Chapter 47
Officially, the president of Cozy Cauldron was Hans, and that was how all the employees knew it.
When a troublesome guest started making a fuss, one flustered employee stammered and eventually went to the back storage to call Hans.
But the man wasn’t satisfied with just that. He grabbed another worker and started nitpicking.
“I came to see this so-called amazing new shop, but there aren’t even many customers. What a waste of time.”
“The place is way too small.”
“And the staff don’t even have a shred of friendliness.”
He went on and on with complaints.
[What an insufferable man!]
Nibellung grumbled, watching the employees squirm.
[Still, it seems you won’t need to step in yourself this time either. That chef has a face frightening enough to send anyone running. That fool will surely wet himself and flee once their eyes meet.]
Sitting on the sofa with her doll in her arms, Cecil let out a thoughtful hum.
“Well, I wonder about that.”
She muttered with a strangely meaningful tone.
After a few minutes, Hans finally appeared with the called employee.
“Did you summon me, sir?”
Hans was dressed not in his chef’s uniform, but in an outing suit, befitting the title of “president.” But even the fine clothes could not hide his wild, intimidating aura.
His forearms were thicker than Cecil’s waist, and a long scar ran across his lips. Hans narrowed his slightly slanted eyes at the man who had dared to call him out.
And that man—predictably—went pale, his pupils trembling like an earthquake.
“Y-you… you’re the o-owner here?”
“…? That’s correct.”
Hans raised a brow. The man’s face turned even more ashen.
‘So he was expecting a woman to appear.’
Cecil laughed inwardly at him.
Judging by the name “Cozy Cauldron,” the warm interior, and the cute signboard depicting a cat curled up asleep in a pot, the man must have assumed the shop was run by a sweet woman.
But contrary to Nibellung’s prediction, the man didn’t back down here.
“Well then… I must say, you’ve got quite the presence for the owner of a quaint little shop.”
The president of Grand Emporium said, pointing at the cutesy signboard with the cat and the cozy décor inside.
“Yes, that’s right. And you, as a neighboring shop owner, seem to talk an awful lot.”
Hans replied without hiding his displeasure.
The look on his face finally made even the thick-skinned man think about retreating. But of course, he didn’t leave quietly.
His eyes fell on the display shelf—and stopped on one particular product. A hair-growth cream.
“This much, I can just take, right? Let’s call it a fee for advice from a senior in the business.”
As he picked up the cream, Hans’ patience began to wear thin.
“Why, you—!”
Hans was about to explode, but a small hand stopped him. Cecil.
“Sir, that one works even better if you use it with this.”
She held out another jar, similar but different from the one he grabbed.
“Oh? Really?”
The man eagerly snatched it from her.
“Then, I’ll see you again, young president.”
Afraid Hans might truly get angry, the man quickly bolted out of the shop with both jars in hand.
After throwing a fit and walking away with free merchandise, his footsteps were as light as could be.
“What a troublesome person. I do hope he doesn’t come back.”
Hans wiped sweat from his brow.
“As expected, young miss, you are far too generous. To not only let such a man go unpunished, but to even hand him a gift!”
Cecil covered her mouth with both hands and giggled.
“Well, I wonder about that.”
A few days later, the man returned.
“Where’s the staff! Come out right now!”
Unlike before, his face carried no smugness or arrogance—only fury.
Red-faced, he kicked the door open and stormed inside.
Cecil happened to be there, seated on the sofa. She stood and greeted him with a feigned innocence.
“What seems to be the matter?”
Her expression was calm, as if she knew nothing.
The man’s face twisted hideously at the sight of her.
“You… you insolent brat! You’re asking what’s wrong? Can you still say that after seeing this?!”
He spun around and showed her the back of his head.
There was one very obvious difference from when they had first met—his remaining patch of hair was now completely gone. He was utterly bald.
“When I mixed that hair tonic with the jar you gave me, this is what happened! You knew this would happen, didn’t you?!”
Cecil burst out laughing at the sight.
“My goodness, it shines so bright! They say greedy people go bald, and I guess it’s true!”
“You… you little brat!”
The man, face flushed red, grabbed Cecil by the shoulder.
At that moment, Hans—who had been in the back training the staff—heard the commotion and rushed out.
“What’s happening, young miss?!”
Seeing him rush in, Cecil let out a piercing scream and shrank into herself.
“Kyaa! I’m sorry! It hurts, don’t hit me!”
“W-what?! Hey, I didn’t hit you!”
Cecil’s acting was so convincing it seemed as if she really had been beaten. The man panicked, but Hans saw nothing but red.
“You dare lay hands on the young miss?!”
“N-no, it’s a misunderstanding—!”
The man waved frantically, but Hans was already past reason. His fist—bigger than a child’s head—slammed into the man’s face.
Boom!
The man was sent flying into a display stand.
The stand split in half, and the goods on it came crashing down onto his head.
[That’s the first time I’ve seen the chef lose his temper. I thought he was just a soft-hearted oaf not worthy of his build.]
Nibellung remarked in awe.
“Young miss, are you all right?”
Hans anxiously checked Cecil’s condition. Cecil wiped her teary eyes with the back of her hand and smiled.
“Mm, I’m fine. Thanks for coming at the right time, Hans.”
[What a despicably convincing performance!]
Of course, Hans couldn’t hear Nibellung’s words. His face was filled with pain as he wrapped his coat around Cecil and lifted her gently.
Hans turned to the staggering man.
“To think you’d dare touch such a small and delicate young lady… What a beast you are! If you dare come back again, I’ll make sure you never walk out of here on your own legs!”
Held securely in Hans’ bear-like arms, Cecil’s mind was much colder.
‘Hmm, the repair cost of the stand and the ruined merchandise should be billed to Grand Emporium.’
For a while after that, the president of Grand Emporium never showed his face again.
In fact, it seemed he had grown so afraid of Cecil and Hans that he went out of his way to avoid them.
‘That should be the end of it now.’
But that assumption was a mistake.
The president of Grand Emporium, Horace, was a man afflicted with a severe case of “business fever.”
“This time it’s real, I’m telling you! This time it’ll be a huge hit!”
Despite having started countless businesses, not one of them had ever borne real fruit. It was obvious that he had no business talent at all.
“Business isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon! Just because you see some losses early on doesn’t mean you give up!”
But Horace never admitted this.
Whenever a business failed, he would borrow money—by any means necessary—to start a new one.
“Failure is the mother of success! I’ll use the last failure as fertilizer for my next triumph. Just give me one more chance! Once I succeed, I’ll pay back everything I owe, double!”
He even had a wife and children. But as a husband and father, Horace was utterly useless.
The one who truly supported the family was his wife, who worked endlessly sewing for pay and serving as a housemaid. Yet Horace would always bluster at them.
“I’m the head of this family! A wife and kids shouldn’t talk back—they should just obey the head of the household!”
