Chapter 12: Yamano Cuisine

Mitsuha was selling more and more glasses by the day, and she knew the chancellor was the one responsible. Between this increase in business and his help with the Nelson affair, she was developing a real appreciation for the man. Sales of her other stock were picking up, too, despite the outrageous prices.

She had also managed to sell Sven’s party a bike trailer. The mercenaries had thought long and hard before making a decision. They knew the purchase would blow a hole in their wallets, but since it had seemed like a worthy investment, they’d ended up biting the bullet. Mitsuha had explained the alternative options of renting or leasing, but Sven had ardently refused.

How manly.

She had sold it to them for about the same price as she herself had paid, which was a great kindness by her standards. However, she did make them swear to secrecy regarding what they’d paid for it, claiming she would go out of business if others expected such a generous rate. They had all nodded in unison, taking her words to heart.

They probably think I’m deep in the red or something, Mitsuha had thought. And honestly, I don’t see a downside. Now, go on and advertise me! Bring demand to my supply!

Sven and his crew were immensely satisfied with their purchase. Previously, they’d had to increase their meager earnings by gathering cheap herbs light enough to carry, which was a time-consuming and laborious task. Now that they had the trailer, carrying capacity was no longer an obstacle, so they could focus solely on hunting. They could return to the capital more quickly, and they wouldn’t have to toil under the burden of their game on the way back.

Yeah, I imagine that hauling all that weight with a branch on your shoulder the whole way back would hurt like hell. I bet it’s so bad they have to take a day or two off afterward.

The mercenaries had already used the trailer on a couple of hunting trips, and the results were outstanding. They could spend twice as much time hunting as before, and Mitsuha found herself thinking that they would fare better now as hunters than mercenaries.

Ilse, the archer of the group, was really interested in a crossbow. She seemed to want to say something about it whenever she and Mitsuha met.

Earth had crossbows for a long time, right? Mitsuha thought, feeling conflicted. Should I just sell her one?

That was just one of the many things she had to worry about, however. There was also the matter of how to handle bike trailer sales going forward. She would only supply one if a customer ordered it, but she wasn’t sure how to price them. After all, the target audience was poor mercenaries and hunters.

Mitsuha had also finally used one of her deep pockets for the first time. Throwing in the first coin had been an exhilarating moment for her. She had placed her ear against the pipe as it fell, waiting in anticipation. But to her disappointment, she hadn’t been able to hear anything at all.

Yeah, I’m gonna need more gold if I wanna hear that sweet, sweet sound. Damn it!

As for Princess Sabine, she was in a foul mood these days. More customers meant more interruptions of her precious films and dramas. She had even asked Mitsuha to stop bringing in so many people, but her proposal was swiftly rejected.

Should I just let her go up to the third floor? Nah, she’d probably insist on living here. Please don’t ask to bring Prince Leuhen along either. I’m begging you!

On one occasion, Beatrice Bozes had visited the store and subsequently run into the princess. Both of them were surprised to see one another; they were apparently already acquainted, which was something Mitsuha hadn’t expected. She had assumed that members of high society weren’t aware of one another prior to their debuts.

The noble girls had explained things to her: as the eldest daughter of an influential count, Beatrice had been assigned to socialize with the youngest princess. Their relationship was something akin to school friends.

Good call not picking someone Sabine’s age, Mitsuha had reflected. I can just imagine the kind of fights they’d have. Beatrice is older and more mature, so she probably lets things slide here and there.

Hey, Sabine, don’t try to talk to her about the DVDs! Don’t even think about showing them off, either! I said the TV would break if you talked about it, didn’t I?!

◇ ◇ ◇

Ding-a-ling!

A girl no older than eighteen entered the store. Instead of heading into the aisles, she walked directly over to Mitsuha.

Huh? What?

“Excuse me, is this where I go for consultations?”

Would you look at that. The sign I hung up at the entrance is already working! This’ll be my first consultation request in a while. Oh, and just so you know, I also put up a sign with the store’s name.

The girl’s dilemma was as follows:

Her family’s home also functioned as a diner, and it employed by five people: her parents, herself, and two prep cooks. Her father was the owner and head of operations. A twenty-eight-year-old man was second-in-command, and the nineteen-year-old was part apprentice, part assistant. The girl and her mother worked as waitresses, though she was training to become a cook herself.

