An Offer You Can't Refuse
They say that when something completely unimaginable suddenly strikes, the mind freezes for a moment.
That was exactly the state Karem found himself in right now.
In the middle of eating castella that suited her appearance perfectly—out of nowhere?
For starters, Karem decided the proposal wasn't a bad one.
Just thinking about carving everything out from absolute zero with no foundation at all was enough to make his head throb. On the other hand, if someone hired him, at least he wouldn't have to worry about grinding it out from the absolute bottom of the bottom. And if that someone happened to be a mage, well, that said everything.
"Could you at least tell me the reason first? It's so sudden I'm a bit flustered…"
"Hmm, I suppose springing it without any warning was rather abrupt. First, another piece of castellan with meringue on it."
"It's castella, not castellan—anyway. Please wait just a moment."
Karem gave up on correcting her and promptly brought a forkful to Catherine's lips. After eating the castella, she lightly tapped the table with her finger. Of all the expressions Karem had seen while preparing her meals so far, this was by far the most satisfied.
"The first reason is entirely for your sake."
"Yes? For my sake?"
"Think about it. An exceptionally skilled orphan with no connections whatsoever walks into a kitchen. Do you really think the people already there will welcome that?"
There was no such thing as a fixed stone that liked a rolling one. Kitchens might be heavily influenced by skill, but precious few would look kindly on an orphan with zero backing. Put bluntly, it was the perfect setup for getting hazed.
"They'd hate it."
"Exactly. Aside from a handful of good-natured types or priests, the only places that like orphans are backwater rural villages."
"Yes? Villages like orphans?"
"No backing, perfect to work until they drop, right?"
"Ah. That kind of story."
He understood what she meant. Remote villages like that were always plagued by labor shortages. An orphan they could work like livestock without any repercussions would be more than welcome. Moston Village, where Karem had been born, had orphans worked like oxen too. Strictly speaking, of course, Karem's parents were still alive and well in the village, so he wasn't an orphan. But having severed every tie and fled, he was as good as one.
"They'd treat you like a cow that just rolled into the ranch on its own, crowing about what a windfall it was."
"Here's the second reason. Suppose you get kicked out by that kind of ladder-kicking and set up some shabby outdoor stall. Do you think anyone would be happy about that?"
"Well… no one except the scary uncles in the back alleys, I suppose."
"Right. Work inside a kitchen and you're staff. Go independent and you're the enemy. And do you honestly think you could join a guild?"
Every city had its guilds. Borderster was no exception—there were all kinds, and of course a chefs' guild for those running businesses out of inns and taverns. Belonging to one would ease the problems she'd mentioned, at least a little.
"This is probably impossible, but… could I join the chefs' guild somehow?"
"You've already got the answer in your head. What benefit does a guild get from taking in an orphan? Even if you managed to join and ended up working in a tavern kitchen, an inn, or a restaurant, the issues I just listed would still crop up. A nail that sticks out gets hammered down."
Of course, if someone tried to mess with him and he latched on like a mad dog until they avoided him out of sheer disgust, maybe it would be different. But even before his reincarnation, Karem had neither talent nor desire for those kinds of emotional brawls—and that hadn't changed now.
"So the third reason. I like new things. And I like sweet things too."
"Yes, that much I understand."
Karem looked down at the cutting board that now held nothing but crumbs, save for the single piece left on the plate. The castella he had cut and piled high had vanished completely. The culprit was obvious. Every time she opened her mouth wide—plain this time, meringue the next—she had single-handedly polished off an entire loaf.
"Isn't this several times the amount Lady Atanitas usually eats?"
"Ha. Just this much? Women have a separate stomach for dessert—it's a law of nature."
"No, the capacity seems completely different… never mind."
Catherine looked ready to keep going for quite a while. There was still plenty of castella baked, so it didn't matter. Karem flipped the mold and prepared another loaf cut to the same size as before.
"Mm, satisfying—wait. No. Listen carefully, kid."
"Uh, just let me finish cutting these first. Yes."
Well, that was certainly important. Food wasn't only about taste; appearance mattered too. Catherine preferred the neat, pretty pieces over the crushed ones.
"Yes, all cut."
"Ahem. Here's the real issue. Do you know what matters most to intelligent beings with long lifespans—whether born that way or made that way?"
