need a stable distribution channel. I understand your caution against extravagance, but wouldn’t it be better to cut unnecessary expenses?”
“Hmmm...”
Father stroked his chin, lost in thought for a moment.
He had little interest in money, so he might see a noble directly engaging in commerce as a loss of face.
But for my future plans, a merchant group under my control was essential.
Outsourcing sales, purchases, and production forever would just bleed money dry.
“You won’t have to worry about it, Father. I’ll hire people and handle the operations myself. However...”
I smiled and got to the point.
“I’d like your permission to stamp the family crest on the merchant group. As a new venture, it lacks recognition. With the BlackStone name as backing, people will trust and do business with us, don’t you think?”
The trust in the BlackStone name.
That was value beyond mere money.
A merchant group guaranteed by the family managing the royal finances—who would dare doubt it?
Father stared at me intently, then let out a soft chuckle.
Lending the family name for commercial use.
In the past, he would have dismissed it as frivolous without a second thought.
But I wasn’t the lazy slacker I used to be.
“...Very well. Lately, I’ve been hearing praise for you everywhere. It’s gratifying to see you finally accomplishing something proper.”
I could sense deep trust in Father’s eyes.
“That cooking contest you created... I was worried at first, but the people’s reaction has been enthusiastic. Even His Majesty praised it as an excellent plan.”
“Thank you.”
“As long as it’s not illegal, there’s no reason to refuse. But if anything tarnishes the family name, I’ll shut it down immediately. Understood?”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Father.”
Permission granted. With a light heart, I popped the rest of my meat into my mouth.
As dessert arrived after the meal, I spoke up again as if it had just occurred to me.
“Oh, right. Didn’t you say you were curious about the taste of that potato dish from the last video?”
“...Ahem. Well, I might have said something like that.”
Father cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his gaze.
He pretended to be stern, but I knew he was just as hooked on Royal Chef Survival as anyone.
Rumors had spread through the mansion about him and Mother cozily rewatching episodes together multiple times.
“How about visiting the next round? I’ve prepared a special seat just for you, Father.”
Father’s face visibly brightened.
Of course—who could resist the chance to attend their favorite show in person?
But pride wouldn’t let him accept outright, so he put on a stern front, coughing and pretending to decline.
“There’s no need for me to go. Sir James and Marquis Frederick will be there...”
“It’s night and day between watching on video and seeing it live.”
“...This is tricky. Let me check my schedule that day...”
I had a feeling his schedule would conveniently be free.
“Come to think of it, that day looks open. Unless something unexpected comes up... I’ll attend. It would be rude to keep refusing when you insist so kindly.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Ahem. And by the way... I quite liked that fellow Samuel’s cooking.”
As expected, Father was an avid fan of my videos.
I smirked inwardly and began scheming the perfect stage.
“Samuel’s not the only one. Come visit, and I’ll let you taste dishes fresh from the contestants’ hands.”
“Alright... Thank you.”
Hearing Father’s gratitude made my conscience twinge a bit.
If anything, I should be the thankful one.
Father would need to play his role in the next mission according to my script.
The next one... I planned to scale it up, with much stricter judging.
No one fit the bill for fair and incorruptible judge better than our famously upright Father.
Of course, a little ‘stimulus’ along the way went without saying.
**
The next morning, I summoned Gilbert to my room as soon as the sun rose.
“You called for me, Young Master?”
“Good, sit.”
Unlike yesterday, Gilbert was neatly dressed. But dark circles shadowed his eyes.
He’d probably stayed up all night buzzing from our contract.
I offered him a cup of tea and cut straight to the chase.
“Our top priority is acquiring a print shop. Ideally one with an attached paper workshop.”
“...May I ask why? We’re making videos—why paper...?”
“Exposing the Greenwood Merchant Group in the videos for advertising was a great idea. But name recognition alone won’t make it grow overnight.”
To Gilbert’s bewildered expression, I handed over a design I’d sketched through the night.
I showed him the logo I’d agonized over all night.
A sturdy shield-shaped BlackStone family crest, backed by the Greenwood Merchant Group’s blue tree emblem, side by side.
And below the logo, elegant script reading [BlackWood]—our new symbol.
“This will be our merchant group’s mark from now on. It shows BlackStone backing for trust, and makes it hard for copycats—a safety net.”
“Ooh...!”
Gilbert took the design with an awestruck look.
“Such overwhelming grace... Thank you so much, Young Master! I’ll stake my life on growing the merchant group!”
“Don’t stake your life. You’ve got tons of work ahead—can’t do it if you’re dead.”
Not giving him time to get sentimental, I dove into assignments.
“Once you get the print shop, print this logo non-stop. Slap it on everything you sell: flour sacks, salt bags, sugar barrels... Everywhere eyes can see.”
“Ah, got it!”
Gilbert fumbled for his notepad and scribbled furiously.
“Then hit the smithy for stamps in this logo shape. Five sizes. Use branding irons for wooden crates and leather pouches.”
“Stamps, five... Yes.”
“Order 2,000 sturdy, upscale spice containers from the carpenter’s. Stamp the logo smack on them and line them up on every cooking station at the shoot. Contestants will expose them naturally while cooking. All advertising.”
“2,000...?!”
“That’s the minimum to meet demand. Viewers will think, ‘If I use that merchant group’s ingredients, I can make cool dishes too.’ Where do you think they’ll go?”
Gilbert’s face paled as tasks poured from my mouth.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s pricey. Merch sells best when it’s hot—milk it for all it’s worth.”
His pen flew across the notepad.
Print shop acquisition, stamp production, 2,000 spice containers with logos, delivery deadlines...
Already overwhelmed, sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Y-Young Master... All that before the next round...?”
“Of course. You can do it, right? No—you must. You’re capable.”
I flashed a grin and patted his shoulder. Gilbert nodded, face like he might cry, eyes burning with ambition—a strange mix.
“I-I’ll make it happen somehow!”
Rough road ahead, Gilbert.
But gold piles at the end, so hang in there.
“Here’s operating funds.”
I tossed him a fat pouch stuffed with video sales profits and sponsor contracts.
“Spend freely, don’t skimp. Need anything, just say.”
“Th-thank you...”
Burdened with cash and a workload bomb, Gilbert staggered out.
Logistics sorted.
My turn next.
**
With Gilbert loaded up on work, I’d better get to mine.
After he left, I holed up editing for a while.
“Phew... Lucky the contestant count dropped.”
Thankfully, with only 100 participants, the footage was way less than preliminaries.
Scarred from all-nighters before, my hands moved familiarly: highlights extracted, subtitles and effects added just right.
At this rate, I could confidently call myself this world’s top editor.
Though I’m the only editor around anyway.
Busy hands wrapped it up in half a day.
I handed the edited reels to servants, instructing delivery to contracted shops and theaters, then changed clothes.
Not my usual flashy attire, but simple, subdued black.
No cologne, no jewelry.
My next opponent couldn’t be bulldozed with money or power.
Destination: a place thick with solemn, quiet aura.
The Great Temple of the Goddess of the Earth.