Chapter 120

Chapter 120:  The Greatest Feast (3)

The eldest son refused to inherit the family business.

Instead, he chose the path of a chef—far removed not only from royalty but even from nobility.

Upon learning this, the Western Grand Duke began to distance himself from Harris.

"Father cherished the eldest mostly because he was so intelligent."

The blonde woman gently adjusted the straps of her dress.

Light spilled over her white shoulders, making their smooth sheen all the more striking.

"Especially since my brother showed remarkable talent in management. He was running some of Father’s estates since he was a child."

"He must be the Grand Duke’s mirror image."

Helena nodded quietly.

"But then, when he turned twenty, he suddenly declared that he wanted to become a chef."

"If he’d stayed on that path, he would have become the head of the family. But turning away to become a head chef... I suppose it's only natural to worry."

Recently, with the empire entering a golden age, the status of the culinary world had risen significantly.

However, nobles still largely treated chefs as servants to be ordered around.

Of course, Grand Duke Harriet wasn’t one to belittle chefs like that.

As seen earlier, he could tell who made a dish just by tasting it—he was a true gourmet.

Still, for his eldest son to forsake the family head’s ring in favor of a garlic-scented knife...

From a father's perspective, that was not something easily forgiven.

"Even so, he’s being quite heartless."

Helena picked up her spoon again.

She scooped up a spoonful of steaming soup and quietly tasted it.

"To make a face like that after tasting something this delicious..."

With a look of pity, the eldest daughter brushed aside her golden hair with elegance.

Then, she silently cleared her plate on her own.

"I'm sorry. I brought you here because Father said he wanted to see you."

With a careless wave, she signaled the maid to clear the dishes.

The servants moved quickly through the wrecked atmosphere of the dining hall.

"It’s alright. This might turn out to be a good opportunity."

"A good opportunity?"

I slowly set my spoon down.

At that, Helena rested her chin on the back of her hand and asked,

"I can guess what you’re thinking. But it won’t be that easy."

Her fork pointed toward the beauty mark under my eye.

"You want to reconcile Father and the eldest son, create a heartwarming scene, and then slip in your promotion papers, right?"

"Well, in essence, yes."

Helena looked at me with the commanding smile of someone taming a fox.

The gaze of a woman who had secured her place as the next Grand Duke.

"But do you really think a man who nearly had a fit over a single spoonful of crab soup is going to forgive so easily?"

She slowly shook her head.

Every time her abundant golden hair swayed, a subtle warmth, like the scent of her skin, tickled my nose.

"Not a chance. My father... he's a truly stubborn man."

The Western Grand Duke’s daughter turned to gaze at a large painting hanging on the wall.

In it, the emperor sat at the center, surrounded by numerous members of the imperial family, seated in neat rows.

However, Grand Duke Harriet was nowhere to be seen.

His grandfather sat at the far end, sipping wine in a haggard state.

"What kind of person does the Western Grand Duke seem like to you?"

"…"

Instead of answering right away, I gazed at the painting with her.

After organizing my thoughts, I shared my first impression of the Western Grand Duke.

"He was quite different from what I had expected."

"Really? How so?"

Helena, intrigued by my reply, lifted her eyes from the glass in her hand.

"He's royalty, but… he didn’t have the air of one."

Perhaps because she herself was a distant relative of the emperor, Helena folded her arms.

She waited patiently, clearly enjoying my answer.

"Most lower-ranking royals are content with their positions. They either flaunt their privileges or live out their days in leisure."

I placed my index finger against my temple.

"So they usually come off as either arrogant, or warm and easygoing."

"And you're saying my father doesn’t fit into either category?"

I immediately nodded in agreement with Helena’s intelligent blue eyes.

"Yes. In fact, he reminded me more of Duke Luton of the North."

Her own father resembling the head of their greatest rival family.

At that, Helena blinked as if reading a particularly entertaining novel.

"Though a royal, he felt like someone who clawed his way up from nothing. There was a sharp fierceness in his gaze."

"That’s right. Our Yekaterina family only came into prosperity recently. We went through a lot in the past."

