One afternoon, Saphy arrived at the kitchen.
Seeing her there, the kitchen staff exchanged puzzled glances. Their little miss only ever showed up in the mornings — and only when she planned to create a new dish or demonstrate some strange new tool she had tinkered with.
So one of the cooks finally gathered the courage to ask,
"Miss, do you need something?"
They fully expected today she came hare just to ask for some snacks .
"Yes," Saphy said. "Bring me a bowl, bread flour, salt, honey, and eggs."
At once, ingredients were fetched, arranged neatly on the central table. The staff watched with quiet curiosity as she gave her first instruction.
"First, pass the flour through a sieve. Make sure there are no chunks."
The head chef performed the task, and Saphy continued in her calm, practiced rhythm.
"Now activate the frozen yeast. Use warm milk, honey, and a little flour."
Her voice was steady, almost clinical — the tone she always used when she was in "food invention mode." The staff had seen it enough times to know something interesting was about to happen.
Once the yeast was awake and bubbling softly, she moved on.
"Add the flour, salt, honey, two whole eggs, and two egg yolks."
The chef blinked. Eggs… and extra yolks?
This was new.
Still, he obeyed. His hands moved with the confidence of a seasoned craftsman as he began kneading the mixture into a dough. As he worked, his thoughts wandered.
Miss must be making a new kind of bread…
It wasn't unusual for her to reinvent dishes, but this was his first time making bread enriched this heavily with eggs.
This will definitely taste different… richer, maybe? Softer?
When the dough reached the perfect smooth elasticity, they covered it and let it rise. Time passed, and when it was ready, he kneaded it again with care, shaping it into a neat, round loaf. Everything seemed normal so far.
And just as he was about to place the dough into the bread-shaped container, Saphy suddenly lifted her hand.
"Wait— not that," she said.
The chef froze mid-motion, completely thrown off.
The entire kitchen leaned in slightly, sensing that the "bread" they thought she was making… was not actually bread at all.
"Shape them into smaller portions," Saphy instructed.
Before anyone could ask, she cut a small piece from the dough and gently rounded it between her palms, forming a perfect, smooth ball. Her movements were quick and practiced — as if she had done this countless times before.
The chef nodded and copied her actions, and soon the rest of the staff joined in.
By the end, twelve neat dough balls sat lined up on the table, soft and plump like miniature pillows.
"Lightly oil the baking sheet," Saphy said.
A thin layer of oil was brushed across the tray. Then she directed them to arrange the dough balls on it — each spaced apart carefully, so they wouldn't merge together as they grew.
The kitchen staff watched with growing curiosity.
This clearly wasn't normal bread.
Not with this much egg.
Not with this shaping.
Not with this careful spacing.
After the dough had risen again, turning noticeably fluffier, Saphy cracked an egg into a bowl, added an extra yolk, and whisked them together into a glossy mixture.
She brushed the tops of each dough ball, giving them a smooth golden coat — then reached into a small jar and sprinkled a generous pinch of sesame seeds over each one, letting them fall like tiny white jewels onto the shiny surface.
The chef's eyes widened.
The maids whispered among themselves.
And a faint, proud smile tugged at Saphy's lips.
Yes…
She was making Brioche Buns!!
When the baking finally finished, the moment the oven door swung open, a rich, buttery aroma flooded the entire kitchen. It wasn't the simple warmth of everyday bread — it was deeper, sweeter, almost luxurious. The scent wrapped around everyone like a soft blanket, causing the staff to pause mid-task, their noses lifting instinctively toward the source.
The buns themselves were stunning.
Each one had risen beautifully, their tops transformed into a glossy, golden-brown dome, smooth and delicate like polished amber. The sesame seeds had toasted lightly in the heat, dotting the surface with tiny ivory flecks that made the buns look almost jewel-like. When the chef lifted one onto a plate, it gave the faintest resistance before yielding — impossibly soft, feather-light, and springy under his fingertips.
Saphy gazed at them with the satisfied pride of a craftsman who had recreated a memory from another world.
"These," she said softly, almost ceremoniously,
"are Brioche Buns."
The staff exchanged glances — they had never smelled, seen, or even imagined bread like this.
And in that moment, the kitchen felt as if it had witnessed the birth of something extraordinary.
And before the staff had time to process the glory of the buns, Saphy shattered their daze.
"I'm not done."
Every pair of eyes snapped toward her.
