Chapter 20: Competition Isn't Fair (3)
Chapter 20: Competition Isn't Fair (3)
Translation: Godtl
Brighton, the representative of Polar Suns, hadn't been in a good mood lately.
"The more I chew on this, the more it burns me up."
Cola.
It was all because of that damned cola.
A month ago, Brighton had tried to steal the cola.
It was just another routine elimination of a competitor.
But immediately after the negotiations failed, the value of cola began skyrocketing like crazy.
If he'd gotten his hands on that cola back then, he couldn't even begin to estimate how much profit he would have made.
Brighton was the type to drool over one gold coin in someone else's pocket rather than ten gold coins in his own grasp.
Because of this, he'd been frequently jolting awake in bed screaming about cola these days.
"Damn it... If only those negotiations with that ignorant bastard had gone through properly."
"Good morning... though I suppose it isn't."
"Of course it's not!"
"There's worse news."
The lawyer dropped a letter in front of Brighton, who was grinding his teeth.
"A letter from Lady Clarice."
"Ugh..."
Brighton, who had been fuming, swallowed hard as he took the letter.
Brighton was Clarice's retainer.
'Retainer' sounded nice, but in reality he was more like a subcontractor who handled dirty work for Clarice.
Nobles of Clarice's standing typically maintained several such 'fixers.'
In the past, Clarice had ordered him to "ensure her younger sister couldn't gain footing in high society."
This time, Brighton had failed to properly carry out that order.
He hadn't managed to steal the cola, and had to watch helplessly as Penelope used the cola as a stepping stone to quietly return to high society.
In other words, he'd screwed up.
The lawyer, seemingly curious about what kind of reprimand the letter contained, peeked over to read it.
"Surprisingly little substance to it."
"Are your eyes properly attached?"
"Seriously, there's hardly anything here, right? Just something about going fox hunting together when she has time."
Brighton looked at the lawyer with pity.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Have you ever seen me go hunting alone with Clarice?"
"Hmm, no?"
"Would her noble highness really go hunting with a fixer like me? That'd be beneath her dignity."
"Now that I think about it, I wouldn't go either if I were her."
"You little—"
After punching the lawyer once, Brighton kindly interpreted the letter written in refined language.
"'Let's go fox hunting when I have time' means 'Do you have so much free time that you're sitting around? Aren't you doing your job properly?'"
"Oh... That's quite the roundabout way to be annoying."
"Nobles have to maintain decorum in public no matter what they do behind the scenes. She probably didn't want to leave written evidence of ordering her sister's oppression."
"Well, reputation is everything to them."
It was somewhat unfair too.
It wasn't like Brighton had been idle.
He'd been working on a plan to figure out the cola's formula, tweak the recipe slightly, and produce knockoffs.
The plan had just failed, and meanwhile the cola had achieved unexpected success.
Still, he finally felt he could breathe.
"Phew, goddamn it. Now she's finally giving me free rein."
"Exactly, why were you only using moderate methods until now? That's not your style, boss. You said before that Lady Clarice wouldn't care whether we got the cola or not."
"You idiot! That was when cola was just some street beverage! Now even city council members and every bigshot who farts in a fancy way are going red-eyed searching for cola—you want me to charge in barehanded and get my skull cracked?"
The underworld Brighton belonged to and high society were intricately intertwined like the roots of weeds.
He couldn't act rashly.
Clarice's letter was a reprimand, but at the same time, it carried an implicit permission: I'll take responsibility for the aftermath.
In other words, there was no longer any reason to hold back.
"Release the hounds."
"It's time to return as the 7th Seat of the Grey Council."
"Why are you acting all high and mighty?"
And when Brighton said he wouldn't hold back,
he meant it in the most literal sense.
Jurgen had been away from his shop for a long time.
So, their recent meetings took place in his two-room rental house.
To Penelope, it was barely a step up from a stable—such a rundown place.
It was a wooden building, and quite old at that, so there wasn't much to be done.
Still, Penelope always felt her heart flutter on the way to his home.
"Here, today's sales figures."
"You're a bit early today. Just set them over there."
The moment she opened the door, a delicious aroma wafted toward her.
Penelope's excitement doubled.
One thing she had learned from spending time with him:
Jurgen was an exceptionally good cook.
Not that he used luxurious or extravagant ingredients—far from it.
But he had a knack for turning simple ingredients into something extraordinary, just like the potato pancakes he'd made back in the Demon Realm.
