Chapter 64: Second Step
Chapter 64: Second Step
Translation: Godtl
While Y&P spent the past month preparing to distribute vending machines and iceboxes,
Baron Keystone was busy establishing Cola bottling factories.
Not just in one city, but setting up bottling plants in multiple, far-flung cities.
A single month was hardly enough time for such an undertaking.
Just how much effort and time had Y&P poured into building their initial Cola factory?
But Baron Keystone's resourcefulness was the real deal.
First, he approached Pasture Trading Company, which had previously secured the licensing agreement.
Whether he buttered them up with money or knocked some sense into their heads, no one could say, but Baronet Pasture handed over the licensing contract to Keystone Company.
Effectively granting Keystone Company a monopoly on bottling in the three northern cities.
Then, utilizing their existing Berry Mix factories, they erected six bottling plants in just one month.
And the Cola produced there had already been circulating through their vast, capillary-like distribution network for a full week.
Throughout all this, Jurgen and Penelope barely had to lift a finger.
All they had to do was pray that the syrup from the factory arrived without a hitch.
Penelope was so out of the loop that she gasped in shock when she saw the settlement statement, exclaiming, "We were already selling this?!"
This was the overwhelming scalability of the bottling license.
If summoning familiars was the Black Mage's auto-hunt, then the bottling license was Y&P's auto-hunt.
"Let's take a look."
Penelope, brimming with excitement, unfolded the auto-hunt settlement report.
It neatly laid out the royalties paid by each bottling factory and syrup sales figures.
Her crimson eyes scanned the numbers on the sheet until they landed on the total settlement amount at the very bottom.
"...What."
Penelope's reaction was as if all the wind had been knocked out of her.
"What? What is it?"
Serena, who had designed the bottling machinery for the factories, perked up and leaned in.
She stealthily plucked the statement from Penelope's frozen fingers—only to freeze in shock herself.
"Good heavens..."
It was inevitable.
"220 Crowns... in just a week...?"
The final payment amount written there was far larger than anyone had anticipated.
"A week is seven days... so if we calculate for a month at 30 days... roughly 940 Crowns?"
"As expected of Miss Serena. Quick with the numbers, aren't you?"
"Um, by the way... what's the profit margin on the bottling license?"
"Factoring in production costs and syrup distribution, it's about 85%."
Serena finished the math in three seconds.
"So... that means a net profit of 800 Crowns per month from bottling alone. Wow."
It was unreal.
An 85% profit margin for a food company was absurd to begin with, but the most staggering part was the growth rate.
Y&P's net profit from bottled Cola and dispensers had been 1,700 Crowns per month, but the bottling contracts had instantly amplified that by 1.5 times.
Adding it all up...
"An annual net profit of 30,000 Crowns..."
Y&P, which had started as a humble brewing workshop, had now transformed into a cash-rich powerhouse with annual revenues of 45,000 Crowns and net profits of 30,000 Crowns.
Of course, business wasn't as simple as arithmetic, and Serena's calculations were optimistic, assuming steady sales.
There would undoubtedly be variables and obstacles ahead.
Even so, Polar Suns—once busy peddling Lemonade—had already been left in the dust.
'Ugh, I shouldn't be feeling like this...'
Serena felt a sharp pang in her gut.
Envy was instinctive.
But if humans lived by instinct alone, they wouldn't deserve to be called the lords of all creation.
And if Serena Lenoir, a baronetess, let herself be swayed by such petty emotions as envy, what kind of noble would she be?
She knew that.
She really knew that...
She knew how unbecoming and disgraceful it was, but...
She was jealous! So jealous it was killing her!
Seeing the kind of money she could never amass in her lifetime written right there...
The unholy trinity of envy, jealousy, and resentment buried deep in human psychology bubbled up uncontrollably!
"...Ugh."
"What's wrong?"
"Y-You're... annoying, that's what."
Serena tried to rein in her emotions.
She couldn't let them see her like this.
Hadn't she earned her baronetcy thanks to them?
Hadn't the Lenoir Workshop's reputation soared thanks to Y&P's contracts?
This wasn't a one-time windfall—it was a sustainable revenue stream.
So she had to discard these ungrateful, petty thoughts.
