Ralph's Test

Mint chocolate.

Its origins, they say, lay in a dessert contest held to celebrate a British princess's wedding. Among the entries was a creation that took the gold prize under the name Mint Royal—and that creation was mint chocolate.

As befit a dessert born in Britain, that nation of gastronomy, mint chocolate was a dish that had captivated countless palates, a recipe with no love-it-or-hate-it divide whatsoever. They even claimed the reason Italy, that great military power, had invaded Britain was to steal this mint chocolate for themselves—or something of the sort.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"The color is so distinctive. I've never seen green ice cream before."

Sara turned the mint chocolate ice cream this way and that, inspecting it like a puppy that had just been given a brand-new toy. Arsha, by contrast, arched her brows with the wariness of a sensitive cat confronting an unfamiliar guest.

"Mint, chocolate, and ice cream. That's a combination I've never heard of."

"Yohan's cooking is always right."

Sierra delivered the statement with the casual conviction of a true believer and plucked a serving from the dessert tray.

"I consider myself rather well-versed in gastronomy, yet this is a dish even I have never seen."

Ralph Leoris said it with the look of a man having the time of his life. For him, this moment itself would be the sweetest dessert of all. That was simply the kind of man he was.

Starting with Sierra, everyone tasted the ice cream. Head Chef Bart, who had been so insufferably confident, now wore an expression that had gone distinctly sour. He seemed thoroughly displeased that an unorthodox dish had stolen the judges' attention. Then again, in a cooking contest, it was always the dish judged last that claimed victory.

"Inventing a recipe is no small feat. There's no chance a greenhorn like you could produce something that suits my master's palate. Well, the effort is admirable, I'll grant you that."

So he said—but Bart's hands were trembling. He must have sensed the brat's lucky punch coming.

"Ooooh!"

Ralph was the first to react.

"The aroma of mint, washing the mouth in such refreshing coolness—and within it, the deep, rich taste of chocolate!"

He sprang from his seat, fussing and carrying on exactly as he had in the original game.

"I have never tasted so aristocratic a dessert in all my days! Why has humanity failed to conceive of this exquisite pairing until now!? Geeeeenius! I've wasted half my life!"

He showered the ice cream with praise, spraying spit like a machine gun.

"Good heavens! To think the union of mint and chocolate could be this powerful! No—this isn't merely the sum of mint and chocolate! It's delicious because it's ice cream!"

At Ralph's theatrical outburst, Bart startled like a rabbit that had just locked eyes with a tiger. The frantic shake of his head looked for all the world like a desperate inner scream of My master would never act like that! Overlaid on him was the very picture of a pure-hearted man who'd had his beloved girlfriend stolen away over summer vacation.

"That's Yohan for you."

Sierra went on eating her ice cream with a look of pure bliss.

"Father's fussing is a bit silly, but this is truly delicious! Good heavens! To think a dish like this exists!"

Beside her, Sara was working her spoon in a trance. At that pace she was going to give herself a brain freeze.

"Th-that's impossible! There's no way this wet-behind-the-ears brat's cooking could be that remarkable…!"

Bart's gaze snapped toward the ice cream still on the tray. He snatched it up as swiftly as a hunting eagle. True to the stubborn rival in every cooking manga, he refused to concede until he had tasted it himself. This, too, was the exact same reaction as in the original.

"There's no way this ice cream could possibly beat my chocolate soufflé cake!"

Bart put the ice cream in his mouth. In that instant, every expression vanished from his face.

"Th-this is…"

His tongue already knew. It knew who had won this culinary war.

"Good heavens. To think mint and chocolate went together this well…"

Bart's hand moved. It didn't look like a conscious motion so much as a trance.

With every spoonful of mint chocolate ice cream he savored, another layer of astonishment settled over his face.

"This is… my defeat."

Bart dropped to his knees and declared ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠himself beaten. There was no particular need for him to kneel, but he did it anyway.

"Um…"

Arsha looked around with a vaguely uncomfortable expression and opened her mouth. Her eyes rolled left, then right, and she set down the spoon in her hand.

"Isn't this just toothpaste?"

Good heavens.

To know so little about mint chocolate.

It seemed Arsha had been born with a cursed tongue. Perhaps starting such grueling sword training at a young age had completely ruined her sense of taste.

"Lady Swordhorn. Mint chocolate isn't toothpaste. Toothpaste is mint chocolate."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

Arsha still tilted her head, thoroughly unconvinced.

This won't do. I'll have to show Arsha my secret weapon first—pineapple pizza. There's no better dish for purifying a contaminated tongue.

Arsha's reaction may have been lukewarm, but the three judges and my opponent had already declared my victory. Her timid little dissent didn't affect the outcome in the slightest.

"This is the kitchen knife I inherited from my master. And my master inherited it from his master before him."

I obtained the Artisan's Knife as a reward for the sudden event. It was an item that raised cooking-related skill levels, which would be a welcome help with raising affection.

