Who Created This Unholy Hybrid
At first, it had been nothing more than an idea born of financial opportunity—and the actions that naturally followed from it.
A curious winter snack their friend had introduced them to. A whole collection of patents built upon the back of it.
People might have called them greedy, but money itself was the very thing that kept a person from turning ugly. Abundance, if anything, opened more possibilities. It was a kind of magic that made anything possible. And it wasn't simply about fattening their own bellies—they could help others, too. Expand the business, create more jobs. Wouldn't that be the best possible outcome?
And so Schlippen had been the first to suggest that Karl put his name on the patents as well. Karl wasn't a titled noble, and he was only the second son of his house—any help, in any form, would surely do him good. Besides, the whole venture had started with Karl in the first place. Giving him a share of the rights was only fair.
"Forget it. You guys handle it."
When they heard that answer, Schlippen and the rest of the Four Idiots were thrown completely off balance. Afraid Karl might think they'd gone money-mad, they rushed to explain that wasn't it at all.
Yes, they wanted to make money. But they had no intention of stuffing their own pockets and calling it a day. Each of them had things they wanted to try—business, welfare, whatever it might be. As nobles of the Empire, they wanted to do something that would actually help.
But the moment Karl brought up the Medal of Honor, even the Four Idiots couldn't find another word of persuasion. Thinking about it, a man who had earned that kind of honor and glory filing a patent over food did feel a little off. There was no law against it, and society wouldn't particularly care—but after hearing Karl's explanation, they found themselves thinking, Well, he might have a point.
"If you really feel that bad about it."
Just as they were wondering whether filing the patents without him still didn't sit right, Karl offered a suggestion that was quintessentially, unmistakably him—the thought of a man who'd come home from war.
"The money those patents bring in. Could you spend some of it the way I tell you?"
The Wounded Veterans' Pension Foundation. Not a program run by the state, but a volunteer organization that had formed on its own. It didn't simply support injured soldiers—it supported their families as well.
Karl said he was just lending a hand to the work the welfare office was already doing. But the Four Idiots, raised as heirs of their houses, could see it was far more than that.
This was something they had to do. As nobles, it was only right. Not just a portion of the patent money. The entire amount—and support from their families on top of it, if that's what it took. They had to grow that pension foundation no matter what.
All four of them voiced the same opinion at nearly the same time. Of one mind, every last one of them.
"But asking our families for help right from the start feels a little off, doesn't it?"
"That's exactly what I was going to say. We should earn the money ourselves first, then put it toward the foundation."
"So what can we actually do on our own, without leaning on our families' backing?"
They thought for a moment, then found their hint in the winter snacks Karl had suggested: the fish-shaped pastries and the stuffed pancakes.
"Different flavors always went over well, right? People have all kinds of tastes—what if we developed even more varieties?"
"Not a bad idea. Last time, the custard cream filling was just as popular as Karl's original."
"So what should we try? Sweet chocolate's got to be the winner, right?"
Ideas tumbled out one after another. The first to offer a real opinion of his own was Schlippen.
"Hold on. Thinking about it, everything we've come up with is sweet. If it's nothing but sweet, doesn't your mouth get kind of cloying? I think we need something new."
"Got a brilliant idea, then?"
For once, Wilhelm didn't pick apart Schlippen's suggestion. He listened in genuine earnest. Encouraged, Schlippen recalled something he'd seen not long ago.
"Mint, you know. That stuff that gives your mouth that icy blast."
"...You're not suggesting we put that inside a fish-shaped pastry, are you?"
"Why not?"
Hey. Step on that bastard. At Wilhelm's cold command, Alexander and Joachim rolled up their sleeves. Then, without a shred of mercy, they flipped Schlippen onto his face and started wailing on him.
"Aagh! Ow! Why—why?! Isn't it a decent idea?!"
"Karl always said the cure for bullshit is a beating, my friend."
"No! I'm telling you it's not bullshit, it's a perfectly reasonable—AAGH! OW!"
"Even so, mint inside that pastry is crossing the line, you idiot."
"Is this guy actually in his right mind? Is the marquisate even going to be okay?"
Alexander and Joachim muttered as much, putting more weight behind the fists that were so affectionately stroking their friend.
"Ah! I—I surrender! I get it, stop!"
Only after abandoning his opinion did Schlippen escape the brink of death, letting out a pained groan.
"I thought it was a pretty decent idea. You guys are too much."
