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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Ruined Male Lead Chose the Wrong Opponent
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I headed to the kitchen to prepare the officers' dinner banquet.
The kitchen maids and the chef were eyeing the ingredients I'd bought with clear displeasure.
"Princess, what on earth is ratatouille? How are we supposed to make something we don't even know?"
"Uh..."
I couldn't exactly explain that ratatouille was a homey dish from southern France, made famous by a movie about a rat controlling a chef.
I'd seen sardine pie among the ingredients too, so I figured it existed here... Or maybe it just wasn't popular yet?
"It's a chance to learn a new recipe! It's cheap and easy to make, and it tastes great. I'll give it a try."
The chef scowled as I tied on an apron.
"You've only ever sliced steaks, and now you want to cook? I get that you're going for a 'relatable to the common folk' image, but in reality, it just puts us in a tough spot."
"I learned it as a hobby."
I lifted my chin proudly. Technically, it had been my livelihood, but close enough.
Then the head kitchen maid piped up.
"Does that mean you're planning to serve cheap food to the officers?"
"The ingredients I bought are top-quality. It just means you can make something affordable with them."
They just didn't want to do what I asked.
"I've already announced that I'm overseeing the dinner banquet. You won't get in any trouble, so don't worry."
"Sure you have."
The chef sneered, making no effort to hide his irritation.
Roze must have badmouthed me behind my back all this time, so my image among them wasn't great.
Understanding their feelings, I nodded and started slicing the zucchini.
"Slice the eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes this thin."
The assistants assigned to me immediately followed the example. They were the two young apprentice servants Roze had bullied.
Meanwhile, the chef and kitchen maids were prepping ingredients for the main dish.
'Being this uncooperative isn't going to help...'
But yelling in the quarters where I had no allies would only hurt me.
Just you wait. I'll win you all over one by one.
If you don't want to be stuck alone with Masera in these empty quarters while we're off enjoying a fun picnic someday, you'd better play nice.
"Princess, is this okay?"
The kids asked with tense faces.
At some point, even the servants had started calling me 'Princess.' It felt so cringey and awkward.
I smiled kindly at their clumsy knife work.
"You'll hurt yourself holding the knife like that. Try gripping it again."
I took their stiff hands and showed them properly.
Kitchen work usually started with menial chores, so this was probably their first time handling ingredients like this.
They must have planned to foist the dish I suggested on us beginners.
Good thing it was an easy recipe anyone could make.
The ratatouille recipe was incredibly simple, so we finished prepping the ingredients in no time.
"Normally, you'd simmer it low and slow, but since this is practice, let's just bake it in the oven for 10 minutes. Don't you want to see how our dish turns out?"
"We really do!"
Maybe because my real self was different from what they'd expected, the tension eased from the apprentices, and they beamed.
Chatting away during prep, I learned their names were Mary and Ginny, they were Francia refugees, fifteen years old, and probably introverts by MBTI.
Soon, we pulled the finished ratatouille from the oven, and warm steam rose with a mouthwatering aroma.
"Wow."
Mary started to clap but stopped when she caught the chef's eye.
It was the first dish they'd ever made since starting kitchen work, and they looked thrilled.
"Here, say ahh."
I blew on the food and fed Ginny and Mary. Their eyes widened, cheeks flushing pink.
"Th-this is..."
"It tastes like home."
"You know the flavor?"
Hesitating as if she regretted speaking up, Mary said cautiously,
"Princess, this is exactly like ratatouillée."
Ah, so it's called ratatouillée here.
"Really? You knew it?"
"I was afraid I'd get scolded for pretending to know. It's a traditional Francia dish. The chef must know it too—he's from the same region as us."
I whipped my head around and shot the chef a glare.
So he knew what I was talking about but still insisted he didn't know how to make it?
"Now that you've taught the recipe to the apprentices, you can go, Princess. You're far too busy to spend time on hobbies."
The chef grumbled curtly when our eyes met.
I looked at him and asked,
"Are you leaving it entirely to the apprentices? Or will you have them teach you the recipe I showed them?"
The kitchen for high-ranking officials was a hierarchical, strict place. Both options were absurd.
"Entrust the officers' meal to apprentices?"
"You never intended to listen to me from the start."
I crossed my arms and stared him down.
As my silence and gaze dragged on, the chef—who'd been pretending not to notice—grew uneasy and started glancing at me.
After a long moment, squirming like he was on pins and needles, the chef spoke first.
"It's peasant food. Not fit to serve the officers."
"Food has no class. Use good ingredients, serve it on nice plates—that's respect. People are the same: put them in fine clothes, and they look noble."
The chef stared at me wordlessly.
I shrugged with the most infuriating smirk I could muster.
"Can't make it? Or don't have the confidence? You're really a Francia chef, right? Not secretly from Media or something."
"How dare you say something so insulting!"
The chef jumped up, furious.
He couldn't stomach the comparison to Media, infamous for its bizarre cuisine. Francia folk took immense pride in their cooking.
"Make a ratatouillée that satisfies everyone, and I'll acknowledge your skills."
I dangled the challenge like a demon lord. The chef huffed, grabbing a knife and cutting board.
"Fine. If the officers are pleased, apologize for that outrageous statement that would enrage all Francia folk."
"Deal."
As I turned to leave after accepting, Ginny and Mary hurried after me.
"Princess, Chef Zad is prickly, but he's not a bad person. He's been through a lot of misfortune... He took us in when we had nowhere to go after the war."
Zad was the chef's name.
The Francia royal family had been incompetent enough to collapse in revolution. No wonder the resentment spilled over to me.
"I understand. I believe the day will come when prejudices fade and I'm accepted for who I am. Just like you two have."
They trusted me enough to speak up for me, after all.
Ginny and Mary blinked in surprise, fidgeting.
"At first, we were scared of you, thinking you were intimidating. Sorry. But after cooking together and seeing you up close... we realized you have a warm heart."
"Thanks to you, Princess, we got to make our homeland's food. It made us so happy."
Seeing the girls' friendly gazes, it felt like I'd gained two allies.
Two steps closer to the final boss, Masera.
"And Chef Zad really is from Francia."
Guess my earlier jab had been a wide-area taunt.
After Cynthia left, in the kitchen.
The servants scowled and whispered among themselves.
"We can't serve peasant food at a banquet. Even the commoner-born officers would take offense."
"If it's Chef Zad's best hometown dish, they probably won't mind."
"That's what she's aiming for, isn't it? Trying to take credit by pretending she made it herself. No wonder she went out and bought the ingredients personally."
The tutor Hayden, there to grab a snack, noticed their sour expressions and asked what was wrong.
After hearing the story, he offered a clear solution.
"Just ruin the dish."
He pointed to the large pot of simmering tomato sauce. It was a key component of the ratatouillée.