The Western Grand Duke’s daughter looked at her grandfather in the painting.

His face filled with shame and misery.

"My grandfather, the previous head of the family, lost many troops because of poor tactics on the battlefield."

This was the first I had heard of it.

Perhaps because I had no significant ties to the Western region.

"I didn’t know that."

"Of course you didn’t. Who would want to speak up when a royal's mistake cost hundreds of lives?"

Helena lightly dabbed her lips—red like fruit—with a tissue.

"Under pressure from the emperor, Grandfather had to pour out an enormous sum to appease the bereaved families."

"A hush money arrangement, then."

When I answered firmly, the Western Grand Duke’s daughter gave a quiet laugh.

She naturally accepted the tea served with dessert and said,

"Pretty ironic, isn’t it? If he were just a noble, he’d have been gutted. But because he was royalty, they had to silence the public instead."

She dropped three sugar cubes into her tea.

One of them, thrown with too much force, splashed up and struck the blue brooch resting on her full chest.

"The compensation for hundreds of families must have been astronomical."

"Exactly. That’s why the family’s fortunes took such a hit. Grandfather collapsed from a stress-induced illness, and ended up in the painting like that."

Helena casually pointed toward the large artwork hanging in the dining hall.

She didn’t seem particularly ashamed of her grandfather’s failure.

"In a way, it’s our family’s disgrace. But even so, Father had it hung up there, bold and clear. And every time we had a meal, he would glance at it at least once."

Every single meal, he would face his family’s disgrace.

From this fact alone, it was clear just how ruthless Grand Duke Harriet truly was.

"I’ve heard much about His Highness Harriet’s achievements."

Before he was a brilliant businessman, he had been a tactician.

To wash away the disgrace of the previous head of the family, he had studied countless strategies, and during the invasion war, he had even entered enemy territory himself to survey the terrain.

It was such a well-known true story that it had even been included in academy textbooks.

For those merits, the Western Grand Duke was granted influence over numerous imperial enterprises.

He had even saved from the government funding he received, quietly filling his own coffers with the profit margin.

"Indeed, it’s thanks to Father’s achievements that our family was barely able to reclaim the title of ‘Imperial Household.’"

Helena smiled with satisfaction, as if she thought I might be following the same path.

Then, perhaps reminded of her older brother, she sighed deeply again.

"Do you think a man like that would ever be satisfied with an older brother holding a ladle?"

"I understand. When one has never had honor, they may not miss it, but once lost, it leaves an even greater void."

My own family had gone through something similar to the Yekaterina House.

Of course, on a far smaller scale.

"That must be why you got the same impression. Duke Luton of the North also built his success from the ground up, didn’t he?"

Helena seemed well acquainted with the legend of Duke Luton’s rise.

As expected of someone who analyzed her opponents in advance—what a meticulous businesswoman.

"…"

What if the Archduke Eric had suddenly declared to Duke Luton that he wanted to become a chef?

Just imagining it sent chills down my spine.

"In any case, let’s try dining with Father again tomorrow. I’ll do my best to persuade him."

"Understood."

With that, I finished the meal that had been interrupted.

Later, Helena had a guest chamber arranged for me.

I wasn’t sure why she handled something a maid could’ve done, but she took care of it herself.

"The Western Grand Duke… and his son, the chef…"

Left alone, I sat on the soft bed.

As I looked around the splendid guest chamber, I fell into thought.

‘First, I need to find out how Archduke Harris ended up so taken with cooking.’

What had made him fall for it so deeply that he was willing to go against his father?

I quietly slipped out of the guest chamber.

Then, as I walked through the quiet corridors,

my knowledge from my time as Chief Secretary guided me with ease to the grand kitchen.

――――――

I carefully opened the door and stepped inside.

What greeted me was a completely empty kitchen and…

Harris, the Western Grand Duke’s eldest son, standing there alone.

His blue eyes, identical to his father's, shone with quiet sorrow.

He looked exhausted, one hand resting on a shelf to support his weary body.

It seemed he was distressed, likely because his father had refused to eat.

