Chapter 6
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: That'll Kill You If You Eat It
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-Ugh, with cooking skills like this, I could safely leave Ailin in your hands... You're a total klutz in the kitchen.
-You wanna die?
-As much as it pains me, I have to admit it. I'm jealous, Damon!
Dillon Soye was a bit of a chatterbox, a genuine merchant who peddled his wares around the castle town and various villages.
The reason he wasn't a full-fledged merchant yet was simple: he hadn't inherited the family business.
Here, it was customary to treat anyone who hadn't officially taken over the family trade as a greenhorn.
How a skinny guy like him managed in the distribution trade was beyond me, but he was noisier than his age suggested.
On the other hand, it suited a merchant perfectly.
A true merchant knew how to work their mouth.
But that mouth of his had a habit of running away with itself.
'Marriage to Ailin? What nonsense is this guy spouting?'
Ailin Rosebriar had to end up with Jerome Bellardi, no exceptions.
Why?
Because in romance fantasy genre, authors tend to focus heavily on characters when plotting the story.
They shape the main characters first, then build the world around them.
That's probably why you get absurd errors like "20,000 knights," but anyway.
While web novels generally center on characters, romance fantasies especially zero in on the 'relationships between characters.'
Naturally, the two in question here were Ailin and Jerome.
In short, the entire universe of this world would conspire to bring those two together.
Of course, it'd involve a lot—no, a ton—of hardship along the way, but that's the buildup for the genre's unique narrative and plausibility. Can't be helped.
Even the author of Just Became the Family Maid had decent writing chops in that regard.
Well, not in terms of historical accuracy or anything, but in crafting character interactions. That's why even a guy like me devoured it without much resistance.
In any case, a mere reader and lowly extra like me had no business meddling in their relationship.
Not that I could even if I wanted to.
Thanks to Ailin's 'innate disposition.'
After all, protagonists need something special that sets them apart from everyone else.
So the author gave Ailin this peculiar talent.
Because a lone daughter of an innkeeper in some backwater village couldn't possibly stand at the world's center on looks alone.
In the story itself, there were only a handful of characters more beautiful than Ailin.
But that very 'disposition' complicated her life.
It became the foundation for Jerome to shine as the male lead.
In essence, everyone had their role to play.
And for a worthless extra like me, with no blessings or opportunities—
'I'll just open a restaurant and quietly enjoy my remaining years.'
Content in poverty and simplicity. Exactly that.
"...Damon."
I'd never even considered marriage in the first place—
"Damon?"
I finally reacted to the unfamiliar name, lifting my head. I'd been so lost in thought that I'd forgotten I was even eating.
"Yes?"
"What're you thinking so deeply about in the middle of dinner?"
A woman in her mid-thirties, with black eyes and black hair, stared straight at me as she asked.
Her name was Deborah, Damon's mother.
For reference, pretty much everyone here except the key characters had black hair and black eyes.
My father Hans and I were no exceptions.
The reason was obvious.
It made the protagonists and supporting cast stand out more.
Thanks to that, I'd unwillingly become the dark-haired outsider. Damn it.
"I heard you went to the Wild Rose Inn a few days ago?"
Luckily, I didn't need to scramble for an excuse about what I'd been thinking.
But now I had something else to explain.
"Joanna told me. And you even made beef stew for them?"
"Ah..."
I quietly gauged Hans's reaction as he silently shoveled down his oatmeal porridge.
But he showed zero interest in our conversation, like an invisible wall stood between us.
For now, I'd have to bluff my way through.
"I went to see Ailin, and it just kinda happened."
'Just kinda happened,' huh. For something like that, they said it was incredibly delicious. Better than any dish they'd ever had."
"......"
"And it's not just anyone—it's Joanna saying it, so it must be true."
By that point, she already knew everything.
No room left for excuses.
I glanced once more at Hans's unreadable face and spoke up.
"I'm thinking of working there."
It was basically decided, but I phrased it that way. A firm commitment left no escape hatch.
But Hans stayed silent again.
It was driving me nuts. The guy was impossible to read, making it all the more frustrating.
"Of course, just evenings, after work."
I hurriedly added.
Lest they misunderstand like Colton had.
I'd at least pretend to inherit the family trade.
I wasn't an adult yet, so running off now would only hurt me.
Moreover, I had zero intention of being an unfilial son.
But aren't you gonna leave home and open a restaurant anyway?
Ah, I'll think about that when the time comes.
