IPDE 05

Chapter : 05

Even If I’m an Extra, I Refuse the Death Route (5)

“Hello.”

As I stepped into the kitchen and greeted them, cheerful voices answered back.

“Irenea, are you okay?”

“How’s your body? You could rest a bit more if you want.”

I smiled brightly at Serena and Sophie, who were asking with concern.

“I’m fine now. I know you’re busy, but thank you so much for taking care of me.”

Lying still and resting had never really suited my temperament to begin with—and besides, now was not the time to rest.

The very first episode had already begun. There was no way I could just lie around leisurely.

“So, what should I do today?”

At my question, Sophie looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I didn’t expect you back this soon. I think we should ask the head pastry chef.”

“Oh, then where is he?”

At my question, Serena glanced around inside and replied,

“He’s probably by the ovens.”

“Then I’ll go ask him.”

As I walked deeper into the kitchen, I saw the back of the head pastry chef standing in front of an oven.

“Chef.”

At the sound of my voice, he turned around, his eyes widening briefly in surprise before he composed himself.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to push yourself. If it’s hard, you can rest a bit longer.”

“No, really. I’m fine.”

When I answered with a gentle smile, the chef showed a faint, almost imperceptible smile in return.

“What should I do?”

“Do you know how to handle the oven?”

“Yes.”

“Then start by preheating it.”

It looked a bit different from the one I’d used in my previous life, but functionally there wasn’t much difference.

Since this was a fantasy world rather than an actual past era, there were quite a few items that resembled things you’d find in the real world.

Of course, there were also plenty of disappointing aspects.

Then a thought suddenly crossed my mind.

If you don’t have the tools, you can just make them.

“Um, Chef.”

I waited for the right timing to bring it up, then carefully opened my mouth.

Instead of answering, the chef shifted his gaze to me.

“Is it possible to make tools separately?”

“Tools?”

He asked back, as if it were no big deal.

“Yes. The meringue cookies we made last time could actually be made much prettier. And with ingredients this plentiful, it feels like the desserts we can make are too limited.”

At my words, all of the chef’s movements stopped.

Seeing his expression stiffen, I wondered if I’d said something wrong and replayed my words in my head.

‘Was that too presumptuous…?’

From his perspective, a newcomer who had just arrived suggesting something like this might very well seem cheeky.

“No, I mean—what I’m saying is that the current desserts aren’t bad at all! Not at all. I just thought it’d be nice if we could make more kinds of desserts…”

“Hm.”

The chef narrowed his brows slightly and let out a low sound.

Then, after a brief pause, he slowly spoke.

“You seem to know quite a lot.”

“Yes. If I have the tools, there are many things I know how to make.”

“If they’re known recipes, I already know them all. If they’re not, how do you know them?”

He asked bluntly, frowning.

“…I know many recipes from other countries. I have new recipes created by combining those.”

The desserts I’d seen in the novel, and even the ones I’d seen during my short time in the kitchen, were all very basic.

Whipped cream cakes, simple cookies, pies—things like that.

Well, another world still counts as a foreign country, right?

Apparently my answer didn’t fully satisfy him, as the chef couldn’t hide his peculiar expression.

“…It is possible to make tools.”

If it was possible, that meant there was a catch.

I nodded slightly and waited for what he would say next.

“The dessert kitchen exists only in the Crown Prince’s palace. Naturally, it falls under His Highness’s authority.”

“I see.”

Only in the Crown Prince’s palace? Did the emperor dislike desserts?

Perhaps it was a field outside the emperor’s interests, which might explain why it hadn’t developed much.

“You’d need to design detailed blueprints and manufacturing methods, report them to His Highness, and only if permission is granted can they be made.”

So in short, it meant nothing could be made without Iart’s approval.

“I can make the blueprints.”

Despite my confident answer, the chef didn’t look particularly pleased.

“That’s why I said it. This isn’t something someone who just entered the palace should be doing.”

With that, the chef turned back to his work.

It wasn’t pleasant to hear, but honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

Why would anyone trust a newcomer who had just arrived?

From his point of view, it probably wasn’t a situation he could view favorably.

“Then all I need to do is prove my skills, right?”

But I wasn’t the type to back down easily.

Once I’d started talking, I intended to see it through to the end.

“Well, if you can.”

To prove my skills, I’d need opportunities to present my desserts—not just to Iart, but to many others.

And as someone still adjusting to life here, there was almost nothing I could do on my own.

I needed help.

‘Someone who could help me…’

I rolled my eyes thoughtfully, then suddenly realized there was no need to think so hard.

“Chef.”

“What is it?”

“Please help me!”