"Bring beef, pork, and beef fat."
The ingredients were rushed over, and Saphy inspected them one by one with a critical eye. The cuts were clean, fresh, and marbled — good enough for what she planned next.
"Chef, finely mince all of it," she said.
The chef got to work, chopping rapidly, his knife clattering rhythmically against the board. But even with his speed, Saphy frowned slightly.
Looks like I need to make a proper mincer too, she thought.
When the meat was finally minced to a near-paste consistency, she instructed:
"Now mix it.
Fifty percent beef…
Twenty-five percent pork…
And twenty-five percent fat."
Her proportions were precise, her tone sharp. She wanted the perfect balance — enough richness from the beef, tenderness from the pork, and juiciness from the fat. Any more, and it would be greasy. Any less, and it would be dry.
Once the mixture reached the ideal texture — cohesive but still loose enough to form easily — she nodded in satisfaction.
"Heat the flat top."
The chef quickly lit the large griddle. As it warmed, a faint shimmer rippled across its metal surface.
"Add oil. Spread it evenly."
He grabbed a ladle, drizzled oil onto the hot plate, then used a metal spatula to push it across the surface until a thin, gleaming layer remained.
When the oil began to smoke lightly, Saphy moved closer.
"Now take a handful of the meat and form it into a ball… not too tight."
He shaped it gently. Saphy tapped the side of his hand.
"Good. Now press it — flatten it quickly into a patty."
The meat hit the griddle with a satisfying sizzle, the edges instantly crackling. A wave of savory aroma rose from the hot surface.
"Season. Immediately."
The chef sprinkled salt, a pinch of cracked pepper, and a light dusting of garlic powder. The spices bloomed on contact with the heat, their scent mingling with the sizzling fat.
After a minute, when the bottom had caramelized into a dark, flavorful crust, Saphy nodded.
"Flip."
The chef slid the spatula under the patty and turned it. The other side hissed as it hit the metal.
"Now — cheese."
She handed him a slice. He placed it on top, and she motioned at the metal dome beside the griddle.
"Cover it."
The dome trapped the heat instantly. Inside, the cheese began melting, softening from the center outward until it draped like silk over the patty.
When the chef finally lifted the lid, a puff of fragrant steam escaped — and the sight made the whole kitchen lean forward.
The cheese had melted perfectly, hugging every contour of the meat in a glossy, irresistible layer.
The staff swallowed hard.
Saphy's eyes gleamed.
Her masterpiece was only getting started.
It was time to assemble.
The freshly baked brioche buns were still warm, their golden shells soft and delicate beneath the knife. Saphy sliced each one cleanly through the middle, revealing the tender, buttery interior that released a faint puff of steam.
She prepared the sauce next — a quick, makeshift burger sauce.
Into a small bowl she added ketchup, a spoonful of mayonnaise, a pinch of black pepper, a dash of salt, a squeeze of fresh lime, and a ribbon of honey. She whisked it together until it turned into a smooth, peach-colored mixture, glossy and fragrant with sweetness and tang.
With careful precision, she spread the sauce only on the top half of each bun.
The bottom halves she left untouched.
On each bottom bun, she placed a steaming patty straight from the griddle. The melted cheese clung to its sides like molten gold. On top of that, she added a fresh slice of tomato, a few strands of charred onion still warm from the flame, and thin pieces of pickled cucumber that gave off a sharp, vinegary scent.
Then she gently set the sauce-coated top bun over it, pressing down just enough for everything to settle into place.
A new dish was born.
Cheese Burger.
But Saphy didn't take a bite — not yet.
Instead, she turned to the chef.
"Copy exactly what I did. Make more."
The chef immediately began preparing additional buns, slicing, spreading sauce, stacking ingredients with the same care she had shown. The staff moved quickly, almost breathlessly, filling the kitchen with the rustle of parchment, the hum of knives, and the steady sizzle from the griddle as more patties cooked.
One by one, the burgers came together.
Soon, ten more Cheese Burgers sat proudly on the long wooden counter — warm, glossy, and impossibly tempting.
The kitchen had never seen anything like them.
The chef carefully sliced each burger into two neat halves, placing them on small plates so everyone in the kitchen could have a share. The cross-section alone was mesmerizing — layers of color, texture, and steam rising gently from the warm center.
"Let's eat," Saphy said, taking the first bite.
The staff hesitated only a moment before following her lead.
