The Doll Princess of Hildeburg
"So, that's why I'd like to ask a favor. I want you to come cook for my little sister so she can regain her appetite."
Hirel, the young lord, placed his order with me.
"Does that mean I'd have to go all the way to Hildeburg territory and cook there?"
"Yes. If you succeed, the compensation will be more than adequate."
That was a problem.
One reason I'd opened my restaurant in this remote spot was to keep a bit of distance from the city bustle, preserving my peaceful retirement life. But heading to the kitchen of a family famous enough to make the newspapers? Even if I nailed the princess's tastes perfectly, they'd probably try to install me as their permanent chef. That wasn't the retirement I had in mind. If I'd wanted to slave away as some noble's exclusive cook, I never would've quit adventuring in the first place.
"I'm sorry, but I have no intention of leaving this restaurant."
"What...?"
"If the princess wants to eat my food, she'll have to come here."
"Do you even know who you're talking to?"
"Yes, I do."
He was the one who didn't seem to grasp who he was dealing with. He'd watched me fix his carriage wheel with magic just moments ago, yet here he was, flying off the handle because things weren't going his way. Sure, Hirel outranked me socially, but that didn't give him license to treat me like a slave. Nobles should carry weight in their words and manners. I didn't care much for them myself, but if one showed me proper respect, I'd return the courtesy without hesitation.
"This is my restaurant, and I'm the owner. Even if Duke Hildeburg himself came asking, anyone who wants my food has to eat it here."
Drag!
Furious at my words, Hirel shot up from his seat. Judging by his demeanor, he was never cut out to be a fine lord.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. If you come to my restaurant, follow my rules—or don't come at all.
"Hmph. Running a place like this, your skills can't be up to much anyway."
"That's something you'd have to try to find out. I'm confident my cooking beats anyone."
Shing!
As I kept talking back, Hirel drew the decorative sword from his belt—a flashy thing that had clearly never seen real combat.
"Young lord... please calm down. Starting trouble like this will get you in hot water with His Grace."
His attendants cautiously tried to rein him in.
"Didn't you hear what he said? He's outright insulting me!"
"I've never insulted you, young lord. I just stated the facts."
"You little...!"
I let out a quiet sigh and stepped back from Hirel, who looked ready to swing. His grip was awkward, his killing intent nonexistent, but better safe than sorry.
As the family heir, he'd eventually inherit the territory from his father. The locals were in for a rough ride with someone so lacking in patience. Still, defusing this mess took priority. I didn't want rowdy customers disrupting my shop for long.
"Anyway, I've made myself clear. If you want my food, come to the restaurant in person. I won't close up shop to go be some other house's head chef. Safe travels—the road's treacherous."
"You... you...!"
"And since the princess has lost her appetite completely, the Royal Capital has plenty of fine restaurants. You'll find chefs willing to travel to your territory, I'm sure. No need to beg some unknown spot like this, right?"
"Are you tired of living?"
Hirel raised his sword to my nose tip. But I'd already woven protective magic around myself on the sly. Spells didn't always need chants; with enough focus, even silent casting was possible. Tricky for most mages, but child's play for a former grand mage like me.
Even if he lost it and swung for real, the blade would shatter harmlessly against me.
"...!"
Silence blanketed the restaurant. Hirel's sword trembled in his grip—from rage, no doubt.
I was in a bind too. A polite refusal should've sufficed, but his attitude irked me into twisting the knife. He was too riled up for apologies now, and force would only escalate things. If only I'd held my tongue a bit longer and stayed softer. Guess my temperament still had work.
Ting-a-ling!
Then the door flew open, shattering the quiet with the bell's chime.
"Klaaaauuuus~~~~~!"
It was Irit, my old comrade, the elf knight.
"Huh? What's going on here?"
She'd called my name loudly on entry but froze at the scene. The 500-year-old elf adventurer sized it up with one glance, grasping the gist.
"I don't know the details, but messing with him won't end well for you, rich boy."
She flashed Hirel a slight smile as she said it. Who knew I'd ever be thrilled to see Irit drop by? With her here, we could wrap this up somehow. She was a member of the continent's legendary hero party, after all. Even a ducal house couldn't trifle with heroes lightly.
(I'd been in that party too, but I'd asked them to leave my name out...)
"Irit...? Why is Hero Irit here...?"
Hirel lowered his sword from me, staring at her in bewilderment.
"Came to see a friend's face. Got a problem with that?"
"This guy is friends with Hero Irit...?"
He whipped his head toward me, incredulous. Anyone on this continent knew my old comrades' names, regardless of status or race. They weren't nobles, but sealing the Abyss Rift had earned them transcendent fame. Turning heroes into enemies over personal grudges was tantamount to antagonizing the entire continent—minus your own house.
"Yeah, friends. Pretty close ones."
I grinned at Hirel.
"Why didn't you say so sooner?"
"My friendship with Irit has nothing to do with restaurant business."
"Urgh...!"
At a loss, Hirel averted his eyes.
"You seem like a customer. Trust me—Klaus's cooking is the real deal."
Irit sidled up beside me. No full context, but she sensed the tension and was backing me up.
"Anyway, follow the restaurant rules if you want my food. That's all I can say."
Hirel exchanged glances with his attendants, then stood.
"...We're leaving."
He marched out with his entourage in tow.
"Whew, perfect timing."
After Hirel left, I set out honey-pickled fruit as a snack for Irit and caught up.
"So, who was that brat? A customer?"
"Customer? Uh... hard to say."
I explained Hirel's proposal to her: Rosaria Hildeburg, the Doll Princess, had suddenly stopped eating entirely. They were seeking a chef to restore her appetite—and demanded I shut down to go cook in Hildeburg territory.
"The Doll Princess? That super famous one?"
"She's that famous?"
"Practically no one in the Royal Capital doesn't know her."
Irit popped fruit in her mouth, letting out a blissful mmm. Then she continued.
"They call her that 'cause she looks like a perfectly sculpted doll. So gorgeous her family babies her. With looks like that, she's prime for an upward marriage—basically a living treasure."
"Paper said she's already engaged. Enstark family? Nobles aren't my thing."
"Same here. I just know she's famous for her beauty."
As Irit munched the plate clean, I recalled the Doll Princess's portrait from a recent paper. No painting captures reality fully, no matter how skilled. If she was truly that stunning, I'd love to see her in person.
"...Think that lordling'll come crawling back? After that humiliation."
"Wouldn't bet against it. Coming here means they've struck out plenty already."
"Hmm... Maybe. But with his temper, he's probably fuming."
"I told you—Klaus's cooking is guaranteed. Hero-endorsed flavor? He'll be back."
Irit smirked mischievously, devouring the last piece. I gazed out at the rugged road.
Maybe soon, like she said, I'd meet the portrait's ethereal subject myself. And when I did, I'd need to decide what dish to serve her—as a chef.
"...Guess I should brainstorm a menu."
I murmured, rising from my seat.