"Getting bored easily, I suppose?"
"Oh? You actually got it. Unexpected."
Of course he would know. Immortal dragons and undying vampires going mad for entertainment had been a classic cliché since ancient times.
"Yes. Unlike ordinary people, for long-lived beings like me, even a fortune is less important than filling the interest and fun right in front of us."
"Hmm. That seems like the kind of statement that would split opinions."
"This isn't about likes or dislikes. It's about stimulation."
"Stimulation."
"Can you even begin to guess how many loaves of bread I've eaten since the day I was born?"
At the casually dropped heavyweight remark, Karem immediately shook his head. He couldn't even count the bowls of grain porridge he'd eaten in this life—if he could have managed that, he never would have been a serf.
"Exactly. No matter how fascinating something is, if you encounter it over and over it dulls until you feel nothing at all. That's why new stimulation matters more than anything to people like me."
"So right now, that interest is pointed at my cooking?"
"I like delicious things. Sweet desserts even more. And on top of that, you keep showing me desserts I've never once seen before."
When Catherine pointed at the plate with her chin, Karem promptly cut and served more castella.
"Yum. And you're quick on the uptake, too. Anyway, kid—the foods you've shown me so far that I've never seen. Surely there are still ones you haven't revealed yet?"
"Weeeell—"
Of course there were. Karem's path had been the classic one: someone who loved eating and eventually started cooking for himself. Once he settled in, he would rewatch cooking documentaries and shows for hours on end and recreate everything; he remembered most of it. His tastes had leaned more toward foreign dishes than domestic ones, but still.
"Just from that reaction, it's painfully obvious you know a considerable number of dessert recipes."
"Umm. Caught red-handed."
"Yes. So I want your cooking skills."
Someone might have sneered at him for not accepting on the spot, and Karem's own chest fluttered with temptation. At the same time he felt suspicion, a sense of burden, and something else—an emotion he couldn't quite put into words. It wasn't reluctance about traveling to the freezing cold of Iceland that Catherine was headed for. It was simply… to be scouted and persuaded this blatantly?
After staring at the fork and thinking for a moment, Karem simply closed his eyes and spoke.
"Couldn't you just order me?"
"Hm?"
"Well… even if my cooking is excellent, putting this much effort into hiring a mere runaway serf feels burdensome. Unbelievable. Something like that."
Then he carefully lifted his head to gauge her reaction—and found Catherine's face openly saying, what on earth is this kid talking about.
"…Kid. Now I know exactly how you've been looking at me this whole time."
"Uh, yes!? No, that's not what I—!"
Catherine glared at him with a stiff expression, then immediately lightened the mood as if it had all been a joke.
"Well, explaining further is a hassle, so let's just do it this way."
"Yes?"
She rummaged inside the cloak she still hadn't taken off even indoors, grabbed a handful of something, and lightly set it on the table the way a gambler places chips—with a soft clack.
Coins too large to hide under a thumb. Rough-edged but overall round gold coins. The largest sum of money Karem had ever handled in this life. Small crown gold pieces stacked into a little tower.
"First, kid. Considering your age—annual salary of six crowns."
"!"
"In exchange, a private room you can stay in, plus furniture provided."
"!!"
"Salary adjustments twice a year to account for rising prices."
"!!!"
"Raises based on years of service and performance."
"!!!!"
"Duties: exclusive chef concurrent with exclusive attendant."
"I've wanted to go to Iceland for a long time, Lady Atanitas. Is there anything you're lacking?"
"Hmm. I should have done this from the beginning. This time, bring another piece with that meringue on top."
For the first time across both his previous life and this one, Karem thought it was a good thing he had died and been reborn. Even if this was a grubby medieval world, the pay and treatment so thoroughly outclassed his old income that they made it look like pocket change. As the firmly closed guards around his heart threatened to drop completely, a scrap of caution held him back. He must not let his guard down until a formal contract was written. Even if a contract was shoved at him later, there might be poison clauses; he would have to check every line carefully.
But what he needed to do right this second was obvious.
"How about spreading this honey thickly and then topping it with meringue before you try it?"
"Ooooh—right. There was honey."
The formal contract hadn't begun yet, but the battle had already started. He needed to score points with his future boss for the best possible conditions…!