Chapter 93
Chapter 93. The Future of CCC Is Bright
A small town, far removed from the capital Albion.
A gentle hill where the grass rippled in the soft breeze.
Brigitte's grandfather had loved this place dearly.
Dearly enough to ask in his will that he be laid to rest here.
"Grandfather, I'm here."
A grave with a single small headstone — no grand statue, no marble adornments.
Brigitte dampened the handkerchief she had brought and polished the headstone until it shone.
She plopped down cross-legged in front of it, mulled over where to begin, and opened her mouth with a bashful tone.
"I told you last time that I was entering the Royal Culinary Competition, didn't I? It's a shame, but I ended up losing."
She had been confident in her cooking skills, and even when she received 30 points, she had felt a surge of 'This is it!'
But then, what do you know?
Penelope, who had made a wager with Brigitte, went and scored 31 points with a menu called Chicken Full Spread.
"Ugh, I'm so frustrated. Isn't that cheating? I nearly cried, I tell you."
Just as the host had said, no one declared 10 points to be the maximum, but...
Still, having the Royal Warrant snatched away right before her eyes like this, she couldn't help but feel the sting of it.
And yet...
"But if I'm being honest...... I think the completeness of my Duck Confit was higher, as a dish."
Jurgen and Penelope's Chicken Full Spread was also a splendid meal.
However, purely in terms of the completeness of taste, it did not reach the Duck Confit.
It might sound like the mental victory of a sore loser, but this was a fact even Jurgen had acknowledged.
After the competition ended.
He had placed his hand on Brigitte's shoulder as she sat sulking in the Odéon kitchen, dipping her finger into the Duck Confit's sauce, and said:
'I've heard about your circumstances from Penelope. They say you have the ambition to make the restaurant your grandfather left you the finest in Britannia.'
'Yes. It's small and unimpressive, but...... it's precious to me.'
'Hmm, then you must be quite frustrated.'
'......Yes.'
'Objectively speaking, I believe the winner of this competition should have been you, Brigitte.'
'I'd imagine you'd say that.'
'Your Duck Confit was a dish my own abilities could never hope to match. Can you not see that? However......at this point in time, your perfection is nothing more than self-satisfaction. At least in this country.'
Brigitte was an upbeat person in all things, but she would admit that in that moment alone, she had nearly lost her composure for just a brief instant.
No matter that he had won the wager and become her employer......
Mocking the loser from a position of victory was an act of cruelty that not even a Loan Shark would stoop to.
'I lost the wager. You don't have to do this — I'll work at Y&P as promised. For exactly three years, that is.'
'Then I should tell you about the long-term vision of our Y&P.'
'Yes, yes......'
Brigitte replied sulkily, unable to interpret his words as anything other than taunting.
She had thought he was a good person, only to find herself with an employer of disagreeable character.
But he spoke with a gentle smile:
'Y&P's purpose is not simply to sell goods. It is to change things.'
'What exactly are you changing?'
Brigitte recalled his answer and let a faint smile cross her lips.
"Do you know what Teacher Jurgen said?"
Even thinking back on it now, his goal felt utterly outlandish.
'Culture.'
'......'
'The tendency for not even a decent recipe to be passed down, food focused solely on cost-performance rather than taste, this country's food culture where a restaurant's reputation shifts not by what dishes it offers but by which artist's painting hangs on the wall. I've been calling this the Culinary Revolution.'
Culinary Revolution.
It had a wonderful ring to it — one that somehow set her chest ablaze red.
'Good ingredients, fine food served with care — that's Brigitte's Dining's motto.'
'Yes.'
'But as things stand now, it is mere self-satisfaction. There is no cultural foundation to properly appreciate your cooking.'
'......'
'Make your choice. Will you end at self-satisfaction? Or will you join me and change the world?'
Brigitte rose from her spot and dusted off her backside.
"I may not be able to come for a while. I'm heading straight to Nortaris. But...... please watch over me, Grandfather."
On the day she returned here again......
"I will surely complete the revolution alongside Teacher, and then I'll come back."
Brigitte walked with bold, confident strides.
The red sunset dyeing the sky the colour of pomegranate seemed to bless the road ahead of her.
***
"A little lower than there, if you would."
"Like this, you mean?"
"No, just a touch below that. Oh, that looks right."
In the early hours before the shop had opened.
The sign-maker, who had been decorating the signboard to the client's specifications, climbed down from the ladder.
