The candles of the dinner party burned slowly toward their end. It had been a long night. Thirty-two puddings served, Karl's stern expression gradually shifting to "well, not bad," the Earl's faction nobles exchanging glances while clearing their throats repeatedly—that sort of night. Elena kept track of the used plates in the margins of her ledger while monitoring the atmosphere of the hall from the corner of her vision. (Pudding consumption: thirty-two. Soup remaining: nearly zero. Caramel browning on all units: ninety-five points or higher. Tomorrow's prep—need to secure at least forty eggs to make it in time...) With her pen moving across the ledger, Elena was already constructing tomorrow's procurement list. It was that point in the evening, near the end of the dinner party. Count Dort von Elsberck rose to his feet. The conservative faction's leading figure at the Jade Round Table—adjusting his white wig, pulling at his lace sleeves, turning his gaze slowly toward the King at the head of the table. His movements were calculated. There was certainty in his posture that said "this is the moment." The atmosphere in the hall shifted noticeably. The nobles closed their fans. A single glass was set down somewhere in the distance. The silence was absolute. "Your Majesty, if I may take this opportunity to speak—" The Count's voice was low and composed. The measured tone of a seasoned parliamentarian. "Regarding the quality of tonight's cuisine—I have no objections." A brief pause on the word "but." First, he acknowledged the point. Then came the real matter. Years of parliamentary technique. Elena's pen stopped. A single drop of ink bloomed on the ledger. "However, the matter of a Duke's daughter conducting a food business in the capital—I believe this requires further discussion at the Jade Round Table. Regarding the operations of Tsukikage-tei—" "I oppose it." A voice overlapped. Scrape, scrape, scrape! Chairs were pulled back throughout the hall all at once. Mid-ranking nobles from the parliamentary benches stood. Three, four, five—the sound of rising chairs rippled like a wave. Karl stood quietly in his white chef's coat. Alphonse rose from his seat, narrowing his jade eyes. "I oppose it." "Likewise." "I do as well." Voices continued. Overlapping. Beneath the Count's white wig, his thick eyebrows twitched. At the head of the table, the King slowly set down his glass. A small sound of ceramic. "I concur." That was all. A quiet word dissolved into the atmosphere of the hall. When the King spoke, that was enough. "There are no factions before spicy ramen!!!!" Sebastian raised his fist. His long silver hair swayed, the scar on his right cheek catching the candlelight. His sharp silver eyes said "this is battle." The Knight Commander, Shield of the Azure Sky, stood tonight for spicy ramen. Leon spoke quietly, his golden eyes behind his glasses cast downward. "That's irrelevant." "It's highly relevant!!!!" "Depends on the definition." "What definition are you talking about!!!!" Carl stood with his arms crossed, facing straight ahead. The royal crest on his white chef's coat. The stability emanating from his large frame was unchanged from the kitchen of Tsukikage-tei tonight. "A chef has no faction." Carl's voice was low and matter-of-fact. No emotion. Simply stating fact. "That pudding is genuine." The hall fell silent. In the midst of a comedy storm, it was like a single unmovable stone. When the royal chef said "genuine"—that carried a weight heavier than parliamentary logic. Count Dort von Elsberck's voice cracked slightly. "Why... why?! There's the matter of parliamentary dignity! To raise such issues in this place—" This was the first stage. His voice rose. His wig shifted slightly. "Why do you all... why?!" His knees began to shake visibly even from a distance. He gripped the table. This was the second stage. "One pudding... just one... Does a nation move for a single pudding—!!!!" The third stage. He collapsed into his chair. His wig slipped. His lace sleeves crumpled. Elena, ledger in hand, caught the entire sequence in the corner of her vision. (A nation doesn't move for one pudding...) Her pen stopped. (...No, it did. Everyone stood up. Physically moved. A nation moved for pudding...) Something was strange, Elena thought. But then she reconsidered—well, it didn't matter. Continued sales were more important. The King raised his hand lightly. "Count, sit down." His voice was quiet. No force behind it. Just that, and the situation settled. The nobles returned to their seats. The sound of chairs being pulled back echoed quietly through the hall this time. ━━━ The echo of "I oppose" dissolved into the candlelight smoke. The temperature of the hall seemed to drop slightly. The candle flames flickered. Human shadows stretched long across the white and gold wall decorations. Elena lowered her gaze to the ledger and continued writing the count of used plates. Thirty-two. Tomorrow's egg procurement: forty. Caramel syrup inventory check. (Tonight's pudding caramel set at one hundred twenty-seven degrees with nearly uniform finish. Same temperature control should work next time.) Quiet footsteps approached. Elena's hand paused for just a moment on the ledger. "Elena." It was Alphonse's voice. Low, close, closer than she expected. Elena looked up. When she turned, his face was much closer than she'd anticipated. The candlelight of the dinner party illuminated his golden hair from the side, and his clear jade eyes looked directly at her. That face that formed small dimples when he smiled. But tonight, his expression hadn't yet reached that smile. Alphonse's ears were red. (...Hm?) Elena's vision clearly caught that redness. As if he'd just stepped away from the commotion of the dinner party, or perhaps for some other reason—his breathing seemed slightly uneven, something Elena sensed rather than saw. Sensed, unfortunately. "Thank