Chapter 12: The Unattractive Flower (8)
Chapter 12: The Unattractive Flower (8)
Translation: Godtl
Amidst the workshop that was no different from a complete mess.
The cola contained in a transparent bottle was truly radiant.
At first glance, it appeared to be a dull black liquid, but when sunlight passed through it, a sensual brown color was revealed.
"..."
"..."
The two people who had been jumping around in excitement just moments ago now held their breaths as if admiring a work of art, carefully observing it.
"Ah, you really did it."
One month to completion.
The process had been far from smooth sailing.
Subtle differences in ingredients due to varying soil qualities, differences in water taste, the limitation of not being able to use advanced techniques, and having to use substitutes for certain materials.
Yet, they had succeeded.
Here before them was Britannia's cola, 99.9% identical to the real thing.
"Thanks to you, Miss Penelope."
Penelope's contribution had been instrumental in shortening the process to just one month.
Unexpectedly, she possessed an innate sense of taste, an exceptional memory, and the imagination to blend flavors and aromas in her mind.
She had remarkable talent, whether as a chef or a gourmet.
It was truly a pity that someone with such gifts had been born in Britannia of all places, but regardless.
"...You really made it..."
Penelope muttered dazedly, as if in a dream.
In truth, she felt half-scammed.
Jurgen had said that once the ingredients were gathered, it would be finished soon—yet they had struggled for a full month.
She had endured all sorts of hardships during that time.
Countless tasteless cola samples consumed in a single day.
Endless headaches over spices that produced entirely different flavors with just a 0.01% change in proportion.
Even waking up in the middle of the night, groaning, "What's the problem?" before suddenly sitting up to jot down an improved formula.
There were times when, despite all the effort, it still wouldn't come together, and she nearly lost heart.
'It's just a drink, isn't it? Why am I pouring so much effort into something so trivial?'
Perhaps it would never be completed.
Perhaps all of this was just wasted effort.
In frustration, she had wanted to throw everything away.
'Because I want to change things, my dear.'
'You know as well as I do that Britannia's culinary culture is utterly crude, don't you?'
'But I believe gastronomy is not some unnecessary luxury.'
'For some, a single cup might be the comfort that helps them forget their hardships. For others, a single bite might bring back a happy memory. And for yet others, the taste of a single dish might give them the strength to face tomorrow.'
'Isn't it a shame that everyone lives without knowing such joy?'
Jurgen had answered with the most serious expression in the world.
So, had Penelope been moved by his eloquent words and converted to the faith of gastronomy?
Well... probably not.
His logic was flimsy, his reasoning full of leaps, and it didn't particularly resonate with her.
'Making such a grand fuss over a mere beverage.'
The cynical Penelope inside her scoffed at that.
However.
Jurgen's expression had been more earnest than ever.
His eyes shone like a child's, as if even repeated failures couldn't dampen his joy—bright enough to melt Penelope's icy cynicism.
'How could someone like that forget the recipe after making it so well?'
'Th-that's... a special circumstance.'
'...Fine. I'll try a little longer.'
Looking at Jurgen, Penelope gave up on giving up.
But even after that, not everything changed overnight.
Research and development remained tedious and fraught with uncertainty.
She had fallen asleep in her chair more than once, and there was even a time when Jurgen caught her habitually chewing on a pen between her nose and lips while deep in thought.
Yet, little by little.
'Is this better than before?'
'It's definitely improved.'
Each step toward their goal stirred an indescribable flutter in her chest.
It felt like the tickle of a spring breeze brushing against her ear, or like the twinkle of a small star blinking at dawn.
Ah, yes.
It was a familiar feeling.
At the same time, it was one Penelope had long forgotten.
A sense of fulfillment and accomplishment.
And now, its fruit lay before her eyes.
"Miss Penelope, do you know the best way to drink cola?"
"What is it?"
"Drinking the cola in one go, so cold it stings, gulping it down until your throat tingles and tears well up in your eyes. Isn't that how you've always wanted to drink it?"
