Chapter 121

Chapter 121: The Greatest Feast (4)

"Are you talking about the imperial banquet...?"

The Western Grand Duke's son looked at me with a sour expression.

Understandable.

To showcase one's cooking at a gathering that included not only his father, but also His Majesty the Emperor and the Grand Duke of the North?

That was the kind of grand occasion where even the imperial head chef would spend weeks in preparation, with meticulous planning.

And yet, I was offering him a chance to participate in such an event.

No wonder he looked at me with a face that clearly wondered who I actually was.

"Yes. I tasted your soup, and it seemed more than competent."

"......"

But his eyes soon settled on the fact that I was offering help in the immediate present.

He resembled Archduke Harriet, but his gaze, slightly lowered, gave off a gentler impression.

"My skills, huh... I did think I was good enough. After all, I entered a prestigious culinary school under an alias."

On his apron was the logo of a cooking school from a renowned island nation—

The Sicilian Royal School of Culinary Arts in Sicily.

"Of course, halfway through, they found out I came from my father’s noble house. But I still completed the program solely on my merit. I even worked as the kingdom’s head chef."

No wonder his skills weren’t ordinary.

Back when I lived at the Grand Duke of the North’s estate, I’d personally sampled and inspected all manner of rare delicacies, so even to my trained eyes, his talent was exceptional.

"Technically, it was flawless. So I thought if my father tasted my food, he’d at least acknowledge that I had devoted myself to something."

The eldest son seemed to know the Western Grand Duke’s personality fairly well.

A man of ambition and discerning taste, who demanded the very best in every field.

The son must have thought that presenting a perfect dish would be enough to earn forgiveness.

"I suppose… my cooking skills still aren’t good enough."

But I didn’t see it that way.

"I’m not so sure. From what I can tell, there’s a bigger ‘problem’ here than your skill."

"Excuse me? A different problem...?"

The eldest son of the Yekaterina family looked at me in astonishment.

That an outsider—whom he’d just met today—had pinpointed something he himself hadn’t seen, even after a lifetime with his father?

It was as if he’d encountered a mysterious creature deep in the forest. His lips parted slightly in disbelief.

"So… there is something you noticed."

"Yes. From where I’m standing..."

I looked quietly at the man who, even after returning home, hadn’t gone to see his father.

The eldest son, suffering alone in the dark kitchen.

"It’s because the eldest son chose cooking over the family trade, and returned home without any real accomplishments."

Accomplishments.

The thing the Western Grand Duke prized above all—he who had restored the honor of a ruined noble house through countless feats.

"His son, who ran away from home, sneaks back in without so much as greeting him face-to-face? And then just slips out a dish like this?"

What had the Archduke of Harris actually achieved so far?

He’d merely graduated from a culinary school that anyone could attend, and worked briefly in the royal kitchen.

To the average person, that might be a respectable enough career, something to be proud of—

But from the Western Grand Duke’s perspective—the one who had raised his son to become the family head, granting him higher education and countless privileges—

A mere royal chef from a tiny island kingdom, not even part of the Empire?

That would seem utterly ridiculous and beneath notice.

"His Grace likely doesn’t welcome this reunion with his son at all."

"......"

Archduke Harris looked dazed, as if he had just realized something he had never understood before.

But I didn’t stop.

In situations like this, it was easier for a third party to evaluate things objectively.

"You said you chose the path of a chef because of the fond memories of your father’s cooking, didn’t you?"

The eldest son gave a slow nod.

But my next words made his entire body stiffen.

"However, His Grace the Grand Duke took up cooking with the noble purpose of reviving the family."

I gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

With the same gaze I had back in my thirties, when I served and advised the children of the Grand Duke of the North.

"That’s why—if his son also chose to pursue cooking, he expected at least that level of achievement."

If he abandoned the family trade his father taught him, then he should’ve at least walked a path worthy of it.

That was what the Western Grand Duke had expected from his firstborn son.

"Achievements, like those that rebuilt the family from the ground up."

"I see…"

The intelligent eldest son seemed to grasp my words, as his face gradually flushed red.

As if ashamed to have returned without anything to show for himself.

"His Majesty holds Helena in high regard because your father has never been complacent with simply being the next Grand Duke. He continues to display ambition by achieving results."

Archduke Harris finally closed his eyes tightly.

He looked ashamed of himself—of how he had begged for recognition as a chef despite achieving nothing of note so far.

"I understand everything now."

He took off his apron.

