The Gourmet Moshul

Several days had passed. Nothing much had happened since Duchess Rosaria Hildeburg left the restaurant. Aris was still wiping down the tables, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and I was lounging at the counter, sipping my herbal tea. No customers today, either. Just the same old routine, unchanged.

"Boss~ Should I water the planters today~?"

"Later, when I tell you."

Aris paused her mopping and peered out the window. It was a fine, sunny day. I was just thinking it was about time to tend to the rooftop herb pots when a racket of carriage wheels and heavy footsteps suddenly erupted outside.

Ding-a-ling— Ding-a-ling—

The restaurant door swung open. It would've been nice if it were a customer, but as I'd guessed, it wasn't. Sure enough, a familiar face appeared.

Hirel. He hadn't brought a horde of guards this time. Instead, two heavily armed mercenaries flanked him protectively.

"Welcome~!"

Aris greeted them brightly, but Hirel ignored her completely and strode straight to the counter. His expression was stony, his hostility even more blatant than last time.

"Klaus."

"Yes."

"You know where my sister is, don't you?"

I met his gaze for a moment before answering calmly. "No idea."

"Don't lie to me."

Hirel slammed his hand on the counter and leaned in. "She vanished after having some suspicious conversation with you here. You're the only lead I've got."

"I just took her dinner order, that's all." I shrugged. "I was expecting her to come back, but she never did."

Hirel's eyes narrowed. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"Are you mocking me?"

"No. Just telling you the truth."

A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠heavy silence fell. Hirel glared at me a while longer, then spoke in a low, steely voice. "Mark my words. If you've lured Rosaria away, I won't let it slide—not even with Irit backing you."

With that, he ground his teeth and turned on his heel. He had nothing but suspicions right now. No matter how cocky Hirel was, he couldn't push me further without evidence.

He stormed out with his mercenaries in tow. Bam! The door slammed shut.

"Could've closed it gently."

Not like he'd pay for a broken one anyway—

Aris, peeking fearfully out the window at the departing carriage, turned to me. "Boss...... you okay?"

"Yeah."

"That was scary."

"What's to be scared of?"

Hirel was all bark. He lacked both the evidence to pin anything on me and the power to do me harm. I picked up my herbal tea again. It had gone cold.

A few more days passed. Hirel didn't show up again. Quiet daily life resumed.

I put Aris to work weeding the vegetable patch while I watered the herb pots on the rooftop. It was a sunny day, and the herbs were thriving—especially the new dragon's blood grass I'd planted, which was growing sturdy.

"Boss~! There’s too many weeds~!"

"That's why I told you to pull 'em."

"By myself~?!"

"You want the manager doing the employee's job?"

A groan laced with complaint rose from below. She wasn't even struggling, so why the whining? I pretended not to hear and tilted the watering can.

Looking down at Aris battling the weeds, I couldn't help but smile. This isn't half bad. My retirement choice was the right one.

The thought crossed my mind anew. Back in my adventuring days, there was no such leisure. Constant travel, fighting, more travel. Conflicts over commissions, racing other parties to claims if we slacked off.

Compared to that, this life was almost too peaceful. Combining my past and present lives, I felt like I'd finally found the life I truly wanted.

That afternoon, the newspaper delivery arrived. From Earlybird Publications, hailed as the continent's top news outlet. I'd subscribed despite the remote location, paying extra for delivery.

The front page screamed about the doll duchess's disappearance.

A portrait of Rosaria accompanied the articles. I skimmed them and flipped the page. She's probably doing fine. With Irit handling things, no need to worry.

As I kept turning pages, a new corner caught my eye.

Moshul's profile was beside the intro. Gourmet career: 40 years. Former owner of "Cantabile," one of the capital's greatest restaurants (now defunct). Consultant for countless famed establishments. Nicknamed "God's Tongue" for pinpointing ingredients and techniques with uncanny precision. A single rave review from him spreads fame across the continent, turning spots into must-visits.

I'd heard the name before, living as a chef in this world. But with my adventuring life and occasional cooking, our paths never crossed—never worked high-end restaurants, either.

"Today's Gourmet, huh."

Intriguing column. This was why I subscribed to Earlybird.

After reading Moshul's bio, fine print from the editors caught my eye at the bottom.

They'd crammed it small ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to save space, but the desperation was palpable. A year in, no premieres. The concept hinged on Moshul-endorsed newcomers, but no one met his bar. What a quirky guy. Even a solid place should've sufficed. Maybe the continent-wide spotlight made him extra picky. At this rate, the column might get axed without a single feature.

I found myself oddly invested. Top restaurants everywhere would surely flood them with letters for that inaugural "Moshul-approved" title. The winner would rake in crowds from afar, no doubt. The applicant pool would be staggering.

But I didn't need promo for Misikdang Slow. More buzz meant hordes of people, shattering my peaceful days.

Still, I lingered on the column. Crowds aside, my chef's pride itched to challenge the man no one could satisfy.

"Aris."

"Yeees~?"

"Bring some paper and a pen."

"Okaaaay!"

I folded the newspaper aside, spread the paper Aris fetched, and jotted a brief intro.

Short and sweet. I slipped it into an envelope, addressed to Earlybird Publications. I'd mail it next market run for ingredients.

"Whatcha writing~?" Aris peered over, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"A letter to the paper."

"Whoa~! Are we gonna be in the newspaper~?!"

"Just for kicks."

With thousands of applicants likely, this freakish spot wouldn't stand out. But if by some miracle we got picked and Moshul showed...... that could be fun in its own way.

I sealed the envelope and flipped to the next page of the newspaper.