Y&P's growth was Serena Lenoir's growth!
Taking a deep breath, Serena forced a smile and gave a shaky thumbs-up.
"C-Congratulations. Truly remarkable results."
"Why are you acting out of character?"
"W-well, I even held back tears to congratulate you, and this is what I get..."
Meanwhile, Penelope found the scene before her utterly surreal.
During the Bottling Partner contract negotiations, she had glimpsed the projected sales figures through the exchanged documents—profit forecasts, market reports, and the like.
Though Penelope had taken business management lessons, she had too many other concerns to focus solely on the numbers.
But this was the final settlement statement.
The exact amount written here would soon be deposited into Y&P's account.
The moment that fact fully registered—
A shiver ran down her spine.
Fireworks of euphoria exploded in her mind.
A fluffy, buoyant happiness and sense of accomplishment, incomparable to any other joy, tickled her chest.
She wanted to grab both Serena and Jurgen in a crushing hug and scream with unrestrained delight.
"Don't get too carried away. Running a business is no different from sailing through stormy seas."
Suppressing those emotions, she straightened up and declared it with dignity.
This wasn't just aristocratic bravado—it was a clear-eyed grasp of reality.
There was still a long way to go!
They still owed Head Manager Belheim 10,000 Crowns, and to ensure stable supply, they needed to expand the syrup factory.
They had to hire dedicated staff just to manage the Bottling Partnership, and for every Crown earned, there were countless places it needed to go.
"30,000 Crowns annually is impressive, but it still falls short of the Litchfield Hotel's profits."
"The hotel made that much...?"
"Indeed. And if you factor in profit stability, it's not even close. Cola's proven it's not just a passing fad, but it hasn't fully cemented itself as a steady seller yet, has it?"
Serena couldn't help but admire Penelope's cold, rational assessment of the situation.
Whenever they bickered, Penelope seemed utterly childish—but in moments like this, she was entirely different.
While Serena was still stewing in envy over the profits, Penelope was already looking ahead to the next step.
Witnessing such blasphemously sharp analytical skills and emotional restraint, Serena thought:
'I need to learn from her...!'
She had to absorb this.
Serena had already obtained her baronetcy.
But in the end, a baronet was still just a first-generation noble—a mayfly.
Her newly refined goal was to achieve even greater feats and rise to the rank of Baron.
To do that, she needed Penelope's ability to remain unshaken by highs and lows, silently soaring toward her goal with detachment.
That unflinching figure was the true essence of a real noble—one Serena had to emulate!
...Or so she thought, as she gazed at Penelope's composed back.
From Jurgen's perspective, it was different.
"Now, about what we should do next... sh-shall we brainstorm the business?"
Penelope looked like someone desperately holding back the urge to squirm with delight.
"Y&P Trading's ultimate goal isn't just to strike gold once with cola and call it quits, right?"
Her eyes strained to maintain solemnity, but her cheeks were stretched in an irrepressible grin, her lips bitten so tightly her words slurred.
Tears even welled up in her eyes.
For Penelope, the undisputed queen of poker faces, to be this visibly affected—it was obvious just how overjoyed she was.
"Actually, there's something I'd like to show you both. Shall we head out?"
"Where to?"
"Since it's dinnertime, how about this? A new business venture."
The three boarded Serena's new steed—the four-seater Bunny II—and headed to Jurgen's sweet home.
As you can see, Y&P Trading had laid its capital and foundation through cola.
Now, it was time to take the second step in their culinary revolution.
Jurgen had given considerable thought to what that next step should be.
One or two successful eateries alone couldn't spark a revolution.
To achieve widespread impact, they needed a franchise.
That premise was non-negotiable.
So, which menu would resonate the most?
Pizza—requiring only an oven and easily customizable to taste?
Hamburgers, the perfect quick meal for busy adventurers?
Or should they pivot to familiar Korean cuisine and spearhead the Britannianization of Korean food?
Each option had pros and cons, but surprisingly, the answer came quickly.
A global market worth over 130 trillion won annually.
A dish that began in the humblest of hands, endured scorn and neglect, and ultimately conquered the world's dining tables.
Fried chicken.
Specifically, Korean-style fried chicken.
It's no exaggeration—no country has fried chicken with as much fierce competition as Korea.
