The Grumpy Archmage's Venting

Mente's Affair.

Whether it was exactly the same as the mint of his previous life, mint remained an ingredient that split people into two fiercely opposing camps.

Mint lovers were always quick to point out that in any shop that sold it—ice cream parlors especially—chocolate-mint ice cream never dropped out of the top five best-sellers. But there was a hidden trap in that claim. When a mint enthusiast walked into a store, they almost invariably ordered whatever used mint, ignoring every other option on the menu.

Karem himself was no mint-hater. In fact, he rather liked it—so long as it stayed in desserts. The way mint cut through the rich, heavy sweetness of chocolate was a marriage made in heaven, if he was allowed a little hyperbole. Honestly? It was a good flavor. If he had to pick a side, he was firmly on the "like" side.

Mint salad, though? Mint pancakes? Mint tea? Lamb shanks marinated in mint? He wasn't against using mint in cooking. He was against recipes where mint hijacked the entire dish and made itself the star. Mint tea was also off the table.

A chef, however, is fundamentally a craftsman. The only difference is one of degree: every chef carries confidence and pride, and both swell the higher the position rises.

"Ha! You should be grateful I even offered it for free! Barging into my kitchen like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this—how dare you! The sheer rudeness! Get out this instant!"

And if that chef happened to be the head of the café inside the inner castle, overseeing every menu item? Mathieu—trained abroad—was furious at the sudden uninvited guest.

It wasn't even something he had wanted to make! The café's proprietress had simply decided to chase the latest trend, imported some herb from across the sea on the continent, and steeped it. To have his domain invaded over a fad he had never even heard of, for a dish that wasn't his own, was more than enough reason for a head chef to explode.

Yet Mathieu's rage did not last long.

Because the intruder left? No. Karem stayed right where he was.

Because the junior cooks threw the interloper out? They were just about to.

That was when the café's proprietress rushed in and ordered him to let the stranger use the kitchen for a moment. Naturally Mathieu hated it. This was a kitchen closed to outsiders. Instead of calling the guards on the spot, she was lending the place to an intruder!

But the command of his employer—and the one who paid the bills—was absolute. Grumbling, Mathieu yielded the kitchen.

That did not mean he had given up. If the result failed to satisfy him, the Berseingeto method of ejecting unwelcome guests would be unleashed... yet the giant carrot the size of an adult's calf that Mathieu had prepared never saw use.

"...You only put mint into vanilla ice cream. How does it have this kind of flavor?"

"Mint—Mente—belongs in desserts. You eat it cold."

Mathieu held the spoon he had just pulled from his mouth and stared down at the bowl of mint-vanilla ice cream. He had no room to spare for the words of this uninvited guest, the personal chef of one of the café's patrons. Something far more important demanded his attention.

"Uh... Chef? So... should we throw him out?"

"Throw him out? What nonsense!"

He had definitely taken a full spoonful. After that much, some trace should have remained even after it melted. The characteristic sweet fragrance of vanilla. The soft texture and rich flavor of ice cream. None of those sensations lingered anywhere on his tongue or inside his mouth. Only a gentle coolness swirled there, leaving an endless sense of longing.

To soothe his disappointed tongue, Mathieu hummed happily through his nose and scooped another generous helping. The ice cream—so pale a green it almost looked white—had already begun to melt slowly and gently under the kitchen's heat in that short time. The instant a droplet of melted ice cream gathered at the tip of the spoon—

"...Mmm!"

Mathieu shoved the whole spoon into his mouth at once. The same sensation he had felt the first time began to melt inside his mouth again. Cold cream seeped sweetly and softly between the papillae of his tongue and his teeth. As the ice cream melted, the mellow vanilla stretched deep into his throat and nose, trying to leave a lasting mark.

Fwaaaaaaah—

An intense, refreshing aroma began to shove everything aside. The cool fragrance of Mente's Affair arrived a beat later, surging forward like successive waves and driving out the vanilla and cream. Starting from the tongue, it filled his nose, his sinuses, the deepest part of his head. It ran down his throat until he could feel the exact shape of his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠uvula, his lungs, even his stomach.

The original vanilla and cream joined forces against the sudden invader and tumbled about, but the final result was the same as before.

Victory for Mente's Affair.

True to its name of "affair," Mente's Affair ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠won. The coolness that had pushed aside the vanilla and cream remained inside his body even after the rest faded, leaving a lingering aftertaste that was both slightly sharp and thoroughly refreshing.

"...Haa. It's so light."

"Will you admit it now?"

Mathieu tried to glare at the smug Karem, but he could only squeeze his eyes shut. He had first encountered Mente's Affair less than three days ago. It was far too soon to draw any firm conclusions. At least one thing, however, was certain: when it came to desserts, eating it cold was the correct way.

Mathieu recalled the refreshing hot swill the café proprietress had ordered, the stuff that had been boiled in the kitchen and served to every guest in the hall. Then he took another taste of the vanilla ice cream laced with Mente's Affair that this stranger calling himself Karem had just demonstrated, fixing the flavor in his mind once more. Still sweet, still soft, still mellow, still refreshing, and clean all the way to the finish.

"But we haven't even tried it in other dishes, let alone desserts—"

He still could not simply concede. He was the head chef of this kitchen. His subordinates were watching. More than that, a Berseingeto native's instinctive refusal to accept a Seophon person's logic was hard-wired into him.

"And there's something called affogato—"

"Tell me more about that!"

Such concerns were nothing beside a new horizon of flavor. Completely unbothered by the awkward stares of the kitchen staff, Mathieu grabbed the shoulders of the smiling Karem—who looked as if everything had gone exactly to plan—and shook him.

Only after he had finally convinced Mathieu did Karem remember that he had completely abandoned Catherine. If he went back like this, he was going to get an earful—no, far worse.

