Elena Violet wakes up one morning with memories of her past life and the realization that she is the villainess of the popular otome game "Crown of Roses." In the game, the arrogant and selfish noblewoman loses the prince to the commoner heroine and meets a ruinous end.
"Ugh, what a hassle. I'm not interested in romance."
Elena, who worked herself to the bone in a black company in her previous life, has only one dream: to run a cozy cafe.
"Alright! With this noble family's wealth and the inte
"Villainess Café Grand Reopening" - I am a fan of pudding (for the fifth time), and I declare zero political ambition.
The laughter from the kitchen last night still seemed to linger somewhere in the air.
Elena stood at the entrance of the grand hall of the royal palace, checking the cuffs of her white chef's uniform. The pure white apron she'd prepared for the banquet bore the modest embroidery of the Violet Marquis House. It was the one Karl Hermann had insisted on sewing the night before, claiming it had "dignity."
(Ease of movement is more important than formality, though.)
Even as she thought this, Elena checked the pudding on the silver tray. The caramel had been perfectly baked at exactly 127 degrees. The pudding itself was at 4 degrees—perfect cooling. She was confident about this much, at least.
"Before we begin service, I must inform you,"
A voice came from behind. The royal head chef, who had been standing in the kitchen since last night, had his white uniform perfectly arranged without a single wrinkle. He stood with his arms crossed, looking directly at Elena.
"I have confirmed today's service order. There are no issues. Your magical precision is also without issue."
"Thank you very much."
The moment Elena answered, footsteps came rushing from the side.
"I'll help with the service!!"
It was Sebastian. His silver hair was unusually tied back, and though he lacked his usual sword, the man with his assertively broad shoulders stood in a commanding pose. The shallow scar on his right cheek gleamed white in the morning light.
Elena responded immediately. "That won't be necessary."
"Why can you say that so definitively!?"
"Because the probability that your hands are too large and will crush the pudding exceeds fifty percent."
"Fifty percent!? What's your basis!?"
"You broke three wooden spatulas during yesterday's prep work."
Karl nodded silently. It was a quiet but unmistakable expression of no confidence in Sebastian.
"...Even you, Karl?"
"Three is excessive."
"That's too blunt!!"
At the edge of this commotion, Leon approached smoothly with parchment spread open. A single red streak ran through his black hair, standing up sharply at his temple. Behind his glasses, golden eyes traced the magical circle designs as he spoke to Elena.
"There are seven points of caution regarding operational execution."
"This is the seventh time you've given cautions."
"Seven points and seven times are separate concepts. Seven points refers to the number of cautions I'm about to give, whereas seven times refers to—"
"I understand."
"Then I cannot comprehend why you would conflate seven points with seven times."
"...I'll listen to the cautions while serving."
With that, Elena lifted the silver tray.
Behind her, she heard Sebastian shouting "What about my situation!?" as she pushed open the doors.
━━━
The grand hall of the royal palace was vast.
The magical lights of the chandelier illuminated the white ceiling brightly, and more than twenty nobles sat at the long table. The Jade Round Table of the Fleurecia Kingdom—the members of the council composed of the twelve highest noble families, plus other invited guests. Everyone was in formal dress, jewels and gold-thread embroidery glinting in the light.
At the far end, in the seat of honor, sat the king.
A man in his fifties with a good build. According to what Carl had told her, he'd been an adventurer in his youth, traveling through various countries. White was beginning to mix with his golden hair, and he held a goblet in one hand, observing the table. He was the same as when he'd visited the Moonlit Pavilion the other day—somewhat difficult to read.
Elena had written in the ledger's countermeasures column: "Make it with all your effort—that's all." She now believed that judgment had been correct.
Alphonse sat in the middle section. His golden hair gleamed in the light, and when he smiled, small dimples appeared at the corners of his eyes. Today he was speaking with an elderly noble in the adjacent seat, his expression calm and composed—the face of a politician.
(The face of a statesman.)
Elena thought this as she began placing the first course on the table.
It was quiet.
But within that quietness, there was an air of "being watched."
The young lady of the Violet Marquis House was serving. That fact alone drew the nobles' gazes. Eyes followed Elena's movements—not overtly, but certainly and repeatedly.
Elena didn't mind. The ledger's countermeasures column said "that's all." She would simply do her work.
━━━
The problem arose about halfway through service.
In the middle of the table, a mid-ranking noble sitting diagonally behind Count Dort von Elsbergh whispered to the man beside him.
"...That's the young lady of the Violet House, isn't it? The fact that she's coming and going from the palace like this—doesn't that suggest she's being considered as a candidate for queen?"
"Indeed."
It was meant to be a whisper. But in the silence of the hall, those words spread like ripples.
They reached Alphonse's ears.
That was where it all began.
"I am a fan of pudding."
Suddenly, he spoke in a clear voice.
The conversation stopped. Multiple gazes turned toward Alphonse.
"I... beg your pardon...?" The elderly noble beside him raised an eyebrow.
"I am a fan of the pudding from the Moonlit Pavilion, the café operated by the Violet House. That is all."
It was decisive. As a rebuttal to questions about political ambitions, it was completely off-target.
Sebastian said quietly from a distance, "Your Highness..."
"Second point," Leon said quietly beside Elena, setting down his parchment. "The second of the seven points of caution—"
"Not now," Elena replied in a low voice.
While Elena was responding, the next stage was already beginning with Alphonse.
