Ever since that night, the sound of the doorbell had lingered in Elena's ears. That chime. The moment the first customer appeared at the Tsukikage-tei after three days of emptiness. Golden bangs spilling from the gap in a hooded cloak, and Elena's internal alarm system blaring at full volume—that was yesterday. And today, he came again. "...He's come again," Elena muttered. The hooded cloak fluttering, First Prince Alphonse Fleuresia opened the door to the Tsukikage-tei. He settled into the same seat as yesterday with the same elegant grace. His azure eyes gleamed straight toward the pudding on the counter. Elena wiped her hands with a cloth while letting out a grand sigh in her heart. (He came. He came again. The day after yesterday, he came. The flag-building speed is like a professional contractor's.) But when she checked yesterday's ledger again, the numbers were there: one pudding, two silver coins; additional pudding, two silver coins; spoon replacement, four silver coins; one coffee, one silver coin—total nine silver coins. Three days of zero sales had suddenly skyrocketed. Destruction flags and sales were separate matters. "Welcome," Elena said in a perfectly businesslike tone. The "technique of killing emotion while maintaining a smile" honed in her previous world's black company activated here. She never would have imagined in her past life that this skill, polished over seven years, would be useful for managing a café in a fantasy world. "Is today's pudding made the same way as yesterday?" Alphonse asked. "Yes, it is," Elena replied. "Then three, please," Alphonse said. Elena's hands stopped for a moment. Three. For one person. Three from the start. (Let me think rationally. This person is a gourmet. When a gourmet orders multiple servings of one dish, it's either to check for flavor variations or because they simply like it. Either way, it generates sales. That's all.) Elena quietly arranged three puddings and brought them over. She had been remembering since yesterday the expression on Alphonse's face the moment he took his first bite. His azure eyes grew slightly moist, and his expression became unclear—whether it was a reaction to the bitterness of the caramel or the smoothness—and then his spoon bent "gunya"— CRASH!! "You bent it again!?" Elena exclaimed before she could stop herself. This was the second one today. Alphonse came to his senses and looked at the spoon in his hand, confirming the silver handle bent in a perfect arc, his expression becoming subtle. "...When it's too delicious, strength just enters my hand unconsciously," Alphonse said. "You're bending silver spoons with your bare hands without thinking!?" Elena demanded. "That's how delicious it is," Alphonse replied simply. "I'll accept that as praise for the pudding, but the spoon replacement is four silver coins," Elena said. "Cheap," Alphonse answered immediately. His response was instant, and he pulled out his wallet with refreshing decisiveness. Elena wrote "spoon damage—four silver coins" in the ledger and found herself thinking, well, I suppose it's fine. Not that it was fine, but well, it was fine. ────── The next day. The doorbell chimed. When Elena looked up, the person who entered was a tall figure with golden hair wearing enormous round sunglasses. Despite the sunglasses covering half his face, golden bangs spilled out messily from the hood's edge. "..." Elena stared silently at the figure for three seconds. "Welcome," Elena said. "...You figured it out quickly," Alphonse said. "I did," Elena replied. "How?" Alphonse asked. "Your bangs are completely showing," Elena said. Alphonse covered the area around his temples. Golden curls overflowed from above the sunglasses' upper edge. He apparently hadn't noticed. "...What's your evaluation?" Alphonse asked. "I don't intend to evaluate your disguise," Elena said. "Please score it. I want to improve," Alphonse insisted. Elena thought for a moment. Should she refuse this request? But evaluating disguises could accelerate future visits. She shouldn't accelerate them. However— (But he's going to come anyway, isn't he.) "Sunglasses section: 20 points. Bangs management: 0 points. Overall: 10 points," Elena said. "That's harsh!!" Alphonse protested. "It's accurate," Elena replied. Alphonse sat down with a frustrated expression. He ordered two puddings and began eating carefully this time, trying not to destroy the spoon. He concentrated so hard that his grip tightened, but the first one survived. The second one bent with a "gunya." "Spoon replacement: four silver coins," Elena said. "Understood..." Alphonse sighed. ────── Two days later. Chime. Today's "mysterious youth" wore a golden fake beard under his chin. The color matched his eyebrows perfectly. Elena saw through it in three seconds. "The fake beard color matches your eyebrows. Rating: 8 points," Elena said. "That's the highest yet!?" Alphonse exclaimed. "Your basic approach is sound," Elena explained. "Why did it work!?" Alphonse asked. "The idea of a golden-haired person wearing a golden fake beard to disguise themselves became a blind spot. But I can tell—your bone structure and posture are exactly the same as yesterday," Elena said. Alphonse fell silent for a while, checking his own posture. Then he tried to consciously change it, shifting his stance, and ended up in an awkward position. "...Like this?" Alphonse asked. "Posture correction before disguise isn't really relevant," Elena said. "No, if I change my whole body to become someone else—" Alphonse began. "Shall I bring out the pudding?" Elena interrupted. "Please," Alphonse agreed. An unofficial disguise evaluation system launched at the Tsukikage-tei. Elena hadn't particularly wanted to do it; she'd accepted it with realistic judgment that if he was coming anyway, it would generate sales. But the problem was that Alphonse took it seriously every day, trying different approaches. Day