The Skill I've Been Hiding

-I'll finish up quickly and come back, Rosaria.

It was Canaria who had said she would create paradise before winter came. Now, at the edge of late autumn, she turned away from Rosaria—whom she hadn't seen in so long—and with heavy steps, headed back to the battlefield to deliver the final blow.

'...It's obvious you're pushing yourself too hard, Canaria.'

Hadn't she said it took her a whole year to bring herself back? If so, during that long stretch of time, the version of me she faced must surely have been a corpse—one that had cast the worst possible curse, telling her to live happily while remembering me, right before dying.

I felt sorry. And I understood her. If I had been in Canaria's position, I would have felt the exact same agony. I would have felt as if I'd lost the entire world to grief, and I would have spent that hellish time pushing myself to the brink to reclaim it.

In a way, it was a stroke of luck that my memories from my previous life were hazy.

If my mind had been perfectly intact, I would have reawakened with my heart completely shattered under all that guilt, loss, and remorse from back then.

"...Pull yourself together."

I gave my cheek a light slap to jolt myself back to my senses. What I needed right now wasn't this kind of gloomy brooding. If I showed Canaria—who was already pushing herself to the limit—an unhappy face, wouldn't that just make her miserable? So, for now, filling my heart with positivity was the priority.

As for the sin of casting a curse and running away...

Well, I could settle that debt later, couldn't I?

After all, we would be together for the rest of our lives.

"So, first things first: I should prepare a surprise gift."

Canaria had said it would take about three days. In that case, wouldn't it be a nice idea to use those three remaining days to prepare a gift for her, for when she came back exhausted from overexerting herself?

And besides, I had knowledge and memories from another world, hazy though they might be. I planned to prepare the best possible gift for her—something no one in this era could ever have experienced.

Once I finished the plan, all that was left was to carry it out. Using the three days' worth of divine power I'd obtained by stubbornly pestering her, the very first step was simply getting this body back on its feet.

I began to operate the divine power for the first time in a while.

The vessel was broken. No matter how hard Canaria had tried to fix it, it was still someone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠else's body. She'd healed it with such caution, constantly mindful of the possibility of making a mistake, that it had never made a full recovery...

But if it were me, it was possible.

It was my own body, after all, and my experience in wielding that divine power was still vivid. Wasn't I the very person who had passed that divine power to Canaria in the first place?

This was my chance to show the skills of the original Saintess.

Divine power was, in its very nature, actualization.

It functioned as a kind of wish-granting mechanism, receiving what its target desired in exchange for their faith and making it reality.

You believe, and you desire it.

I desired a body that could move, even just for a short while.

And then I believed that it would truly come to pass.

It was a simple matter, but actually putting it into practice was difficult.

Because only a pure faith free of all doubt could make it possible. If you doubted even a little, divine power would not actually manifest.

Still, compared to the way the Demon King's authority operated, this method was a hundred times better. At least the Saint's divine power demanded only blind faith as its price, while the Demon King's authority was a power that moved according to a structure of somewhat irrational costs.

The kinds of offerings placed on the scales were vastly different.

Regardless, Rosaria wished for the strength to move.

And I sincerely believed it would come true.

"...It worked."

I rose up on that frail body for the first time in ages. Strength comparable to an ordinary person began to fill that body—a body that had been terribly sickly, its vessels—the very foundation of its strength and existence—all ragged and tattered.

Of course, it wasn't perfectly healed yet.

This was just a brief miracle that would last about three days.

But for now, that was all the miracle Rosaria needed.

I let out a small laugh at how smoothly I'd operated the divine power, without a hint of rust.

Because one day, I would have to return to the position of the Saintess. I had considered the possibility that I wouldn't be able to wield the power easily, due to the aftereffects of my previous life or a year-long gap...

But now that didn't matter anymore.

When my vessel was repaired three years from now, I could go back.

That was when a rather wicked bit of mischief occurred to Rosaria.

'...Shall I tease Isabella a little?'

She was the friend who had asked Canaria to erase her memories, and who was now helping me design various tools using the otherworldly knowledge I possessed—the designer of the so-called Rosaria Company, and my personal maid, Isabella.

'...Because, one day, we'll have to go back to being friends.'

I needed to close the distance a bit starting now, so that later, when Canaria kept her promise and she regained her memories, she could still stay comfortably beside me without any sense of alienation, couldn't she?

I'd already asked Erika about it as well. In the hours when Canaria wasn't around, it had fallen to me to make an effort to get closer to Isabella.

It was a sad situation, but this was the snowballing consequence of a catastrophe I myself had caused.

Taking responsibility for it had to be mine to bear as well. So, I planned to grow closer to her with playful pranks, just like old times.

There was no way that a person who normally couldn't even walk would walk and not surprise anyone. With that thought, Rosaria moved stealthily and with great purpose to surprise Isabella and carry out her plan.

"...Lady Rosaria."

Just then, Erika spotted Rosaria.

As a former saint herself, she sensed the traces of divine power flowing through Rosaria's body and roughly understood what had happened—that Rosaria had temporarily repaired her body with divine power so she could move about.

