Translator: Nox

Chapter 25

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Kyle’s complexion turned ashen while he protested vehemently.

“No chance! These came straight from the top estates down south!”

She countered without hesitation, her tone unyielding.

“How else would it brew into something this foul?”

Carolina reflected on her past amid endless Korean cafés, recognizing substandard brew even without mastery.

Volume carried the day in murky disputes, and hers rang out strongest now.

“Simply milling fresh beans into hot water shouldn’t yield sludge like this!”

She harbored grudges from that single swallow, drawing from glimpses of her barista friend’s home setups—decent coffee demanded little complexity.

Kyle’s features softened into doubt at last.

Emboldened, Carolina pressed ahead with authority.

“Let me inspect those beans myself. We’ll settle if they’re rotten.”

Moments of hesitation passed before he fetched the bulging sack.

She peered inside gravely, her novice eyes spotting decay instantly.

Nothing resembled the glossy images from promotions.

“Rotten through and through!” she proclaimed with victory.

“Raw stock endures ages—how did yours degrade so badly?”

She gestured sharply toward him in accusation.

“Absurd. That southern trader swore by them—fit for kings down there!”

Kyle’s defiance faded into uncertainty by the finish.

“Flavor hinges on roast technique. I linked you to a master roaster favored by palace circles—these are elite.”

His plea emerged soft and pleading.

Carolina remained unmoved.

“Summon that master here for clarity.”

His gloom deepened at the challenge.

“Travel from the Southern Continent spans a year and a half each direction.”

“Why’s your expert stranded overseas? Recent trip?”

“Home base.”

Their exchange spiraled into nonsense.

A classic mix-up unfolded.

Carolina broke it down methodically once more.

“Your acclaimed roaster handles these, correct?”

“With him oceans away, who fires them up locally?”

Questions looped endlessly.

She sharpened the probe.

“Precisely how does your distant roaster deliver fired beans across empires?”

Comprehension dawned on Kyle.

“Sea voyages deliver them routinely.”

Horror gripped her at the revelation.

“Meaning these sat roasted for over a year?”

Bewilderment clouded his reaction to her disgust.

“Endure steamy voyages on grubby vessels, poor packaging—worst of all, ancient roasts make wretched drinks.”

She imagined Korean authorities cuffing him for hygiene breaches.

Regret burned for the sip already down.

Her gut twisted in warning.

Awareness hit Kyle hard.

Carolina voiced her ire calmly over the tainted batch.

“Your southern trader resides here now?”

“He’s fleecing folks. Fire-roasted imports perish fast—raw form travels best.”

Kyle’s visage darkened ominously.

“Fivefold markup on raw beans, blind to the truth… unbelievable.”

He raked fingers through his locks with a heavy exhale.

His grin resurfaced, yet chilled like frostbitten winds.

Resentment etched him as a predator scorned.

Carolina edged away, proposing an alternative.

“Capital boasts other spots. Source fresh beans there, test a brew.”

No side venture survived peddling poison.

“Grateful for your wisdom, Ms. Diaz.”

He inclined his head deeply.

She caught his icy glare aimed southward while hauling Everette from the premises.

Outside, post their exchange, Everette remarked casually.

“Ms. Diaz, your coffee insights run deep.”

Here, grasping two-year shelf decay marked expertise.

Coffee’s local tenure barely spanned a decade.

“Academy districts savored it before city streets.”

Stimulants thrived amid scholars’ demands.

Idle chatter thawed into dinner seamlessly—no stumbles, tender cuts, cozy vibes.

Still, the handkerchief stayed “forgotten” at home.

Edwin escorted Rina back, then circled to the café.

Kyle, freshly attired, beamed in welcome, hinting at recent deeds.

“Spot-on timing.”

A stark pivot from chiding backdoor neglect moments prior.

He proffered a steaming mug.

“Sample this? Sourced from the capital’s veteran haunt, vetted by its keeper. No more dreck—indulge me.”

Refusal might shatter him.

Edwin smirked at his hobby-mad comrade, claiming the brew.

“Who rules whom?”

No swill stench assaulted now.

He downed it, brow arched. Sour char lingered unappealingly, yet tolerable.

The drained vessel returned; Kyle’s joy blazed.

Irritation pricked Edwin, prompting a jab.

“Rejecting your sludge spared me illness—and you, treason charges.”

Kyle grinned mutely.

Guilt nagged; as guild front, his brews flowed most to the throne.

He shifted Edwin’s ire.

“Duly punished that fraud.”

Intrigue sparked; Edwin urged heroic details.

“Turned him over to guards.”

Gentle facade hid steel.

Prodded further, Kyle’s gaze turned venomous.

“Post forcing his swill down—every bean’s worth.”

No dainty service implied.

Issue resolved, vengeance savored, relief washed over him.

“Ms. Diaz sparked it.”

His gaze gleamed in acclaim.

“Spot-on instincts from first glance—elegant palate, sharp wits.”

Edwin’s temper frayed amid the torrent.

Kyle cut in swiftly.

“Crossing paths with Ms. Diaz soon?”

“Likely. Handkerchief pretext lingers.”

Noting the thaw, Kyle proffered an invite.

Edwin pocketed it, querying.

“Relic showcase. Handkerchief ploy’s shelf life?”

Old files noted Rina’s elective archaeology digs, tailored thus.

Edwin pondered post-return antics.

“Weekly theme shifts—four installments.”

Carolina Diaz struck as empress material—poised discernment, worldly acumen.