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Chapter 23
Four Breads. When Whales Fight, Shrimps Get Hurt (5)
“An eight-year-old kid is fine though?”
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
I don’t get the standards.
“If you fight, I’ll kick you both out.”
“We’re not fighting.”
Edmund answered. He shot Ban a glance, scoffed, and turned his head away.
“The one I wanted to kill wasn’t someone with a pathetic face like that. Killing him wouldn’t even be fun.”
“A pathetic face….”
Ellie looked at Ban, and soon understood what Edmund meant by “pathetic.”
“I think I get it now….”
His face was like a drenched puppy. Tormenting him would just make one feel like an abuser.
With an awkward look, Ban brushed his face with his palm. Edmund spoke.
“As Morris said, doing boring things and taking a loss for it is just plain stupid.”
“You’re kind. That’s a good decision.”
Ellie reached out and patted Edmund’s back. She hesitated right after, worried he might dislike it, but surprisingly, Edmund showed no reaction at all.
Ban spoke.
“Edmund, can we talk for a minute?”
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“I really didn’t know. I didn’t know Dean was planning something like that.”
“……”
“I never lied either.”
Ban sounded desperate, his words full of sincerity.
Instead of answering, Edmund ignored him, pulled out a chair at the table by the window, and sat down. Then he turned to Ellie.
“I’m hungry.”
“Did you leave something in my care or what?”
“I’m your benefactor, aren’t I?”
“You’re gonna act like my benefactor just because you helped me escape once?!”
Ban’s ears perked up.
‘Oops, not a dog—he’s a person.’
Ban asked,
“Who was chasing Ellie?”
“Yeah, she was running from some woman.”
“Ah.”
“What? You know too?”
Ban glanced at Ellie. Edmund spoke toward her.
“If you make me something to eat, I’ll grant you one wish.”
“Gasp—really…?”
“So you did have something in mind.”
“A baking stone thermometer!”
“What’s that?”
“A tool that tells you the temperature inside the oven! And… if possible, a freezer too!”
“A freezer? Where’d your conscience go?”
“Huh? Does conscience feed you bread?”
It wouldn’t even cost that much. Ellie waved away any lingering guilt with the logic of capitalism. Seeing her smile—which might as well have had the word sales written across both cheeks—Edmund chuckled.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You mean I’m a materialist?”
“Definitely. You’re just like Morris.”
“…Can’t believe you’d insult me like that….”
Muttering with a tragic look, Ellie’s face turned so despairing that Edmund burst into uncontrollable laughter. Feeling satisfied that her joke landed and proud of the profit she was about to make, Ellie felt generous.
“Sit tight there and wait. I’ll bring you something to eat right away.”
That tongue is mine now.
“I don’t like meat. Chewing and swallowing other people’s flesh is disgusting.”
That was Edmund’s answer when asked what he wanted to eat.
Ellie decided to go for a crisp texture rather than something mushy or chewy.
‘Most of this world’s food is meat-based, so if you hate meat, you probably don’t have much you can eat….’
Common dishes, luxury dishes—most of them were centered around meat.
Avoiding one, two, three of them, and if you weren’t particularly obsessed with food, you’d probably develop the habit of eating just enough to not starve, instead of seeking out alternatives.
‘Not that I can understand that at all.’
Ellie decided to make egg tarts.
‘It’s egg yolk, but it’s still protein.’
Like with scones, she cut butter into the flour. Making sure the butter didn’t melt, she coated it quickly with flour, then bound the dough with cold water mixed with sugar and salt.
She dusted the board with flour and rolled it out.
She folded the flat dough in thirds, dusted again, rolled again. She repeated this four or five times—this was what gave tart dough its layers. It took effort, but Ellie worked hard to preserve the texture.
This time, she let the dough rest. Thirty minutes in the cool storage.
If she had a freezer, she wouldn’t need to trek down to the cellar each time—she could chill things faster and colder, opening up more possibilities. The thought alone made her happy.
She stored the dough and took out milk, cream, and eggs.
Into a pot went the milk, cream, and sugar, onto the burner. When bubbles began to form along the edges, she removed it and let it cool.
In the meantime, she whisked cream with egg yolks, then combined it with the cooled pot mixture.
‘This takes a while, but no one’s complaining.’
While waiting, Ban and Edmund seemed to be having a private conversation.
Ellie tuned them out.
There must’ve been some misunderstanding, but as long as they didn’t smash up her shop’s furniture, she didn’t care if they kissed or made out.
She figured she could take her time. Humming, she immersed herself in the work she loved.
The rich, creamy scent of butter and the sweet aroma of custard filling filled her with happiness.
A while later.
Golden-yellow custard filling now bore a few dark caramelized spots. One of Ellie’s favorite color combinations.
The layered pastry crust, folded over and over, had baked beautifully.
The result was deeply satisfying. Even if not perfect, it was the best to her.
Custard filling, made from yolks, cream, and sugar, was moist and sweet. One bite released a fragrant richness throughout the mouth.
Ban and Edmund, cheeks flushed, couldn’t take their eyes off the plate.
“Go ahead. They’re called egg tarts.”
Edmund, who Ellie thought might be suspicious of new foods, instead snatched one up immediately and bit into it without hesitation.
Chewing, he muttered as if spitting it out.
“…That’s dirty.”
“What is?”
“You guys were keeping this to yourselves?”
Ban protested indignantly.
“It’s my first time too!”
“Not you. Morris must’ve had some before, right?”
Ellie swallowed and retorted.
“Why would I make this for Morris?”
“Aren’t you two close?”
“We’re strictly business partners. Don’t say creepy things.”
“He said you’re like a little sister to him.”
“Empty words. Who charges a little sister forty percent interest?”
Three egg tarts disappeared into Edmund’s mouth in a blink. Ban hadn’t even had one yet.
“…Delicious.”
His voice trembled.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life….”
The raw sincerity in that short phrase struck her heart.
‘Oh, wow.’
Hearing “delicious” from someone who claimed he had no appetite and found eating disgusting—it was unexpectedly moving. The glisten of tears at the corners of his reddened eyes touched Ellie deeply.
This was the fruit of countless attempts, studies, and effort.
She was confident in her food because she always gave her best.
So when Ban, Morris, or customers said her cooking was delicious, she felt pride.
But Edmund’s words were something else. It was happiness that resembled gratitude.
“Eat lots, Edmund.”
“Mm.”
Not to be outdone, Ban chimed in.
“Ellie, what about me?”
“Oh, yes, Captain, you can have some too.”
The reply was cold.
Ban was her employer, but Edmund was the one who could get her an oven thermometer and even a freezer. Naturally, the treatment would be different.
Ellie was a pragmatist.
Ban drooped, sulking.
“You don’t even call me by name, and yet…”
“Hm? Why should I?”
“…But you call Edmund by his name right away…”
“You said you don’t like me. Why would I call someone I dislike by their name?”
“Ugh.”
“Here, eat.”
With slumped shoulders, Ban gloomily took a bite of the tart.
Even in his sulk, the taste must’ve struck him—his eyes widened with delight, and he kept exclaiming how good it was. Ellie, however, responded deliberately coldly, “Ah, yes, thank you.”
“…But I like you, Ellie.”
“Well, I don’t.”
No matter how many times she said it, he never cared. So seeing Ban actually dispirited was surprising.
‘Guess even he can get competitive if he’s compared directly to someone in front of him.’
She suddenly felt like an emperor doling out favor to his subjects.
Ellie let out a quiet laugh.
Inside this small space, at arm’s length, she was sharing food with others.
For this moment, she completely forgot that Edmund and Ban were supposed to be male-lead candidates.