"Hoh. So this is the result of a servant who abandoned his master?"

"I'm sorry."

When you were wrong, you admitted it. Karem bowed his head at once.

"But those lunatics were making that awful swill, and if I didn't fix it, the stuff would have flooded all of Coldon—no, it would have poured straight into Winterhome. I couldn't just sit there—"

"Too many excuses."

"Yes, ma'am."

Like some fairy tale, ignoring this would clearly bring punishment. The moment Karem shut his mouth and held out the spoon, Catherine glanced down at it, snorted, and took a bite.

"If it didn't even taste good, that would be one thing."

"Who do you think I am? I may not be confident about much else, but taste? That I guarantee."

"Don't get cocky, you cheeky brat."

Catherine smacked the side of Karem's head with her left hand as he sat beside her.

"Ow."

"You've grown so big that it doesn't even hurt, so what's with the 'ow'?"

"My heart hurts. My heart."

"So the body is fine, then. That means you can take a little more pain."

"Wait—no! Ow! That actually hurts!"

The soft, feather-light taps he had felt ever since his body grew suddenly turned into full-force club swings.

"Hey, using magic just to smack someone on the head—"

"Magic? I merely wrapped it in mana. So take another one, you little pest."

"Wait—I surrender! I surrender! No more mana!"

Dodging would have been simple. All he had to do was stand up. But Karem ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could not. Across both his lives he had almost no experience with women, and dates even less, yet he still understood atmosphere. There were truths that did not need words. Every time she thumped his side or fist, he could feel Catherine's heavily loaded double meaning: Just try running away and see what happens.

After a long while of being pummeled while offering ice cream, Catherine seemed to have vented enough. She unclenched her fist, propped her chin on her open palm, and asked,

"So. What did you go and teach them this time?"

"Uh... did I mention that?"

"Ha. Your behavioral pattern is painfully obvious."

Catherine clicked her tongue in pure disbelief and glanced at the ice cream.

"You obviously went and told them there was something better than that so-called tea they boiled with Mente's Affair, right?"

"Uh... it really sounds like you overheard me."

"If I had known, I wouldn't be asking."

Was I really that predictable? Karem tilted his head, but there was no reason to keep it secret. It wasn't anything special.

"I just briefly introduced a drink and a recipe that actually pairs with desserts—something far more proper than that hot, refreshing swill."

"A drink... I think I can guess one."

"You're probably right."

"Alrune's Tear?"

Still resting her chin, Catherine rolled her eyes toward the now-cold cup of Mente's Affair tea sitting on the table, which the waiter had not yet cleared.

"Certainly better than that stuff that only tastes refreshing."

"It's called affogato. You put vanilla ice cream in a bowl."

"Hmm?"

"Then you slowly pour hot, strong Alrune's Tear over it and eat it with a spoon."

Catherine summoned both foods from memory and imagined them exactly as Karem described. A pure-white scoop of vanilla ice cream resting like an egg in a nest. A thin stream of dense, dark-brown liquid falling onto it. The moment they touched, white steam rose, and the melted ice cream mixed with Alrune's Tear began to pool as a brown liquid in the bowl. Hot liquid meeting cold ice cream did not melt it all at once. The density of the cream and the cold of the ice cream made it melt slowly, like early-spring icicles. Between the still-hot, nutty aroma, the sweet vanilla fragrance slipped in gently, offering a variation from the usual.

Of course Alrune's Tear would be more bitter—naturally, since it was steeped strong. But it would mellow, just like Brownie's Joy, once mixed with the melted vanilla ice cream. The vanilla ice cream, still cold yet now even silkier. The Alrune's Tear, slightly cooled yet still hot and fragrant. Cold and hot, sweet and nutty, with a clean finish whose aroma lingered long—

"Ha. And you're only telling me this now?"

It was a contradictory combination, and precisely because of that, an even more fantastic one.

"Now that I think about it, how dare you. Why did you only mention this simple, excellent combination now?"

"Uh... you're not going to get angry, right?"

"I won't."

"I just... forgot for a moment."

Of course you did. Catherine sighed. Given his habit of inventing menus on the spot, the excuse was almost certainly true. Too trivial and predictable a reason to get truly angry over.

"On second thought, you're still infuriating, you little brat."

"Ow! You said you wouldn't get mad—"

"Right. That's why one smack is enough."

Catherine gave a light shake of her head and scolded him.

"When we return to the tower, what are you going to do?"

"...I'll make affogato right away."

"Good. But it's still too infuriating to let you off that easily."

"Wait—"

"Got a complaint?"

"No. Nothing."

Whatever he said here, the result would be the same. He would just get smacked again. Karem decided that every time Catherine opened her mouth he would quietly feed her another spoonful of mint-vanilla ice cream.

"I've decided."

As the bowl began to show its bottom, Catherine flicked her fingers.

"Kid. The gift you were going to offer as a sacrifice at the coming-of-age ceremony, and the one you were going to give me. I was going to leave it up to you... but I've changed my mind."

With an expression that practically shouted suffer a little, Catherine smiled like a mischievous child.

"I'll take your gift in the form of cooking."

"Just punish me instead. Please."

"This is your punishment. Worry about it until your head splits open before the ceremony. I'll be looking forward to it."

"No."

She's still mad. The demand was more outrageous than he had imagined. After soothing the anger of a jilted Catherine, he now had to prepare a sacrificial offering to the gods for the coming-of-age ceremony—and she expected him to deliver something worthy of anticipation on top of that?

"Uh... what about jewelry? A ring or a necklace or something..."

"Me? From you? Why?"

Yeah, that figures...

A woman who casually handled magic ornaments worth an entire castle was hardly going to get excited over something that was merely pretty. Karem's head was already starting to throb.

Pictures drawn by ChatGPT.