SPO 15

“Truly impressive.”

Aven lightly tapped the magic device that was emitting dazzling starlight.

Since Archel and Rihart had prepared everything on their own, he hadn’t paid much attention to it—but he hadn’t expected them to do this well.

Without showing any signs of tension, Archel conducted the presentation calmly and confidently.

She adjusted her tone smoothly and led the briefing as if she had done it countless times before.

She answered every question with composure, even the twisted ones that subtly questioned her social status.

‘What can I say? My grades are higher than your children’s.’

That thought was practically written on her face, which made it even more amusing.

She looked soft and fluffy, yet the capitalist smile curling at the corner of her lips was as cold as ice cream in midwinter.

‘Though both are sweet, at least.’

Aven lowered his eyelids.

Then he quickly began calculating how much profit he could make by investing in this extraordinary magic device.

Turning to Rihart beside him, he asked,

“Rihart, where did this come from? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“…I don’t know.”

Rihart, who had looked gloomy since morning, tightened his lips.

Fortunately, Aven’s curiosity was soon satisfied.

A reporter raised his hand and asked,

“May I ask the name of this beautiful magic device? And where can we obtain it?”

Those who had been firing sharp questions at Archel earlier in the name of noble pride now fell silent and listened intently.

Where in the world had this unheard-of magic device come from?
The Yudea Magitech Research Institute?
Or perhaps the Mage Tower?

But Archel’s answer shattered everyone’s expectations.

“The device is called the Milky Way Mood Lamp, and I made it myself.”

The auditorium erupted in murmurs.

She made that? By herself?

That atmosphere carried over into the tea party.

“Oh my, I’ve never tasted anything like this. The buttery flavor is exquisite, and the texture is so soft.”

The noblewomen, who had been disappointed by the ordinary-looking tea party, changed their minds the moment they tasted the cookies.

“Could it be supplied by the imperial palace since His Highness is here?”

“My goodness. It tastes just like the desserts my daughter brought from the palace. It must be from there.”

Each bite melted gently on the tongue, sweet yet not overpowering—refined and elegant.

Hands kept reaching for more cookies, as if addicted.

“I thought it was from La Manque on Santalea’s main street.”

Madam Zenda quietly set down her teacup.

“Isn’t their head pastry chef trained abroad?”

“Yes. But the flavor is slightly different… so perhaps it really is from the palace, as you say.”

“What a shame. I’d love to try it again.”

Imperial desserts weren’t something anyone could enjoy freely.

No matter how rich you were, money alone couldn’t buy them.

Just as the noblewomen were sincerely lamenting this, Kassel approached their round table.

“Mother.”

The ladies’ faces brightened when they saw Kassel, tall and handsome like the former marquis.

Smiling at him, Madam Zenda commented,

“Kassel, it was a wonderful briefing. You must have worked very hard.”

“…The student council president did most of it.”

“The student council president?”

Zenda widened her eyes, then quickly nodded.

“Now that you mention it, she did seem very sharp.”

Kassel remained expressionless and silent.

Looking up at her stoic son, she asked,

“By the way, where is this dessert from? It’s so delicious. Did His Highness Rihart prepare it?”

At her question, even nobles at nearby tables quietly perked up.

Once again, the answer defied expectations.

“No.”

Kassel had seen the imperial desserts delivered early in the morning.

But what was on the table now was prepared by Archel, not Rihart.

He spoke calmly.

“The desserts were also arranged by the student council president. You should ask her.”

“Oh my.”

A small gasp escaped his mother’s lips.

Others reacted similarly.

To satisfy her curiosity, Kassel walked over to Archel.

The tall, gray-haired man and the sweet-looking pink-haired girl standing together looked like a wolf and a rabbit.

The sight made hearts flutter, and people kept sneaking glances at them.

“Where are the desserts from?” Kassel asked.

“Why?” Archel replied.

Their conversation itself was utterly dry.

After hearing the noblewomen’s questions from Kassel, Archel smiled inwardly.

As expected, my tongue is perfect.

She recalled what had happened the night before.

When she said she needed desserts for the Yudea parents’ briefing, Daina stiffened and confessed her past.

She had once worked as a trainee pastry chef at a large bakery, only to be fired for “lacking skill.”

Unable to give up her dream, she opened her own bakery three years ago.

But malicious rumors soon spread.

“The bread tastes bad.”
“It’s greasy.”
“It’s overpriced.”
“It’s garbage.”

Bulk orders were frequently canceled.

Even requiring deposits couldn’t stop the cruel pranks.

Daina, who had believed that good taste would speak for itself, even in a back alley, fell into despair.

She began doubting her own skills.

One day, the head pastry chef from her old workplace visited her shop.

After tasting her bread, he showed no mercy.

“You should shut this place down. It’s embarrassing that you once worked under me.”

With those words, everything she had been clinging to collapsed.

She had no strength, no money, nothing left.

When she resolved to quit baking forever after this month, Archel appeared.

“Th-This is delicious…!”

Even after hearing Archel’s heartfelt praise, Daina didn’t dare hope.

Everyone who had praised her bread before eventually stopped coming.

But Archel revealed she was the student council president of Yudea.

Yudea—known by every citizen of the empire!

And she didn’t stop there.

She proposed showcasing Daina’s desserts at the parents’ briefing.

Instead of joy, Daina felt fear.

Worried she might harm Archel’s reputation, she confessed everything.

“Our bakery has a bad reputation. If you serve desserts from a place like ours, you’ll surely be criticized too.”

She tried to push Archel away.

But Archel answered firmly.

“I need you. No one else.”

Daina burst into tears at her unwavering attitude.

“This is far too delicious for such rumors. Someone must have spread them on purpose.”

Flustered by her sudden tears, Archel comforted her gently.

“Let people see how good your baking really is. Three years is enough time to shine.”

Unless someone had lost their sense of taste, no one could say Daina’s bread was bad.

So those rumors had clearly been planned.

‘It must be that head pastry chef who got her fired,’ Archel concluded.

After all, she herself was dealing with someone trying to undermine her.

Whether out of resentment or jealousy, she didn’t know.

But being targeted by Rihart’s inexplicable hostility, she understood Daina’s feelings well.

“If people with proper taste try your desserts, they’ll never say they’re bad. We won’t reveal the source at first, so please help me.”

Serving the desserts anonymously was the perfect chance for fair evaluation.

With renewed hope, Daina nodded.

And the result was a huge success.

Having tried everything to revive her bakery, Daina was also skilled with drinks.

She even mastered decoration styles and teapot designs to match dessert concepts.

Her tea party captivated the nobles both visually and gastronomically.

‘Now that they’ve said it’s delicious themselves, they can’t take it back.’

Archel picked up a sound-amplifying magic device.

“For those who have been asking about the desserts and drinks—”

By now, everyone knew Archel had selected the supplier.

People began guessing.

“Where could it be from?”

“It must be La Manque.”

“Perhaps the palace, with Lord Rihart’s help.”

Scanning the crowd, Archel spoke clearly.

“The desserts, drinks, tea sets, and trays were all provided by ‘Daina’s Plump Bakery’ on Santalea Street.”

“…!”

The cute, unfamiliar name left everyone speechless.

She continued calmly,

“For those interested, pamphlets are available. Please feel free to take one.”

Where she pointed, stacks of charming pamphlets had appeared.

After a brief silence, the sound of reporters’ pens scratching across paper erupted nonstop.