All was well until she caught the eye of one young man: the second-oldest son in a family who owned a larger restaurant in town. She was a cheerful character beloved by many, and this man began to pursue her aggressively. She refused his advances, as she herself was attracted to the young apprentice working for her family, but he showed no intention of backing down.

Eventually, his father got involved. Since his own business would be passed down to his eldest son, he wanted his second son to marry the girl and take over her family’s diner. He couldn’t do anything to outwardly destroy its reputation, of course, so he started to meddle in their business by way of underhanded tactics. His first move was buying out the older one of their two cooks.

Not long after that, the girl’s father was suddenly assaulted by a group of thugs. They deliberately broke his right arm, leaving the rest of him unharmed. It would heal completely if given enough time, but he couldn’t cook until then, so they were forced to close up shop temporarily. This last event had occurred just a few days ago. The family learned of the restaurant owner’s plot from an employee of his who happened to owe a debt to the girl’s father.

Her request was simple:

“Please, help us!”

“Hold on a second,” Mitsuha said. She went and hung her “Closed Due to a Special Contract” sign on the door, then closed the curtains.

Time to get my rusty consultation gears a-rollin’! Why’d she say something so heavy to a girl who only looks twelve or so, anyway? Oh, she’s friends with the Ryners’ maids? Makes sense.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to reopen the diner, prevent any further damage to business—as well as any future interference from the restaurant—and, if possible, help you tie the knot with the apprentice. Is that everything?”

“Um, yes,” the girl replied meekly. She was surprised to hear such words from someone who looked so much younger than herself. The mention of her love interest had also caused a flush to spread across her cheeks.

“First of all, getting new cooks would be tough. Inexperienced hires probably wouldn’t be of much help, and unemployed veterans are pretty rare. You might even pick up someone hired by the restaurant to sabotage you.”

“Huh?” The girl’s reaction made it obvious that she hadn’t even considered the possibilities.

“Basically, to solve this problem, we need to reopen the diner, run it without hiring anyone untrustworthy, and gain enough profit to make up for the losses from the temporary shutdown. Then we’ve got to keep it running at a profit, crush the restaurant owner’s plans, and lead him to destroy himself. Then he’ll never bother you again. It’s that simple!”

“No, it isn’t! How are we supposed to do that?!”

“That’s a job for Mitsuha’s General Store’s Consultancy Division! Leave it all to me!” Mitsuha’s words were brimming with confidence.

“But, uh, you didn’t mention anything about tying the knot...”

This girl’s a lover and a fighter, Mitsuha thought.

◇ ◇ ◇

At nine o’clock that evening, a group of five people were holding a meeting inside the girl’s family’s diner, “Paradise”. A single light shone over their table, and seated there were Bernd and Stella, the couple who owned the establishment; Aleena, their daughter; Anel, the apprentice; and, of course, Mitsuha. She had just finished explaining to them everything she said to Aleena earlier in the day.

“That’s impossible!” Bernd declared. “First of all, look at my arm! Anel can do the prep work just fine, but he can’t run the kitchen by himself. All Aleena can do at this point is help out with the simple stuff, and if we’ve got three people in the kitchen, Stella’s gonna have to do hosting and serving all on her own. She can’t work the dining room and the register!” He seemed adamant.

“Bernd, do you understand why apprentices need years and years to become proper chefs?” Mitsuha asked him.

“Wha? Well, that’s ’cause they start from the basics, watch the other chefs work, practice in their spare time...”

“Exactly! No one sits down to teach them. They have to use what little spare time they have to train through trial and error, making lots of culinary disasters. Am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s how you become a chef.”

“Then imagine spending the whole day teaching Anel how to make a single dish. He already mastered prep, didn’t he? If you hammered it into his head, eventually he’d know it well enough to make it at least ninety percent right, don’t you think? It wouldn’t have to be perfect.”

“You’re not wrong about training, but in cooking, that remaining ten percent is hard to get right. If ninety’s enough, Anel can probably do a few dishes already.”

“I want you to spend a week coaching Anel and Aleena. Don’t worry, you can keep an eye on them and help them get it right even while they’re working. A broken arm won’t get in the way of that, right?”

“Uhh, I guess...”

Anel could barely believe what he was hearing. In the realm of cooking, the only ones who could learn directly from their master were either their direct successors or employees trusted enough to inherit the establishment, and even then, it only tended to happen at the end of the chef’s career. An apprentice chef getting a whole week of training was simply unheard of.

