Chapter 5
At the end of the first-floor hallway—
“Joanna! Bring that broth over here!”
Through the crack of the half-open door, cooks and servants bustled back and forth. The spacious kitchen was filled with well-maintained cookware and every kind of ingredient imaginable.
“The kitchen?”
Taking a chance, Calicia followed Isaac and pressed her eye tightly to the narrow crack.
“Move, move, move!”
A burly middle-aged man with dull blond hair barked at the cooks. Scott Anderson, the head chef. With sharp eyes, he checked every detail of the cooking process.
Coq au vin simmered with chewy chicken and red wine, juicy steaks with mashed potatoes, tarts made from honey-stewed raspberries—
Gulp.
Isaac drooled helplessly at the parade of appetizing dishes. He couldn’t eat or drink anymore—nor did he need to—but his appetite remained unchanged. As always, such sights were torture.
Meanwhile, Calicia stared so intensely into the kitchen it looked as if her eyes might fall out. Servants moved ingredients, cooks pressed their noses into pans and cutting boards. No hidden masters, no fire-breathing archmages—just overworked, tired employees suffering through their jobs.
There, there! Right there!
Isaac suddenly stretched his arm forward. His hazy hand passed through the door, pointing to the left side of the kitchen. Calicia widened her eyes and nudged the door with her face.
“Slice it thinner.”
“Chop the shrimp finer!”
“You need to add more pepper if you want any flavor!”
“Nothing you do is ever right. Tsk!”
Neatly combed-back gray hair, thick eyebrows, stubborn lips, red eyes. A random ghost was drifting around the cooks, nagging them at every little thing as if he were the head chef.
“What kind of ghost complains about seasoning like that? Must be nice to be a dead man with nothing better to do.”
That’s him! The former head of the house! Your great-grandfather!
“That nagging ghost is the former head?”
Calicia crossed her arms and looked him up and down. Judging by his youthful appearance, he must not have died peacefully.
Well… whatever. If he can teach me fire magic, that’s all that matters.
Calicia licked her dry lips.
“But will he teach me for free? Look at him—he looks like the type to die before teaching anyone anything.”
Not all ancestors wished well for their descendants. The farther up the family tree one went, the weaker the blood ties became—and some even harmed their lineage.
He’s not usually like this. It’s around the anniversary of the former duchess’s death. He gets sensitive this time of year. Not that he’s an easy man any other time.
“The duchess?”
The former duke—your great-grandfather—was famous for being deeply devoted to his wife. She was from the East, and sometimes she’d get terribly homesick…
The former duke agonized for days over how to comfort his wife. Eventually, he acquired rare Laphlia flowers—blooms that only grew in the East—and personally filled their garden with them.
People said the two of them enjoying tea in that flower garden looked like a living painting. He’s known as a war hero, but he’s also incredibly romantic. According to Balus historical records—
“That’s fine, but what do the flowers look like?”
…tsk. Give me a moment.
Isaac puffed his cheeks and snapped his fingers. A beautiful flower bud materialized in the air, peach-colored petals unfolding like a stretch.
A lotus.
Laphlia looked nearly identical to crimson lotuses. After staring at the flower for a while, Calicia turned back to the crack in the door.
“What? Where’d that old guy go!”
She pushed the door open and glanced around, startled. The former duke who had been gleefully haunting the kitchen was nowhere to be seen.
You! You can see me!?
Suddenly, the missing former duke thrust his face right in front of hers.
“AAH!”
Calicia reflexively punched him. He had appeared out of nowhere, and the crisp smack reverberated up her hand.
“Ah… um.”
She pressed her hands together awkwardly. Hitting first when startled was basically a professional reflex at this point.
To be fair, ghosts could hide far too freely. Ceilings were nothing—many popped up from the floor, from behind objects, from anywhere.
You had to always stay ready. Always.
…Huh.
The former duke—his head turned sideways from the punch—let out a disbelieving sigh. He was too stunned to speak.
Had… had he really been struck by such a tiny thing? A fragile noble girl? And the surprising part was that her soft fist had hurt.
His jaw still ached.
Wait.
My jaw aches? It… aches?
How—
How could it hurt?
Deoric’s eyes sharpened. By nature, the dead could not touch the living—nor be touched by them. The realms were fundamentally separate.
