Business Preparations
"I am preparing for business, I declare."
"Welcome home, young master."
The moment he stepped into the room filled with antique furniture, a familiar servant's voice greeted him.
"Yeah, I'm back."
He answered with that ever-present grin of his.
Roen Lacroix—one of the successor candidates to the vast merchant coalition known as Libra—was a man who always wore a light smile. Part of it was deliberate; the habit projected a positive impression. More precisely, though, it was an excellent way to conceal whatever he was truly feeling.
Even emotion was a card to be played. That was a merchant's virtue. So the easy smile was nothing more than a poker face honed by relentless practice—a technique like any other.
"You seem to be in especially good spirits today, young master."
At those words, Roen let the smile fall away.
"That obvious, was it?"
"Yes. You looked far more pleased than usual."
A pointed observation. Coming from a mere servant, it might have been considered rather impertinent.
"Sorry. Guess I let myself slip a little."
Even so, Roen offered a light apology. He was no noble to begin with, and he understood that a servant was simply doing his job to the best of his ability. This was a form of training. Competing for the successor's seat meant every ordinary gesture of his was under evaluation—and the watchful eyes placed even in the one place he ought to rest most freely were part of that same design.
"Ahaha. Fair enough. Today really was a pretty enjoyable day."
Now that he had been found out, there was no point pretending. Roen finally dropped the act, sprawled across the bed, and let a genuine smile show.
"What happened, if I may ask?"
"That old school building kitchen I had my eye on earlier. Someone's already using it."
Carmilla de Valin.
He remembered the name itself. Before academy enrollment, his father had handed him a list of incoming students, and he had skimmed past it. In the social circles where he occasionally appeared, he had never heard particularly glowing reviews of her either. Just another ordinary girl, he had assumed—until he actually met her and spoke with her.
"Ah… she was a rather bold young woman."
Noble young ladies of this age usually fell into one of two types. The first were those rushed through a crash course in becoming proper ladies, shoved out into the world, and forced to wear an ill-fitting mask of refinement. The second were those who had never received such schooling yet possessed an innate grace befitting a true lady. By Roen's measure, Carmilla belonged firmly to the latter.
"I already knew the academy lunches were terrible, but to go so far as to raise a banner of rebellion against the Goddess herself… how should I put it? It was refreshing."
More accurately, she was something of a revolutionary. The frugal Goddess's will was clear, and yet this girl intended to defy it simply because she could not endure bad food. Living in this land, he had never before heard such blasphemous words.
"So I offered to take her on as my personal chef. She refused that too. In short, she's not the type to be bound by money."
"A rare experience for you, young master—being turned down by a woman."
"Mm. She looked me straight in the face and didn't so much as flinch. What kind of woman is she, really? I found myself a little curious."
To Roen, she was a species he had never encountered before. Unmoved by faith, by money, or even by good looks, she simply meant to walk her own path. Just what, then, could possibly move a person like that?
"So I asked her what she wanted to do. She said she was going to open a little eatery."
"…An eatery, you say?"
"The food's bad, so she'll cook it herself, I suppose. Well, I never actually tasted what she made, but the smell alone was something else. It almost seduced even that stickler Elise."
Heh… hahaha…
Remembering that ridiculous sight, Roen laughed outright. The same Elise whose convictions had never bent even for vast sums of money had nearly been conquered by the aroma of roast pork. That gap was somehow both endearing and full of holes.
"So I invested in her. Two hundred gold."
"That is no small sum."
The average monthly allowance of an ordinary noble scion was around ten gold. With that much, a certain degree of luxury and dignity could be maintained, so two hundred gold was by no means trivial—especially for a student to put forward on the spot.
"No. This was after a bit of haggling. She read the investment contract carefully and pointed out every clause she wanted changed—including the poison pills I'd cleverly buried in it."
Honestly, he had been surprised. The ability to read and interpret a contract was not something one expected from academy students who still lacked any real-world experience.
"A rather fascinating person, then."
"Right? So instead of giving fifty and taking a hundred fifty, I decided to give two hundred and take two hundred."
"A wise decision."
Roen's scales had tipped. Handing over two hundred gold only to receive two hundred back was, in effect, an interest-free loan of the investment capital—a deal with no real profit. He was a merchant who never made such "fair" trades, yet somehow, with this one, he judged that the scales of gain and loss were already leaning heavily in his favor.
"Forming a connection with someone like that is far more valuable."