Then, with both hands, he swept his face as though washing away the past.

"First, I need to go see my father."

Harris let out a deep breath.

Then, gazing down the long hallway beyond the kitchen, he spoke.

"I need to apologize—for hiding like a coward and pretending to be the chef, instead of facing him properly."

As expected of the Grand Duke’s son.

Harris had the wisdom to correct his own mistakes.

"And I will tell him: that I intend to earn the recognition of the continent’s greatest rulers through the imperial banquet… and fulfill my ambition."

Just moments ago, he had found the idea of the imperial banquet overwhelming.

But now, with his resolve renewed, he walked straight ahead—toward the goal reflected in his blue eyes.

"I’ll be waiting for good news."

――――――

Archduke Harris, walking alone down the hallway.

On the way to his father’s office, he came face-to-face with his younger sister.

"What’s this? Where are you going?"

"To see Father."

The eldest son, his expression resolute.

Sensing something unusual in his gaze, Helena asked in a hushed voice,

"Will you be okay? Father’s not exactly in the best mood right now."

"I know. But since I’ve come all this way, I should at least face him."

The Western Grand Duke’s daughter, a brilliant businesswoman, rested her hand on her chin.

Then, narrowing her sharp eyes, she said,

"Hmm— your eyes look different now."

As someone of the same blood, she could instinctively sense it.

That her older brother, too, had met a man who was beginning to bring winds of change into his life.

This was precisely why she liked that man’s magic-like abilities so much.

Because he had a special talent for persuading people who seemed like they’d never change.

And she wanted to monopolize that talent for herself—forever.

"Helena, you’ve brought someone truly valuable."

"You think so too, Brother?"

The eldest son offered a faint smile in agreement.

"Yes. From long ago, your discernment—like Father’s—has always been spot-on."

He looked at Helena with admiration, knowing how much more she resembled their father than he ever had.

Sensing this, the Western Grand Duke’s daughter let out a small laugh and said,

"No need to be jealous. The same goes for you."

He, too, was unmistakably the blood of Archduke Harriet.

"You heard his words and corrected your thinking. You swallowed your pride and judged what was right and wrong."

"Is that so…"

Helena stepped aside, gesturing for him to go.

Then, folding her arms, she spoke with mature eyes,

"Go on. And make sure you clearly tell him what you intend to achieve through cooking."

"Thank you, Helena."

His first expression of gratitude in his life.

And for the first time, the Western Grand Duke’s daughter felt something like familial affection.

Then she stepped closer to her brother and whispered a request.

In a very discreet voice.

"If you’re thankful, help me with something later. Just once."

"Hm?"

The eldest son leaned in to catch her whisper.

And the moment he heard what she was asking—

"Ahem… Alright, the person seemed nice enough…"

He quietly agreed, for now.

Helena, having secured the promise, patted his shoulder and gently pushed him forward.

At last, the eldest son silently made his way toward the Western Grand Duke’s office.

"……"

Helena placed a soft hand on her cheek and began to hum.

Then, murmured quietly to herself in a low voice.

"Seeing how much he’s changed… Father will come to realize it too, soon enough."

Her ambition-lit blue eyes sparkled.

"That he absolutely must hold on tight—"

"Hold on to what, exactly?"

Helena turned slightly to glance at me, who had approached without her noticing.

Then, like a predator gazing fondly at its prey, she curved her lips into a wide smile.

"Just something important."

I narrowed my eyes at her cryptic smile.

Like a fox watching for predators in the highlands.

‘This is ominous. What kind of scheme is that ambitious businesswoman plotting this time…?’

Hopefully, whatever it is, it won’t bring harm to the family I’m trying to rebuild.

「――――――」

Archduke Harris came to a halt in front of the massive wooden double doors.

And just as he slowly raised his knuckles to knock—

The chief secretary, a man in his mid-forties, cautiously opened the door.

Resembling an owl, he wore a monocle and placed a finger to his lips.

"Young Master, His Grace is not in a good mood today…!"

"I know. It’s probably because of me."

But Harris did not retreat.

If anything, his gaze held the resolve of someone who knew that if not now, he might never get another chance.

"Which is why I must resolve this myself."

"……"

The chief secretary, who had served the household for over twenty years, immediately understood.

The eldest son had returned not as the man of the past, but with a firm and unwavering heart.

"Understood… Please wait a moment."

He swallowed hard.

Then quietly stepped back into the office to report to the Grand Duke—

That the eldest son had returned in an official capacity.