"Won't you get tired?"
Oh. Surprisingly, Mom seemed supportive.
The issue was Dad.
"Tired? Nah, it'll be fine."
Far better to spend that time productively than tossing and turning in an uncomfortable bed.
Plus, exhaustion would make sleep come easier—a perfectly rational choice.
'Who was it that used to work through the night on four hours of power naps back in my prime?'
And back then, I had way more brainwork, pushing me right to the brink of collapse.
'Compared to that, this is nothing.'
A little less sleep doesn't kill you.
How do I know? I wish I didn't.
"Alright, if you're sure. But Damon..."
"Yes?"
"Even if you like Ailin that much, don't you think serving that delicious cooking to her parents first, instead of us, is a bit much?"
Deborah looked genuinely upset. I sat there with my mouth agape, like I'd been punched in the solar plexus.
Damn it.
There were plenty of nitpicks to latch onto.
But I'd learned that apologies came first in situations like this.
"I'm sorry. I should've served you and Dad first, of course. I'll make it for you next time I have the chance."
"Good, you better. It's just so surprising. When did you learn to cook? Were my skills not that great after all? Ho ho."
Hey, I'm not done talking yet.
But I wasn't given the floor.
"If you're done eating, get up. Lots to do."
The family head, who'd been silent until now, finally spoke.
Hans had scared me pretty good, but today's workload wasn't actually that heavy.
We weren't going into the forest, which saved a ton of time.
"Don't stack them so tight. Space the ones over there out more."
"Yes, sir."
Today's task was drying chopped firewood—a simple repetitive job, way easier than chopping and hauling logs.
But just spreading it out in the sun wasn't enough. It required real skill, which is why regular households couldn't do it.
That's how woodcutters like us made our money.
Bonus: drying made the wood lose moisture and get much lighter, easier to transport.
"Got it, Damon? When drying firewood, the key is spacing them out enough for air to circulate."
"Yes, Father."
Outside, Hans turned unusually chatty.
Why did his words feel heavier than usual today? And he seemed to be explaining more than normal.
Must be my imagination.
Just as that uneasy feeling hit me—
"Finished quicker than expected. Heading to the inn again today?"
Oof.
Coming in hot.
"...No."
We'd wrapped up early, so there was still time before evening.
But today, I had other business.
"Gonna swing by the forest before sunset, then head to the apothecary."
"Apothecary?"
Hans raised his tone questioningly. The forest part was fine, apparently.
More importantly, hmm.
'What do I do? Should I just tell him the truth?'
The reason for the apothecary was to take the herbs I'd gathered and ask what they were.
But how would Hans react to that?
To make it easier: how would a macho, muscle-bound father react to his equally burly son squatting by the roadside like some village woman, picking mugwort?
Sure, in 21st-century Korea, no big deal.
'Or is it?'
Anyway, this was medieval times. A romance fantasy with rigid gender norms to boot.
I might be overreacting, but I definitely felt a bit guilty and not entirely aboveboard about it right now.
"Hmph."
Before I could answer, Hans let out a snort, nodded as if realizing something, and said,
"I see."
Pardon?
See what?
I hadn't said anything yet.
"Blood will out, huh."
"Uh... not sure what you mean."
"Go to the apothecary, no problem. Just keep it from Colton's ears."
What the hell does that mean?
Keep going to the apothecary a secret from Colton?
Why?
"...Why?"
No answer came.
He'd pulled the classic dad "ears closed" move, and Hans did it especially well.
Uh...
I never figured out the reason, but not having to explain myself in detail was a win for me.
As mentioned, I detoured to the forest before the apothecary.
Sure enough, wild herbs were everywhere, some standing out more than others.
"Hey, you look just like rosemary. Are you rosemary?"
Sniff sniff.
The scent was familiar too, so probably, but I'd confirm at the apothecary for sure.
In this uncivilized medieval world, eating random stuff could be fatal.
Sure, we'd discovered how to eat bracken thanks to some brave souls' sacrifices, but I had zero interest in joining them.
"Oh, you're a dead ringer for basil."
I was muttering to myself nonstop while gathering herbs when—
"That'll kill you if you eat it."
Whoa!
The sudden voice startled me into falling flat on my butt.
Someone was here?
I hadn't sensed a thing.
And it was a woman's voice. Melodious, like a song.
"Didn't mean to scare you. You okay?"
I looked up and saw the voice's owner. My jaw dropped.
'An... elf?'