The Master's Tomato Soup
"You said you had something to discuss with me."
No sooner had Bayul finished speaking with Sir Ian than Death requested an audience with him. Spinel, who had been resting by the fireplace, clung to Bayul's side the instant Death appeared.
Since ascending to an Intermediate Spirit and recovering fragments of her memories, Spinel had kept an unusually wary distance from Death, a demon. At first her overprotectiveness had felt burdensome, but by now Bayul had simply learned to accept it.
After all, everything Spinel did was for Bayul's sake, and her heart was always in the right place. She did occasionally shock everyone by hurling outright insults at Innocent and Tempesta, but toward Bayul alone she was unfailingly polite and dependable.
"Funny, I don't see anyone else around."
Death tilted his chin at Spinel as if to ask why it had to be her.
"Everyone's resting in whichever spot they like."
"A spot they like?"
"Yes, a place where they can put their mind at ease. Do you have such a place?"
"...Me? I suppose I do."
Caught off guard by Bayul's sudden question, Death answered half without thinking.
"Might I ask where it is?"
"Sure, you could hear it. Not sure you'd understand it, though."
"Ah, somewhere in the Demon Realm, I take it? I was thinking of the human realm."
Since Death spent quite a long stretch of time in the human realm, Bayul had wondered if perhaps he had a place like the spirits did. The fact that Bayul had connected it to the Demon Realm only after the fact made it clear he'd momentarily forgotten Death's true identity yet again.
"The human realm..."
Death tilted his head as though thinking something over, then began to speak at his own unhurried pace.
"The night market."
"...?"
"The food there was good. Vivian's charcoal-grilled skewers and her sweet donuts come to mind now and then. They suited my palate the best."
As if remembering those days, Death smacked his lips.
"But that's second place. My favorite spot in the human realm is next to you."
"...Next to me?"
"That way Rita gives me lots of what she's eating. I had it all figured out from day one."
Once again, it all came down to food. Bayul had seen people grow happy over a delicious meal before, but he had never met anyone — no, any demon — as fanatical about it as Death.
"I see now. So that's why you always seated us in the corner?"
Amon cast a wounded look at him, and Death bared his teeth.
"Sore about it? Want to be commander instead?"
"...No, thank you. I hardly have the means."
No one knew better than Amon what would happen if Death unleashed his true power. From Amon's standpoint, quietly serving as his aide was far more comfortable for everyone involved.
"You're welcome to challenge me anytime. I don't much care for the position myself."
Death hadn't been born to lead the Demon King's armies or anything of the sort. If he had a single dream in life, it was to ignore all other concerns and live a leisurely existence.
"I despise nothing more than being put to work."
"...Blame the power you were born with."
"Someone ought to just die already. I've lived far too long."
"Lifespan tends to be proportional to power."
"Forgive my intrusion, but... might I ask how old the two of you are?"
Listening to their exchange, Bayul could no longer contain his curiosity and cut in.
Death had met spirits before the Spirit Realm perished, so the man must have lived for an unfathomably long time. Just how long could demons live, generally speaking? The question had suddenly sparked in him.
"I'm the one who came here with business, so why do you keep asking questions?"
"...Quite right. I'm not sure how it turned out this way either."
"My age is of no concern. I stopped counting ages ago — even I've forgotten."
"I know it, however."
Amon stepped forward boldly, as if he deserved a reward for being a loyal subordinate who knew everything there was to know about Death. Naturally, that bravado crumbled miserably before Death's frost-glinting gaze.
"...My apologies."
"The discipline in our ranks has been slipping far too much lately."
"I shall correct it at once."
A single bead of cold sweat trickled down Amon's forehead.
If a mere look could do that to him, Bayul didn't even want to imagine what Death was like when he was truly angry.
Hoping to rescue Amon, Bayul hastily changed the subject.
"Death! What was it you wanted to talk about?"
"...What?"
"I'm rather pressed for time. Best we get this done quickly."
He had been planning to sit quietly in the study with a book, but no other excuse had come to mind.