So, Penelope shamelessly made a habit of visiting Jurgen's house around dinnertime.
"Were you cooking again?"
"Must mean the nearby restaurants are that bad."
"You made enough for me too, right?"
"Naturally."
What was on the menu today?
Acting as if it were her own home, Penelope naturally headed toward the kitchen, a faint flush rising to her cheeks.
On the stove, a frying pan sizzled.
Chicken wings, blanched to remove any gaminess, were browning beautifully.
No wonder the smell was so good.
Penelope especially loved chicken dishes.
"Hm? What's this leaf? Does it go in the dish too?"
"Bay leaf. Helps neutralize any strong odors when boiling or simmering meat."
"You really do know the most fascinating things."
Penelope said this while staring intently at Jurgen's back as he cooked by the stove.
He was a strange man.
He whipped up dishes that put most chefs to shame.
He was a commoner, yet had no greed for money.
He harbored the bizarre ambition of starting a culinary revolution.
Sure, he had the minor flaw of failing to recognize Penelope's nobility and speaking to her casually, but...
"Huh?"
Penelope flinched.
Come to think of it...
His informal speech didn't bother her anymore.
There had been a time when she'd been determined to make him acknowledge her noble status.
But now, visiting his home so freely and chatting comfortably with him felt completely natural.
Perhaps it was because she now saw him as an equal—a business partner.
'Wait...?'
A strange discomfort crept in.
Penelope had acknowledged him as an equal partner.
She no longer wanted to hear him say, "Oh, my apologies, I didn't realize you were a noble lady!"
Logically, it would be more advantageous for business if she said, "I'm the second daughter of the Rosemore Count Family."
Yet she still hadn't told him about her lineage.
'...Why?'
Was it awkward to bring it up now?
Had the timing just never been right?
She pondered for a moment but couldn't find a clear answer.
It felt like having an itch on her back she couldn't reach—frustrating.
Not that a noble lady would ever resort to such undignified scratching, of course.
"Miss Penelope, pass me the cola, would you?"
"Oh—uh, here."
As she was lost in thought, an unbelievable sight unfolded before her eyes.
—Sssssssssssssssssss!!!
Jurgen poured cola in a torrent over the chicken he'd been roasting.
"W-what in the world are you doing?!"
The shocking sight snapped Penelope's whirling thoughts back to reality.
She'd skipped lunch today, anticipating Jurgen's cooking.
To think he'd commit such an atrocity—pouring cola over perfectly cooked chicken!
"Just trust me and wait."
"Trust what? What exactly am I supposed to trust here? I don't think I can trust anything anymore..."
"My, Miss Penelope, you've really developed quite the sense of humor."
A short while later.
Penelope found herself face-to-face with a suspicious-looking dish on her plate.
She scrutinized the food through narrowed eyes before shooting Jurgen a skeptical glare.
"Is this... actually proper food?"
"Why must you be so distrustful?"
"Because common sense dictates that pouring soda over food warrants suspicion!"
Though she said that...
When he'd first poured cola into the frying pan, she'd felt her world crumbling—yet the end result looked surprisingly decent.
Crispy golden-brown chicken wings.
Completely smothered in a glossy dark sauce.
"It's a type of chicken wing dish called 'Cola Wings.' Made the sauce with cola, soy sauce, red pepper, and minced garlic."
"Soy sauce?"
"A sauce from the Eastern Continent. Fortunately, it's available here too."
"Hmph... Fine, I'll try it. Consider me fooled."
Her brain insisted these Cola Wings were suspicious, yet she found herself swallowing hard.
And no wonder—the aroma was absolutely...
Penelope picked up her fork and knife.
A noble's dining etiquette wouldn't permit haphazardly gnawing on chicken wings.
She pinned one wing with her fork, used the knife to sever the end and separate the bones, then carefully sliced between the bones to remove them before eating.
With practiced precision, she coated the glistening brown wing in sauce and brought it to her mouth.
"...!!!!"
Penelope was stunned!
Salty. Sweet. And spicy.
Her teeth pressed lightly against the still-crispy skin, releasing a gush of juices.
The chicken was cooked to perfection—not a trace of unpleasant gaminess.
The thick glaze clinging to the skin launched an all-out assault on every taste bud on her tongue.
That insane umami was something she'd experienced in most of Jurgen's dishes, but this was particularly addictive.