four was a brown wig (immediately exposed by bone structure), day five was— The café door opened. When she saw the person entering, Hannah—the cheerful female proprietor of the Amber Spoon from the central market street, Elena's main supplier—turned around dramatically. Two passersby stopped in their tracks. The customer at the neighboring table who seemed to have been quietly writing (a middle-aged man Elena had never seen before) also looked up involuntarily. First Prince Alphonse Fleuresia was wearing a dress. It was beautiful. Devilishly beautiful. Golden curls flowed over his shoulders, white lace sleeves adorned his wrists, and the skirt's hem swept the floor elegantly. With such refined features, he genuinely looked like a noble lady. The problem was that he was 182 centimeters tall and walked with the gait of a trained warrior. Elena opened her mouth. "I'll evaluate this," Elena said. "Please do," Alphonse replied. "Appearance: 85 points. Bearing: 15 points. Overall: 45 points. Your highest score yet," Elena said. "Yes!!" Alphonse cheered. "But I can tell. Your gait is that of someone trained as a knight," Elena said. "...How do you see through everything?" Alphonse asked. "In my previous—rather, just intuition," Elena corrected herself. She wasn't sure if the correction came in time, but Alphonse just tilted his head curiously without pressing further. Still in the dress, he ordered three puddings and bent a spoon on the first one again. "Spoon replacement: four silver coins," Elena said. "...Understood," Alphonse replied. And the Tsukikage-tei's sales, which had been zero for three days, recovered as if it had been a lie. Alphonse came every day, ordering around five puddings, destroying an average of one spoon, accumulating failed disguise scores before leaving. Elena flipped through the ledger with a complicated expression, watching the numbers turn black. She couldn't figure out how to accept the reality that a destruction flag was saving her business from crisis. ────── One afternoon, Alphonse came without a disguise. That is, the golden-haired, blue-eyed beautiful man sat down at the counter at exactly 2 PM, rested his cheek on his hand, and began gazing toward the kitchen. Today wasn't disguise evaluation time; apparently he had a different purpose. "Can I ask you something?" Alphonse said. "Go ahead," Elena replied. "I prefer the caramel layer a bit thicker," Alphonse said. Elena stopped her work. It was about the pudding's structure. The ratio of caramel to the main body. Elena had thought her current recipe was optimal, but it wasn't a ratio that couldn't be adjusted to the eater's preference. (I could do a test batch.) When the conversation turned to cooking, Elena's thinking switched to a different circuit. Her romantic avoidance instinct and destruction flag alarm became slightly distant. Her brain used more capacity for talk of pans, pots, and sugar. "Understood. I'll make a test batch," Elena said. "You'll do it today?" Alphonse asked. "...Since you asked," Elena replied. Alphonse rested his elbow on the counter and turned his gaze toward the kitchen. Elena wondered what he was doing, but he didn't move. He was going to observe. He had no hesitation whatsoever. Elena put sugar and water in a pot. She held her right hand over it and activated temperature-control magic—the incantation was short, supplemented by hand gestures—magical power flowed from her fingertips, slowly raising the temperature in the pot. Mid-tier magic, temperature control system. This precision, controllable to 0.5-degree increments, determined the caramel's finish. She raised it to 127 degrees and stopped. From there, it was fine-tuning based on color. Elena was concentrating, watching the caramel turn dark brown. So she didn't notice when Alphonse had leaned further over the counter, bending his whole body toward the kitchen side to check the caramel's color. "Where do you judge the color?" Alphonse asked. He was close. When Elena turned from adjusting the magic, Alphonse's face was thirty centimeters away. His azure eyes weren't looking at the caramel pot but at Elena. His golden hair flowed in front of his shoulder, and it looked soft—a thought that flickered through her mind irrelevantly. "...You're too close," Elena said calmly. Actually, she was calm. At least on the surface. But instead of backing away, Alphonse continued looking at Elena's face at that distance. His azure eyes, unwavering, held a slightly troubled yet peaceful color. "...You're beautiful," Alphonse said quietly. It was like a murmur to himself. Elena's internal destruction flag alarm blared at maximum volume. (That's the most typical line an attack target says in a game. Without exaggeration, she'd heard it through the screen during past gameplay and felt her heart race. Now a living person was saying it from thirty centimeters away. The situation is bad. Judgment: immediate distance should be taken.) "Compliments aren't included in the pudding price," Elena said. Her voice was flat. Perfectly flat. Not a shred of her inner turmoil showing—the emotionless armor she'd developed during her office worker days in her previous life. Elena pulled back and took a step away from the counter. In doing so, the bowl of whipped cream for the test pudding tilted slightly. A soft dollop of cream landed gently on Elena's right cheek. Elena reached to wipe it with the back of her hand, but before she could— Alphonse naturally extended his right hand. His thumb, softly, touched Elena's cheek. Wiping away the cream. It was a small gesture that took less than a second. Alphonse brought his thumb to his mouth and said quietly, "...Delicious," with a serious expression as if genuinely tasting it. Something deep in Elena's chest pulsed once, strongly. Unmistakably. Against her will. Just once. (This is a symptom of light dizziness from magical consumption.) Her internal diagn