A splendid decoration had been added to the lower-left corner of the CCC signboard by the sign-maker's hand.
Seven stars and Bay Leaves.
A royal certification crest rendered in lavish gold paint, and beneath it —
The words 'The Britannian Royal Warrant' scrawled in an elegant cursive.
The very proof that CCC held the Royal Warrant.
Jurgen stood with his arms folded, gazing at the signboard.
"Hmm......"
Honestly, from a modern person's perspective, it felt a bit over the top — but a Royal Warrant was more than enough to fill in the gap in CCC's thin 'story.'
It had to be displayed on the signboard and shown off, of course.
What was making even more of a fuss than Jurgen was Baron Keystone, who had come dashing all the way from Golden Hill on the early morning train.
"Oh-ho, magnificent! Magnificent, Jurgen! A Royal Warrant! My lucky charm! I knew I could count on you!"
"Do calm yourself."
"How could I calm myself right now? I feel like I could take in an adopted daughter just to make you my son-in-law!"
Baron Keystone was in a state of excitement so intense his blood pressure was a cause for concern.
He could understand the sentiment.
Keystone Company had a contract in place to supply live chickens to CCC.
And now, in the midst of that, CCC had been awarded the Royal Warrant.
Baron Keystone, sharp as he was with numbers, had surely grasped that this would serve as a propellant capable of blowing the ceiling off the demand for chicken.
The Culinary Revolution.
Jurgen had proven the possibility of an ambition that had seemed so distant.
Naturally, his grin stretched from ear to ear.
"If there's anything difficult or hard ahead, tell me all about it! You may think of me as a father!"
"This old man, really......"
"Ahem, not old man — father, I said! Hahaha!"
The thick hands of Baron Keystone thumped his back heartily, but it didn't feel all that unpleasant.
"Full of energy so early in the morning."
Just then, a demure greeting tinged with lingering drowsiness reached his ears.
"Well, who is this — ohh......! Miss Penelope, your noble beauty is particularly radiant today."
"You flatter me."
It was Penelope.
But today's Penelope was somehow different.
Her hair, set with rice ear-shaped knots that gave a sense of delicate artistry, her slightly flushed eyes, her outfit that looked to have had three times more care put into it than usual —
She was so radiant it even startled Jurgen.
"What's this — you've put on makeup as well?"
"Wha, what are you on about. I always wear makeup?"
Watching her fidget and twist a strand of hair at her temple with embarrassment, Jurgen grinned.
"Oh-ho, so even the great Penelope cares about something like this."
"Be quiet — it's only natural to take care of your appearance when you're going to be in the newspaper, isn't it? You're just too indifferent. What's going on with your outfit? It's completely the same as usual."
Indeed.
The photo journalist from North Times, the North's largest newspaper, was due to arrive any moment now.
To run a major feature on the fact that CCC, a homegrown Nortaris restaurant, had been awarded the Royal Warrant!
With no telling how many people would see the photo once the article went out, one couldn't very well show up haphazardly.
She had jolted wide awake at 3 in the morning and put layer upon layer of effort into getting herself done up.
Though having that fact pointed out made her feel quite embarrassed.
"Come to think of it, where is Serena?"
"Haven't seen her yet."
"I, I'm here......! Am I late?! I'm not late, am I?"
"You've arrived just in——"
Both Jurgen and Penelope were rendered speechless at the sight of Serena, who had appeared belatedly.
"......oh."
"......"
Serena's height was over 15 cm taller than usual.
It wasn't difficult to see that the entire difference owed itself to the dizzyingly high heels she was wearing.
"She'll fall to her death if she misses a step. But more than that......"
"......Wh, why are you looking at me like that?"
"......Why, you ask? Are you serious?"
Up to that point, one could understand it as 'Ah, Serena has a bit of a complex about her height' —
and besides, the high heels wouldn't be noticeable anyway, hidden under the hem of her extraordinarily lavish and trailing skirt.
But......
"Miss Serena, keep this as a personal observation and take it to heart. Even so — it's too much."
"Who taught you how to do your makeup?"
Serena's makeup was a problem that simply could not be covered over.
However much powder had been applied, her entire face was as pallid as a corpse, and her lips a vivid red.
Even more spectacular were the panda-like jet-black eye decorations.
"Th, that bad......? I remembered hearing that for photographs, the makeup needs to be heavy to show up nicely, so that's why I did it like this......"
"You look like a noble young lady three days deep into an all-night bender with alcoholism."
