Side Story - 1
- Lycoris's Cooking Class -
Wolfgang's POV
"Today we're going to do some cooking."
The person who suddenly said that and thrust some kind of cloth at me was my fiancée, Licorice Radiata. I was not surprised by her visit itself, as she has been visiting the mansion rather frequently lately.
She has a mature appearance and is quite tall for a ten-year-old girl, but now that I have surpassed that height, I can easily accept it.
When I saw her, I couldn't help but furrow my brows.
Her rich, wavy black hair was tied up in a tacky bun and covered above her forehead with an awkward triangle of cloth. Her cochineal dress, which suited her well, was covered by a thick apron.
The apron dress and the white headdress (I don't know what it is called) are not exactly the same thing.
"No one has ever lent me an apron dress."
"Of course not."
She noticed my suspicious look and puffed out her cheeks. I can see the housekeepers bewildered by the duchess's request to dress as a servant.
"But I managed to find a clean cloth and made this for you. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that."
"Yours," she indicated. I unfolded the cloth that she had just pushed at me. There are two types of vests: a mere rectangle with a string attached and a very simple vest. The rectangular one is probably a waistcoat apron, but why do I need a vest?
"It's black."
She said, somewhat proudly.
"You want me to wear it in the kitchen."
"That's right. Lord Ranancula was very supportive. It never hurts for a man to be able to cook. When you turn twelve, you'll be living in the school dormitory.
I knew that my father had a soft spot for her, but this didn't make much sense.
"There will be a cook in the dorm....."
But Licorice, letting my complaints slide from right to left, wrapped a black waistcoat around my waist and put a vest over my shirt. I always wondered if I should scold her or enjoy the closeness of this distance.
At the very least, I need to rectify this defenselessness before I enter the academy or make my debut in the social scene and have more opportunities to interact with men my own age.
Lycoris, oblivious to my complicated inner thoughts, muttered something like, "Garçon style - cute!" I don't know what she's talking about in the first part, but 'cute' is definitely not allowed for a man in his impressionable years. I really, really want you to stop it from the bottom of my heart. But I don't want to condemn her and be thought of as a narrow-minded man.
It's not that my rebellious spirit has been chipped away by her calling me 'cute,' but I've come to the kitchen with her arm around me.
"Today's challenge is 'okayu'."
"What's that?
"It's hard to explain the taste verbally."
"It's hard to explain the taste verbally."
We started by carefully washing our hands, washing vegetables and unfamiliar grains, chopping them up and putting them in the pot.
When I asked her if she was going to put such things in the pot, she replied, "I can't leave them out because they are very important ingredients. I was not satisfied with the fact that she was completely in control today and none of my requests were taken into account.
In the meantime, the 'okayu' was ready, and I gingerly scooped it into a small plate, thinking of the sour taste of the ingredient I didn't like.
"Wait!"
I stopped my hand when I heard her panicked voice.
"I'll taste it first. I'll taste it first. I'll be disappointed if it turns out to taste strange."
Her argument made no sense.
Even though she was the instructor, I was the one who made this dish. Even if it turned out to taste strange, she would not be ashamed.
Finally, her intentions became clear. Well, that's what I expected her to say.
Since the last incident where I was almost poisoned, the people around me have been extremely careful about what I eat. The kitchen manager had offered to take a look at the poison himself, and the soup was not on the table.
I thought I didn't have to do that, and I told him, but he didn't listen.
I didn't reduce my food intake.
But shamefully, I was beginning to feel depressed about supper time. She seemed to be aware of my slight discomfort.
"....Yeah. Not bad."
She said, rinsing the small plate she had used and offering it to me.
"Would you like to try a taste?"
Isn't it unfair that she looks so anxious here, after being so pushy before making me cook?
This is the first time I've been able to do so. It's a very complicated feeling, one that you want to cherish and one that you want to be mean to.
"Yeah. Let me eat."
I opened my mouth a little, and as I expected, she looked annoyed.
But in the end, I put a small amount of 'okayu' on a small plate and gently pulled it to my mouth.
A moderate sourness and a natural sweetness from the grains spread in my mouth.
Not bad.
My stomach gurgled, and I felt hungry.
My fiancée, who is somewhat caring and compassionate.
I thought of a theatrical line I had heard somewhere: "I will gladly eat poison if your hand offers it to me."
If I actually put it into words, I would be scolded for being inappropriate.
***