Chapter 13
The two of them looked down at the finished dishes.
The sandwiches made from sliced rye bread were flawless and elegant, and the canapés were so dainty and pretty that they almost seemed too precious to eat.
“If it weren’t for you, Chef, I could never have made these. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, not at all. I should be the one thanking you for sharing such an amazing sauce.”
Hans clutched the recipe notebook to his chest like it was a treasured possession.
Seeing that, Cecile realized it was the perfect time to bring up a deal.
“Chef, what are you planning to do with that recipe?”
“Of course, I’ll use it here with the others.”
By “others,” he meant the other chefs working in the ducal estate.
To think that after learning such a brilliant recipe, the most he’ll do is share it with the other kitchen staff…
Well, it was probably because he was too honest and straightforward to think like a businessman that he had managed to hold down the ducal kitchen for two years while other staff kept fleeing.
Cecile was now confident she had judged him correctly.
Exactly the kind of person I was looking for. Honest, loyal, and without greed.
Cecile had no intention of staying in the ducal estate forever.
She planned to live a peaceful life in a foreign land—somewhere untouched by the wicked duke or the influence of the imperial family. And to do that, she needed money. A lot of money.
And the best way to earn a lot of money was—
—business.
As a great magician, she had no shortage of business ideas. Her mind was overflowing with inventions and alchemical recipes.
However, there were many hurdles to actually executing this plan. Starting a business required capital and connections—neither of which she had.
Most of all, the biggest obstacle was that she was currently eight years old.
That’s why this chef standing in front of her was the perfect partner.
He had years of experience working in the Empire’s only ducal estate, meaning he likely had both the connections and some capital. And given how reliable and sincere he was, she could trust him to act as her proxy.
“Chef, I have a favor to ask. Will you hear me out?”
“Eh? Of course. If it’s something I can do, I’d be happy to help.”
Hans replied with a serious expression.
Cecile wiggled her fingers—a gesture for him to lean in. As he bent down to listen, she whispered into his ear.
“Make as much mayonnaise as you want and use it freely, but let’s keep the recipe our little secret. And I want you to start spreading the word about it—especially to our suppliers and your chef friends outside the estate. You can give them small samples, too.”
“Ah… Okay. I don’t have many friends, but… that shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Thanks. And if any of them ask for more sauce, don’t just give it to them—make sure to tell me first, okay?”
Hans, looking a bit dazed, nodded.
Hans will keep my request no matter what. People like him never take kindness lightly.
Everything was going exactly as Cecile planned.
She smiled, satisfied. In stark contrast to her calculating mind, her smile was pure and innocent.
Hans moved the tray of canapés and sandwiches onto the trolley.
“Let’s deliver this to His Grace before the canapés get soggy. Once I’m done here, I need to start prepping dinner.”
“Is it that late already? All right, let’s go!”
Hans pushed the trolley, and Cecile followed behind.
Soon, the two of them were standing in front of the duke’s office.
Even though Hans himself had a naturally intimidating aura, he seemed nervous standing before Duke Bartholomew.
He licked his lips a few times, then knocked.
“Your Grace, it’s Hans. The princess is with me.”
The moment they entered, Cecile noticed the office was different from usual.
Every time she had come before, Duke Bartholomew had always been alone. But today, the room was filled with people.
It made sense since there was supposed to be a meeting, but what surprised her more was who those people were.
A meeting with the organization, huh.
The dozen or so men seated around the table were clearly members of the criminal organization led by the duke.
You could tell at a glance—they wore things no proper noble would ever dream of wearing.
Shaved heads, mohawks, eyepatches, huge scars, face masks, giant tattoos, leather jackets…
Each one radiated a menacing aura.
Even Hans, standing beside her, was visibly tense.
Well, for me, it’s just child’s play.
Cecile had seen far worse—truly terrifying and vile men—countless times in her past life. These guys were nothing in comparison.
Besides, she recognized some of them.
Before her regression, she had spent years on the run from Duke Bartholomew, and had clashed with these very men more than once.
They were the duke’s closest subordinates, and Cecile had grown quite familiar with them.
A normal eight-year-old would be scared stiff. Maybe I should pretend to be a little afraid.
Having decided that, Cecile adjusted her expression.
“Who’s this little runt?”
A gaunt man with sunken cheeks and pale, hollow eyes like a skeleton spoke up.
“Must be the little princess. The one the boss is raising.”
A woman with bubblegum-pink hair puffed on a long pipe as she spoke.
“Heh heh! Volunteer work, of all things. Can’t believe the boss would do something so out of character.”
A red-haired man with a mohawk let out a metallic, unpleasant laugh through a cigarette clenched in his teeth. Then he suddenly stood up.
With hands in his pockets and a swaggering, threatening gait, he approached Cecile. The stench of smoke hit her like a slap.
“Hello, Princess. No need to be so scared, heh heh heh!”
He laughed in a creepy, wheezy voice. His mouth, split unnaturally wide on both sides, revealed rows of sharp, jagged teeth.
“Man, you really are tiny. I bet I could just swallow you whole—”
Whack! Crash!
A heavy thud and the sharp sound of something shattering rang out as the man collapsed onto the floor.
“…First rule. Don’t scare Cecile.”
Cecile immediately realized what had happened—Duke Bartholomew had thrown a glass paperweight at the back of the man’s head. Shards of broken glass rolled across the floor.
“Second rule. Show Cecile proper respect.”
Unlike the noisy scene just moments ago, the organization members now stood silent with their heads bowed.
“Third rule. Do not smoke in front of Cecile.”
His voice dripped with cold fury.
“Any objections to these new rules?”
“……”
No one dared to object.
The duke glanced at them coldly, then gestured with his eyes. The men scrambled to open windows and air out the room.
The office, once like a suffocating den, quickly filled with fresh air.
Finally, I can breathe.
Cecile cast a glance at Hans.
Even he, someone who seemed fearless, looked pale from tension.
While the others frantically worked to ventilate the room, Duke Bartholomew turned to Cecile.
“What brings you here?”
Finally, it was her turn.
Cecile beamed sweetly.
“I heard Your Grace was in a meeting, so I made some light snacks for you.”
Hans, seemingly snapped out of his daze by her words, moved to serve the tray on the table.
“These are canapés topped with caviar, foie gras, and olives, and smoked ham sandwiches.”
There was enough food for at least ten adults.
“I figured your subordinates might be hungry too, so I made plenty,” Cecile added.
The freshly made food looked incredibly appetizing and smelled delicious.
All eyes in the room locked onto the food, unmoving. Some even let out audible stomach growls.
Not surprising. I heard they’ve been in a meeting for four hours without lunch.
It was already 2 p.m. If they’d eaten early, they would be starving by now.
A small wrinkle appeared on Duke Bartholomew’s brow as he looked at the food.
“You made this… yourself?”