“But the taste would still be lacking, and it’s not like our diner has some kind of specialty. I don’t think the customers who went elsewhere during our short-term closing would come back fast enough, and the regulars would notice the drop in quality... and like I said before, Stella can’t handle the customers alone.”

Mitsuha grinned. “Don’t worry! I have a plan! I’ll make it a real walk in the dark!”

“That’s not reassuring at all!”

◇ ◇ ◇

One week later, Paradise was back in business.

“One order of omelet rice for you, and an udon for you! Enjoy!”

“Hamburg steak special, comin’ right up!”

The diner was bustling with activity. Four waitresses were taking orders and running food out to customers. Besides Stella, there were the two female mercenaries, Gritt and Ilse, as well as one more hired part-timer.

Mitsuha had offered this job to the two of them. Drawn to the idea of good pay, free food, and a chance to take a break from hunting, they didn’t hesitate to accept. The wages and meals from Paradise, as well as the commission and reputation they would earn after completing the job, made for an offer they couldn’t refuse. Mitsuha had chosen only to hire the women, however, feeling the male mercenaries were unnecessary in this situation.

Back in the kitchen, Anel and Aleena were hard at work following the instructions of Bernd and Mitsuha. Bernd taught them how to make the items on Paradise’s standard menu, while Mitsuha guided them in the arts of Yamano Cuisine.

Yes, Yamano Cuisine. That was the name of the mysterious culinary style that had recently become a hot topic among nobles. It was said to be unbelievably delicious, and thought to be made using unimaginable methods and impossible ingredients.

Many cooks tried to emulate this food based on what little information they had, but none of them succeeded. The only exceptions were those who had begged for help from the head chef of a certain noble house.

While learning under him, they had asked him what to call it, to which he had replied, “Yamano Cuisine”. Each dish had its own name, of course, but that was the name he’d provided for the style as a whole. Yamano Cuisine was not the name of a single dish, but of all dishes that used the Yamano techniques. It was akin to a secret martial art.

The other chefs praised him for the food, but he always shook his head in response, saying that he had created none of it—he had simply learned it from his master, then honored her by putting her name on the food. That was the story of Yamano Cuisine.

As the name spread among the wealthy, it naturally reached their servants, and through them, the commoners. Similarly, Mitsuha had gone out of her way to use hearsay to her advantage. She had asked the Ryners’ maids, as well as Sven and Szep, to spread the rumor that Paradise was serving up Yamano Cuisine. She hadn’t even bothered to use flyers this time because, as it turned out, most commoners were illiterate.

So that’s why the flyers did nothing when I opened my store! Damn it!

Mitsuha had learned from this blunder, and she now stuck solely to word of mouth in order to advertise. She had been careful not to overdo it as she didn’t want the diner to receive more patrons than it could handle.

Business isn’t about getting as many bodies as you can on day one—you need long-term stability!

At Paradise, Yamano Cuisine followed Mitsuha’s business model of “Big Profits, Slow Returns”. After all, there was a limit to how many customers the diner could hold. She chose to target wealthy individuals, commoners who desired a taste of luxury, men looking to show off to women, old couples who had money saved and wanted to celebrate a special occasion, and so on.

Of course, Yamano Cuisine that was cheap and easy to make had lower prices than the rest. A bowl of udon noodles, for example, cost just five to six small silver. They were also the kind that didn’t look terribly fancy, so giving them a high price wouldn’t have been a good idea. They were quite popular, though, so Mitsuha was satisfied.

Even the more expensive dishes weren’t on the same level as the rip-offs in her general store. Nothing was priced higher than two silver, which was about 1,800 Japanese yen. And, as you might expect, the diner’s original menu maintained its usual prices.

On the first day after Paradise’s re-opening, most of the tables were occupied for nearly the whole day. It wasn’t a full house, but it was still a great success and an example of the power of gossip. Sometime in the afternoon, Stella had briefly caught a man peeking in through the window, wearing a bitter expression. From what she told Mitsuha, this visitor had been the crooked restaurant owner trying to bring them down.

Y’know, I feel like I should add that Marcel considered using “Mitsuha Cuisine” instead of “Yamano Cuisine”, but I begged him not to do that. It was tough trying to figure out what to use instead. “Japanese Cuisine” wasn’t completely right, and it would confuse me, too. “Earth Cuisine” didn’t work well, either. In the end, we talked about it and agreed to call it “Yamano Cuisine”. I was fine with it ’cause there aren’t too many people around here who know my last name.