"Ah… Lord Roger, isn’t it?"

"Yes. I came to thank you for the meal you prepared today."

The Archduke waved his hand as if to say it was nothing.

“No, please. I imagine all you had was some soup…”

“Even just that was enough to fill me up.”

When I extended my hand in thanks, he reluctantly reached out and shook it.

Right now, all that was likely filling the eldest son’s mind was his father—who had refused the meal and walked away.

“Do you happen to know… how much he actually ate?”

“He took a single spoonful and left right after.”

When I answered honestly, he shut his eyes tightly.

Then, he exhaled deeply, releasing the pain that had built up inside him.

“I thought so…”

“I was surprised, you know. He could tell right away it was your cooking after just one taste.”

I glanced at the neatly arranged utensils as I spoke.

To this, Harris replied in a bitter voice.

“My father is a renowned gourmet. He can tell whose touch a dish has just by tasting it.”

“For someone like that to reject your food… he must have been gravely disappointed.”

My string of honest remarks seemed to only deepen his anguish.

But I didn’t stop.

After all, secrets only begin to unravel once they’re spoken aloud.

“You’re right. That’s why he won’t face me again unless I put down the knife for good.”

Perhaps he had also needed someone to talk to—Harris opened up more easily than expected.

Encouraged by his response, I followed up with practiced ease.

“Knowing that, why do you keep cooking? What’s the reason?”

“The reason, you ask?”

Harris looked at me slowly.

His gaze settled on the blackness in my eyes, shaped by my years as a chief secretary.

“Yes. The noble ‘reason’ that keeps you firm in your will, even when your father stands in opposition.”

Harris Yekaterina—who had already defined his clear goals, just as I had taught Sonia and Ronie.

He began answering my question honestly.

“I’m sure Helena already told you, but our family went through very hard times. To the point where it was hard to believe we were royalty.”

“She did. She even said you couldn’t properly pay your maids’ wages.”

I casually relayed what I’d heard from Helena.

“There was a time when Father even cooked for us himself.”

“You mean the Western Grand Duke… personally?”

That unexpected piece of information made my narrow, fox-like eyes widen in astonishment.

“Yes. I can still see him clearly, tying on an apron.”

That towering man with such a grim face… in an apron?

Honestly, I could hardly picture it.

“The food he made for us back then was truly delicious. Better than anything any chef ever made.”

As Harris recalled the meal, his expression turned wistful, as if the memory alone could wash away all pain.

He was, through and through, a born chef.

“But that was the first and last time.”

The Western Archduke’s son turned his gaze toward the empty kitchen.

A spotless space bathed in sunlight.

He must have been picturing his father, standing there alone, cooking with everything he had.

“Father felt ashamed of himself for cooking. He said it wasn’t befitting of royalty…”

Not befitting of royalty.

Shameful.

Would someone who truly believed that be able to cook such a heartfelt meal for his children?

No matter how much of a gourmet he was, cooking is a skill built through countless trials.

Which meant he must have practiced hard, out of sight.

And the fact that he never once let his children catch him doing so—

that must have been the last sliver of pride he clung to, unwilling to let go of his noble dignity.

That pride… was nothing more than a yearning for honor.

I looked at the man who had chosen his path after tasting a dish filled with his father’s love.

What could be done for him to earn the Western Grand Duke’s recognition?

If I thought about it, the answer was simple.

What the father wants is honor.

What the son wants is cooking.

Then the solution is this: combine the two—turn cooking into an honorable profession.

“Lord Harris.”

“Yes, go ahead, Lord Roger.”

I looked at the chef who had crafted that exquisite crab soup with such skill.

At the promising future in his face.

“Are you aware that there will soon be a luncheon meeting between His Majesty the Emperor, the Silver Truth Church, and the Grand Dukes?”

The clouds over the Empire’s west—so long dark and heavy—were beginning to clear.

Soon, warm sunlight poured into the kitchen.

“It would be good if you came to the imperial palace for it, Lord Harris—”

There it was, just in time.

The perfect opportunity to cook the most honorable dish on the continent.

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