And since Erika was aware of all that, she quietly let it pass. Wearing an expression that looked like she'd aged ten years, Rosaria slowly approached Isabella, who was washing dishes in the kitchen.

"...Next time, I'll win. Next time, I'll win. Next time, I'll win."

Apparently, she'd lost a bet and was washing dishes as a penalty.

Muttering with a blankly furious expression, Isabella washed the dishes diligently. She had already reached the state of total unity with her task—body, mind, and scrub brush merged as one.

Since she was in prime condition to be teased...

Rosaria rushed in without hesitation and grabbed Isabella around the waist.

Isabella let out a startled shriek—"Eek!"

Caught off guard, she lost her balance and comically pitched forward, burying her head in the pile of dirty dishes.

"Agh! I don't care if you're my senior, this is—?!"

Isabella—moderately furious—hadn't even wiped the suds off her hands and was about to take revenge on the senior who'd frightened her when...

"...Huh? Hwah? Heh? Eh?"

The moment she saw the figure of someone who shouldn't possibly be up and about, her train of thought seized up and her words started to stumble.

And then, when her thoughts finally started working again...

"Uwaaah! I'm so sorry, Lady Rosaria!"

Ingrained instinct kicked in, and Isabella stumbled backward—only for her feet to catch on the dish pile again. Just as she was about to hold her breath and take a full dishwater dive, Rosaria caught Isabella by the wrist and stopped her.

Isabella, who'd narrowly avoided soaking her clothes in detergent and dishwater, sputtered out endless words of gratitude, her hair sticky and plastered together by suds, as she barely managed to regain her balance and stand upright.

"Th...that aside, how in the world did you get here? Have you finally recovered completely?"

After calming her startled heart, Isabella asked for the reason behind all this.

"...The Saintess briefly healed me with her divine power."

"Oh... could I try receiving that divine power just once?"

Isabella, who had already received it once, asked playfully.

"...What would you be hoping to receive?"

It was the first time I'd heard Isabella make a wish like this. I felt a certain anticipation, grateful for the chance to uncover this hidden aspect of Isabella's—a wish left only to her instincts, unknown to me.

"I want to become someone who wins rock-paper-scissors without fail. If I could just do that, no more dish duty! I could win every single bet, make a fortune in no time, and buy my own house in the capital!"

It was a truly modest wish.

Her wish was just a little deflating. But that quirky side was exactly the Isabella I knew, and I felt relieved that even without her memories, her essential nature hadn't changed at all.

Her passion for success was unmistakably Isabella.

"...Don't you have any grander wishes, maybe?"

In the first place, what Isabella had wished for didn't even require her to become the greatest, most fearsome gambler to ever win a round of rock-paper-scissors. Someday, when Canaria created paradise and had her memories restored, all of that would be given to her anyway.

I planned to assign a maid to take over dishwashing duty. Though it wouldn't be as bustling as the capital, I'd already planned to give her a house in the safest, most beautiful place in the world, where she could live for the rest of her life.

Just like we'd promised back then: the three of us living together.

So I was a bit curious. I wondered if she might have a wish I didn't already know about—one different from the ones I was aware of.

"Hm... aside from that, there's nothing really. I've gotten fairly used to living like this, and I'm content. If I had to pick just one more... um... well... just that I want to keep staying by your side, Lady Rosaria... that's about it..."

Apparently embarrassed by what she'd just said, Isabella hemmed and hawed. It was a new reaction from her, so it felt refreshingly novel, and the shock it brought made my own cheeks flush a little. Embarrassing stories told by the speaker are also embarrassing for the listener, after all.

"...In that case, could I ask one favor of my loyal Isabella?"

The wall of social standing imposed by the roles we'd been given was too high for us to simply become friends. Isabella had already pledged a relationship of lord and vassal, sovereign and subject, long ago. And so, a request from Rosaria was effectively an order.

Having pledged to follow for life, the unworthy Isabella obeyed those words without question.

"...Will you help me with just one thing?"

"...I follow Lady Rosaria's command."

Because she was the only person who could help me make a surprise gift for Canaria. Nowhere in this world—apart from Rosaria herself—was there anyone closer to Canaria than Isabella.

Canaria would probably deny it.

...And Isabella would likely deny it too, once she got her memories back.

But everyone aside from those two had always thought exactly that.

"...So then, shall we make a birthday present for the Saintess together?"

And precisely because she was that person, she was one of the very few allowed to craft a birthday gift for Canaria's upcoming birthday.

Rosaria requested her help.

Isabella, naturally, accepted that request.

And so, for the first time in a long while, they headed to the kitchen together.

To celebrate a birthday that one remembered, and the other didn't.

*

...I had been sure it would turn out fine.

It's not that I was being arrogant, but I had a certain confidence in my cooking.

Even when I was younger than I was now, I'd cooked well enough that Canaria had called it delicious and complimented me for it. So Rosaria thought she could easily whip up a special birthday cake as a gift.

But she had underestimated her true skill.

In truth, Rosaria was terrible at cooking.

Whenever she baked something, it either burned completely or came out half-raw.

That's because she had a severe deficiency in the sense of what "cooked through" truly meant.