There were people in the world who were not so predictable. Heretics who refused to live contentedly within the given system and instead strove to change the world itself. His father had always said: if you ever find such people, bind them with debt by any means necessary. Debt gives you a reason to meet; a reason to meet means you can make use of them. In that light, this deal had been an extraordinarily cheap bargain.
"I'm looking forward to it. Just what kind of waves that girl is going to make… Haaah."
Roen smiled in satisfaction. Even before academy life had properly begun, he had already reaped something worth calling a harvest. Truly, this was St. Celestia Academy, where the world's talents gathered. With that quiet admiration, he slipped, without even realizing it, into an afternoon nap.
In the dream, a savory fragrance drifted. He searched his memory for the scent and then understood. It was the aroma of the pork Carmilla had roasted in the old school kitchen. He had asked for just one bite, but she had refused him coldly, calling it punishment for the poison clauses in the contract. Displeased, he had snatched the plate and taken a mouthful—yet though he could recall the smell, no memory of the taste remained. The food was clearly in his mouth, but he could taste nothing at all.
Chewing that flavorless nothing, he suddenly thought: how terribly regrettable, not to know this taste. But what of it? The moment he opened his eyes, the dream would vanish. That was the nature of fleeting things.
A broom, a mop, and a bucket of water.
Not the most welcome of companions, yet today I needed them. A thorough cleaning was in order.
"Well then, let us charge ahead with vigor!"
The place I was cleaning was an old building. Judging by the few tables left in the hall and the kitchen beyond, it had once been used as an eatery. What stood out were the facilities that had been left behind: one oven, a couple of burners, and a sink. The setup vaguely reminded me of the old school kitchen, except the cookware—frying pans and the like—was badly damaged and would have to be replaced.
The silver lining was that when I tested the oven and burners, they still worked properly. With a good scrubbing, they would be perfectly usable.
Having made that assessment, I raised the mop as though charging into battle.
The grueling labor of cleaning finally ended several hours later.
"Phew… I have somehow managed it."
After endless wiping and tidying, the place finally looked fit for human habitation. The dust-caked tables turned out to be polished wood with a decent sheen. The creaking door, once cleaned and oiled, opened and closed with a satisfying smoothness. There had been no lighting at all, but a few inexpensive glowstones I brought in lent the room a surprisingly pleasant atmosphere. As for the kitchen, it was clean enough. After I scrubbed the rusted, grease-caked burners and oven until they nearly shone, the place was so spotless that even if a hygiene inspector existed in this world, they would have nothing to complain about—unless a rat decided to make an appearance. Not a single corner had escaped my hands. I was confident.
"Well then… shall I rest a little?"
To test the freshly cleaned burners as well, I filled a pot with water and set it on the flame. A light infusion of mana brought the heat up quickly—most satisfying. I poured the boiling water into a cup to warm it, then dropped in a tea bag, covered it, and let it steep slowly.
When I opened the window, a breeze from the now-darkening street cooled the sweat on my skin. Sinking into a chair and letting the cool air wash over me, I felt my stiff joints stretch out with a pleasant ache.
"Aah… I'm melting away…"
Whoever chose this place, it was cozy and rather nice.
Well, I chose it myself, though.
Come to think of it, securing a building like this had been something close to a miracle of fate. That fellow Roen I met in the kitchen had casually offered two hundred gold. Of course, the original contract had basically said "I'll exploit you for fifty gold!" so I politely demanded revisions. He admitted his fault and ended up investing two hundred under much better terms.
What I chose with that money was a building with a monthly rent of twenty gold. The structure itself was old, but it was less than a five-minute walk from the academy, so the location was solid. Considering that a properly equipped building farther away cost fifty gold a month, this was a bargain.
"Mm… the aroma is lovely…"
I took a sip of the black tea. A pleasant fragrance filled my mouth. At the same time, I began sorting through tomorrow's tasks in my head and winced at the expenses still to come. Combining the funds I already had with the investment, I had roughly two hundred gold left. My original survival money had multiplied tenfold, and I even had a building with a kitchen—yet the real issue was customers. To attract a clientele made up mostly of nobles, I needed the very first guests to spread word of mouth. The ones I would have to win over were probably…
Rustle.
"Hm? I hear someone…"
The sound cut through my thoughts. It seemed to come from outside the window. I carefully opened the door and stepped out—
—only to find a certain ball of fur collapsed on the ground.
"Human. I'm hungry."