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Chapter 18
Four Breads. When Whales Fight, the Shrimp Will Go Away (1)
Ellie solemnly opened the ledger.
It was time to settle the day’s earnings.
“Magnificent…!”
Could there be a more perfect ledger than this?
It had already been nearly four months since she opened the bakery.
The bread sold out every single day—sometimes within two hours of opening.
It was more popular than she had ever expected.
Of course, there was one flaw: since she insisted on using only pure wheat without mixing in other grains, and only the highest-quality wheat at that, the net profit wasn’t as high as it could be. Still, she made up for that gap by working part-time.
Ellie smiled with satisfaction at the beautiful parade of numbers on the page.
“At this rate, I’ll be rich in no time! Who would’ve thought I’d be this good at running a business… My talent is terrifying…!”
At this rate, wouldn’t she open her eyes one morning only to find herself the owner of the continent’s biggest bakery franchise?
Her dreams swelled endlessly.
If Maurice had heard, he probably would have snorted, but right now she was on the second floor above the bakery—her home.
A tiny iron bed where her feet would stick out if she stretched, and a small table with a candlestick on it were all the furniture she had. Stark as it was, it was Ellie’s little paradise.
What really mattered was peace of mind.
The McClure mansion was far bigger and cleaner, with fancier bathrooms and a bathtub, but that was about the only advantage.
Even when she had lived in the mansion, Ellie had spent most nights in the kitchen maids’ quarters instead.
At least there she hadn’t had to live in constant fear of someone suddenly barging in to yell at her.
The crazy duke storms in, accusing you of tripping Irene!
You endure it with the patience of a saint! Your eardrums burst from his shouting!
Ellie shows no reaction to the duke’s tirade!
The duke stomps away in frustration!
Ellie gains a little sympathy from the gallery! (Sympathy effect: none).
Her burned hands throbbed from the hot oven, her bread often failed, nothing seemed to go right, and she wasn’t losing weight either…
After days of not exchanging a single word with anyone, even her breath smelled faintly sweet. Some days she wondered if she might forget how to speak altogether.
But she restrained herself from muttering in Korean—if people thought she was strange, they might throw her into a monastery.
If she hadn’t regained memories of her previous life, this Ellie would never have survived without becoming twisted. Even with an adult’s memories and mental strength, it was sometimes almost impossible to suppress the surge of resentment.
Why do I have to be treated like this?
Maybe if she had humbled herself and hidden in the kitchen like in the novel, things would have been easier.
If, like the original “Ellie,” she had cooed for affection, or cried and screamed to demand it, perhaps the duke wouldn’t have been so vicious.
She could fully understand what “Ellie” must have felt.
After Irene had been driven out during her father’s absence, how had Ellie lived?
Alone in that house with that bastard of a father… Was she happy?
“Ugh, stress.”
She craved something sweet and absentmindedly reached for a cookie.
Ellie’s diet failures were all because of stress.
It was impossible to endure without carbs and sugar.
Maybe Maurice and Van, too, had turned wild for carbohydrates because they were under immense stress.
Anyone addicted and obsessed with something had some deficiency in their lives.
Ellie made a wicked decision: she would ruin them so thoroughly that they’d never escape their carb addiction.
Her ultimate goal—was to turn them into fat pigs.
“But even with this, it’s nowhere near enough to buy magic tools.”
No matter how well the bakery was doing, magical devices were outrageously expensive.
What she really wanted was an oven thermometer.
And ideally, something to adjust the firepower.
“Controlling the fire is so hard, argh…”
Even though she’d gotten used to it, relying only on instinct and experience meant she failed often.
If she couldn’t adjust the fire directly, at least knowing the exact temperature would help. If only she could get a heat-resistant thermometer.
Maybe I should put in a request?
The Magic Tower collaborated with many guilds and dabbled in various fields.
Most members were researchers, but many were interested in inventions and alchemy, so they often partnered with merchant guilds. Maurice’s first meeting with the Tower Lord had also been through such a contract.
Personal requests required screening, but occasionally they were accepted.
Since tomorrow I don’t need to go to the knights’ headquarters, I’ll check the general store first. If they don’t have one, I’ll put in a request at the Magic Tower.
In nearly four months, Ellie had hardly explored the area at all.
Maurice had food delivered to her and even arranged carriages to take her to the knights’ base.
She had been careful to keep her face hidden—because technically she had run away from home, and she worried the duke might come after her. But that concern turned out to be unnecessary.
Malina was turning into an excellent dough-mixer.
She flawlessly handled the massive batches.
Once a week, they had to make double the dough for deliveries to the knights’ headquarters, yet she never looked tired.
She even said she didn’t need a salary if it meant she could eat the meals Ellie provided. Ellie had almost asked her to sign a contract right there and then.
Malina was a worker Maurice had sent. Once Ellie repaid her debt to him, she’d lose Malina too.
I’ll have to ask if she’ll sign a contract with me directly.
Staying under Maurice’s employment had advantages in terms of security, but Ellie could never truly be independent that way.
Ideally, Malina would learn proper baking and manage Ellie’s first official branch.
That was just a distant dream for the future, but still.
After sending Malina off, Ellie ran upstairs.
If she wanted to be asleep before 8 p.m., she had to hurry.
She washed up thoroughly and changed into a clean dress.
One small annoyance: she only owned three dresses, which she had to rotate between washing. One had been singed while drying near the oven, so now it was only for work.
I’ll buy some new clothes while I’m out.
The list of things she needed kept growing.
With no fabric softener, her cotton clothes dried stiff. Her hair grew rougher by the day.
The soaps she had stolen from the mansion had been fine, but the cheap ones Maurice brought her ruined her hair quickly.
How can there be scented soaps, but only bread for food…
She sighed again—she’d lost count of how many times already.
This really was a distorted world.
She was only now coming to terms with the common sense of this world that had been glossed over in a few lines of the novel.
Waterworks and plumbing are well-developed… Cleansing soaps are common, so hygiene is good, and exposure to disease is lower.
That meant people in safe areas could live relatively long lives.
As long as they didn’t fall ill or have an accident, the middle class seemed able to live comfortably up to around eighty.
When Ellie stepped outside the shop, neighbors greeted her warmly.
“Heading out, Ellie?”
“Yes, I need to buy a few things.”
“Good thinking. You’ve got to rest now and then. Treat yourself to something tasty at the market too.”
“Haha… I’ll try not to overeat.”
“What’s wrong with eating a little? Have fun, and don’t go following just anyone.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re still a child in my eyes. If someone bothers you, don’t look back—either run or scream. The guards and the Badger Knights are patrolling, but it never hurts to be careful. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“This season, lots of riffraff come to town chasing the prize money from the Autumn Festival’s martial tournament, so be extra careful.”
The fruit seller tossed her a ripe apple. Thankfully, she caught it.
So there really is a tournament. This world really is just like the novel. They actually fight with real swords, don’t they? Ugh, how horrible.
Once she left the narrow alley, a bustling market opened before her.
She’d been trapped in the mansion all that time, and now she had confined herself to the tiny bakery. This was her first time even taking a walk outside. What a waste of her beautiful nineteen years.
Ellie shopped carefully.
She picked out a couple of dresses with roomy waists, and, preparing for the coming winter, bought a warm shawl and gloves. She asked for those to be delivered directly to the shop.
I should have gone out freely sooner.
The past four months, when she’d cowered in fear, suddenly felt like a waste.
There were so many familiar faces. Many customers were regulars. Ellie met their eyes and greeted each of them—the priest obsessed with bread, the couple from next door, and then the heroine…
The heroine?
Gasp.
There was Irene.