you." His voice was low. And close. Closer than expected, heavier than expected, and Elena's heart beat one extra time. Then, gradually, her body temperature began to rise. From her neck, her shoulders, from deep in her chest, slowly. (What am I being thanked for?) Before she could ask, something had already moved first. Logically, it should be gratitude for the continuation of Tsukikage-tei's operations, but this extra heartbeat and rising temperature were slightly off from any logical explanation. Elena set her ledger back on the table and said: "I'll collect payment for the pudding next time." Alphonse laughed. It wasn't his usual dimpled smile, nor the expectant smile he wore when asking for pudding, nor the polite smile he used when discussing politics. If she had to find words for it—it was like all the pretense had fallen away. The face a person makes when there's no need to put on a mask. (What is this?) Elena thought internally. This smile—she couldn't categorize it in her ledger. If there were a section titled "Prince—Smile—Types," there would be no category for this smile. (No record needed... or rather, can't record it...) But she understood the reason—understood it, more accurately, because she couldn't help but understand. Tsukikage-tei would continue. What he'd tried to protect had been protected tonight. That relief had peeled away just one layer of his political mask. That was it. That was it, but Elena's chest held onto something that couldn't be fully explained by "that was it," a lingering warmth she didn't know what to do with. The redness of Alphonse's ears remained in the corner of her vision. She tried to judge it as "no record needed," but couldn't quite manage it, and was about to return her gaze to the ledger— "Hey!!! Sorry to interrupt the mood, but can you help me clean up—?!" Sebastian's voice echoed through the hall's ceiling. It was loud. With the hall's acoustics, it arrived at them at about one and a half times the original volume. Elena and Alphonse both turned their faces in completely opposite directions at exactly the same moment. Elena's gaze went to the top line of her ledger. The procurement list for tomorrow. Forty eggs. Two liters of milk. That was all. Alphonse's gaze went to the night sky outside the window. The night of the Fleuresia capital spread out. Nothing more. After a moment, Elena quietly shifted her gaze sideways. She confirmed that Alphonse wasn't looking at her. She felt relief. There was a fleeting sense of regret, but she judged that as "no record needed." She judged it, supposedly. Alphonse quietly shifted his gaze sideways. He confirmed that Elena wasn't looking at him. Both of them were, just slightly, catching their breath. "What mood are you talking about?" "Depends on the definition." "There was one." Sebastian fell into complete confusion. "All three of you answered! All at the same time! Why are you all in sync?! You're in sync but you're not?!" "Sebastian, I'll give you instructions on the priority order for clearing plates." "Y-yes!!" Elena began giving instructions while holding her ledger to her chest. Sebastian responded with "Yes!" and "Understood!" as he carried plates away. Leon pulled out parchment and began writing something. Karl stood beside Elena and spoke quietly. "...It's because of the pudding, isn't it?" Elena answered without hesitation. "It has nothing to do with me." Karl's mouth corners rose, just barely. Elena confirmed it before immediately moving on to check the next plate priority order. ━━━ Count Dort von Elsberck walked toward the great hall's door. No one stopped him. No one called out. No one looked his way. The Count simply wove through the crowd toward the exit. His wig still sat slightly askew. His lace sleeves remained disheveled. His hands moved to straighten them, but slowly. The door closed. No one said anything. Silence said everything. The Count himself understood best—that not being stopped was the greatest defeat. ━━━ As the cleanup progressed, Karl came to Elena's side. His white chef's coat bore the marks of tonight's work. The scent of soup, the sweet burnt aroma of caramel. A quiet man, Elena thought. Few words, and those few words held no waste. "Regarding the recipe for Tsukikage-tei's pudding," Karl said. Elena waited, measuring the pause. "May I learn from you?" A head chef asking a chef to teach him. It wouldn't be a small thing for his pride. Elena paused for a beat. "It's paid instruction." Karl answered without hesitation. "Of course." Elena said nothing more. Karl said nothing more. But that was enough. "Upgrade me to spicy level 12!!!!" Sebastian declared while cradling a stack of plates. His right cheek scar seemed to carry some kind of determination. It seemed to, but the content was spicy ramen, so the impact was halved. Elena opened her ledger to a page and spoke as if confirming something. "Didn't you cry at level 10?" "I didn't cry!! That was just steam from the soup getting in my eyes!!" Leon looked up from his parchment and spoke quietly. "To be precise, you cried seven times. Nasal discharge occurred eleven times. I have the data." Sebastian froze. "Why are you counting that!!!!" "Record-keeping is fundamental to research." "Don't research my nasal discharge!!!! Erase it!! Erase that data!!!!" "I won't." "Why not—!!!!" His voice echoed through the great hall's ceiling. A three-part combo. Elena listened to the commotion from the side while closing her ledger. The corner of her mouth tried to rise on its own. Finally, she opened the ledger again. On a fresh page, she ran her pen across it. Ink settled onto paper. "Tsukikage-tei—operations continuation—confirmed." She wrote the characters clearly so they wouldn't smudge. So they could be read properly. "I'm glad." Alphonse's voice came from behind her. He was leaning in to look. His golden hair was at the edge of her vision. His jade eyes were