Elena was still dwelling on last night's events. Those characters she'd written in the margin of the ledger: "Requires Confirmation." Leon's golden eyes. The weight of the words "seventeen years"—all of it had been circling the edges of her mind even while she worked through the morning preparations. (But today is irrelevant. Morning inventory. That's all.) She'd passed through Central Market Street, collected eggs from Hannah Müller at the specialty food shop "Amber Spoon," and turned into the alley on her way back an hour before opening. The bottle of milk from Petrika Village was heavy in her hands. The royal capital of Blanche was still quiet in the early dawn, with thin morning mist drifting across the stone pavement. Elena turned the corner of the alley and stopped dead. Seven enormous wooden crates were stacked in front of the Moonlit Pavilion's entrance. "...What?" The word escaped her. Her voice was hoarse. Standing beside the crates with his chest puffed out was a single figure. He wore a hood, but golden hair peeked out from its edge. Clear blue eyes sparkled in the morning light. The kind of face that formed dimples when smiling—and it was forming them right now. "A perfect apology," Alphonse declared with absolute confidence. Alphonse Fleuresia. Elena approached the crates. She confirmed the aroma wafting from the gap in the topmost box. Saffron. The next crate—a label reading "Royal Exclusive Cheese." Beside it—black truffle. All first-rate ingredients. She found herself checking the wood grain with her fingertips, verifying quality before she realized what she was doing. Three seconds later, she became aware of it. And the bottom crate. It had a hole. For some reason, it had a hole. From inside came a damp, humid presence. "...What is this?" Elena asked. "Crabs. Live specimens procured from Palmera, the southern port city. Check the sticky note," Alphonse replied. A sticky note was affixed to the crate's lid. In meticulous handwriting: "Is the concept of seafood pudding not viable?" (Seafood pudding...) Elena conducted a high-speed search through her previous life's memories. Nothing. No such recipe existed. In fact, she'd never known a human being who would conceive of combining crab and pudding— BANG!!!! The Moonlit Pavilion's door burst open from inside. Elena stumbled for a moment, her back hitting the wooden crate— In that instant, something was there. Or rather, someone. Two hands caught her shoulders smoothly. Alphonse had reflexively reached out. Elena's back settled neatly against Alphonse's chest. Breath brushed the back of her neck. "Are you alright?" Alphonse's low voice came from right beside her ear. Elena's pulse—completely independent of her will—jumped. His body heat transferred to her. The warmth of Alphonse's hands spread slowly through her shoulders and skin. (This is... a physical impact response—) "The crab!!" Alphonse's gaze shifted past Elena's shoulder toward the crate. His focus moved there for just a moment. Elena quietly took a step forward. A crab that had escaped was scuttling sideways across the stone pavement. "...When did it get out?" Elena asked. "Just now, the moment the knight opened the door," Alphonse replied. Two of Alphonse's knights stood in front of the Moonlit Pavilion's entrance. They'd already moved three crates inside the door, which had apparently blocked it from opening from outside—meaning they'd sealed it from the inside themselves. (Where did the part about getting permission first disappear to...) Elena gently set the milk bottle against the alley wall and pursued the escaped crab. The crab changed direction quickly. Just when she thought it was going left, it turned right. When Elena reached out, it slipped sideways to evade. "Got it!" Alphonse exclaimed. Alphonse secured the crab with both hands. But the crab's claws moved swiftly—"Ugh!?" came an un-princely sound, and Alphonse released the crab. It escaped again. "How am I supposed to cook this..." Elena muttered. "That's left to your creativity," Alphonse replied. (Don't dump problem-solving onto the ingredients. And where am I supposed to file the report...) Elena wanted to write that down somewhere in her mind, but the ledger was left at the entrance. There was no room to retrieve it while catching crabs. That's when Elena noticed something—a sensation still lingering on her shoulders. (Ah. Alphonse's hand temperature is still there.) Elena thought for three seconds, then delivered her diagnosis immediately. (It's a nerve phantom sensation after physical impact. Diagnosis confirmed.) She didn't notice that the tips of Alphonse's ears had turned slightly red. ━━━ Putting the crab back in its crate and organizing the ingredients became the morning's first task. The saffron could be used immediately, but the black truffle required temperature control. As Elena adjusted the cooling magic circle in the kitchen—a spell carved into the floor that could control temperature in 0.5-degree increments—and stored the ingredients, Knock, knock, knock, knock. A sound came from the back door. When she opened it, silver-long hair swayed in the morning light. Sebastian Greyford. The young commander of the Azure Shield—the royal knight order of the Fleuresia Kingdom, a unit of 800 members. His 188-centimeter frame was followed by six knights, all carrying tools. A saw. A hammer. For some reason, bricks. "In place of an apology, I will renovate. On the honor of a knight," Sebastian declared. His sharp silver eyes assessed the Moonlit Pavilion's back wall. A shallow scar on his right cheek caught the morning light. The knight order's crest on his chest. A sword at his waist. A sword shouldn't be necessary for renovation, but this was Sebastian, so it couldn't be helped. A blueprint that appeared to be adapted from a formation diagram was spread out. Multiple red lines were drawn across it. "First, we remove this partition wall," Sebastian said, pointing. Elena looked at where he indicated. "That's a structural wall," Elena replied. "Then another wall," Sebastian suggested. "That won't work either," Elena said. "Then—" Sebastian began. "Nothing will work," Elena finished. "What can we destroy?" Sebastian asked. "Destroy nothing," Elena commanded. This exchange went back and forth seven times. Seven times. Elena maintained a straight face throughout. Sebastian remained serious to the end. Five minutes later, six knights were splitting firewood in the back garden. It was the result of Sebastian proposing "Then I will split firewood" as an alternative. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. The rhythmic sound of splitting wood echoed from the garden. (Firewood is certainly needed. But this isn't renovation. Where am I supposed to report this...) Just as Elena was about to hold her head, the front door chimed. It was still early for opening time. When Elena went to the entrance, a figure in a black robe stood there. Jet-black short hair with a single vibrant red streak. Golden eyes gleamed quietly behind glasses. Both arms held a bundle of parchment. Leon Ashberry. Chief researcher of the Court Magical Academy—a magical research institution directly under the royal palace with 150 researchers. Twenty years old. A brilliant magical theorist. And— "You're banned," Elena said flatly. "I've brought design specifications that will improve kitchen magic efficiency by 40%. More beneficial than an apology," Leon replied instantly. He showed the bundle of parchment. It was covered in calculations. Whether it was beneficial or not aside, this person apparently didn't understand that apology and benefit were separate matters. "Apology and benefit are separate matters," Elena said. Leon's hand, which had been turning the parchment, stopped. One beat. Then Leon looked directly at Elena. Behind his glasses, his golden eyes were steady and unwavering. "...I'm sorry," Leon said. It was brief. Five words. But those five words seemed etched into the parchment like the characters written there—not wavering even slightly, completely sincere. Elena froze for three seconds, ledger in hand. (...Why does only this person's words have that kind of density?) Throughout her previous life and this one, Elena had used the words "I'm sorry" countless times. As a standard opening line in documents. As a formal phrase at the beginning of meetings. But Leon's words just now—they weren't like that. They weren't a formality. (It's linguistically optimized apology selection based on academic standards. That's all. Seal complete.) The seal's speed was slightly slower than usual. Leon interpreted the silence as acceptance. He proceeded toward the kitchen. "Just looking at the designs. Don't touch anything," Elena said. "That's sufficient," Leon replied. Thus the third invader entered the Moonlit Pavilion. ━━━ Ten minutes later, if Elena had to describe the state of the Moonlit Pavilion to someone, she'd have no confidence in her ability to do so. In the dining area, Alphonse continued negotiations with the crab that had escaped again. "We mean no harm," he said while chasing it around. The crab believed him not at all. In the kitchen, Leon had spread parchment across the floor and knelt, beginning efficiency calculations for the magic circles. "If we expand the interference radius by 17%, storage precision will improve," his muttering continued. When Elena countered with "Expanding too much will create temperature deviation," he asked "What's your basis?" This exchange was approaching seven rounds as well. In the garden, six knights continued splitting firewood endlessly. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. It was the greatest chaos in the Moonlit Pavilion's history. That's when the front door opened quietly. A middle-aged man in plain brown clothing. A merchant's build. Unremarkable appearance. He looked like an ordinary customer. "One coffee, please," he said. "...Yes, one moment," Elena replied. Elena paused the kitchen-crab-blueprint standoff and prepared coffee. She ground beans procured via Palmera, the southern port city, and brewed them carefully. This task alone, she never cut corners on. After delivering the coffee, Elena noticed something. The man was writing in a notebook. It wasn't unusual for a customer to take notes in a notebook. But—the direction of his gaze was wrong. Knights carrying firewood passing by. The sound of Elena's voice leaking from the kitchen: "I'll permit the magic circle deployment, but modifications are forbidden," and Leon's response: "The definition of improvement versus modification is ambiguous." Alphonse at the counter, negotiating with a crab that had pinched his finger: "Please calm down." The man observed all of it quietly. When he left, the man placed coins for the coffee carefully and stood. He arranged copper coins neatly. "It's a nice shop," he said. That was all. Then he left. As Elena cleaned the counter, a small piece of paper fell out. It must have torn from the man's notebook. She picked it up and scanned it. She stopped. The crest of the Jade Round Table—the legislative body deeply involved in the Fleuresia Kingdom's governance, composed of twelve upper noble families. The conservative nobles of the royal capital Blanche occupied its seats, and it held authority to regulate movements that contradicted established customs under the pretext of "maintaining dignified order"—was faintly engraved in the corner of the paper. And above it, hastily scrawled text: "Moonlit Pavilion—operational investigation. Report to: Count Dort—" The paper ended there. ━━━ The conservative faction of the Jade Round Table had sent an investigator to the Moonlit Pavilion. Elena repeated this fact three times in her mind. To process it calmly. She'd predicted long ago that the Moonlit Pavilion would catch the conservative faction's attention. The fact that the daughter of Marquis Violet's h