But this girl? She could see him, hear him—and hit him.
You! What trick did you just use on me!?
At that moment, a booming voice came from inside the kitchen.
“HEY! Who’s out there!”
The head chef, who had been commanding the kitchen, threw aside his apron and stomped forward. Huffing angrily, he yanked the door wide open.
“Who dares make noise in front of my kitchen!”
He looked ready to tear someone apart—but all he saw was an unfamiliar young girl.
“…Are you Lady Calicia, by chance?”
After a long pause, he cautiously spoke.
“You know me?”
“Yes. You still resemble how you looked as a child. It’s been a long time.”
Scott bowed, warmth spreading across his stern expression. Memories surfaced—the little girl who adored raspberry tarts.
“I am Scott Anderson, head chef of the ducal estate.”
His sharp features softened into a gentle smile.
Mr. Anderson has worked in this kitchen over 40 years. He never sided with the second lady—not even once.
Isaac whispered quickly. No matter how powerful the second lady was, she couldn’t win over everyone.
“Good. That makes this faster. Once dinner prep is finished, could I borrow the kitchen for a bit?”
Calicia raised a brow, trying to look hopeful. She’d thought of a way to earn points with the former duke.
“May I ask what for, my lady?”
Nobles almost never entered the kitchen. And when they did, it was usually toddlers wanting to bake cookies.
“Well… you see… mmh—mmh—mphh—mmmh!”
Calicia attempted ventriloquism with all her strength. Fortunately, Isaac caught the signal and zipped to the former duke’s side.
Lady Calicia is the duke’s great-granddaughter. She lost her mother early and suffered terrible abuse under the wicked second lady. As if that weren’t enough, she was banished to the Ash Domain…
Tragedy and filial piety. Isaac delivered his lines flawlessly. Even the furious former duke softened.
“It’s around great-grandmother’s death anniversary. I heard she loved Laphlia flowers. But they don’t grow in the West… so I wanted to make pastries shaped like them for her grave.”
Calicia looked up into the air, trying to appear quietly sorrowful. Please, just accept it.
My lady! The fourth madam was also from the East!
Isaac added helpfully.
“And my mother was also from the East…”
Calicia let her voice shake.
“…I will clear the kitchen once preparations are finished. And tell me what ingredients you need—I’ll have them ready.”
Scott bowed and returned inside.
***
After the commotion, an awkward silence settled. One human and two ghosts—an unusual combination. No one spoke first.
How can you touch me…? No—before that, why did you come looking for me?
Deoric broke the silence.
“IhavealwaysenjoyedreadingtheHistoryofBalusandthelovestoryofmyhonoredgreat-grandparents—”
My ladyriskedherlifetoseekLaphliaflowersforthegreat-grandmother—
Calicia and Isaac both rushed to deliver their prepared lines.
Enough! Stop the theatrics.
Deoric raised his hand, shutting them down. Whatever they were plotting, it was already giving him a headache.
Calicia Balus. What do you want from me? I dislike those who talk too much.
“Oh! Same here. I also prefer brief and concise briefings.”
Calicia praised him with zero sincerity—the corporate passive skill of ‘Yes, boss, you’re absolutely right’ activating automatically.
“Teach me fire magic. Within a month.”
So you still haven’t awakened your ability, half-wit. Balus does not welcome the untalented—you know this.
The Balus clan grew on ruthlessness. A fair assessment, even if unpleasant.
“Grandfather… well…”
※ Using the Corporate Translator ※
Language detected: Inner thoughts
How long do I have to cater to your attitude? Just approve the request already.
Translation…
“I hope to awaken even the slightest bit of talent.”
The slightest talent… Sometimes that is more curse than blessing.
Deoric clicked his tongue.
In Balus existed those with faint talent—the Burned Ones, the secret assassination force. They survived the ritual but lacked strength, their bodies melted by fire. Lifetimes of agony, or the joy of having even a scrap of talent—which was heavier?
“That may be true. But…”
※ Corporate Translator Enabled ※
Language detected: Inner thoughts
Why should I care about them? Just teach me already.
Translation…
“Whether that curse destroys them or not is their own choice.”
“And I’m not asking you to teach me for free. Business between close parties should be clear and clean.”
A deal, hm. And what exactly could you offer me?
Deoric looked utterly unconvinced.
