The Evil Lady's Tea Party -3-
A satisfied smile spreads across my face. Watching everyone gathered in the kitchen, diligently making cookies, fills me with a sense of fulfillment rising like steam.
"Darbarb!"
"Khum. Call me 'honey,' dear."
"You make cookies like rice cakes and say that? You got scolded back when we were dating for making them like sticky rice balls, and you're doing it again?"
"Isn't more of everything just better?"
"Put that much in, and it's not cookies—it's chocolate!"
The harmonious couple seems to have regressed to their newlywed days.
"You know, Malik from the Histania family. The south has the best chocolate quality."
"I know. I also know the Gold Coin Merchant Group's chocolate is the finest."
"You don't know everything."
"Hm?"
"The new chocolate farm run by the Desmont family produces even better quality than the Gold Coin Merchant Group, which works laborers seven days a week for fourteen hours. Ours does it five days, eight hours—and we wring them out even harder."
"...Is this advertising?"
"No. Just bragging."
"I'd love to hear more details."
"Shall I tell you?"
The serious conversation between the two drab men is a nice sight too. Only one issue: Malik is treating the cookies like artworks, making me feel a bit threatened in my butler role—but hey, as long as we're enjoying it.
I flash a small smile and knead the dough on the table with my fist, shaping it.
Hmm.
The butler's desires are bubbling up after making cookies for the first time in ages. Already stimulated by Malik crafting dragon-shaped ones, I feel the terror of a master homemaker immersed in his craft. I gather aura at my fingertips.
Maximum efficiency.
Finely adjust the aura to create air bubbles, run a current through to boost the dough's elasticity... for the ultimate cookie...
How long did I focus, molding the dough into the form of the Eastern divine beast, the Azure Dragon? Then, odd noises started from beside me.
-Thwack!
"Eek."
-Pow!
"Eeek!"
I glance over at the Young Lady punching the dough.
"Eeeeeek!!!!"
Her face smeared with white dough, sniffling, she wipes her runny nose with the dough-covered hand, then furtively resumes kneading.
"Young Lady."
"Mm."
"Are you fighting the dough?"
"Mm."
Her simple reply makes an exclamation point pop up over my head, and I let out an enlightened "Aha."
"Why are you fighting it?"
"It keeps sticking to my hands."
"...?"
"It won't let go even when I tell it to. So I hit it."
I nod slightly and start peeling the dough off her hands. I gave her perfectly finished dough—how did it end up like this? Puzzled, I ask her.
"Did you add water?"
"Mm."
"Why? I measured the golden ratio for you."
"Adding water makes more."
"To share?"
She glares at me murderously.
"No. For me to eat."
"..."
"I'll share a little with Ricardo too."
I chuckle softly at her generosity and roll up my sleeves. A glutton like her, legally surrendering cookies—jackpot. I gently take her hands and coax the dough back to life in a soothing voice.
"You added too much water."
"Really?"
"Yes, that's why it's sticking to your hands."
"Oh..."
She nods, entrusting her hands to me. As the watery mess regains vitality, she snorts and shrugs her shoulders. Having revived the near-dead dough, I place it back on the table and nod, as if inviting her imagination to soar.
"There, good as new."
Snorting, she ignites her artistic soul. First, a fistful of chocolate topping.
"One..."
Two fistfuls.
"Two."
Three. I let out a hollow laugh at the topping piled sky-high. Its majestic heap defies description.
Sensing my thoughts, she peeks slyly, pouts, and declares,
"It's not poop."
"...How did you know?"
"..."
The Young Lady seems hopeless at cooking. As I scrape off some topping, I consolidate my opinion: chocolate, not cookies.
"I'm adding more."
"It'll all burn in the oven."
"..."
"Sprinkle it on after baking."
Our stubbornness aligns, forming a plausible cookie shape. Then, a timid woman's voice calls from the side.
"Um..."
I turn to see Yuria, dough smudged on her lips. Unlike the Young Lady, she's got talent—her cookies look decent. She cautiously offers a tray.
I smile faintly at the cookies on it.
"Something wrong?"
"Well... I made cookies, but I'm not sure if they're right. Can I bake them now?"
I nod at the bear-shaped dough.
"Yes. You're doing terribly."
"...Pardon?"
"It's too big. Way too big."
Yuria's hands are too big.
-Thud!
Tongue clicking at the massive cookie that won't fit on the tray—enough flour to empty the mansion's stores.
"Is it that big?"
"Yes. Even if everyone here stuck together, we couldn't finish it. Something this huge won't fit in the oven."
"Ah... It worked in the north."
"How did you bake it?"
"I lit a bonfire and put it over..."
"We don't call that cookies. We call it bread."
"Bread...?"
"Food from my hometown."
Yuria stares at her creation, question mark hovering above her head. Poking the dough timidly, lost on where it went wrong, I smile softly and step behind her.
"Eek?!"
"Hold still."
"Ah... ahh... Okay..."
I take her hands and breathe life into the lost dough.
"First, the bear face is too big. This size could swallow a goblin whole."
"Y-you're too close..."
"Making whiskers from dough is good, but carving them with a knife might work better."
"I-I'll try..."
"And..."
Mid-lecture, I notice her stiff shoulders and flushed ears, so I bow my head. Worried I upset her by ruining her heartfelt creation.
"Miss Yuria..."
"..."
"Miss Yuria?"
"Ah! Y-yes! I'm listening!"
She'd been flinching at my touch, but meeting my eyes, she beams and lifts her head.
"You're so kind, Mr. Ricardo..."
As she moves, a faint shampoo scent wafts up. I cover my mouth, face heating.
"N-no, not really."
Life feels rewarding. Like a proper transmigrator's existence, the world tinged pink.
Flowers in both hands.
This is life.
I suppress a rising grin and step back carefully. Too close isn't polite.
"Shape it like that. Call me anytime if you're unsure."
"Ah... I still don't know a lot."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Sorry for bothering you."
I gently wipe dough from her cheek and grin.
"Not 'sorry'—say 'thank you.' I prefer that."
"..."
Her face turns beet red.
"Butler!"
As my time with Yuria lingers, Hanna darts in, proudly showing her cookie and smiling. Strawberry dough for hair, sharply sculpted jawline—impeccable.
I chuckle and smile at her work.
"You eat this, right?"
"Yep."
"Puhaha! You did amazingly."
"Still far from the real thing."
"I didn't know I was this handsome."
"Liar—you say it every day."
"But it is true."
"...""
No reply. Both girls blush and nod faintly, embarrassing me. A snarky retort would've been less awkward. I grin awkwardly, take Hanna's cookie, and bow.
"Thank you."
Apron-clad Hanna sidles up cautiously.
"Making cookies is tough for a first time."
"Really? You did great for a beginner."
"Have you seen my brother?"
She glances at Malik, pouring his soul into a dragon cookie that looks ready to breathe fire. Hunched over, crafting delicate whiskers. I nod.
"Indeed."
Talent must be genetic. I smile and help Hanna.
And Shartia...
-Gom.
"What are you?"
-Goom.
"A real bear?"
-Gomgom.
"Haa... hand."
-Gom.
Was falling for a new cuteness.
"So cute..."
*
And so, the moment arrived for what I'd been waiting for—no, the main event of the tea party.
"This the place?"
I wander the mansion's bathhouse, checking for hazards. Can't risk any accidents. Absolutely not scouting peepholes—I'm here to prepare the bathwater in advance.
I swear on my conscience.