Yes, It's the Baking Club - 4
It was a peculiar situation: a duke who had reached the pinnacle of magic had suddenly begun racing toward the pinnacle of baking. I couldn't help worrying that I might be the reason a perfectly sound person—an archmage who had carved her name into continental history—had veered off onto such a strange path.
"Isn't it fine, though? She's lived her whole life without a single hobby. She's finally found something she wants to do, even if it's late."
Margeta's words made a great deal of sense. Ordinarily the private lives of dukes were matters even the intelligence bureau handled with extreme caution, yet dukes were still people who lived in society, nobles who moved through high society. Hobbies and preferences inevitably leaked out bit by bit. As long as dukes weren't meeting only the blind, deaf, and mute, it was only natural.
Yet for the Demon Duke, even after reigning as a duchess for more than a hundred years, known information remained vanishingly scarce. In her youth she had deliberately avoided people's eyes because of her half-elf blood; after becoming a duke she had devoted her entire life to magic and kept almost no human relationships. What few relationships she did form often ended when the other party simply reached the end of their lifespan and died.
"How bored she must have been all that time. Her closest retainers dying first, the mages of her own era departing one by one… of course she threw herself into magic alone."
The pity in Margeta's voice made my chest ache of its own accord.
She was right. With an extremely narrow circle of acquaintances and the racial limitation of being unable to form deep attachments easily, the Demon Duke had shut herself away in the Magic Tower and poured everything into magic. That choice had earned her the name "Demon Duke," but it had also left her living a life without any proper hobby—an honorable life, yes, but a dull one.
"I never thought that far ahead."
My earlier mutterings about "Baking Duke" and the like suddenly felt shameful. If my future wife, who had known nothing but magic, had discovered joy in a new hobby, shouldn't I be celebrating? Instead I had looked at it as something strange.
I had thought calling her by name and even speaking casually meant I had cast off most of my prejudices toward the Demon Duke. In truth I was still full of them. I had simply decided that a noble duchess and dignified eldest elder concentrating on something as trivial as baking was unthinkable.
"Heh. Don't take it so much to heart. Un… unni wouldn't want to see Karl looking sorry, either."
When I stayed silent a moment, Margeta offered gentle comfort. The way she still stumbled a little over calling her "unni" almost made me laugh, but I held it in. Laughing here would probably send that hard-won title right back to "Demon Duke."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. So cheer her on from the side, and eat whatever she finishes. Telling her it's delicious would be even better."
"Of course I will."
No one with a heart would tell someone who had worked hard on food that it tasted bad. My own palate was fairly inexpensive to begin with; unless she deliberately threw in bizarre ingredients, I would eat it just fine—
…Bizarre ingredients?
Come to think of it, the person teaching the Demon Duke baking was Luise. And the original source of deliberately bizarre ingredients was none other than Luise herself. Those miracle ingredients that even the love-blinded club members of the year '77 season had been unable to swallow. Results I had only been able to eat because my own sense of taste had been thoroughly broken at the time.
Of course, considering how properly the club members had learned baking afterward, the Demon Duke would probably learn normally as well. Still, the possibility that Luise might go wild claiming she was passing on special secret techniques to her magic master wasn't entirely zero.
It'll be fine.
Yes, it would be fine. If the taste was off, I could just hold my breath and chew. A person just starting a hobby needed encouragement and support, not scolding and criticism.
— Knock knock.
"Margeta. May I come in?"
While I was steeling myself, Amelia's voice came with a knock.
"Yes, come in."
At Margeta's permission the door opened carefully. The plate in one hand was piled high with cookies; she must have hurriedly prepared them the moment she heard I had arrived.
Honestly I ate cookies often enough in the club room that they weren't necessary, but a guest refusing hospitality was simply rude. Besides, Amelia possessed the fragile commoner mentality that would pop if a noble so much as poked it, so one had to handle her with extra care.
"Hello, Chief of the Audit Department."
"Yes. It's been a while."
Still, it was a relief she had improved compared to last year. Back then she used to vibrate at the Demon Duke's ear level the moment she stood in front of me.
"You said you became treasurer, didn't you? Congratulations. Joining the Student Council in your second year and still managing that is impressive."
"Thank you. It's all thanks to you, Chief."
At the light, formal praise Amelia's waist bent to a perfect ninety degrees.
But I meant the "impressive" part sincerely. Officers were normally students who had worked for the Student Council since first year; Amelia had joined in second year and still claimed one of the officer seats outright. The classic case of a rolling stone dislodging a settled one. As expected of a genius who had entered the Academy as a commoner—her ability was excellent.
And the complete absence of any gossip behind her back suggested she had displayed ability so undeniable no one could object.
"As treasurer you'll do well no matter where I recommend you."
"Yes! I'll work hard!"
When I laid the foreshadowing for a recommendation letter, her answer came back far more vigorous than before.
In fact, the reason Amelia's trembling had settled compared to last year was exactly this. After watching last year's Student Council officers receive my recommendation letters and walk a silk road, her eyes too had begun to blaze with hope and ambition. A commoner student who hungered for advancement more than any other. From Amelia's perspective I was basically a walking treasure goblin.
