WFLRN 37

Chapter 37

The delicious-looking tarts that had been displayed in the shop were now overturned on the floor, with trays and tongs scattered everywhere.

The customers who had come to buy tarts, startled, all rushed out of the store.

Kate stood trembling in fear, her face pale as a sheet.

“Ha.”

Vendia was dumbfounded. It was already absurd enough that Gregory, a police officer, was trashing the shop like some hired thug—but Baldini’s words were even more outrageous.

“Stealing? What nonsense is this?”

“To think you could be so brazen. As expected, you’re a woman with no business ethics. Opening a shop with someone else’s recipe is obviously a violation of trade secrets.”

Baldini scanned every corner of the shop with the mean, gleeful eyes of a man who thought he’d finally caught her in a crime.

“You like quoting the law, don’t you? Then you’ll understand. Imperial Law, Article 81, Section 2: Anyone who acquires, uses, or discloses another’s trade secret is punishable by up to five years of imprisonment or a fine of 300,000 krang.”

Baldini sneered.

He still couldn’t believe that Second’s sales had soared ever since the despised Dia had entered as an advisor.

That lowly woman dared threaten his position?

It was intolerable—so much so that he had decided to use this opportunity to drag her down and erase her from his sight.

“Trade secret infringement? That recipe was mine to begin with!”

“Any recipe you created in my shop is obviously my property! First you flaunted your ignorance, now you’re trying to make a living by stealing from me?”

Charles jumped in at Kate’s outburst.

With the law enforcement officer by his side, his unease evaporated. And in his mind, Baldini wasn’t wrong. The recipe had been developed in his store—so it belonged to him.

She tried to prosper alone off someone else’s recipe, after leaving others in ruins?

Charles could never forgive Kate for that.

“Both of you, come quietly. You’ll need to accompany us for an investigation.”

Gregory, who had just trashed Kate’s shop, spoke sternly. He seemed more puffed up than usual—perhaps thinking this was his chance to get back into Baldini’s good graces.

Do these men never get tired? Pathetic. Just pathetic.

Vendia clicked her tongue at the three of them.

Baldini, Gregory, Charles. How could they all be so pitiful? Looking closer, even their faces bore a slight resemblance. Truly, the end times had come.

“Puhaha! Frightened, are you? Did you think you could steal and get away with it?”

Seeing Vendia silent, Baldini mistook it for panic and laughed.

Finally, he felt the burden lifting from his chest. At last, he had crushed that woman’s arrogance.

“I’ll give you a choice. Write a pledge that you’ll never again do business with that recipe. And hand over all the profits you’ve earned from it to the rightful tart owner.”

Baldini spoke to Kate as if he were being magnanimous.

Taking it to court would be the most legitimate route—but it would take time.

With the successor competition ending in two months, it was more profitable for him to seize her earnings immediately.

If Second’s sales dropped and First’s increased, the monthly report would swing in his favor.

“So, what will it be? And as for you—the one who abetted this—you will not escape punishment.”

Baldini pressured Kate while glaring a stern warning at Vendia.

Even if the tart recipe dispute ended here, he had no intention of letting Vendia off. The woman who had insulted him and obstructed him at every turn—he would make sure she was put in her place.

“Pfft!”

That was when it happened.

Vendia, who had been quietly holding her tongue, suddenly burst into laughter.

Cracks appeared on Baldini’s smug face.

“You’re laughing?”

“‘You will not escape punishment~.’”

She mimicked Baldini’s words in a mocking singsong voice, chuckling.

“You must be insane, laughing when you’re about to go to prison. Can’t you grasp the situation you’re in—?!”

Thud.

Furious, his face red, Baldini fell silent when Vendia tossed something at his feet.

Everyone’s eyes fell to the floor.

It was a book. You Can Do It Too: 100 Baking Recipes. It was the best-selling cookbook of them all.

It contained old, basic recipes—recipes the translator himself had said were handed down from his mother, freely permitted for use.

“Looks like we’re all going to prison, huh? Because this tart recipe came from here first.”

“What nonsense is this?!”

“Kate’s tart recipe—the one you’re claiming she stole—it’s right here in this book.”

Vendia shrugged, and Charles’s face turned pale.

“Impossible!”

Charles hurriedly snatched up the book and flipped through it.

“H-Huh? No way…”

But it was true. The recipe in the book matched Kate’s.

Sweat began to bead on Charles’s forehead.

“T-This is ridiculous! That woman’s tarts are so good people line up for them! If it’s the same recipe, then every tart shop using it should be just as popular! The fact that only ours succeeded means there’s something different!”

Charles clung desperately to Baldini’s trouser leg.

“No. This is the recipe I used. You can check for yourself.”

Kate’s firm words sealed it—because it was the truth.

“Shall we all head over and let the investigators confirm it?”

Vendia crossed her arms with a smug smile. She had already foreseen this situation and made preparations.

She had even told Kate to leave the cookbook out on purpose for this very reason.

Yes, the recipe came straight from the book—but that wasn’t the whole story.

What really mattered was the choice of ingredients and the time invested.

Even if the ingredients were the same, the taste of a tart depended heavily on the origin and quality of flour and butter.

Resting time for dough might be fixed, but baking times varied by season.

Kate had discovered, through trial and error, that she needed to adjust baking times according to weather conditions.

And beyond that, she had identified which flours and butters produced the crispiest texture, creating tarts uniquely her own.

All of this was Kate’s intellectual property, stored only in her mind.

From buying ingredients to baking and selling, she had done everything herself—Charles could never have known these details.

He had probably just followed the book with generic ingredients.

“And besides, your shop only sells egg tarts and cheese tarts. You haven’t even looked at our menu, have you?”

At those words, Charles, Baldini, and Gregory finally glanced at the tarts scattered across the floor.

They were all fruit tarts.

That had been Vendia’s suggestion.

Anticipating that they might cling and fight to the bitter end, she’d advised Kate to change the type of tart entirely.

Having studied and experimented endlessly, Kate was able to whip up fruit tarts with ease.

They were the fruit of her tireless effort—something Charles could never replicate.

And effort never betrayed her. The fruit tarts captivated customers and were even more popular than the egg tarts had ever been.

“We only sell seasonal fruit tarts. And our bestseller—the coconut tart. Can your shop even make coconut tarts?”

Now holding complete victory in her hands, Vendia smiled leisurely.

Coconuts were distributed only within Second, so First couldn’t even dream of using them.

“Oh, that’s right. My apologies. You wanted coconuts so badly you even tried some shady backdoor tricks, didn’t you?”

“You—!”

Baldini’s face contorted with indescribable rage at her words that struck right where it hurt most.

His fist, clenched so tightly it turned pale, trembled violently.

“If you understand, then get out. The ones guilty of obstructing business here are you, after all.”

“Shut your mouth! Do you even know who you’re talking to? Do you still think you’re anything? You’re divorced—!”

Bang!

“Agh!”

Baldini, who had been lunging at Vendia, froze mid-motion with a scream.

A deafening crash echoed.

A tray, flung squarely into Baldini’s face, clattered to the floor.

Blood streamed from his nose.

Startled, Vendia turned her head.

There stood Ron—who had kicked up a tray from the floor and sent it flying straight into Baldini’s face.

With Regen cradled safely in his arms.

“Wanna die?”

His voice was raw and unfiltered, brimming with menace—yet even as he spat the words, his hands gently covered Regen’s ears.