Aunt Petunia shoved a small, insulting-ly light bag of coins into my hand, and I was on the next carriage to the capital before they could change their minds.
The journey was long, cold, and bumpy. I spent it cataloging every scrap of meta-knowledge I had from `Beastly B.A.D.s`. The Bad End was marriage to Marquis Grieve, and that ticking clock was my only motivation. My plan was to open a Daycare. But I had no shop, no reputation, and not nearly enough money.
About two hours from the capital, the carriage jolted to a halt.
"Thugs!" the driver yelled. "Everyone, stay put!"
I peeked out the window. You have got to be kidding me.
A smaller, much fancier carriage ahead of us was stopped. Two burly, boar-kin thugs were trying to wrench the door open, while a third was harassing the driver.
This isn't my business, this isn't my business, this isn't my...
The carriage door flew open, and a girl tumbled out. She had a cascade of the palest lilac-colored hair and wide, terrified olive-green eyes.
I froze. I know her.
That was Luna. The Normal Mode heroine. A wealthy merchant's daughter, known for being kind, timid, and... a Bunny-kin.
My brain, which was great at pattern recognition, immediately identified this scene. This was an Event Flag. This was the exact scene where the heroine was supposed to trapped by thugs, right before General Rajah Khanda made his grand, heroic entrance, saved Luna, and kicked off his romance route.
I looked around. No Tiger General. Just me, a failed Fox-kin, and a bunch of very real, very armed thugs.
Oh, for...
I wasn't the Easy Mode heroine, and I definitely wasn't a Capture Target, but I was a chef.
I rummaged in the small satchel I'd packed with my only worldly possessions: a change of clothes and three jars of high-grade spices I'd stolen from Aunt Petunia's pantry.
"Hey!" one of the thugs shouted, finally noticing my carriage. "Looks like we've got two!"
I yanked the lid off the Dragon's Breath chili-pepper blend. 'How do I know these ingredients? I have played this game multiple times.
"You're afraid of a fox?" I yelled at Luna, trying to get her attention. She was frozen in terror. "Get ready to run!"
The thug lunged for me. I wound up and threw the entire jar of spice-powder right in his face.
His scream was glorious.
"MY EYES! IT BURNS!"
"That's high-grade capsaicin, you uncultured swine!" I shrieked, grabbing Luna's hand. "RUN!"
We bolted into the woods as the other two thugs tried to help their screaming, blinded companion. We didn't stop until we were safely back on the main road, miles ahead.
Luna's grateful (and very wealthy) merchant-family carriage found us an hour later. Her father was so relieved he was practically weeping.
"You saved her! A... a Fox-kin, saving a... a Bunny?" he stammered. "My dear, how can we ever repay you?"
Well, since you asked...
"I'm actually looking to rent a small shop in the capital," I said, trying to sound professional. "To start a... a culinary business."
Luna's father beamed. "It's fate! We own a small property, a former bakery, in the common district! We've been looking for a tenant! It's yours, rent-free for a year. It's the least we can do!"
I could have kissed him.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Luna chimed in, finally over her fear of me. "It's the little building right across the street from our family's home!"
Of course it is. This was an Otome game, after all. The plot convenience was always dialed up to 11.
---
One Week Later
My business was a total, unmitigated disaster.
The Daycare was officially open. I'd scrubbed the former bakery until it shone. I'd made sample Calming Lavender & Honey Biscuits. I'd even hung up a terribly-drawn sign of a smiling wolf cub and a happy panther cub.
No one came.
Not a single customer. Not one "problem cub."
It turns out daycare isn't a concept here. Nobles have nannies. Commoners watch their own kids. My brilliant plan to capture the B.A.D.s was failing because I couldn't even get them in the door.
I was sweeping the empty shop for the tenth time that day when a knock came.
It was Luna, a bright smile on her face. "Hi, Primrose! I just wanted to see how—"
A tiny hand grabbed her skirt, and a mini-Luna peeked out. Same lilac hair, same olive eyes.
"And who is this?" I asked, my heart suddenly beating faster.
"This is my little sister, Clover," Luna sighed, pulling her forward. "She's a darling, but... she's a terror. My parents are at the merchant guild, and she's already driven off two nannies this week. She's the pickiest eater in the entire capital."
I looked at Clover. Clover looked at me.
I looked at Luna.