"..."
"...Miss Penelope?"
It was strange.
Then what was this feeling she was experiencing now?
The lonely emptiness that lingers after fireworks fade?
The bittersweet sensation of finishing a book and setting it down?
Even though the cola she had so desperately craved was right before her eyes, she didn't feel particularly happy.
"What will you do now?"
"Didn't I tell you? I intend to start a Gastronomic Revolution here in Britannia."
"Ah. Right. You did say that..."
Hearing his answer, she understood.
He had a next step.
Selling cola. Creating opportunities for those uninterested in gourmet food to recognize its value. Expanding the business. Developing and selling new products...
He had another destination.
But Penelope didn't.
Even if they had ridden the same train along the same tracks, Penelope's journey had been slightly faster.
It ended here.
Because from the very beginning, her final stop had always been cola.
"I never imagined you'd help me so diligently. From now on, I'll provide you cola free of charge."
"Of course you should, if you have any conscience."
This past month had been enjoyable.
It had been so long since she'd immersed herself in something like this after being expelled from university.
She'd been so absorbed that the nightmares that used to plague her nightly couldn't find a way in.
The sensation of steadily progressing toward a goal.
The trivial bickering and idle chatter exchanged with someone else.
All of it had been unfamiliar for so long.
But the fireworks were over.
Now it was time to return to her stifling daily life, like being back in a cage.
Penelope's role ended here.
She should just sit by the window of Jurgen's General Store, sipping cola while wishing him well on his future endeavors.
"...I should get going now."
She wasn't confident she could hide her stiffening expression any longer.
Not wanting her paper-thin bravado to be exposed, she was about to flee from her seat when—
"Miss Penelope."
"What?"
"This might be rather shameless of me to ask... but I intend to start a Gastronomic Revolution with this cola."
"I know. You said so before, and you just said it again."
"I've come to realize that my strength alone may not be enough for this endeavor. So what I mean to say is..."
Jurgen, who had been unusually hesitant, awkwardly extended his hand.
Penelope blinked her round eyes rapidly as his following words trailed behind.
"Would you be able to continue helping me?"
"...Help?"
"I need Miss Penelope's assistance for the Gastronomic Revolution."
Penelope, who had been trained in noble etiquette, knew this well.
A frivolous laugh would diminish her dignity.
That was precisely why she was straining every nerve to suppress her smile right now.
"Hmm~"
But it seemed impossible.
Just for today, surely...
It would be alright to smile a little.
Penelope grinned until her white teeth peeked through.
It was an endearing smile.
"Then say, 'Please help me, Lady Penelope.'"
It seemed this journey's final stop wasn't here after all.
In genre fiction, porters are often depicted as support characters who carry the party's loot, handle camp preparations, cooking, and other miscellaneous tasks.
They're frequently looked down upon by party members, sometimes quitting to make the party regret their actions or awakening cheat abilities.
But real-life porters weren't quite such a dramatic profession.
For one, the influence of the porter's union—the Myeong Transport Union (Demon Realm Transport Workers' Federation)—was strong enough to make treating them like slaves difficult.
They might not awaken cheat abilities, but they earned wages three to four times higher than ordinary laborers.
In Nortaris, it was quite a lucrative and sought-after job.
"Kheh, today I made an absolute killing."
Porter Thomas laughed so wide his mouth might tear as he jingled the silver coins from his pocket.
But the weight of his bulging pocket and his stomach, aching from hard labor, were separate matters.
That's why, still in his salt-stained clothes, he headed straight for the night market.
The food night market, End of the Galley, bustled from early evening with porters, craftsmen, dockworkers, and sailors.
From both sides of the alley, lively clamor spilled out of the taverns and pubs, while the smoky grills of the lined-up food stalls prepared dishes to soothe the weary laborers after a long day's toil.
Amid the bustling crowd, children with wooden trays hanging from their necks weaved through, peddling cigarettes, matches, and cheap candies.