Of course, from my perspective Amelia was a duck carrying a green onion. When someone begged that hard to be slotted into the civil service, of course I had to grant it.
A pair of talented sisters.
Even Olivia was already vice-captain of the Disciplinary Committee. Next year, once she evolved into Disciplinary Committee President, I could write her a recommendation letter for the military.
My heart was already racing. As expected, the Academy really was a gold mine.
The Discussion Club. A temporary holding facility into which students who had aimed for the Baking Club had been collectively accepted.
It was the club they had been guided to under the pretext of "come back after practicing if you can't bake," yet any student with even a little sense could tell it was a detention center. Everyone simply kept their mouths shut because the next Saint, Tanian, was the one who had arranged it; they followed only because the existing Baking Club members truly possessed baking ability.
Fortunately, in my case the disappointment was lighter. I had entered the Academy not to receive the Demon Duke's teachings but to serve His Highness Later.
"The Demon Duke will visit the Discussion Club room. Every day would be impossible, but it seems she'll come about once a week."
And since His Highness Later had given me this important piece of information, there was no need to feel let down either.
Truthfully, when I first failed to join the Baking Club I had felt a little resentful toward His Highness. I had come all this way without minding the distance just to serve him. We were not acquaintances of a day or two; we had known each other since childhood. Being lumped together with the other students and treated the same way—anyone who claimed they felt no hurt would be lying.
But His Highness truly did hold me in special regard. If he hadn't, he never would have personally told me information about the Demon Duke.
"So this is the Discussion Club?"
Thanks to that, when the Demon Duke first descended upon the Discussion Club, I alone was able to maintain my dignity while every other member went wild with excitement. That composure catching the Demon Duke's eye was an unexpected bonus.
"A mage must remain rational and keep their dignity at all times and places. You are already prepared."
Hearing those words, I felt as though I owned the world. To hear from the Demon Duke herself—from one who had reached the end of magic—that I was prepared. There could be no rarer praise in the world.
"What is your name?"
"Rachel Sorta of the Uven Alliance."
"Ah. So you're the child Prince Later mentioned."
When I learned that His Highness had even spoken my name to the Demon Duke, I nearly shed tears. As expected, His Highness had been thinking of me.
At any rate, from that day on the Demon Duke showed her face once a week. Even though we could receive her teachings for only half the club period rather than the full time, the members bowed their heads in gratitude. Mages outside the Academy could not receive even a single minute of her instruction; there was no room for complaint.
"Just listening to lessons will get boring. Everyone eat."
And on the last day of the week, as always, the Demon Duke came to the club and set a basket on the desk.
Cookies made into neat bite-sized pieces—food the Demon Duke had personally prepared. For mages it was truly an honor to receive such a gift, yet spending the time eating cookies when one could receive even one more sentence of teaching felt—
"I made them myself. I don't know if they'll suit your tastes."
If she had made them rather than bought them, then of course we had to eat.
In an instant the members' attitudes flipped; they swarmed the desk and snatched up cookies. That each person took only one rather than several was their last remaining shred of reason.
So the Demon Duke bakes as well.
It was astonishing. Someone I would have expected never to glance at anything but magic—someone who, even if she did bake, would surely do it with magic—had made cookies with her own hands.
In truth, a small dissatisfaction had lingered among the members ever since the Discussion Club was founded. As mages, symbols of intellect, we did not dislike discussion itself; the fundamental complaint was why we also had to learn baking. But now that it had been proven the Demon Duke herself baked, that complaint would vanish from today onward.
Hm?
While I was gratefully nibbling the cookie little by little, a sense of wrongness arose.
…My mana circulation sped up?
It was not my imagination. The speed of mana circulating through my body had increased. It felt as though blocked places had opened, as though the mana itself had grown smoother.
Why all of a sudden? Until a moment ago it had been completely normal.
Ah.
And the moment I swallowed the cookie that had been in my mouth, I understood the cause.
This was it. It was because of this cookie. The only factor different from usual was the cookie, and the effect had appeared the instant I swallowed it.
I hurriedly scanned the surroundings. Everyone else seemed to have noticed the phenomenon as well; some were quickly eating more cookies while others stared blankly at the Demon Duke. Interfering with mana using nothing more than a mere snack—such a realm of the heavens was something we could not even imagine.
Is this the level required to be called the Baking Club?
For a moment even that thought crossed my mind. Looking at the Demon Duke's faint smile, feeling the mana diligently circulating through my body, normal thought became impossible.
Everyone seems to be eating well. That must mean there's no problem with the taste.
I can give them to my little one.
A soft smile formed. At last I could give the cookies I had made to my little one; how could I not be happy?
My learning was still short, so bread or macarons or cakes were still beyond me—but greed would only prevent me from solidifying the basics. For now I should be satisfied with cookies.
He'll like them, won't he?
Imagining my little one eating them with joy, imagining him stroking my head and praising me, made my ears want to twitch.