The fact that Korea has more fried chicken shops than there are McDonald's outlets worldwide is proof enough.
The weak perish in the lonely jar, but the K-chicken that survived will become a potent poison to addict Britannia.
"How about it?"
When he explained everything except the part about 'Korea,' Penelope gave a lukewarm response.
"Chicken...isn't it a bit too ordinary? What do you think, Serena?"
"Well...yes. The 'franchise' business model itself is as innovative as bottling licenses...but chicken...I agree with Lady Penelope. And honestly...chicken doesn't even taste that good."
"Hmm, is that so?"
Admittedly, chicken alone wasn't as special as cola.
Britannia's national dish was fish and chips.
Among fish and chip shops, some occasionally served fried chicken too.
Perhaps that's why their impression of chicken was just mediocre.
It couldn't be helped.
How could they know how difficult chicken was to perfect?
"Then I'll show you how the difference lies in the details."
Jurgen led the two to the kitchen and took out the brined chicken.
Having been scored and left to mature overnight in the refrigerator, the flavors would have thoroughly penetrated every crevice.
"You soaked the chicken in water?"
"Not just water—a brine solution. It ensures the flavor permeates deep into the meat."
After rinsing off the brine lightly with water, he pressed the segmented chicken pieces by hand to remove excess fat.
"That's all for prepping the chicken. Next is to dress it up."
He then brought out the chicken powder.
A precise blend of all-purpose flour, cornstarch, baking powder, sugar, and skim milk powder.
Finished with salt, celery salt, garlic salt, thyme, basil, oregano, white pepper, black pepper, paprika, ginger, and mustard powder.
The key wasn't simply coating and frying the powder.
"Do you know why Britannia's fried food is thick and soggy?"
"...Isn't fried food supposed to be soggy and thick?"
"Absolutely not. It's because the batter is cooked too thickly. We'll do the opposite."
There were many types of chicken, but Jurgen aimed for crispy chicken.
The kind Koreans immediately picture when they hear 'fried chicken'—literally, chicken with a crispy (crispy) fried coating.
This required two steps: a wet batter coating first, then the powder coating.
"The crucial point is keeping the wet batter cold. That's how you achieve a thin, crispy inner layer."
After coating the chicken evenly with the wet batter, he dredged it thoroughly in the powder, then dropped it into oil preheated to 170 degrees.
"Fried chicken requires this much effort...?"
"Y-yes... I thought you just coat raw chicken and fry it..."
"Don't stand too close. The fumes aren't good for your lungs."
The entire process seemed novel to the two.
Like curious children peering into an aquarium, Penelope and Serena huddled together, watching the chicken puff up as it fried in the oil.
Twelve minutes later.
"Alright, it's done."
He removed the chicken, now clad in a golden, crispy coating, let it cool slightly, then moved to the dining table.
Penelope and Serena trailed after him, drooling, and took their seats.
"The smell is unusual. So this is our second product?"
"Right. It smells amazing, but..."
There was a slight difference in attitude between Serena and Penelope as they faced the chicken.
Penelope, with her unwavering trust, seemed to expect that 'anything Jurgen makes must be delicious,' while Serena looked slightly uneasy.
"I...I don't really like fried chicken that much..."
Jurgen, who had boldly challenged local chicken with the belief that 'even shoes would taste good fried,' could guess the reason.
Britannia's chicken was tasteless.
Setting aside the lack of effort to make it delicious, chicken was treated as a mere side dish to fish and chips.
They usually fried both in the same oil—an unforgivable sin that made the chicken reek of fish.
Serena's prejudice likely stemmed from that.
"Just try a bite. Ah, start with the drumstick. That's the best part."
"Okay..."
Serena, who had been hesitating before the chicken, steeled herself.
It wasn't like she was about to eat something deadly.
At the very least, the golden-brown, crispy coating didn't look unappetizing.
The smell up close was unexpectedly... incredibly good.
A subtle hint of black pepper as the base, layered with a rich aroma as if an entire herb garden had been packed inside.
And as it mingled with the savory fat of the meat, it teased her appetite ever so gently.
Gulp...
Without realizing it, Serena swallowed her saliva and brought a piece of chicken to her mouth with her knife and fork.