The mid-ranking noble tried to continue with "But Your Highness, regarding the young lady of the Violet House—" when Alphonse opened his mouth.
"Ele—"
He stopped there.
Sebastian glanced at Alphonse for just a moment. Sharp, quiet, with eyes that said "You just called her by her first name, didn't you, Your Highness?"
"...I like Miss Violet's... pudding..."
He corrected himself. For some reason, pudding had increased.
"Second time," Sebastian said quietly.
"Don't count!"
"Third time," Leon said, still looking at his parchment. "The word 'pudding.' I am counting."
"Why are you counting!?"
The king in the seat of honor moved his mouth slightly. He tilted his goblet a bit while quietly observing the scene. His eyes had narrowed slightly.
Count Dort made his chair creak. The wrinkles between his eyebrows deepened.
Elena continued serving while moving from one end of the table to the other. She could clearly hear Alphonse delivering the fourth variation of "I have no political ambitions, I simply like pudding."
(There's no way to stop this.)
Elena hadn't written anything in her ledger about this situation. It was unforeseen.
The service route passed beside Alphonse's seat. Elena was holding a plate and passing along his right side when—
"Four times," Leon said quietly. "Pudding has been said four times."
"That's why I said don't count! Why are you keeping records!?"
"Five times," Sebastian immediately interjected. "Pudding."
"Argh!!"
Alphonse put his hand to his forehead. His golden hair became disheveled. His ears, without a moment's respite, turned bright red.
The conservative nobles in the hall murmured, "A fan of pudding...?" Confusion spread quietly.
As Elena passed beside Alphonse, she spoke in a voice that reached everyone in the hall.
"There are no political ambitions. It's only about sales."
━━━
Three seconds of silence followed.
Complete silence. The kind of three seconds where only the faint sound of the chandelier's magical lights could be heard.
Count Dort placed his hands on the table and began to stand.
Before he could, a voice came from the seat of honor.
It came from deep in the belly.
The king was laughing.
It was the kind of laughter that tried to hold back but couldn't. His shoulders shook as he tilted his goblet, and then he laughed openly, without covering his mouth.
"A young lady of the nobility with the soul of a merchant!!"
The marquis sitting beside him laughed in response. The countess next to him also had her shoulders shaking as she hid her mouth behind her fan. The laughter spread slowly across the table.
Count Dort's body, half-risen, remained suspended in that position. He couldn't sit, couldn't stand.
The king set down his goblet and turned toward Count Dort.
"Now, sit down, Dort. Eat your pudding."
His voice was gentle. But it was a gentleness that brooked no argument.
Count Dort slowly returned to his chair. Before he did, Elena silently placed a pudding in front of him.
The count looked at the spoon. He looked at the pudding. He looked away.
(Don't look... this is a trap...)
But the sweet scent of caramel drifted into his nose.
(Don't look...)
He glanced sideways. The caramel color was just right. Not burnt, not pale. The pudding itself jiggled smoothly.
(...)
He picked up the spoon.
"You don't have to eat it."
"I will eat it!!"
The count took a bite.
His expression moved, just barely.
━━━
On the final round of service, when Elena passed beside Alphonse's seat, he spoke in a low voice. His voice was slightly hoarse.
"...Thank you for helping me."
It was a small volume of sound, cut off from the surrounding commotion—just between the two of them.
Elena replied as she placed the plate.
"I didn't help. I was simply serving."
But her voice dropped one note lower than usual.
She noticed it herself. She tried to process it rationally. She couldn't.
Her hand hesitated for just one beat as she placed the plate—her fingertips touched the rim of the ceramic and paused. Alphonse's ears were still red. She could see them clearly in her peripheral vision. She decided not to think about why they were visible.
Between the two of them, an air different from the hall's atmosphere—one with body heat—passed through. For a moment, the commotion of the hall seemed distant.
Sebastian tilted his head toward Leon and whispered. "...Is this a good atmosphere?"
"It depends on the definition."
"What do you mean, 'depends on the definition'?"
"Since multiple operational definitions of 'good atmosphere' exist, the answer changes depending on which one is adopted."
"You're overcomplicating it!!"
The sweet moment was overwritten by comedy.
Elena moved to the next seat while thinking about her ledger.
━━━
At the same time, a different battle was unfolding at the Moonlit Pavilion.
Lillia stood alone at the counter.
A sixteen-year-old commoner girl—bright and friendly, someone who had been told she had a talent for customer service—had decided to run the Moonlit Pavilion alone tonight and had gone through six memo pads. Elena's recipes were spread out on the counter, their edges slightly bent from repeated review.
"...One more."
The voice came one hour before closing.
Behind the counter, a regular customer sat with his face bright red. Tears floated in his eyes. His nose was running. On the table was already an empty bowl of extra-spicy ramen.
Lillia offered him water.
"Water isn't enough... one more bowl of ramen...!"
"That's adding insult to injury!!"
"But... one more bowl...!"
"It's spicy, isn't it!?"
"It's spicy!! That's why one more!!"
Lillia thought for a while, then went into the kitchen.
She made it anyway.
(The customer ordered it, so there's no helping it.)
As she stood before the pot with that thought, Lillia's back remembered the time Elena had told her she had "a talent for customer service." She still wasn't entirely sure if that was true. But tonight she was standing here alone, and she was making ramen.
At another table, an elderly woman took a bite of pudding.
For a while, she didn't move.
Then tears slowly welled up in her eyes.
"...Since my daughter's wedding... I've never felt this happy..."
She murmured it to no
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.