The Tragic Male Lead Chose the Wrong Partner

* * *

I headed to the kitchen to prepare for the officers’ dinner banquet.
The kitchen maids and the chef looked at the ingredients I had brought with clear displeasure.
“Princess, what even is ratatouille? How are we supposed to cook something we’ve never heard of?”

“Uh…”
I couldn’t exactly explain that it was a traditional southern French dish best known as the title of a movie where a rat controls a chef.
I figured it existed here too since I’d seen sardine pies around… or maybe it just wasn’t well-known here yet?

“This is a great chance to learn a new recipe! It’s cheap, easy to make, and tastes good. I’ll give it a try.”
The chef frowned as he watched me tie on an apron.
“You’ve probably never cut anything besides steak. I get that you want to appear relatable to commoners, but in reality, it’s just us who end up struggling.”

“I learned this as a hobby.”
I raised my chin proudly. Technically, it had been a job, not a hobby.
Then the kitchen’s head maid cut in sharply.

“Are you saying you’ll be serving cheap food to the officers?”
“The ingredients I bought are top-tier. I just mean it can be made affordably.”
It was clear they simply didn’t want to follow my lead.

“I already informed them that I’d be overseeing dinner tonight. You won’t be held responsible for anything, so there’s no need to worry.”
“I’m sure we won’t be.”
The chef sneered, showing his displeasure openly.

No doubt Roje’s previous backroom scheming using my name had soured my reputation.
Understanding where their hostility came from, I simply nodded and began slicing zucchini.
“Slice the eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes this thin.”
The assistants assigned to me watched my demonstration and started copying it. They were two young trainee maids who had been bullied by Roje.

Meanwhile, the chef and the main kitchen maids were prepping ingredients for the main course.
Not exactly a cooperative environment…
Still, in a residence where no one was on my side, getting angry would only hurt me.

Just wait. I’ll win them over one by one until they’re all on my side.
If they didn’t want to be awkwardly left alone in a silent mansion with Masera while the rest of us went on a cheerful picnic, they’d better get used to it.
“Princess, d-does this look right?”

The girls asked nervously.
At some point, even the servants had started calling me “Princess.” It made my skin crawl.
I gave the girls a kind smile as I looked at their clumsy knife work.

“If you hold the knife like that, you’ll get hurt. Try again like this.”
I gently guided their stiff hands to correct their grip.
Since kitchen work usually started with grunt tasks, this was likely their first time doing prep work.

Probably, they had assigned them to assist me because they thought I’d ask for a beginner-level dish.
Thankfully, ratatouille was simple enough for anyone to make.
The prep was finished quickly since the recipe was so easy.

“Normally, this would be slow-cooked at a low temperature, but since this is just practice, we’ll bake it for ten minutes. Aren’t you curious how it’ll turn out?”
“I really am!”
The tension melted off their faces, and the two trainees smiled brightly.

While chatting during the cooking, I learned their names were Maery and Ginny, they were fifteen years old, and they were refugees from Francia. Judging by their personalities, I’d ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) say both were probably introverts.
When the ratatouille was finally done, warm steam and a delicious aroma filled the air.
“Wow…”

Maery started to clap, then quickly held herself back after glancing at the chef.
It was probably the first dish they had ever made themselves since starting kitchen work. They looked genuinely happy.
“Here, say ah.”

I blew on a bite and fed it to Maery and Ginny. Their eyes widened, and their cheeks flushed.
“W-wow, this is…”
“It tastes familiar.”

“Familiar?”
Maery hesitated, likely unsure if she’d get scolded for speaking up, but eventually replied timidly.
“Princess, this tastes just like ratatouyou.”

Ah, so it’s called ratatouyou here.
“Really? You already knew it?”
“I was scared I’d get scolded for acting like I knew things. It’s a traditional dish from Francia. The chef should know it too—he’s from our region.”

I turned sharply to look at the chef.
So he knew what I meant all along and pretended not to?
“Since you’ve shown the recipe to the trainees, you may go now, Princess. Surely someone as busy as you shouldn’t waste time on a hobby.”

The chef said curtly, meeting my gaze.
I asked him calmly,
“Are you going to leave everything to the trainees? Or are you going to learn the recipe I just taught them?”

The kitchen was a place of authority and strict hierarchy—especially since it served high-ranking officials. Neither option was acceptable in that context.
“How could we let a trainee handle the officers’ meals?”
“So you never intended to listen to me in the first place.”

I crossed my arms and stared at him.
As my silence and stare dragged on, the chef, who had been pretending to focus on his work, gradually began to look anxious.
Finally, after an uncomfortable stretch of time, he broke the silence.

“That’s peasant food. It’s not fit to be served at a formal officers’ dinner.”
“There’s no such thing as noble or peasant food. If you use good ingredients and present it nicely, it becomes a proper dish. Just like how people look noble in fine clothes.”
The chef stared at me silently.

I shrugged with the most deliberately provoking smile I could muster.
“You just don’t know how to make it, or you’re not confident. Are you sure you're even a real chef from Francia? You’re not secretly from Medeia, are you?”
“How dare you say something so insulting!”

He jumped up, indignant.
Comparing him to Medeia’s infamously bizarre cuisine must have been unforgivable. The people of Francia had immense pride in their culinary heritage.
“If you can make a ratatouyou that satisfies everyone, I’ll recognize your skills.”

I threw down the challenge like a demon lord handing out a final trial. The chef huffed and grabbed his knife and cutting board.
“Fine. But if the officers are satisfied, I expect an apology for that disgraceful comment about all Franians.”
“Alright, deal.”

Just as I was about to leave after accepting the challenge, Ginny and Maery hurried after me.
“Princess, Head Chef Zade may be strict, but he’s not a bad person. He’s been through a lot… He took us in when we had nowhere to go after the war.”
Zade—that was the chef’s name.

The fall of Francia’s monarchy had been due to its own incompetence, I suppose. No wonder that resentment extended to me as well.
“I understand. I believe the day will come when I’ll be accepted for who I am, not just what I represent—just like you two did.”
The very fact that they believed I would listen was proof of that.

Ginny and Maery looked startled and fidgeted.
“At first… we were scared of you, Princess. We thought you were cold. I’m sorry. But after cooking together today… we realized you have a warm heart.”
“I was really happy to make food from home again. Thank you.”

Seeing the fondness in their eyes, I felt like I had gained two allies.
Which meant… I was now two steps closer to the final boss, Masera.
“And Chef Zade really is from Francia!”

So I guess my earlier jab was a full-range critical hit.
* * *
After Cynthia left, the kitchen.

The staff wore stiff expressions and murmured amongst themselves.
“We can’t serve peasant food at a banquet. Even if the officers came from common backgrounds, they’ll still be offended.”
“If it’s a dish Chef Zade made with full effort from our homeland, I doubt they’d be upset.”

“Isn’t that what she’s aiming for? To be praised as if she made it herself. No wonder she insisted on buying the ingredients herself.”
Just then, Hayden, the tutor, entered to grab a snack. Seeing the sour faces, he asked what was going on.
After hearing the full story, he offered a very “clear” solution.

“Then just ruin the dish.”
He pointed to the large pot of tomato sauce—the key to the ratatouyou.