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“—Cough, cough! Enough. You’re jumping to conclusions. The only reason I came to this establishment is to try the rumored delicacy. My encounter with her was purely coincidental!”

Simon coughed lightly, seemingly having choked on his food midway through his defense.

“Quite the exotic delicacy, indeed. I do understand that you’ve been mindful of both, my lord, but don’t you think this was a tad bit imprudent?”

Emil cast a faintly disdainful glance at his master.

“…I mean, it is delectable. In more ways than one,” Cestlavie muttered to no one in particular as he picked at the side dish of potatoes.

“…They’re talking about the Groß Nacktschnecke, right?”
“If Lady Clara believes so, then it must be. Burp.”

Feeling as though the conversation’s focus had inexplicably shifted in my direction, I cautiously whispered a confirmation. In response, Coppelia downed a glass of cooking oil in one go, burped audibly, and dismissed the matter with a careless remark.

“You sound like you’re implying something—”

Just as I was about to press her further, the noisy clatter of wheels echoed outside. A white carriage I recognized all too well pulled up directly in front of the tavern.

“What the heck is that?”
“It’s blocking the door.”
“What an idiot.”
“Tsk, annoying.”

Murmurs of irritation rippled through the room as the regulars glanced toward the window.

“…Goodness, what a dreadful location.”

As the coachman politely opened the door, a strikingly beautiful young woman in a shrine maiden’s ceremonial attire descended from the carriage, accompanied by several shrine maiden apprentices.

“Oh? Miss Eliza.”

Even from a distance, her presence was impossible to miss. Adorned head to toe with flashy accessories of gold, silver, and jewels, the confident and assertive Shrine Maiden strode into the tavern with an air of entitlement. She ignored the curious onlookers—both the nosy neighbors who had gathered outside and the patrons inside, who instinctively stood to take notice.

“An acquaintance of yours?”
“Yes, well… something like a colleague at work.”

I gave Simon a vague answer in response to his inquiry.

Perhaps I should count myself fortunate. Thanks to the other patrons creating a sort of wall, it seemed Miss Eliza hadn’t noticed me seated at the back of the establishment.

Without a glance in my direction, she marched haughtily up to the counter and called for the tavern’s owner, who had been working in the kitchen.

“Listen to me and listen to me good. I must host an important guest next week. This individual has expressed an exceptional interest in this establishment’s signature dish. It would have been inconceivable for a mere backstreet cook to step into the sacred kitchen of the cathedral in any normal circumstances, but I am willing to grant you a special exception. Come and prepare that dish of yours for my guest.”

Her condescending demand, delivered with impeccable arrogance, caused an immediate and palpable shift in the room’s atmosphere.

Unlike the earlier tension with Emil, however, no one seemed willing to pick a fight with a Shrine Maiden, not in the heart of the Holy City. Even so, there was a visible unease in the air.

“As if there isn’t already enough friction brewing under the surface between the Church and the beastfolk and demi-humans. Is she really going to stoke the fire in their territory?”

While I quietly muttered my grievances, Eliza continued her string of demands without the slightest regard for her audience.

“Three days should suffice for preparation and cleanup. Of course, I will ensure compensation for the work and any losses incurred during the closure.”
“I refuse.”

A deep voice cut through Eliza’s monologue without hesitation.

“—What?”
“I said no. I don’t care who you or your guest might be. If you want my cooking, then come and eat here. I’ll treat you as a customer.”
“Wh-what!?”

Eliza stood speechless, her lips trembling as if she had been struck, while the owner waved her off like one might shoo away a stray dog.

“If you’re not a customer, then kindly get out. And don’t leave your carriage parked out front—it’s in the way.”
“…”

Her lips pressed tightly together, Eliza began to quiver with barely restrained fury.

“—D-do you even realize who I am?! And let me remind you, the person you’d be cooking for is none other than Prince Corrad of the mighty Aulanthia Kingdom, one of the greatest nations in the northern territories! On the day in question, you’ll have access to the finest kitchen, the finest ingredients, the finest tools, and an unlimited supply of seasonings! Do you not see this as the highest honor for a chef?!”
“For me, the greatest honor is cooking here, in my own kitchen, the way I like, and hearing my customers say my food is delicious.”

His casual yet unshakable declaration was met with a round of cheers from the surrounding patrons.

“Stubborn, huh? But I like it.” Cestlavie reached for another slice of the Groß Nacktschnecke, stuffing his mouth with a grin. “Yeah. It’s good.”

“Indeed.” I found myself agreeing with him.

Though undeniably stubborn, the chef’s unwavering stance—refusing to let status or rank influence his principles as a cook—was admirable. More than anything, as much as I felt sorry for Eliza, I found it thoroughly satisfying.

“I see. It was worth coming all the way here,” Simon remarked, nodding thoughtfully as he reached for more food.

Meanwhile, Eliza, her face flushed red and trembling like a rigid pole, was finally coaxed and ushered out of the store by her apprentice priestesses.

Soon, the neighing of horses and the forceful sound of a carriage door slamming echoed throughout the street. The heavy clatter of hooves grew fainter as the carriage departed, and with it, the tension inside the shop dissolved, leaving behind a palpable sense of relief.

“…Well, that was an unexpected visitor.”
“She mentioned escorting Prince Corrad. So, does that mean she’s the renowned prodigy of the Saintess’ Church, Lady Barbara Eliza?”

Feeling their questioning gazes, Simon and Emil included, subtly directed toward me, I nodded honestly in response.

“Indeed. As expected of Eliza, her name is renowned even in distant countries,” I commented.

“Well… yes, I suppose. While not widely known among general believers, she’s something of a niche celebrity in high society,” Simon replied, his tone somewhat vague.

Cestlavie and Coppelia, however, had no qualms about making their opinions heard, chiming in with scathing remarks.

“Well, she’s just a flash-in-the-pan celebrity who’ll be forgotten in thirty years,” Cestlavie quipped.

“A big fish in a small pond, really,” Coppelia added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Interesting, interesting. This is most enlightening,” Emil remarked, nodding repeatedly with a knowing expression. “Still, it’s impressive how well they seem to understand Prince Corrad’s tastes. It’s as if they planned to win him over through food. Makes one wonder about the source of their information leaks,” he mused, seemingly more concerned about the aristocratic gossip network than the incident itself.

Perhaps this level of perceptiveness is just par for the course in noble society, always keen-eyed and sharp. As I mulled over this thought, recalling Simon’s family crest I’d glimpsed earlier—

Suddenly, the rhythmic clatter of heavy hooves echoed once more. Another large carriage pulled up in front of the shop, and a middle-aged man in an official-looking uniform descended with a haughty demeanor.

The entire room collectively winced, their faces darkening in unison at the unpleasant sense of déjà vu. Unperturbed by the stifling atmosphere, the man loudly announced:

“I am a secretary of the Duchy of Enyuria! Consider yourself honored! By the request of Princess Simonetta, one of this establishment’s signature dishes is to be prepared for—”

“GET OUT――!!!”

A deafening roar erupted from the kitchen, followed immediately by a torrent of boiling water hurled toward the unwelcome guest.

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