Anyhow, Paradise’s part-timers had been hired on a seven-day contract. During this time, Anel and Aleena aimed to become skilled enough to run the kitchen by themselves, which would allow Bernd to stick to front-of-house work. He didn’t need both hands to run food or handle payments.

On the second day, Mitsuha began to notice wealthier-looking individuals and possible nobles among their customers. As these people likely had a reputation to maintain, they didn’t want other members of high society to know they had visited such a commoner-oriented diner. It was for this reason they all wore plain, modest clothing.

That plan would’ve been smart if it wasn’t so obvious, thought Mitsuha. Not that I care if they come to this place—it was actually part of my plan! If Paradise’s one-of-a-kind menu brings in nobles and influential people, anyone who wants to mess with this place—like that restaurant owner—will be in for a hell of a time. Powerful customers make powerful allies!

Uh, it looks like there’s way too many of them, though. We even have a line outside. Didn’t really see this coming. Will it even out in a week, I wonder?

Wait, Aleena, that’s not how you make katsudon!

By day three, business was booming. The training in the kitchen was also going swimmingly; Anel and Aleena had begun to excel at their jobs.

Mitsuha had thought long and hard about what kind of Yamano Cuisine to put on the menu. It was essential that the dishes were cheap for the diner to make and didn’t rely on her world-jumping power, especially since she wasn’t entirely convinced it was permanent. There would be no cheating with spices or anything like that, and the food had to be simple enough that even beginners could put it together quickly and with minimal instruction. Under those conditions, she had chosen things like omurice—fried rice encased in a fluffy omelet, Hamburg steak, and udon noodles.

I also taught them how to make mayonnaise. I mean, it’s just a mix of eggs, oil, vinegar, and some other stuff. There’s no harm in advancing their cuisine, right? It’s not like I’m popularizing microwaves or something. I do have one for myself, though; I need it for frozen food.

Soon after opening up for the fifth day, Paradise was visited by a group of five men. They cut discourteously into the line outside.

“Ah, sir, please don’t—” Stella’s words were cut short when she realized who she was dealing with.

“Business is booming, I see,” said the man who stood out most in the group—the owner of the large restaurant. His entourage included the ex-Paradise employee he’d bought out, two guards, and a portly man Stella didn’t recognize. She quickly called for her husband.

“Can I help you?” Bernd asked as he walked out of the kitchen, clearly in ill humor.

“Now, now. There’s no need for such a sour expression. I am merely here to do my duty as a virtuous citizen,” said the restaurant owner.

“What are you talking about?”

“I reported your criminal acts and came to see to it that you’re properly penalized!” He pointed at Bernd with a wide smile on his face. The recent change in the diner’s operations had led him to switch to a direct assault.

“Criminal acts? What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb! I have guards with me!”

“Listen, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re going to have to explain.”

In response to Bernd’s words, the restaurant owner pointed at the menu on the wall.

“That! That right there is proof of your misdeed!”

“Huh?”

“You falsely claim to sell the famous ‘Yamano Cuisine’, fooling your customers and robbing them blind! Guards, arrest this man at once!”

Bernd and Stella were flabbergasted. The three part-timers looked on with worried expressions, and the customers braced themselves for the outcome.

Finally, Bernd snapped out of his stupor. “Uhh, what proof do you have that our Yamano Cuisine is fake?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” The restaurant owner cracked a devilish grin and presented one of the men that came with him. “This man is the founder of Yamano Cuisine! Viscount Ryner’s one and only head chef—Marcel!”

Gasps broke out among the crowd, though the more noble-looking sorts simply gawked.

“Marcel, please testify!”

“Hey, I can’t do that without trying the food. Let’s start there.” He wasn’t wrong, and the guards needed proof to make an arrest, so the restaurant owner reluctantly complied.

It won’t take long, anyway, he thought.

“All right, then. I’ll have that soup, the... ‘omurice’, and the, um, ‘Hamburg steak’, please.”

The restaurant owner was grinning from ear to ear. Marcel didn’t seem familiar with the dishes’ names, further evidence that the diner’s Yamano Cuisine was fake. Bernd shouted the order to the kitchen, and everyone else waited. The guests resumed eating and watched the unfolding drama in silence.

A short while later, the food was on the table in front of Marcel.

He was upset by the udon, huffy with his Hamburg steak, and outraged by the omurice.

“Bring me the one who made this!” he shouted, his chubby fists flushed and quaking.

Naturally, Bernd complied.