I, Kyle Pratt
“Restaurants imitating Maison Montbell are popping up.”
The words hit me during the morning briefing as usual.
Bernard, ever the quiet gentleman, read his report with his usual composure before speaking.
“Restaurants modeled after Maison Montbell have opened in the capital and nearby cities.”
Marie’s face immediately darkened.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that a bit too fast?”
“Rumors spread like wildfire.”
Bernard turned the page of his report.
“In the capital, there’s a place called Blue Silverware. In the eastern commercial city, they’ve opened Count’s Dinner. Both operate on reservations only, serve multiple courses in order, and give every meal a name.”
“They give it a name?”
“Yes. Blue Silverware’s signature dish is called ‘Forgiveness Beneath the Moon.’”
Marie frowned harder.
“What kind of food is that?”
“They said it was a thin cream soup.”
“The name has nothing to do with the food at all.”
Probably even the people who came up with it didn’t fully understand the meaning.
Bernard continued.
“Count’s Dinner served ‘Meat of the Fallen Sun.’”
“What’s that?”
“Roasted pork.”
“When did the sun become a pig?”
Marie looked completely baffled.
“They’re completely copying us.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
Thomas and Nina wore worried expressions.
Ria chewed her lip, while Baron looked ready for battle.
Elysia took the report and read it, her face growing colder with every line.
“The prices are high too. Cheaper than Maison Montbell, but still far more expensive than a regular restaurant.”
“That’s correct.”
“Then there’s a problem.”
Elysia set the report down.
“Once people experience those strange restaurants and realize Maison Montbell is just one of them, they’ll think our place is nothing but expensive and filled with weird names.”
“You’re right.”
The reason imitations scare me isn’t just that they steal a little revenue.
They can ruin the entire market.
If the first fine-dining experience a customer has is a mess, they’ll assume every restaurant like that is the same.
That could kill the whole market.
I reread the report and chuckled.
Marie glanced at me and tilted her head.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because it’s funny.”
“What’s funny?”
“New restaurants are copying us.”
“How is that good?”
“It means the market exists.”
The meeting room fell silent.
Elysia looked at me with confusion.
“What does ‘the market exists’ mean, Kyle?”
I folded the report.
“Until now, Maison Montbell was just a strange restaurant. We charged outrageous prices per meal, made customers read our stories, named the dishes, and served them in courses. People enjoyed it, but it still felt like an oddity.”
“Right, we were the only weird ones.”
“But once imitations appear, everything changes. Now this isn’t just Maison Montbell being strange—it’s becoming a new dining culture.”
Elysia’s eyes sharpened.
“Culture.”
“Exactly. Nobles love new cultures, especially when they think they’re ahead of everyone else. More similar restaurants mean people start comparing. Whose course is better, whose presentation is more refined, whose service is genuine.”
I pointed a finger at my own chest.
“And the standard for that comparison is us. And at the top sits me.”
Bernard spoke softly.
“The one at the top becomes more prominent?”
“Yes.”
The more fine-dining culture spreads, the more special Maison Montbell becomes.
One fake restaurant is hard to tell from the real thing.
But when there are ten or twenty, people start asking questions.
Where’s the original? Who does it best?
Why is this one ridiculous and that one moving?
Then Maison Montbell becomes the answer.
“Of course, there are downsides too. Messy restaurants that trick customers can poison the culture itself. But there’s no way to stop imitation entirely. Food spreads naturally.”
“So?”
Elysia asked.
“We should give advice instead.”
Everyone froze.
Marie spoke first.
“Advice to the imitators? Why?”
“I don’t want to see them fail.”
“They’re competitors.”
“If I kill every competitor, the market won’t grow.”
Marie looked confused, but I was serious.
A market only grows if not just one place stands out.
Whether it’s a sushi omakase, Korean fine dining, coffee, or wine—the overall level must rise before the customer base thickens.
Customers need to try multiple places to develop standards. Only then will they spend more on better restaurants.
It’s better for the entire empire to have similar restaurants than for Maison Montbell to remain the only odd one out.
Of course, we have to stay on top.
Elysia crossed her arms.
“Up to what point do we give advice?”
“We won’t share core recipes or our exact course structure. Just basics.”
“Basics?”
“Hygiene, reservation management, plate spacing, staff movement, how to shorten long explanations, not selling customers’ stories cheaply, and serving at least respectable food when pricing.”
Marie narrowed her eyes.
“That’s almost everything.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“The real thing is learning by doing. You can know everything theoretically, but actually doing it is different.”
The kitchen isn’t learned from words.
You can explain, but you can’t explain how to adjust your cutting technique after seeing the quality of fresh fish that day.
You can’t explain how to adjust sauce portions based on a customer’s first bite expression.
Changing staff paths before they collapse is experience.
Teaching basics won’t make Maison Montbell replicable.
But it can make anyone who wants to be a head chef at least respectable enough not to feel ashamed of the title.
Bernard spoke.
“If that’s the direction, an official format would be more elegant than simple advice.”
“What format?”
“A lecture on dining etiquette at Maison Montbell, or a consulting service for new-style course restaurants.”
Bernard truly had a gift for wrapping words in nobility.
Elysia accepted it immediately.
“We’ll get paid for this.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
Marie sighed.
“It’s never going to be charity, is it?”
“Making money from charity is good.”
“That’s exactly what you’d say.”
Elysia was deep in thought.
“So we’re setting the standards?”
“Yes.”
“Maison Montbell recognized new-style course restaurants.”
“We have to be careful with wording. It could trap us in liability.”
“Then we hire someone who takes responsibility.”
“Oh no.”
Count Kleber arrived the moment Elysia told him.
“You’re offering consulting services?”
“Not finalized yet.”
“You have to.”
Count Kleber’s eyes gleamed.
“This is profitable.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Of course it is.”
He was utterly honest.
“Think about it. Maison Montbell isn’t just one restaurant—it’s the standard. Standards can be sold. Lectures, consulting, operational manuals, staff training, even dishware supply.”
“Count, did you run a franchise headquarters in your past life?”
“I don’t know what a franchise is, but I know it makes money.”
‘This is like waking up to Baek Jong-won from the romance novel world.’
But we had to draw the line.
“No franchises.”
“What does that mean?”
“Letting anyone run under our name.”
“That’s risky.”
Count Kleber understood instantly.
“Then just consulting.”
“Yes. And we can’t let them freely use the Maison Montbell name after receiving advice.”
Elysia nodded.
“We’ll need a contract.”
Bernard already had the paper ready.
The two businessmen discussed terms, reached a mutually satisfactory agreement, and shook hands firmly.
Once the contract was signed, Count Kleber smiled happily.
“I was truly lucky I didn’t seize your estate when you first came here.”
“Oh, that time?”
“Yes. If I had, I wouldn’t have recovered the money I lent. But now I’m beyond recovery and making ongoing profits. Creditors always hope debtors prosper. That’s how they earn money.”
“Are you still doing usurious loans?”
“Not exactly. But instead of mercilessly collecting like before, I’m waiting with some leniency. Or perhaps… will another businessman like a second Maison Montbell appear?”
A few days later, we sent letters to the new-style course restaurants in the capital and nearby cities.
We weren’t challenging them—we were offering help.
Maison Montbell hopes the quality and culture of new-style course dining will establish itself healthily. We provide basic operational and table etiquette consultation to any restaurant that wishes.
I took on the consulting role, and Count Kleber offered his connections as a guarantee while managing the process.
It was time to take my alley… no, fine-dining tour.