"Th, that's slander! It's not that bad! It's true I didn't sleep a wink, but...!"
"Jurgen, one honest word, please."
"Miss Serena, would you go inside and rest while we handle the photo?"
"AAAAAH! It's that bad?!"
Serena stared at Jurgen with the expression of someone who had lost their homeland.
"Th, then what do we do?"
"What do you mean what do we do! Follow me! We don't have time!"
In the end, Penelope dragged Serena inside, wiped her makeup clean, and came back out —
"Alright, we haven't got time, so let's shoot right away. Look here, please."
— and in front of the photo journalist, who had been pestering them about when they were ever going to be ready, Jurgen stood in the centre with Penelope and Serena flanking him.
"What do I do? I think I look too plain. If my face is plain while my outfit is this elaborate, I'll look even worse."
"Taking the shot! One, two——"
"W, wait just a moment!!! I'm not ready yet——!"
"——three!"
Bang!
The flash powder exploded, and the image of the three, in perfect harmony, was etched onto the film.
The CCC signboard bearing the Royal Warrant certification mark.
Jurgen, gallantly giving a thumbs-up. Penelope, showcasing her beauty naturally without excess.
And Serena, eyes shut, wearing the most peculiar expression.
.
.
.
"Why......! How......! Always! Why does this only happen to me......!"
Serena, having checked the morning newspaper the following day, let out a wail.
"A correction — can't I request a correction?!"
There was the small misfortune of Serena being assailed by the press, but Jurgen and Penelope had no spare moment to mind it.
Because......
"That's all the queue of customers, isn't it? For CCC?"
"So it seems......"
A great procession had formed, stretching from Nortaris Central Station all the way to CCC, as though a pilgrimage to a holy site.
Regarding this rare spectacle, unseen even at the Great Subjugation, the subsequent report in North Times read thus:
To pay their respects to the one and only chicken dish blessed by the Royal Household, the kingdom's subjects had gathered — their queue three carriages wide and seventeen thousand grown men long.
Within that queue, people ate, slept, and quarrelled. Some fell ill, some fell in love, and some, it was said, even lived to see their own descendants born within it.
In plain terms:
"We've struck gold......"
"Not gold — we've struck a motherlode."
That was exactly what had happened.
***
Thirty minutes by carriage north of Whitehall Grand Palace, and the dense noise of the city gave way to deep, lush greenery.
Anyone who knew the land prices in the royal capital Albion would have been left to wonder:
'Why would the real estate dealers, who'd dig up the graves of their own parents and siblings for prime land, leave such a choice plot idle?'
The answer was simple.
This vast expanse of greenery, surrounded by high walls and tight security, was a hunting ground for the exclusive use of a privileged few.
—Bang!
Gunshot smoke drifted across the immaculately manicured lawn — more evocative of a golf course than a hunting ground.
A pheasant that had been crying out as it flew tumbled to the ground.
The waiting hunting hound sprinted swiftly toward the point of impact.
"My, my — your skills are as extraordinary as ever, Lady Clarisse. It seems I'll be losing today's wager as well."
"It's thanks to Marquis's allowance."
"Everyone knows of Lady Clarisse's marksmanship — there's no need for modesty."
"It's not modesty. It's merely a light amusement."
"A light amusement, a light amusement...... come to think of it, there was quite an amusing amusement at the Royal Household recently."
Clarisse, eldest daughter of the Rosemore Count Family, handed the shotgun to her attendant and answered tonelessly.
By contrast, the eyes of the newly-titled Marquis Eastwood betrayed an undisguisable longing.
Clarisse Rosemore — called a 'genius' in matters of family lineage, beauty, and every field — was more than sufficient to hold the heart of this haughty young marquis in her grip.
Enough to drive him to distraction with her aloof bearing, which rarely let its walls come down, unlike the advances of most women to which he would not spare even a glance.
"The culinary competition hosted by the Royal Household — have you heard of it? I was considering entering myself for the fun of it, when——"
"That is not a field that interests me."
"I, is that so? How unexpected...... I had assumed it was surely Lady Clarisse's doing, given that your younger sister had apparently made quite the showing."
—Bang!
"So such a thing happened."
Clarisse accepted the freshly reloaded gun and squeezed the trigger without hesitation.
With a bang, feathers scattered, and another pheasant plummeted toward the ground.
"N, nice shot!"
Marquis Eastwood, who had startled and swallowed his breath, applauded belatedly.
Clarisse let out a brief sigh at his foolish display.