"Once you hear my business, you might not be able to just walk away."
"Please, go ahead."
"What do you say to heading back to Carrington?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
It was such an outlandish proposal that Bayul regretted the effort he'd spent straining his ears to follow it. How long had it even been since vacation started and he'd returned to his home territory?
The business at the mine had yet to be fully wrapped up, and he still had to await his father's return from the capital.
"There are two spirit stones in Carrington, aren't there? Rather than hunting down a new one, wouldn't it be faster to do something with those two?"
"Do something? Such as what, exactly?"
"Making intermediates out of the others. The earrings on Spinel came out of a spirit stone, didn't they? And it was you touching them that triggered her promotion. So go find the stones and smash them or something."
"Does that stone really break so easily?"
At Amon's question, Death turned to Bayul with a wide grin.
"Want me to do it for you?"
"...Are you being serious right now?"
"Of course. Unlike the other demons, I don't lie."
Death's black eyes sparkled like starlight, as if to say, trust me and me alone. Bayul couldn't help but be puzzled. There was no reason whatsoever for the man to show him such kindness. This was the same Death who'd claimed eating Rita's cooking was his sole joy in life. But Rita's cooking could be eaten in Carrington just as well as in Hamilton.
"I'm sick to death of this place anyway. So let's hurry up and go. Shall we leave tomorrow?"
'This place is tiresome?' Rita was right here, wasn't she... so why?
'Ah!'
It didn't take long to figure it out. Bayul could see Death's game plain as day. Pretending to care about him, pretending to help him — every pretense in the book, all in service of Death himself.
There was exactly one difference between Hamilton and Carrington.
The weather.
Because of it, there were limits to what ingredients could be sourced, and the variety of food on offer was markedly smaller. Bayul had already heard the report that Death had complained about there being no meat this very morning (Tempesta had ratted him out), but he hadn't imagined it would escalate to demands to return to Carrington.
"...I'm afraid that would be difficult."
"No? Why not? Weren't you in a hurry too? Getting the spirits to grow faster benefits you as well, doesn't it?"
"That's true, but there is work I must do here. I intend to stay through the end of the vacation."
"The business with your cousin was settled, wasn't it? What more is there to do?"
Bayul could feel Death's irritation climbing. After issuing nothing but orders at every turn, being thwarted now was enough to make anyone frantic.
"I intend to tend to the territory."
"What's there to tend in a territory?"
"My father is away — it's the perfect opportunity."
Now, and only now, was the moment he could wield the spirits' power to his heart's content without worrying about prying eyes. The repeated rains had left the city a mess everywhere he looked. Repairing as much as his strength allowed, then returning to Carrington — that was Bayul's goal.
"So I'd ask you to bear with it, difficult as it may be. Still, once we return to Carrington, Rita will cook for you with all sorts of different ingredients. You have my word."
"...Wh-what? You figured me out?"
Death visibly flinched, even stumbling over his words. Bayul burst into a small laugh at the uncharacteristic display — just as the door burst open and Bar came charging in.
"Lord Death! Amon! I've finally done it!"
In his one intact hand, the demon carried a large bowl.
"Lord Bar, don't tell me—!"
Amon shot to his feet, his face alight with expectation. Death, too, seemed to have caught on, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Try it! You won't believe I made this myself!"
Overwhelmed by his own emotion, Bar was on the verge of tears. The sight of tears welling up in both of his eyes was so grotesque that Bayul couldn't even bring himself to offer congratulations.
"Spoon."
At Death's command, Bar immediately handed one over.
The moment was tense. Death scooped up a full spoonful and slowly brought it to his mouth.
The dish was tomato soup — a hearty stew of vegetables and beef, with no finer restorative to be found. It was also one of Bayul's favorite dishes.
"...What is this?"
Death's head cocked to one side as he tasted it.
"Wh-what's wrong? Is it bad?"
"No..."
"...If it isn't?"
"Is this really yours? It's so good I can't process it."
"Of course! I made it! Honestly, my lord, when have I ever bragged with something like this?"