Crrrrrisp!
The skin was far crispier than it looked.
So much so that with the first bite, she almost glanced up at the ceiling, wondering if the roof might collapse from the sheer force of it.
As Serena's teeth shattered the crispy outer layer—
"...!!!"
Flavor exploded.
The fragments of various aromas, which had been faint when smelled from afar, now took full form.
Not a trace of the fishy stench or greasiness she had feared.
Instead, each time the incredibly nutty, umami-rich skin crumbled, it released a salty tang that made her tongue tingle.
But the true masterpiece was the layer of fat clinging beneath the batter, fused seamlessly with the skin.
Even if this batter were sold separately, she'd probably go mad trying to buy it.
'It's delicious...! But it's... too intense...!'
The unfamiliar stimulation on her tongue was overwhelming.
Yet, at the same time, curiosity flared.
She had only lightly bitten into the skin so far.
What kind of flavor lay beyond this?
This was uncharted territory—a path Serena had never walked before.
It might be arduous, even torturous.
Her trembling eyes, filled with unease, met Jurgen's.
He closed his eyes and nodded solemnly, as if telling her to trust him.
For some reason, that silent reassurance made Serena shut her eyes tightly and chew the pure white chicken meat filling her mouth.
Squelch.
Two rivers formed.
One, a river of juices flowing effortlessly from the tender meat as it yielded without resistance.
The other, a river of umami that gently enveloped her taste buds, still trembling from the unknown stimulation.
'Serena, you trusted me.'
And at the confluence of these two rivers, a majestic rooster stood waiting for Serena, its voice echoing like a cave.
It took her hand, pulling her forward with a bright smile.
'Didn't I tell you? The world of chicken is this vast and beautiful.'
Where its wings spread, a warm glow, savory juices, and fields of spices stretched endlessly to the horizon.
Now she understood.
This was true chicken. This was true gourmet cuisine...!
"I-It's delicious! Amazing!"
Reflexively shoving more chicken into her mouth, Serena trembled uncontrollably, overwhelmed by emotion.
"When did you even make something like this?"
"Did you think I'd just laze around while you were busy running about, Miss Penelope? Though it's still incomplete."
"Incomplete? This?"
"Meaning there's still room for improvement."
Even Penelope, who had grown accustomed to Jurgen's culinary experiments, was stunned this time.
She had been watching Serena's reaction, thinking this was just a test batch—but the chicken dish, unlike anything she had ever tasted before, sent her taste buds into raptures.
"Well? I believe this would make a worthy second item for our gourmet revolution."
"Hmm, the taste itself is incredible. But... how should I put it? It still feels a bit ambiguous."
Yet Penelope's brow remained furrowed.
"The reason Cola was able to take off the way it did was because of the 'novelty' it offered."
She could acknowledge that Jurgen's chicken had clear distinctions from regular fried chicken.
In fact, aside from the shared trait of "chicken fried in oil," it might as well be an entirely different dish.
But Cola was the first carbonated beverage, and thanks to Bellaby's indirect promotion, word of mouth had spread like wildfire.
Fried chicken, however, was undeniably a street food—one that, like Serena, most people would question: Why bother?
"Can this chicken really shake up the market like Cola did? For a gourmet revolution, shouldn't it have a bit more novelty?...That's what I think."
"If we say Y&P made it, wouldn't people at least try it out of curiosity?"
"No, the reputation Y&P has built is for beverages, isn't it? Chicken is a whole new genre."
Even as she said this, Penelope watched Jurgen's reaction carefully.
Because, truthfully, she didn't have a sharp solution or alternative to suggest.
In group projects, the one who just says "This doesn't seem great" without offering a better idea is the kind of person you immediately want to strangle.
"An excellent point. Indeed, this alone lacks sufficient novelty."
"Huh...?"
"Wait just a moment."
"Ah—! I haven't even finished eating yet...!"
But far from disappointed, Jurgen looked pleased, as if he had been waiting for this exact rebuttal.
And then, he snatched away the chicken Serena had been enthusiastically gnawing on and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Now, how about this?"
The chicken he brought back on a plate was—
"It's red."
Red.
Vibrantly, unmistakably red.
"Well, it is seasoned chicken."