Wasn’t he right in front of me?

An expert in this field—and someone with real influence.

“What?”

At my request, the chef finally stopped his busy hands and stared at me with wide eyes.

“Please help me.”

“What exactly are you asking me to help with?”

“So that I can prove my skills.”

The chef let out a breathy, incredulous sound.

“Why should I?”

“Well, because I work under you, and as a fellow pâtissier, I think you’d want more desserts to exist too.”

After staring at me blankly for a moment, the chef suddenly burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! I expected as much from the start, but there’s a limit to being bold.”

He was laughing, but…

I couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.

Don’t bosses usually like it when employees give suggestions?

The owner of the bakery I worked at did.

Feeling a bit awkward, I scratched the back of my head.

“Well, that kind of attitude isn’t bad. Fine, I’ll help you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. However…”

I barely had time to rejoice before he deliberately dragged out his next words.

“I won’t give you multiple chances. Just one. How much skill you show within that chance is up to you.”

“Yes! That’s more than enough. Thank you, Chef.”

I bowed so deeply my waist nearly folded in half.

The chef cleared his throat, as if brushing away the lingering laughter.

“Ahem. Anyway. If you’re that confident, try making desserts for the upcoming banquet.”

“A banquet?”

At a banquet, many nobles would gather—it was the perfect opportunity to let them taste my desserts.

“Lady Ruelle’s birthday banquet will be held at the Crown Prince’s palace in a week.”

Lady Ruelle’s birthday banquet…

If my memory served me right, that banquet was where the protagonists’ romance began.

“Of course, we can’t serve unverified desserts.”

The chef said firmly, looking at me.

“I’ll make the main cake. You make two other desserts that can be enjoyed easily.”

Desserts that could be enjoyed easily…

Probably something nobles could casually enjoy with light drinks.

What should I make?

“Lady Ruelle will be coming in two days to check on the banquet dessert preparations. If you’re ready by then, we’ll show them together.”

Opportunities exist to be seized.

Clenching my fist tightly, I answered with determination.

“Yes!”

While doing menial tasks like a proper newcomer, my head was busy recalling all the recipes I knew.

I should take some time later to write them all down.

I suddenly missed the recipe book that would have been neatly placed on the desk in my tiny studio apartment.

“What to make…”

Back in my room, I sat at the desk.

I took out paper and pen, scribbling as I pondered.

I knew Iart’s tastes very well, but I couldn’t really remember Ruelle’s preferences.

Besides, she hardly ever appeared eating desserts in the story.

“Hmm…”

After thinking for quite some time, something suddenly flashed through my mind.

A short conversation Ruelle had once shared with the male lead.

When he asked if there was any food she disliked, Ruelle thought of one thing.

‘Carrots.’

Ruelle hated carrots.

I should be thinking of what she likes—what good is remembering what she dislikes?

“Carrots… carrots, huh…”

Carrots are delicious, though.

Carrot cake was one of my favorite cakes.

You could make it as a whole cake, or simply as a pound cake.

“Ah, damn it.”

Once carrot cake had lodged itself firmly in my mind, I couldn’t erase it.

“Should I just try making it…?”

The owner of the bakery I used to work at also hated carrots.

When I suggested adding carrot cake to the menu, it was the first time he’d ever strongly opposed my opinion.

But since I was stubborn, I came in at dawn the very next day and made carrot cake.

I told him I’d take full responsibility, and the carrot cake sold out quickly.

While I was feeling proud looking at the sales, the owner asked if he could try a bite.

After that, he became absolutely obsessed with carrot cake.

“Hm.”

I pretended to deliberate, but in truth, my heart had already settled on carrot cake.

“If it’s a challenge anyway, might as well go for it.”

Having made up my mind, I slowly began writing down the recipe.

I was worried since I’d rarely written it out myself, but to my surprise, it flowed smoothly.

“Macarons would be good too.”

The carrot cake could be made as a pound cake, cut into small pieces so it could be eaten in one bite.

And macarons were bite-sized to begin with.

Since these wouldn’t be desserts eaten while seated, but ones people could casually pick up while walking around, they seemed like a good fit.

“Alright, that’s done.”

With the recipes organized, it was time to check the ingredients.

I stood up and headed for the kitchen.

“Excuse me.”

“Huh? Irenea, didn’t you get off work earlier?”

Serena asked in surprise at my sudden visit.

“I just have something to check. Are you busy?”

“No, I’ll be done once I finish tidying this up.”

“I’ll help.”

I rolled up my sleeves and moved to Serena’s side.

“No, you’re probably still not fully recovered. I’ll do it.”

“It’s okay. But could I ask you for a small favor instead?”