The saltiness balanced what could have been cloying richness,
The sweetness tempered what could have been harsh saltiness,
The spiciness cut through what could have been cloying sweetness,
And the sweetness again rounded out what could have been sharp spiciness—this endless loop...!
"It's truly... an infinite flavor track...!"
"Miss Penelope, your way with words is truly delightful."
Even though she should maintain decorum during meals, she wanted to throw aside her utensils and tear into the wings with her hands.
Not just that—she wanted to lick her fingers clean of every last drop of sauce.
"I can't hold back anymore...!"
And Penelope gladly did just that.
"Nom nom nom nom."
This flavor.
It was a violent taste that forcibly dragged out one's appetite.
A barbaric taste that made one cast aside all dignity.
Penelope began dismantling the wings with supernatural speed.
Though skilled enough to debone a fish with fork and knife, even Penelope couldn't match the efficiency of bare hands.
The pile of glistening chicken bones on her plate grew twice as fast.
"Gulp, gulp...! Ahhh...!"
Penelope, who had just downed the cola in one refreshing gulp, belatedly came to her senses upon seeing the white mountain of chicken bones piled before her.
"No, this is... You! What have you done to me?!"
"Didn't do anything particularly special."
Penelope's face turned deathly pale.
Grabbing chicken wings with her hands and devouring them clean was an utterly barbaric act.
From the omniscient perspective of a noble young lady, her actions just now were on par with 'blowing one's nose into a napkin while eating' or 'gargling with wine'—unthinkable atrocities!
And yet.
"Good to see you enjoying your meal. Why don't you eat like this instead of picking at your food all the time?"
Penelope choked back her indignation.
"Who are you mocking? I know full well what I did wrong!"
"Not mocking at all. Someone I knew would always act indifferent when served food. Said they'd rather be working than eating."
But Jurgen was simply smiling with pure contentment, without any hidden meaning behind his words.
There wasn't a trace of scorn or reproach in his expression.
Penelope was momentarily stunned.
Until now, she had always struggled desperately to maintain proper etiquette.
Those who have nothing will inevitably become desperate to protect even the smallest things they possess.
She had always bared her teeth at anyone who doubted her dignity.
But here, there was no need for that.
She didn't have to uphold table manners.
She didn't have to mind her posture or gestures.
To this naive little shopkeeper, Penelope was simply Penelope.
So she could just be herself.
"...One more bowl."
"Was there ever any doubt?"
Jurgen had prepared a feast one-and-a-half times larger than usual.
Apparently, he had failed to control the portion size.
As a result, Penelope ate fried chicken until she was on the verge of bursting.
After the meal, they gathered in the living room and discussed business plans with Jurgen.
Though slightly embarrassing, it was a rather enjoyable time.
"My stomach won't go down."
"After eating that much, what do you expect?"
"I didn't eat that much! It's just that my appetite is small."
"Well then, how about a walk?"
"Fine. A walk."
To avoid drawing attention, Penelope donned a floppy hat while Jurgen pulled up his hood, and they set off for their stroll.
The streets were quiet at night.
But strangely, the air felt heavy.
Penelope instinctively wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell.
"Did you burn your clothes while cooking?"
"Hmm? Don't think so."
And then, in an instant—
A pillar of dark crimson smoke rising from the distant sky caught their eyes.
"That's an enormous plume of smoke. Must be a fire. Judging by the location... Isn't that around Brellum Shop Street?"
"...Seems about right."
"..."
"..."
The two fell silent simultaneously.
Soon, their eyes met.
"Let's go."
"Let's. My alchemy might be of help."
Driven by an inexplicable sense of unease, they quickened their pace.
Penelope checked her alchemical catalysts, preparing for a situation where she might need to intervene.
"Demolish the adjacent building first! We have to stop the flames from spreading!"
"What are those alchemists even doing over there?!"
"Stop gawking and evacuate! There's a risk of injury!"
The fire scene was already crowded with onlookers.
Firefighters from a private insurance company hurriedly carried buckets of water from their carriage.
The owner of an uninsured shop was praying fervently that the flames wouldn't spread to his store.
"Wow, it's burning fiercely."
"Isn't that the shop where people were lining up to buy cola just the other day?"
"Tsk tsk. They say you never know what tomorrow brings."
The flames dyed the dim sky a scarlet hue.
Through the shoulders of the spectators, the blazing building roared with fire.
Jurgen's general store was engulfed in flames, burning fiercely.