But Canaria had told her it was delicious when they were young, so she genuinely believed that what she made was, in fact, delicious food.

And when Rosaria herself ate it, she had found it reasonably tasty, too.

Therefore, in her memory, Rosaria was someone who cooked well.

However, reality was always devastatingly crueler than fantasy.

Young Canaria had simply been pleased by the mere act of eating something. Having lived her life unable to get proper meals, any food that entered her mouth had been nothing short of delicious.

And on top of that, it was made by someone she loved.

In her mind, that alone made it the most delicious thing in the world.

Of course, Rosaria was a little different from Canaria.

Not because she was a picky eater or a gourmet, though.

Besides, Rosaria had also ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grown up without ever having eaten anything truly fine, and from the moment she entered the convent she'd continuously eaten nothing but simple, abstinent meals.

So she didn't really know what good food tasted like, either.

That remained true even now, after their roles had reversed and she lived a life of abundance.

Everything tasted more or less the same; she only had foods she disliked.

Through shared misfortune,

the palates of both girls were dull to flavor.

Isabella, however, was different.

She didn't remember it, but she was Mikel's disciple.

She had been taught by the world's richest person to experience every possible delicacy the world had to offer and to sublimate that experience into art. That was the person called Isabella.

As such, she had a certain gourmet streak as a hobby,

and she possessed a vast wealth of knowledge regarding taste. So much so, in fact, that Mikel had once told her she could comfortably live the rest of her life simply as an epicure if she ever made enough money. Isabella had a particularly astute eye for desserts.

And that trait had persisted even after she lost her memories.

She craved flavor by instinct. To the point that she'd scrape together the remaining pittance of her maid's salary—after sending most of it to her younger siblings—for one sublime meal, and then spend the next twenty-nine days of the month living solely for that one meal until the next payday.

Isabella was dead serious about food.

And because of that, the present scene was deeply agonizing for her.

"...Lady Rosaria, that's salt."

Rosaria was generously dumping salt into the freshly whipped meringue.

"I thought just sweetness alone would be too cliché, so I wanted to add a little variation."

Rosaria was pursuing innovative progress.

And Isabella rejected that form of evolution.

"...Cake is a food whose charm lies in its sweetness. A very small amount of salt would be pleasant to eat, though."

Rosaria said she was grateful for the advice.

And then, without changing course, she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stirred bread flour straight into the egg mixture.

Isabella witnessed this scene with horror and stopped her from adding the flour, immediately reciting the correct method of cake construction as she knew it.

"Lady Rosaria... cake is made with cake flour... If you make it like that, it'll turn into sandwich bread, not cake."

"...Isn't flour just flour? Aren't they all basically the same?"

She really just didn't know.

In the first place, what differentiated strong flour from weak flour?

Is the strong one 'strong' flour?

Then what was 'weak' flour?

Charismatic flour?

These were the kinds of conundrums Rosaria was mulling over.

Watching her, Isabella patiently explained the facts.

"...There's absolutely no way that's the case. There's a difference in texture."

"You really are quite knowledgeable about cooking, Isabella."

Rosaria was relatively impressed by this unexpected side of her she'd never seen before.

Be that as it may, Isabella's world was currently crumbling.

And that world was completely obliterated the moment Rosaria placed a fish on top of the cake.

"Lady Rosaria? Wh-...why are you placing a fish on it?"

"Because it's the Saintess's absolute favorite food. Besides, cake is a type of bread anyway, so wouldn't it be delicious to eat it together with a savory, flavorful fish?"

There was a proverb in this world.

It said that the cooking of the Maritime Empire was the worst cooking in the world.

Things like sprinkling salt over nothing but boiled peas,

or making eel into a jelly and eating it.

Or, putting sardines into a pie instead of fruit.

It was a proverb about spreading some bizarre jam saltier than salt itself on bread and eating it.

And right now,

the dishes Rosaria was creating had entered that very same territory.

She was planning to place a fish on a cake made of salt and bread flour, stick them into the oven together, and bake it. She even wanted to top the already-finished cake with salad to balance the nutrition of vegetables and meat, since the nutritional balance would be off otherwise.

She even had the genius idea to sprinkle pepper on the cream to cut the richness, since too much cream could get cloying.

This had to be stopped at all costs.

If left alone, the very concept of cake would warp into something monstrous.

It would surely incur the wrath of every baker in the entire world.

And I would die and fall into a dessert hell where I ate nothing but desserts forever...

'Oh? Wait... isn't that actually not hell?'

...She got a little sidetracked for a second there, admittedly.

At any rate, if things were left ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as they were, it was clear that some kind of eldritch lifeform would be born. So Isabella bravely steeled herself and set out to make Canaria's birthday cake into an actual food that fit within the concept of cake.

'...We'll just have to make both of them and see, then. I'll show Isabella who's right! Canaria will definitely like my cooking better.'

Regardless,

Rosaria only resolved not to lose to Isabella.

She told herself she'd show off the cooking skills she'd kept hidden.

Thinking such thoughts, she was busily making the one birthday cake that should never have to exist in this world.

......It was not summer.