The tea in the study had long since gone cold. The air was heavy, tense, as though even the paintings on the wall leaned closer to hear the outcome.
Madam Ashdown set her cup down with a deliberate clink, her sharp eyes scanning Viscountess Yuhwa and Ji Hoon across the table. She dabbed at her lips with a silk kerchief, her expression unreadable.
"Well," she began, her voice smooth but cutting, "your vineyards once flowed like rivers. But these days? A trickle. And trickles cannot sustain contracts. It has been months since the last shipment we ordered, but we haven't even got more than half of what we originally ordered."
Viscountess Yuhwa's fingers tightened around her skirt beneath the table. "Please, Madam Ashdown. The fire was a calamity. Give us time—"
"Time?" Madam Ashdown leaned forward, her jeweled rings clinking as she steepled her fingers. "I've already given you months. And what has it gained me? Seventy gold sunk into shipments that still haven't reached my taverns. Do you expect me to wait politely while your grapes shrivel in smoke?"
Ji Hoon sat silent, studying her. Her words weren't just complaints. They were daggers dressed as diplomacy.
"I want my refund." She snapped her fan shut, eyes narrowing. "Seventy gold back, immediately."
Viscountess Yuhwa's face paled. "Madam, that money has already—"
"Then," Ashdown interrupted, her lips curling, "I'll accept a forty percent decrease on all future payments instead. Permanent, of course. That should balance your… shortcomings."
The demand was absurd. It wasn't negotiation—it was a death sentence. Even Beatrice, standing quietly at the side, gasped.
Viscountess Yuhwa swallowed, trying to keep her composure. "…That is impossible. Such a reduction would collapse us."
Madam Ashdown rose, smoothing her gown. "Then I'll take my business elsewhere. There are plenty of vineyards in Valeria that would leap at my coin." She turned to leave, her silk hem whispering across the rug.
Ji Hoon's voice cut through the air. "Wait."
She paused, her hand already on the doorframe, and slowly turned. "What did you say?"
Ji Hoon stood, his eyes calm but resolute. "I'll pay you."
Viscountess Yuhwa's head whipped toward him, eyes wide. "Cassian—"
Madam Ashdown arched a brow, amusement tugging at her lips. "You? And where, pray tell, will a spoiled young noble find seventy gold to toss at me?"
Ji Hoon met her gaze without flinching. "The Imperial Culinary Certification. I'm competing. I'll win the prize money. And I'll repay you in full."
A beat of silence followed before the room erupted into laughter—hers. Cold, musical, dismissive.
"The ICC?" she scoffed. "Child, registration ended days ago. Do you think you can simply waltz in and—"
"I already passed the preliminary."
The laughter stopped.
Madam Ashdown's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed again, suspicion clouding her expression.
"You… what?"
Viscountess Yuhwa stood abruptly, her composure cracking. "Cassian! Is this true?" It surprised her, she only allowed him to enter since he was begging her, and now he actually passed?
Ji Hoon nodded. Calm, certain. "I passed. Ask the Ministry of Food if you doubt me."
Ashdown's fan snapped open again, hiding the lower half of her face. "If you are lying to me now only to attempt to bribe officials later into securing you a place later, you do realize what that means? Execution. The Ministry is under the Emperor himself. No one cheats the ICC."
'The Emperor is the head of Ministry of Food?' that made Ji Hoon surprised.
Without another word, Ji Hoon reached into his coat and placed a folded parchment on the table. The golden seal of the Ministry glimmered under the lamplight.
Her eyes flicked over it, scanning the characters. The certificate. Authentic.
For the first time, Madam Ashdown's lips parted in something that wasn't a smirk. "So it's true…"
Viscountess Yuhwa pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Her son—her son—certified by the Ministry. She didn't even know he could cook before days, let alone be a certified individual.
Still, Madam Ashdown's eyes hardened. "Even so. A slip of parchment is not skill. You expect me to gamble my taverns' future on an untested cook? Hmph. No."
Ji Hoon's lips curved faintly. "Then taste my dish."
Her laugh returned, sharp and incredulous. "Taste your dish? Boy, I am Madam Ashdown, I own taverns with skilled cooks around the empire. It's hard to satisfy me and my very high palate."
"Yes," Ji Hoon said simply. His voice cut through her pride like a blade. "Even so, I'm sure you will love my cooking."
