Chapter 321

Chapter 321

“Your order of potato stew for two is here!”
Iriel called out, her silvery-white hair fluttering beneath the island sky. Humming a tune, she approached and set down two bowls of potato stew on the outdoor table.
“Ehehe, enjoy!”
The potato stew was steaming from the stove. It had been a long time coming, but the two men stared blankly at Iril, unable to pick up their cutlery.
“—Well done for staying alive.”
“Uh, uh, are you sure I can eat this?”
Suddenly, the men’s eyes watered. They had been waiting for two months to eat at Nimberton’s Table, a restaurant run by Iril.
When I heard the rumors, I wondered if it was worth it, but the moment I saw her face, my doubts melted away like snow in the spring. Iril smiled.
“Sure. I made it for you to enjoy.”
“Alas, what grace—!”
“I’ll definitely come back—”
They were about to say something when they heard a gasp. Suddenly, a creepy fleshiness spread from a corner of the restaurant. The men stiffened at the bone-chilling sensation.
“This, this is—.”
They simultaneously turned their heads toward the source of life. In the distance, in the dining room, a sculpted young man in an apron was peeling potatoes. Without taking his eyes off the potatoes, Schlieffen sent a full note.
[The mouth is the organ where you put food].
His low voice was intimidating. He wore an apron instead of a uniform, and in his hand was a small chef’s knife, beside which was a pile of sun potatoes that had been flown in from the Grancia estate yesterday.
Schlieffen squeezed the hilt of his sword, and the blade vanished in a blast of wind. With a snap, hundreds of potatoes were peeled in one fell swoop. Raising his head, he glared at the men and spoke.
[Even more so in restaurants].
“False.”
The men gulped. Spoons slipped from their hands and plunged into the stew. Barely regaining their senses, they slurped the stew as if they hadn’t eaten in three days.
“Here, let’s eat!”
“Ooh, you must be hungry, eat slowly.”
Schlieffen was no longer alive. A few more servings later, Iril walked into the dining room. A middle-aged man with dark blue hair had just finished eating and was wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.
The handkerchief, made of the finest silk, was embroidered in gold thread with the image of a knight stomping on a dragon, the coat of arms of House Gracia. Looking at the empty bowl, Iriel clapped his hands together in admiration.
“Wow, that’s a clean sweep, is that to your taste, Duke?”
“Uh-huh, it tastes better than the tenderloin of a Rustan buffalo, and you can call me dad.”
A middle-aged man chuckled. It was Josef Siniban de Grancia, the current head of the Grancia family and Schlieffen’s father. Schlieffen narrowed his eyes at the sight.
“My lord. Please preserve your dignity.”
“I don’t want to hear it from you, the guy who uses an auror to chop potatoes, but no matter what you think, you handed over the fail load too early.”
“You keep taking up space, and it’s getting hard for Miss Iril, you realize this is already the fifth bowl?”
“I know. And this will be the sixth bowl. My child, if you can do one more bowl, I will pay you tenfold, nay, a hundredfold.”
And with that, Jozef laughed again, this time a clumsy laugh. The charisma of a lone investigator had long since been drowned in potato stew. It was hard to believe that this was the man who had once opposed Schlieffen’s marriage along with other members of the family.
It wasn’t until he met Iril, who visited him at the Gracia mansion a year or so ago, that Josef became broken.
By the end of the three days of introductions to the families and estates, every member of House Gracia, including Josef, had become an ardent follower of Iril. To the embarrassment of Ronan, who had come to visit for discipline, they had said enough. Iril nodded in approval of the additional orders.
“Sure, I’ll get it for you in a minute!”
“—Ms. Eileen.”
Schlieffen, who had been chopping potatoes in silence, twisted his lips. To be honest, he didn’t like the idea of Iril working up a sweat. Of course, he’d be happy to help her if she wanted.
Ilya disappeared into the depths of the kitchen. Putting down his handkerchief, Josef opened his mouth.
“She’s a good girl, and I always wonder how a blunt guy like you got her.”
“Yes.”
“I must have taught you well because you don’t deny it. So, it’s been almost two years since you proposed to me, when are you planning to have a wedding?”
“After defeating Zaifa-sama, I ascended to the seat of the First International Sword.”
Schlieffen replied without hesitation. After a moment of silence, Josef waggled his eyebrows.
“When exactly is that?”
“This summer.”
“It’s the time of the sword battle, what’s the rush?”
“Yes. You don’t deserve to be the strongest swordsman in the world.”
His dark blue eyes remained steady as he took the top into his mouth. The corners of Josef’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Please be diligent. That child has a way of breaking things, and I don’t think she’ll call me father until she’s officially married to you.”
“That’s a pathetic reason.”
“I won’t deny it. But that’s not what I want to hear from you, who’s been in a relationship for almost two years and is afraid to put his arms around me.”
“Ugh—!”
Schlieffen’s face flushed. Putting down his knife, he spoke up.
“That’s—what’s wrong with it—.”
“You are a genius, my son, but I fear that your talent with the sword is so focused that you are handicapped in the area of giving and receiving love. You are much like me, but in that area you are worlds apart.”
Josef clicked his tongue. Raised in a conservative family, he found Schlieffen and Iril’s romance too infantile.
When I received the report from the secret service, I nearly lost my mind. In six months of acts of affection, the boldest was resting his head on her shoulder. He sighed heavily.
