Respecting Preferences
Karem checked the oven, Corvus and Flora arrived right on time, and the dessert came out perfectly. The moment he finished serving it, he left the greenhouse.
"I'll be heading out now."
"Leaving already?"
"I have to go make lunch."
"For Lord Atanitas?"
"That's right."
Still, he couldn't help wondering if the anger had fully cooled yet. Of course the target wasn't him—it was Mary—but walking into a place where someone had been, or still was, furious always felt a little awkward.
That was probably why his steps toward the Mage's Tower felt heavier than usual, even with the basket of fruit Corvus had foisted on him at the last second.
No, wait. Why should I feel awkward?
The object of that fury was clearly and unmistakably Mary.
Karem was closer to the victim. No—he was the victim.
Mary was the one who wrecked the atmosphere.
Honestly, it had been a shame.
Alicia had been there first, of course.
But Alicia couldn't be blamed.
She had, to her credit, realized that the mood was about to shatter because of her and tried to smooth things over.
Whether it worked or not didn't matter—that was admirable.
If anyone deserved blame, it was himself and Catherine for momentarily forgetting Alicia was there.
Besides, she's a noble lady. You can't get angry at her.
Round and round it went, and in the end the cause was Mary.
She was the one who had stomped flat an atmosphere already on the verge of collapse.
That said, he wasn't actually angry with her.
Whether he had simply missed the window to get mad or the steam had already gone out of it, he wasn't sure.
More importantly, Catherine would already have handed down a punishment. No—this was the second time Mary was being disciplined. That meant the penalty would be even harsher.
Honestly, Mary would probably wipe any ordinary punishment off her face with a cheerful smile and finish it in one go. Taking that into account, the only discipline Karem could think of that would actually count as punishment for her was one thing.
Forced vacation. In other words, rest.
Even thinking it himself felt absurd.
Does that even count as a punishment?
Ridiculous. Rest and punishment—two words that should never go together. Karem absently scratched his temple.
Brownie or not, Mary was a severe workaholic.
Other people might have seen otherwise, but Karem, at least, had never once caught her sleeping, let alone resting.
An endless cycle of all-nighters and overtime. If she was that kind of self-proclaimed work addict, then yes—rest really would count as punishment.
"That's just ridiculous."
Some people would hand in their resignation just to get rest and vacation, and here she was receiving it as discipline—and forced, at that.
Every overworked laborer, past life and present, would be left speechless.
Well, maybe I'm wrong.
Even for a workaholic, giving vacation as punishment...
But there really wasn't anything else that would actually feel like a penalty.
"I... received a vacation..."
Mary closed her eyes as if the news were tragic.
Mary's punishment was vacation. Exactly as expected, and yet he still couldn't understand it. Couldn't accept it.
"For about three days I'll be solely in charge of Lady Atanitas's meals and snacks."
"After finally getting my work back..."
"It's only three days."
"Truly tragic."
"During that same period Narche will handle the cleaning, laundry, and odd jobs, but I'm still supposed to make the meals and snacks the mages will eat?"
She had been nodding along, then suddenly covered her mouth, looking genuinely devastated. He had never seen her wear her sorrow so openly before.
As Mary left the office, Karem turned away from her, set down the tray, and asked just to be sure.
"How is that a vacation in any sense of the word?"
"Originally I meant to force her to take three full days off and do absolutely nothing."
Catherine was still sitting in the same place he had seen her earlier. A magical breeze stirred her golden hair so it swayed like a curtain while her eyes remained closed.
"What kind of vacation in the world involves working?"
"Kid. Do you really think I didn't try to ban every single task for three days, just like you said?"
"And?"
Catherine let out a long sigh and shook her head.
"How do you think I felt watching her sprawl on the floor and beg me to spare her that much at least?"
"Huh."
"She even told me to just let her collapse from overwork instead."
"Setting aside whether that's even possible... so you reached a compromise."
"I told her I'd freeze her solid and seal her away for three days. Only then did she grudgingly accept. That cheeky little—"
Karem was about to lift the cover off the tray when he glanced back. Mary shot him a thumbs-up. Catherine snorted, clearly at the end of her patience.
"Want me to cancel everything and seal you instead?"
"For the hungry mages, I'll be taking my leave!"
What exactly did work mean to a house elf?
No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't figure it out.
"Wait. Then does that mean I have to handle the serving as well?"
"Should I make the one being punished do it instead?"
Well, she had a point. Still... serving her personally.
Karem suddenly felt as if his skin were floating.
"...Kid. Catching a cold or something?"
"No. I'm perfectly calm and collected right now."
"You're getting redder by the second."
"Let's just start with lunch."
Pfft—
Karem covered the soft laugh with words as he removed the cover. The office, which had been filled only with conversation, suddenly filled with the sound of sizzling juices and oil, like raindrops pattering down.
"Ha. Dragging it out all this time... finally?"
"Sorry it took so long to get the hang of it."
"Of course it should."
In that short span, a refreshing fragrance—like walking through a forest—spread through the office, filling nose and mouth and seeping into every part of the body.
Not to be outdone, the meat released its own bright, savory, rich yet multifaceted aroma. A blunt, droplet-shaped delicacy.
Mammoth trunk steak, butter melting over the top, sat on the plate alongside sautéed mushrooms, apple chutney, and gravy.
While admiring the cut preserved in its most delicious state, Catherine suddenly furrowed her brow.