"No, seriously. Think about it. So far the menu has been sweet, or maybe salty. And then out of nowhere you want that icy blast? Is this tea? Huh? This is a snack. A snack!"
"I know that! But eating nothing but sweet and salty stuff gets old, that's all!"
Schlippen and Wilhelm started going at it all over again. Alexander watched the two of them with profound exasperation. And Joachim, likewise...
"Wait a second. If that's really the case—!"
No. Instead of looking exasperated, Joachim offered a different idea.
"What if we just mix the two together?"
"Huh?"
"This one's lost it too? Hey, Schlippen. This is on you. You've driven Joachim insane."
"I feel very wronged here, Wilhelm."
"No. You idiots. Just—listen to me."
Joachim grabbed Schlippen and Wilhelm each by a shoulder and pressed on.
"It's true that eating nothing but sweet stuff makes your mouth feel cloying. That's a fact."
"...Can't argue with that."
"But if all you get is that icy blast, that's not something you can actually eat, either."
"Agreed."
"So we combine them. Mint and chocolate. Well? Not a bad idea, right?"
Despite the earnest pitch, Wilhelm and Alexander still looked unconvinced. Even Schlippen, who'd proposed mint in the first place, was muttering, Mix those two together?
Watching them, Joachim shook his head. This isn't going to work.
At times like this, talking it out was useless. You had to try it yourself. And so their next move was, naturally, to mix mint and chocolate with their own hands.
"...Mother always said if we played around with food, the head of our house wouldn't let it slide."
"Your lord said that, Alexander? Sounds like my father. He told me that if you mess around with food, you go to hell."
"Damn. So we're all going to hell, then?"
At last, the finished product sat before them: something somewhere between mint and chocolate. Schlippen gazed at it with a grimly resolute expression, then took the first taste.
"Kh—! You crazy bastard!"
"Is that bravery or insanity?"
Ignoring the whispers behind him, he slowly savored the mint chocolate.
At first, it was terrible. Sweet and yet icy-hot at the same time—a bizarre creation so strange he couldn't even define what it was supposed to be. What kind of food was this?
"Mmm..."
Yes, it was bizarre. The funny thing was, his body didn't immediately reject that bizarreness. He didn't shout This is delicious!—but he also didn't immediately eject it from his mouth with a gag. Which meant it was... plausible, at least.
"Hey. You guys try it too."
"Wow. Can't die alone, huh?"
"You coward. And you call yourself the eldest son of a marquis? Schlippen!"
"No, you idiots. Just taste it."
At Schlippen's urging, the remaining three fidgeted as they stared at the filling they'd been handed. The color was deeply mysterious. The smell, even more profound. What was this thing?
None of them particularly wanted to eat it, but Schlippen had already gone first. And in a situation like this, the moment anyone said I'm not eating that! I can't!, they all knew exactly what would happen.
So the three of them drew a deep breath and stepped into the forbidden realm of mint chocolate.
"Mmmmm..."
"Urgh."
"Eughh—"
At first the three of them writhed, chewing with their whole bodies twisted up. But gradually the trembling faded. And in the end, they were sitting there in perfect calm, even smacking their lips.
"This is..."
"I think this might actually work?"
"It's... not bad?"
It was a uniquely indescribable flavor. Not everyone would love it—but someone out there certainly would. If they could target those palates, it might just become a sensation. And if they acquired another patent from it, it would help the Wounded Veterans' Pension Foundation Karl had dreamed of!
A rapid drumbeat of footsteps echoed toward them.
"Uh. Hey. Is that... Karl coming this way?"
"That's Karl, all right. Hey! Karl! We've got great news!"
We developed something new—for you, for that pension foundation!
The footsteps pounded closer, faster.
Just like you wanted, more support for those who fought bravely, and for their families—
"You sons of bitches!!"
A flying knee from a recipient of the Medal of Honor exploded into the Four Idiots.
"GYAAAAH!"
"Guh!"
"Gack!"
"Khaaagh!"
A single strike sent all four of them flying in every direction like bowling pins.
"K-Karl! What's gotten into you?!"
"Save me! Save me, Karl!"
"Shut up! All of you! I don't care how hard I try to understand—I cannot understand that! Mint choco crossed the line!"
Mint choco? Ah—he meant the mint chocolate. Schlippen scrambled to his feet in a panic.
"Karl! Just calm down first! I know it's a shock, but at least try it before you—your opinion might cha—KYAAAAAAAAH!"
This time a vicious kick slammed into Schlippen's thigh.
Ah. Just who in the world had created this terrible, unholy hybrid...!