Her eyes flared. "Do you think I don't dine on world-class cuisine every week? Do you think you—a child playing cook—can move me when masters of the empire have not?"
His reply was steady, unwavering. "Taste it. If you hate it, then leave, and we'll end this here. But if you like it—even a little—give us two months. Until the ICC ends."
The challenge hung in the air like thunder before a storm.
Madam Ashdown studied him, the silence heavy. Then, finally, she snapped her fan shut with a sharp click.
"…Deal."
* * * * *
At the de Clein manor, Lady Vale reclined on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, her smile betraying an undisguised interest in Roswald, who sat beside her with his usual polished composure and elegant poise.
"So, what brings you today to my humble place, Lady Vale?" Roswald asked, his voice calm, almost teasing.
Lady Vale let out a soft, elegant scoff. "You are truly humble to call this mansion—one that would rival the royal palace—a humble place."
Roswald's lips curved into a small chuckle, but he said nothing, allowing her to continue.
"And why can't I visit? Didn't someone say they liked me and would take care of me anytime, anywhere?" Her eyes glinted with playful defiance.
"Of course," Roswald replied smoothly, "how could I refuse when a lady such as yourself comes to me in person?"
A satisfied smile flickered across Lady Vale's face.
"By the way," Roswald added casually, "how is your fiancé?" He hoped to glean some information from her reaction.
The mention of Cassian and the word fiancé immediately shifted Vale's expression. Anger flashed in her eyes, her composure faltering for the briefest moment.
"Why bring up that fool now? I was just beginning to enjoy a moment of peace—he hasn't come to see me or sent gifts to nag me as he used to."
"He hasn't contacted you?" Roswald prompted gently, his curiosity feigned as concern.
"Yes. After I went to him when he was injured by those ruffians… I don't know if they struck something in his mind, but surprisingly, he hasn't contacted me since. I thought it was your doing—you said you'd take care of him."
Roswald's expression betrayed both surprise and quiet satisfaction. It seems that beating finally got through his tough skull and reminded him of his place, he thought.
Vale leaned forward slightly, her voice taking on a sharper edge. "But when are you going to take me, Roswald? Didn't you say you would handle him and then get my parents' permission to ask for my hand?"
"Of course I did, and I will," he replied smoothly. Once I make him understand to sign off your contract with him, I will have you as I want. Just wait.
"Just a little while, okay?" he added softly, and she nodded, granting him a silent understanding. His hand drifted closer to hers.
"You know I like you, right, Vale?" His gaze spoke louder than words, and his hand moved subtly toward her leg. The implication was clear, and Lady Vale understood—but she stood abruptly, discomfort flashing in her eyes.
"We're not even married yet, Roswald," she said sharply. He let out a frustrated sigh.
"What's wrong? I am going to have you anyway, right? You always do that," he murmured, exasperation showing on his face.
But seeing her discomfort, he quickly softened his expression into his usual kind, elegant mask. "I am sorry… the wine got to me."
Vale nodded in understanding, then, as if remembering something, straightened and moved toward the door.
"Sorry, I have an appointment with my friend," she said lightly, giving him a fleeting glance before leaving.
"An appointment at this hour?" he asked.
"Yes, they are an important person, and I must go. Don't forget what we discussed," she replied, voice firm yet teasing.
Roswald smiled, despite his lingering feelings, watching her departure. Outside, Light, who had been waiting silently, stepped in as she got out.
Light closed the door behind him, bowing slightly as he faced his master, who looked more than frustrated. Roswald's lips parted, a sharp edge in his tone.
"Light… tell me again, why must I—Roswald de Clein—entertain that wretched woman this much?"
Light lowered his gaze, keeping his voice steady. "Because securing the Vale merchant family's cooperation will be far more advantageous to your rise, Master."
Roswald exhaled a long, dramatic sigh, then a smile crept across his face at Light's words. "Ugh… I just need to get that insolent Cassian to break their contract, and then I will have her. And once I do, that old fool of a father of hers will bend to my will. Finally… she will be mine."
Light remained silent, watching his master's expression shift from maniacal laughter to a cold, calculating seriousness.
"You said I will meet him at the Royal Banquet, right?" Roswald asked, leaning back slightly in his chair. "When exactly is that scheduled?"
"In two weeks, my lord," Light replied. "Immediately following round one of the ICC."
Roswald's smile widened, sharp and knowing, as he leaned forward, plotting every move in his mind.