Once the surprise cooking contest was over, the after-dinner drinks came out. Alcohol has a way of loosening the tongue. The strange conversational wall that had still been visible even through the meal seemed to have melted away.

"The Leoris family really is impressive. Honestly, I don't think our house could manage hospitality on this level. The food, especially, was incredible."

"You're far too kind. I've always heard the Swordhorn family's banquets are famous for being lavish, beautiful, and impeccably refined."

"Haha. My daughter's right. I've been invited to the Swordhorn family's banquets a few times myself, and both the scale and the quality were remarkable. I'm rather hopeless at this sort of thing, so I leave it all to the steward—though I can't say I know whether I'm doing it properly."

What was truly noteworthy was the atmosphere between Sara and Arsha. The two who ought to have been sniping at each other until the mid-to-late story were conversing in a gentle, easy tone, like close friends. It was a curious thing to witness.

Of course, the competitive spark hadn't vanished from Arsha's eyes entirely. But its intensity had clearly dimmed.

A rare sight I'd never once seen in the game.

This, too, was the sort of thing that got a veteran gamer like me excited.

"I-I always thought nobles lived in a completely different world from commoners. And that turned out to be true! The food I ate here today seems more expensive than everything I've eaten in my entire life put together!"

"Now that you're an incoming student at the Academy, Miss ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Sierra, you'll need to grow accustomed to this sort of thing. Academy students receive a great many banquet invitations, even the commoners."

"Do nobles really invite commoners to banquets?"

"I told you they did. And even setting nobles aside, wealthy commoners often invite other commoners for the sake of managing their connections."

"Come to think of it, I received a calling card from a girl today. Elie Janette, I think her name was…"

Sierra melted into the conversation far more easily than she'd first feared. Girls' talk among three young women: Sierra, Sara, and Arsha.

Had those three ever even gathered in the original?

Because Sierra had been an enemy in the original, there had never been a scene of the three of them chatting away so warmly.

"Hmm. Young Yohan. It seems there's no room for gloomy men like us to insert ourselves into a conversation among maidens so lovely that even the flowers would weep. How about we slip off to my study for a bit of men's talk? I've got some magnificent liquor hidden away from my daughter."

It was finally here.

The Ralph Leoris event—the crowning jewel of today's visit to the Leoris Mansion.

"I'd be glad to."

I nodded and rose from my seat.

Sara Leoris had always been a remarkably gifted child. Her talent never failed to astonish Ralph.

But outstanding talent had made her lonely. She had begun walking the path of magic at far too young an age, and there she had produced results so dazzling they only isolated her further.

"I don't particularly need friends. Not unless they'd be of help with my magical research."

That had been her constant refrain. Yet Ralph had wanted her to make friends. It wasn't simply a matter of noble networking.

A person who cages themselves will inevitably find their vision narrowing. And that narrowed vision sets a ceiling on their growth.

So Ralph had been quite pleased by the appearance of a girl ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠named Arsha Swordhorn.

"I met a strange girl at a social gathering this time. Arsha Swordhorn, was it? She asked me for a spar right out of the blue."

"Everyone else just offers the usual greetings and moves on, but Miss Swordhorn went on about how much stronger she'd become. Not that I was particularly curious."

"Friends? No. Miss Swordhorn doesn't seem like a bad person, but she's a bit of a bother."

Sara claimed Arsha was the one obsessed with her, but from Ralph's perspective, Sara was no different. Whenever she attended a social gathering, the story that always came up was about Arsha Swordhorn.

And now that same daughter of his had invited a friend she'd never mentioned before to the banquet. The other party, moreover, was a commoner boy. It was a set of conditions practically designed to set Ralph's curiosity alight.

He solved the hidden problem on the Academy entrance exam?

What Sara had told him had been quite a shock.

Ralph himself had taken the Academy entrance exam. It had been decades ago, true, but the basic format had not changed. Only the dungeons and the monsters were a little different.

This commoner youth had accomplished what Ralph himself had failed to do at that age—what even Sara had failed to do. Sara seemed thoroughly captivated by that ability of Yohan's.

Is that ability even real?

The question wouldn't leave him. And so Ralph decided to conduct a simple test of his own.

"Young Yohan. Do you happen to like Lotochess?"

Lotochess.

The most famous board game on the continent. A game in which one competed by strategy alone, with no reliance on physical ability, it was Ralph's favorite pastime—and the game he often used when he wished to test someone. Even Sara, a genius among geniuses, had never beaten him at Lotochess.

"I wouldn't say I like it, but I know how to play."

"Heh heh. Then would you play a round with me? My daughter isn't particularly fond of it, you see. The nagging I get if I so much as ask her for a game…"

Ralph smiled and snapped his fingers. A drawer slid open, and the board and pieces drifted through the air. They settled themselves upon the study table of their own accord.