"Oof, smells damn good."
In the midst of the lively atmosphere, Thomas flared his nostrils and pondered the menu.
When you're starving, anything tastes good.
But that's exactly why you have to be extra careful when choosing what to eat.
Chickpea soup, chicken giblet skewers, pickled herring, oysters.
Who in their right mind would settle for such ordinary street food at a moment like this?
If such a bastard existed, they should have their porter's license revoked and their entire bloodline wiped out.
"Heh heh, should I go for a thick slab of meat?"
Now that he had some decent coin in his pocket, a juicy roast beef dripping with blood and fat sounded perfect. Or maybe some tender chicken skewers wouldn't be a bad choice either.
Among the fish pies, the salmon pie—considered the best of the lot—also seemed tempting.
"Nah, nah... I had salmon pie just last week, so..."
Lost in serious deliberation, Thomas unconsciously stopped in front of his usual fish and chips stall.
"Hmm..."
Everyone's been there at least once.
That moment when you're torn between chicken or pizza, only to suddenly crave a steaming bowl of soup.
Even if the taste isn't particularly outstanding, it's the kind of food that tugs at your soul, summoning an irresistible urge—a reliable soul food that never fails to satisfy.
In Britannia, fish and chips occupied that very spot.
"Oi, one plate of fish and chips, mate!"
"Right away!"
The moment the order was placed, the sound of sizzling erupted from the deep brown oil as the frying began.
The sight of flaky cod and crispy potato fries coming together made his starving stomach twist painfully in anticipation.
"Might as well wash it down with a cold ale... Huh?"
As Thomas licked his lips, his eyes landed on a peculiar drink nestled in an ice-filled bucket.
"Boss, what's this? This black drink. The bottle looks damn weird."
"Ah, that's a drink called cola, but, uh... it's a bit pricey, sir."
"How much?"
"Eight pence per bottle."
"The hell?! A cold ale's only three pence! You oughta run an honest business, mate!"
The price was outrageous—equivalent to an entire plate of fish and chips. As Thomas balked, the stall owner added hastily,
"Oi, it's not my price! Some odd shopkeeper forced it on me, said I had to sell it!"
"Forced it?"
"Claimed it was a heavenly drink you couldn't find anywhere else in the world, slapped a ridiculous price on it... Ugh, I must've lost my mind. If the lass standing next to him hadn't been so damn pretty, I'd never have opened my wallet..."
So, not exactly forced then, Thomas thought, but his eyes lingered on the 'cola.'
"So, what's this cola crap? That disgustingly expensive thing. How's it taste?"
"Dunno, mate. The red-haired lass next to him said it's like drinking a starry night sky."
"Hmm..."
"If you try it, let me know how it is. Too rich for my blood, honestly."
After some hesitation, Thomas ended up buying the cola.
Half out of curiosity, the other half out of the boldness that came from a fat wallet.
And so, Thomas chugged the cola down in one go.
"Gah—!"
Suddenly, he clutched his throat and dropped to his knees.
His small eyes widened until the whites were fully visible, tears welling up as veins bulged in his reddened eyes.
He looked like he'd swallowed poison.
"Sir?!"
"Ghk— Ugh... Ugh...!"
"Spit it out! Quick, spit it out!"
Ah! He must've been swindled by some shady merchant peddling poison as a drink!
The stall owner already saw visions of his business license being revoked.
"Gulp, gulp, gulp."
But what the hell?
The porter, who had been clutching his throat in agony, was now downing the rest of the cola in one go.
"B-Boss..."
"A-Are you alr— No, what the devil's happening?!"
"The rest— BURP!—give me the rest! I'll buy every last one!"
"Wha— It's that good?!"
"I've never tasted anything like this in my life! No—I've been living wrong!"
The small gust of wind Jurgen and Penelope had set into motion.
Still no more than the flutter of a butterfly's wings, that wind had begun to blow from a nameless fish and chips stall.