"No, you haven't. You've always been perfectly proud of yourself while serving up terrible food."
Which was exactly why it had stung so much.
"Then I must have a taste as well."
Listening to the two of them, Amon's curiosity got the better of him. He quickly ladled up a spoonful of the tomato soup and swallowed it down.
"...!"
"Good, isn't it? Right?"
Nod, nod.
At Bar's question, Amon kept his eyes closed and nodded again and again. It was unbelievable. Months of lessons and study had never improved his skills an inch — how could they change so drastically in a single day? It was truly a moving moment.
"Bar!"
Just then — at the very instant the room had filled with heartwarming air — a sharp voice rang out like a bucket of cold water thrown over them all.
"Master!"
The owner of that voice was Rita. She came marching in, gripping a bowl identical to Bar's.
"How could you walk off with that? You saw full well I made it for the young master, and this is what you do?"
"...What on earth do you mean? I'm the one who made this."
"Oh, really? Because this is what Bar made."
Rita strode over and thrust the bowl in her hand forward, bristling.
"Huh? Same dish?"
"Tomato soup is the young master's favorite! He's been skipping breakfast like it hardly matters, so I made it as his midday snack! If you were going to learn by watching, you should have just watched quietly — why take it? The young master is supposed to eat what Bar made, not this!"
"...Figures."
"We almost had the wool pulled right over our eyes."
Death and Amon finally understood, and their faces fell in disappointment. But the one most shocked at this moment was neither of them — it was Bar.
"Th-this is really what you made, Master?"
"Of course! What, you think I made this?"
Bar snatched the bowl from Rita's hand, all but ripping it away, and brought it to his mouth, dish and all.
"Guh! How can a tomato soup taste like this...!"
Bar's face contorted into something too ugly to look at. It was the worst tomato soup he had ever tasted in his life.
"That's exactly what I want to say! You copied it right beside me — how do you make it taste like this? I swear, you drive me out of my mind!"
Rita wanted to teach with kind words and praise — but every time this happened, she genuinely felt like losing her mind.
"Hold on! Did you eat the whole soup already? It's only been—"
"...Hm?"
"We only had a tiny taste, so...?"
At some point, the bowl had been emptied clean. In Rita's eyes, a towering fury directed at Death and Amon burned. Unable to meet its glare, the two lowered their gazes in perfect unison, as if on cue.
"I said that was for the young master! How could you gobble up every last drop like that!"
Had Rita's voice always been this loud? At her building-collapsing bellow, Bayul hurriedly clapped his hands over his ears.
"Rita, I'm fine! I can just have it at dinner later..."
"And another thing — why are Death and Amon just standing around here? Isn't it cleaning time right now?"
"...I-is it?"
"Oho! Skipping out on work again, are we?"
"Not at all, Miss Rita. We merely stopped by to speak with the young master. We have been diligently attending to our cleaning."
"Is that so? Then lead the way."
"Pardon?"
"I'm going to check with my own eyes, so come along. You know I'll catch a lie, don't you?"
"No. Actually, I don't."
"No dinner for you tonight."
Rita was a blade. A single stroke, no mercy granted and no excuses heard.
At her ironclad pronouncement, Death and Amon broke into a run at once. One thought consumed them both: the day's cleaning zone had to be utterly transformed before she arrived.
"Rita, ease up. You'll regret it someday."
"Why on earth would I regret it? They're the ones in the wrong, and I'm their senior — I can't even say this much? This isn't their first time skipping work either. They're habitual offenders!"
She wasn't wrong, so there was nothing to refute.
But her subordinates weren't just any servants. They were demons, of all things. Every time Rita browbeat the Death brothers, Bayul felt as though his own heart was cringing in their place.
And yet he could hardly reveal their true identities, could he?
"They must have it hard too. They've come all this way from a distant land, laboring away."
The flimsy excuses were all Bayul could manage. Naturally, not a grain of it landed on Rita. Snorting with indignation, she marched off toward the Death brothers' cleaning zone with Bar in tow.