“I’m not asking you to touch me first. I know you’re not the kind of girl to do that. But you’d better start working up the nerve to lock lips with Ms. Iril in front of everyone.”
Schlieffen chewed on his lower lip, understanding the meaning. Josef was talking about a wedding that would happen someday. Nothing would be more humiliating than a groom failing to kiss his bride in front of thousands of guests.
“Mmm—.”
Schlieffen salivated. In retrospect, he realized he’d never done anything right except propose, and even then, he’d done it in a bloodied, half-dead state.
In fact, he was warned. Schlieffen, who had devoured triple digits of relationship books since he started dating Irene, knew that many women are attracted to men who take the initiative.
But there was nothing he could do about the paralyzing look on Iril’s face. At times like this, he envied Ronan. Shaking off his thoughts, Schlieffen picked up his knife again.
“Profit—Mr. Schiffen, can you help me?”
“I’m on my way.”
Iril’s voice came from inside the kitchen, and Schlieffen sprang to his feet. As he turned the corner, he saw Iril huddled in front of a shelf, clutching a magpie.
“I put it up too high—gain, I can’t reach it.”
“Hmm. I’ll do it.”
Schlieffen nodded. Pushing Iril out of the way, he unloaded the plates from the highest compartment. Iril scratched her cheek at how easy it was for him to unload, unlike her.
“Ehehe, thanks.”
“No big deal.”
“Mr. Schlieffen is very kind, is it because he resembles a duke?”
Iril laughed. Her smile was reminiscent of the sun, and once again Schlieffen’s heart twitched. A flash of realization flashed through his mind.
‘Wait. Maybe now is the time.’
It wasn’t intentional, but it was a great situation to make progress: I was helping out at the right time, I was well-liked, and I wasn’t being judged.
Josef’s words about being courageous and the words of relationship gurus about taking the initiative were swirling around in my head.
Schlieffen, miraculously regaining his senses, looked down at Iril. He could see his own face in her sunset eyes. Their breath was touching, closer than he’d realized.
A kiss on the back of the hand would be fine, Schlieffen decided, as he drew courage from his bones.
“Excuse me, Mr. Schlieffen.”
“Hmm?”
Schlieffen shook his head. Iril, who had been staring up at him, suddenly raised her crow’s feet. toward him. Her lips touched Schlieffen’s cheek and then fell away.
“—ah?”
Schlieffen’s time stood still. Shakily, he lifted his arm and brought his hand to the spot where their lips had met, Iril trailing behind him.
“I know you’ve always cared.”
“Uh, uh, uh, huh? Uh—?”
“Thank you, Mr. Schlieffen.”
Schlieffen could not answer. It was the only thing he could do now, using his rapidly dissipating mental strength to resist the unraveling of his legs. Iril, smiling, muttered softly.
“Hehe—again, I’m a little embarrassed, this is the first time I’ve done this to anyone other than my brother.”
Iril’s once-white face was as red as a ripe apple. Schlieffen started to say something, but Iril wouldn’t let him. The side. Raising her hoodie once more, she kissed him, this time on the other cheek.
“Ah.”
“I’m going to go ahead and wait for my guests, so take your time.”
Iril turned away with those words, just as she disappeared around the corner. Shuffle. Schlieffen’s legs gave out and he fell to the ground.
“——Hurrrrr!”
After what seemed like an eternity, Schlieffen exhaled like a man coming up from a dive. Only now did he realize that he hadn’t been breathing.
As his paralyzed senses returned, he began to hear the sounds around him, though he hadn’t yet savored the reverberations of the historic event. A cheerful voice echoed down the hall.
“Sister Iril!”
“Bam!?”
Iril’s screams followed. Schlieffen’s intelligence, which had been reduced to the level of a dog or cat, returned to normal. Reflexively, he sprang to his feet and reached the hall.
“Miss Irene, what the—!”
Schlieffen’s eyes widened. A child of unknown gender was hugging Iril, burying his face in her chest. Iril was stroking his hair and smiling.
“Ahhhhh, it tickles, so who is our little guest?”
“Hey, guess what?”
The attention of all the guests was on him, but the mysterious child was not paying attention to him, rubbing his cheek against Iril’s. Schlieffen’s eyes widened as he realized it was Sita in human form. Barely recovering from his panic, he picked up his guado and shouted, “Guado!
“Hey!”
In an instant, the gathering winds began to swirl around Guado’s blade. Startled by the momentum, Josef jumped to his feet.
“Schuh, Schlieffen. Wait—!”
“Don’t interrupt!”
He tried to mediate, but in vain. Schlieffen, enraged, was about to punish the little yellow rascal. Suddenly, the front door of the restaurant crashed open.
“What, what?!”
“Woof!”
A crowd of surprised customers stopped by the sarae and hollered. Schlieffen paused for a moment. Slowly, a stout young man emerged from the creaking door.
“Nimiral–ahem, I found it.”
The fierce-eyed young man’s body was drenched in sweat, as if he had just sprinted across the islands. Recognizing him, Schlieffen raised an eyebrow.
“—Ronan?”
“Get out of the way.”
The wind that had been whipping around the knife died. Ronan pushed past Schlieffen and strode briskly into the shop. Sita’s eyes widened as she turned.
“Oh, I got caught!”