A picky eater. A cub-aged child. A "proof of concept."
"Luna," I said, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across my face. "You look exhausted. Why don't you let me... 'borrow' her for the afternoon?"
"Oh, I couldn't! She won't eat anything but plain carrots, and even then—"
"Nonsense," I said, already walking to my pristine, unused kitchen. "It's no trouble at all."
I looked at the pouting Clover. Then back at Luna.
She's not just a cute kid, I thought, my Top Chef "game" mode finally activating. She's an advertisement.
Luna looked torn, but the desperation of a full-time babysitter won out. She gave her sister a squeeze, promised to be back in an hour, and practically bolted, leaving me alone in the shop with my first "customer."
The... customer... was currently trying to merge with the wallpaper.
Clover had found a corner, turned her back to me, and was now a tiny, lilac-haired, pouting statue.
"So..." I said, wiping my hands on my apron. "This is a... lovely daycare. Right? Lots of... light?"
The pouting intensified.
"I have some snacks," I tried, walking over slowly. I pulled out one of the Calming Lavender & Honey Biscuits I'd pre-baked for my (non-existent) wolf-cub clients. "It's really good. Want to try?"
Clover whipped her head around, gave the biscuit a look of such profound disgust you'd think I'd offered her poison, and turned back to the wall.
Well, so much for my 'Demon Cub' cure-all, I thought, sighing. This kid is a tougher critic than Chef Ramsay.
I tapped my chin. "Okay, new approach."
I crouched down to her level. "Look, kid. I'm not gonna lie to you. This is a business. You're my only hope right now. What's it gonna take to make you eat something?"
Silence.
Then I remembered. What did Luna say? "She won't eat anything but plain carrots..."
I looked at the tiny, stubborn bunny-girl.
"Of course she does," I muttered, my inner chef sighing. "She's a rabbit. She's genetically hard-wired to be a carrot snob."
But as I thought about it, my Top Chef brain kicked in. A diet of 100% plain, raw carrots? No wonder she's a "terror." It's a bland, low-energy diet. She's probably cranky from a perpetual lack of flavor and calories.
A "plain carrot"... but what if it wasn't?
This world's ingredients were... different. The carrots here weren't just orange; they were "Sunburst" carrots, with a naturally high sugar content. The honey was "Starlight" honey, which had a milder, almost floral note.
My mind started racing. I didn't just have to give her carrots. I could transform them.
"Clover," I said, standing up. "You just sit right there. Don't move."
I marched into my pristine kitchen. The little bunny-girl, her curiosity finally piqued by my sudden action, padded silently after me and stood in the doorway, watching.
I was in my element. My hands moved on their own.
I didn't just grab a carrot. I grabbed four "Sunburst" carrots, a "Fluffy-Yolk" egg, a knob of "Whisper-Root Ginger," and a jar of the "Starlight" honey.
I wasn't just going to give her a "snack." I was going to give her an experience.
I grated the carrots, sautéed them just enough with the ginger to release their fragrance, and blended them into a smooth, vibrant-orange puree. I whipped the egg whites, folded them in... this wasn't just food. This was a Sunburst Carrot & Ginger Soufflé.
The smell—warm, sweet, with a tiny, spicy kick from the ginger—filled the tiny shop.
I heard a small sniff from the doorway.
Clover's nose was twitching. Gotcha.
I poured the batter into a small ramekin, baked it for exactly 12 minutes, and pulled out a perfectly risen, fluffy, golden-orange cloud. As a final "chef's kiss," I drizzled it with a tiny bit of the "Starlight" honey, which glistened on top.
I set the ramekin and a small spoon on the counter, right in front of her.
"It's just carrots," I said simply. "Pinky-promise."
Clover looked at the soufflé. She looked at me. She was suspicious—this was not a plain, raw carrot.
But the smell.
She picked up the spoon. She poked the soufflé. It wiggled.
She took the tiniest... tiniest... bite.
Her whole body went still.
Her olive-green eyes went wide.
She looked at the spoon. She looked at me.
And then she attacked it.
The "pickiest eater in the capital" devoured the entire soufflé in about thirty seconds, her little ears wiggling with every bite. When she was done, she looked up at me, a tiny bit of orange on her nose, and gave me the first, shyest smile I'd ever seen.
I grinned, wiping the counter. My first "problem cub" was cured.
My advertisement was officially ready.