He said he ate this with other people first, didn't he?
Of course Karem had asked for permission beforehand.
Iona, Jigmeser, and Alfred, who had butted in midway.
As a bonus, since he was going to try it anyway, he had said he would learn how to cook it from the person in the castle who grilled steak best.
The reason was sound enough.
That didn't make the sulky feeling go away.
Too much time had already passed.
"If you had any shame about tasting it before your master..."
"I asked for permission in advance."
"So you threw a party with this delicacy?"
"May I offer a small excuse?"
"No."
She's teasing me because she found a weak spot, isn't she? As if confirming the thought, Catherine, who had been staring at him with a sullen expression, suddenly smirked.
"Then let's see just how well you learned."
Catherine pointed with her chin at the seat right beside her. Karem pulled a chair over and sat at her side.
He really did learn it properly.
Deep brown and golden brown.
The mammoth trunk steak, wearing two kinds of crust in perfect harmony, still glistened with juices and butter that hadn't yet been absorbed.
Scrrrk, sizzle—crack—
Every time the knife moved, the steak split with a crisp sound.
From the pale-pink flesh revealed between the cuts, juices flowed out, refusing to mix with the butter and oil and instead pooling on the plate in clear, distinct domains.
"Mammoth trunk. It's been a while."
"You've had it before?"
"Only a handful of times."
Come to think of it, this person was supposed to be around three hundred years old. Source: Olivier.
Having lived that long, she would have tasted even the rarest delicacies a few times.
"You're thinking something rude."
"I didn't say a word."
"I can tell. It's written all over your face."
"Anyway, just the steak, right?"
This cheeky little brat. Catherine wordlessly smacked Karem on the head as he sat beside her.
Still embarrassing, still awkward, still that strange feeling. But all of it was milder than before.
Funny enough, it was all thanks to Mary.
The best way to change the atmosphere was for a third party to barge in and flip the table.
In that sense, Mary's contribution was undeniable.
It just made her even more annoying.
Haah— Catherine naturally accepted the piece of steak that came up to her lips.
"Yes. This is the taste."
Even before she chewed, the juices that flooded her mouth refused to stay still; the flavors shifted in rapid succession.
Every time her teeth tore through the grain of the meat, the chewy texture seemed to match the crisp crust, only to suddenly unravel along the fibers a moment later and release an explosive burst of beefy aroma.
All the while, flavors so intense they could almost be mistaken for taste itself—bright, savory, and meltingly rich—flowed together without a single break.
And yet...
"Still not my preference."
"It tas—wait, what? You're saying it's not—"
"No, that's not what I mean."
Catherine spoke with a perfectly calm face.
"It's too much. The texture is good, but the aroma is so varied that it ends up feeling neither here nor there. It just bothers me."
She paused mid-cut and snapped her fingers right in front of the still-frozen Karem's eyes.
"So don't get the wrong idea. I simply prefer other cuts far more than mammoth trunk. It's just preference. Preference."
"Then why did you give me such a hard time for not roasting the trunk for you?"
"Ah. That has nothing to do with preference."
"Nothing to do with it..."
"Eating a delicacy while leaving your master out of it? That's just cheeky."
So it had just been simple grumbling. Then again, her reaction had been far too clean for mere spite.
"Well, it's been a while, but as expected... the aroma is still too much. Even after all this time, it's the same."
"Shall I clear it and bring something else?"
"No. I'm eating everything you cooked."
Karem placed a spoonful of apple chutney on the steak.
Delicacy or not, if it wasn't to her taste, there was nothing to be done.
A failure that wasn't quite a failure, after a long time.
"Nom. More importantly, what is Jigmeser planning to make?"
"Jigmeser, ma'am? Make what?"
"The King Frost. I personally handed it over."
"Ahh. That. He still hasn't decided."
"Hm?"
Catherine tilted her head with a crooked look, then shook it.
"No. It makes sense. Even if it's a Jack Frost that froze solid, it's still one giant block of ice. Deciding exactly what to carve it into would be awkward."
"So he asked me to help a little with the concept."
Karem shrugged, still holding the utensils.
"There are dishes made from ice or that use ice, but I don't know much about them either, so I've been stuck."
"Hmm. Kid. Both you and Jigmeser seem to be overcomplicating it."
"Pardon? Overcomplicating?"
"Before that—steak. With mushrooms."
Karem obediently placed a piece of steak topped with sautéed mushrooms and held it out.
"Mm. What do you think decorative cuisine is?"
"Well... cuisine that cares more about looks?"
"Exactly. Not the food—the looks. To put it bluntly, you don't have to care about the taste at all. Just the shape, the appearance. That's the kind of dish it is. Actually, you don't even need to make a dish. Using the King Frost itself as a vessel would be more than enough."
"Ohh."
If taste didn't matter, the job became simple.
And just now Catherine had even given him the idea.
"The idea you just mentioned, Lady Atanitas. May I use it?"
"What, using the King Frost as a vessel?"
Catherine waved a hand as if to say do whatever he liked.
"By the way, I suppose I'll have to sell my share of the trunk to my lord."
"Or I could try cooking it differently next time."
"Hm? Let's hear it."
"Something called sanjjeok. A dish from my previous life. I was thinking of using mammoth trunk—"
Catherine showed clear interest, as if she had just heard something fascinating.
Attached Materials
— Steak —
— Karem's Idea —
Source: Roughly sketched by the author.