The first thing they noticed was the brioche bun.
Soft, slightly sweet, and airy, it compressed gently between their teeth without crumbling. It wasn't like the dense, dry bread they were used to — this one almost melted, carrying a subtle buttery richness that set the stage for everything else.
"The bun alone could be a dessert…" one maid muttered, surprised.
Next came the pickle — thin, crisp, and bright. Its sharp acidity cut through the richness instantly, making their mouths water.
"That little tang… it wakes you up," one cook whispered.
The charred onion added a smoky note, soft but not mushy, with just a hint of bitterness from the edges. It blended smoothly with the fresh tomato, which burst lightly with juice, adding freshness that balanced the deeper flavors.
"The tomato keeps it from feeling heavy," another staff member said, nodding thoughtfully.
Then the sauce revealed itself — creamy and tangy with a soft hint of sweetness from the honey and a citrus lift from the lime. It clung to the tongue, tying the vegetables to the meat.
"This sauce… it's simple, but it pulls everything together," the chef commented between bites.
And then the star — the patty.
Juice pooled instantly on their tongues. The beef's deep savoriness, the mild sweetness of the pork, and the richness from the fat combined into something fuller than any meat dish they had tasted before. The crust was especially impressive — a thin, caramelized layer that cracked gently as they bit through it, releasing concentrated flavor.
"That crust… how did it get so dark and rich?" a young helper murmured.
The cheese wrapped around the patty fused everything together with a mellow creaminess. It didn't overwhelm; it softened the sharper notes, adding a smooth, velvety texture.
By the time they finished chewing, every component — bun, sauce, vegetables, meat, cheese — blended into a single harmonious bite.
"It shouldn't make sense," the chef said slowly, staring at his half-eaten portion. "Sweet, sour, smoky, salty… but somehow, it balances."
"It's like the ingredients are arguing," another cook said, "but in the end they all agree."
Saphy simply took another bite, cheeks slightly puffed from chewing, and said with a satisfied little nod,
"See? Told you it would work."
The staff could only nod back, savoring their bites in awe.
While eating her own burger, Saphy suddenly drifted into nostalgia.
The warm brioche, the juicy patty, the melted cheese — it all reminded her of late-night cravings from her past life. She took another bite, savoring it with a soft hum.
Then she froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her jaw stopped mid-chew.
A tiny squeak escaped her.
"…I should have toasted the buns."
Every cook turned to look at her.
She stared at the burger in her hand with the expression of someone who had just remembered they left the laundry soaking for three days.
"Toasting would've made it better!" she muttered, dramatically clutching the top bun. "Crispy edges… warm surface… that gentle crunch…"
The staff blinked, unsure whether to nod or comfort her.
But a second later, she puffed her cheeks, shrugged, and took an enormous bite.
"Well, whatever. I'll do it next time," she said between mouthfuls, completely abandoning her moment of regret. "I'm just gonna enjoy my burger."
A maid whispered to the chef,
"She recovered fast…"
"Like switching pages in a book," the chef replied.
Saphy, oblivious, kept eating with happy determination — mourning the un-toasted bun for exactly three seconds before moving on with her life.
By the time the last crumbs disappeared and the kitchen grew quiet again, the staff exchanged looks that bordered on reverence. They had tasted countless dishes from their little miss — soups, stews, sweets, snacks — each one surprising in its own way.
But this?
This was different.
This was a meal that felt like it belonged to a bustling foreign city, not a noble estate in Eddleguard.
A dish so humble in appearance, yet so impossibly satisfying, it made them wonder how many wonders Saphy still had hidden in her mind.
The chef glanced at the row of empty plates.
"…If this ever reaches the city," he murmured, "people will line up around the block."
The others nodded.
Saphy, licking a bit of sauce from her finger, blinked innocently.
"Eh? It's just a burger."
Just a burger, she said — as if she hadn't just revolutionized bread, meat, and everything in between.
Her staff could only sigh, half in admiration, half in defeat.
As she hopped off her stool and wiped her hands, Saphy declared,
"Alright! Next time I'll make a toasted version."
The kitchen froze again.
Next time?
That meant there would be another round of this culinary madness — and none of them could say they weren't secretly excited.
As Saphy walked out of the kitchen with a small satisfied bounce in her step, the staff quietly agreed on one thing:
Their little miss wasn't just inventing food.
She was changing their world, one dish at a time.