"……"

After what seemed to be permission granted, the chief secretary finally opened the door with formality befitting the heir of the Western Grand Duke’s house.

With graceful gestures, he led him inside.

To the man who shared rule of the continent alongside the Emperor himself.

The Western Grand Duke, Harriet Yekaterina.

"Father. Your firstborn, Harris, has returned to the family."

The eldest son finally stood before the man he both deeply respected and feared.

"……"

But the Grand Duke gave no immediate reaction.

He simply remained seated at his desk, looking dispassionately over national documents.

"Please forgive my rudeness for not greeting you first upon my arrival."

"I understand. You've never had the courage for that kind of thing, anyway."

A cold, sardonic voice.

That frigid tone sent a chill down Harris’s spine.

"So? Have you come to whine about why I had your soup taken away?"

Even so, Harris had no intention of backing down.

He had already drawn his sword.

Whether it was a longsword or a chef’s knife.

"No, Father."

"I came to tell you that my cooking is not some frivolous pursuit born from nostalgia."

The Western Grand Duke didn’t even glance at his son, who had clearly changed.

Then, with a skeptical look, he scoffed lightly.

"Of course. That’s why you ran off from the estate and studied cooking in some faraway land, isn’t it?"

"……"

Harris didn’t show the slightest sign of disappointment at his father’s doubt.

Instead, he chose to show him.

That the goal he carried was just as strong as his father’s ambition.

"You’ve always said your goal was to make our family name known throughout the Empire."

"And?"

Harriet continued reading his papers, barely showing interest.

But when he heard what his son said next—

He finally raised his head and looked at him.

Because the goal his eldest son spoke of wasn’t the naive dream of a boy grinning over a bowl of soup.

"My goal is to open restaurants bearing our family’s name across the entire continent."

Harris met his father’s gaze with the ocean-deep blue of his eyes, full of pride and determination.

With a will carrying such vast ambition—

"And with that, I’ll make sure everyone on the continent remembers the name 'Yekaterina' for the rest of their lives."

"……"

The Western Grand Duke silently looked into his son’s eyes—eyes that spoke of raising their family name in his own way.

Then, at last, he set aside the state documents on his desk.

"Are you serious about that?"

"Yes, I am. I’ll prove it properly at the banquet during the upcoming imperial conference."

Harris, based on what we had discussed, proceeded to explain his new goal to his father.

"I will present a dish that satisfies you, the Grand Duke of the North, and even His Majesty the Emperor. With that honor as momentum, I’ll open my own establishment."

He declared it proudly before his father—

His clear and detailed plan.

"An imperial chef is just a salaried worker tied to one place. But a chef with dozens of branches across the Empire is a different story entirely."

Harris Yekaterina.

Ten years from now, he would become the first chef in the Empire to operate more than 40 restaurants.

"Just as you rule over thousands of vassals as the greatest noble in the land, I, too, will lead thousands in my field."

The Western Grand Duke stared straight into the deep blue eyes that mirrored his own.

And in his son’s fierce gaze, he saw that this was no fleeting impulse.

It was a goal sharpened over many years—just like his own.

"Are you confident?"

"Yes. I’ll prove it at the imperial banquet."

Harriet Yekaterina rose from his luxurious chair.

Standing tall with a build much like his son’s, he said—

"Your cooking was technically flawless. But that’s all it was."

This was a man who had tasted countless delicacies throughout his life.

And now he pointed at his son and said,

"It lacked the power to draw people in. The ability to move hearts."

Such abstract words coming from a man of action startled Harris inwardly.

"By the time of the banquet, your cooking must carry that power. Otherwise, you won’t stand a chance against the imperial chefs."

With those words, the Grand Duke brushed past his son.

It sounded like a cold remark.

But the son trembled.

Because that one line—cold as it was—was more than just a chance.

It was advice.

In that moment, the Western Grand Duke’s son realized—

His father had, in truth, granted him permission to chase his ambition.

"……Understood."

The Western Grand Duke stepped into the corridor first.

And there, he looked toward the pair standing at a distance.

His daughter—and the fox-eyed man beside her.

"You certainly are an unusual one."

But his expression quickly turned cold again.

Because that daughter of his… was brushing some dust off my shoulder with surprising familiarity.

"Hmm?"

I turned my head while standing with Helena, sensing a sudden chill in the air.

And when I met the gaze of the Western Grand Duke, now out in the hallway—

I forced a casual smile.

As if to say, Did the eldest son not speak well enough?

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