The next morning, I got out of bed for the first time and looked around the room.
Oh wow, it's like a hotel.
One corner of the roughly eight-mat room held a canopy bed, and the rest was simple—a round table, three chairs, and a fireplace. But the floor was covered in a thick carpet, curtains swayed at the windows, and wavy patterned glass had been fitted in to block the view from outside.
It looked simple, but it must have cost a considerable amount of money.
And near the door, a servant woman was already waiting.
"Good morning. Please wash your face here. Once you've changed, I'll guide you to the dining hall."
"Y-Yes."
Hot water for washing was neatly prepared, and a clean cloth was handed to me. Everything was provided so generously that I couldn't help feeling a little nervous.
"Please change into these. I apologize for the presumption, but it would be improper to have you walking around in your own clothes."
"Understood."
The clothes she produced were hand-me-downs from Frieda, she said. My heart leaped at the sight of these clean, well-kept garments without a single patch, which hadn't been worn in a long time.
My hair was combed for me, and I did the hairpin myself. The servant woman eyed the hairpin with curiosity but said not a word, finishing my preparations in silence.
When I was led to the dining hall, Frieda and the Guild Master were already waiting for me. I'd been under their care this whole time and still hadn't properly thanked the Guild Master.
"Good morning, Guild Master. Thank you so much for everything."
The Guild Master gave a slight nod in response to my greeting.
Frieda hurried over and began patting my forehead and the side of my neck. Her slightly cold hands made me flinch, but she paid no mind.
"Good morning, Mine. Your fever's completely gone, it seems?"
"Good morning, Frieda. I feel great—really refreshed."
So she'd been checking my fever. Now that I understood the reason behind Frieda's sudden actions, I broke into a grin. Frieda smiled back at me happily, and as we headed toward the table together, the Guild Master let out a grunt.
"I'm glad to see you've recovered, but the loan of the Magical Tools ends here. I'd like to keep them in reserve in case something happens to Frieda."
"Grandfather!"
"The Guild Master isn't wrong. They were gathered for Frieda's sake. Guild Master, thank you so much for letting us have these invaluable Magical Tools."
He'd used every connection and resource available to him as Guild Master to obtain these precious items. The fact that we'd been allowed to have them, even at a price, was nothing short of a miracle.
"Mine, think carefully about what you'll do after this."
"Yes."
"Now then, we should send word to Mine's family that she's woken up. I'll dispatch a messenger—is there anything you'd like them to know?"
The word "messenger" startled me for a moment, but of course the Guild Master wouldn't go to our house in person. Sending someone was the normal course of things.
A young man was summoned to serve as the messenger, and the location of our home was confirmed.
"Um, I'd like to thank Frieda, so if you could tell my family to bring the 'Simple-chan Rinshan,' I'd really appreciate it."
At home we still called it Simple-chan Rinshan, but apparently it wasn't a name you could remember easily on first hearing. The messenger's face twitched as he tried to commit the message to memory.
"Kan-i-chan...? I'm sorry, but could you repeat that?"
"Well, if you tell them it's the liquid that makes hair smooth and silky, I think my family will understand. I'm sorry for the trouble."
"The liquid that makes hair smooth and silky. Understood."
After seeing the messenger off, I noticed the Guild Master watching me with his chin in his hand. That ominous smile on his face—I felt like I'd seen it before.
"Mine, you seem to have all sorts of interesting things."
"Yes, I was hoping to take them in exchange for Magical Tools, but my plans fell through. How disappointing."
It was scary being cornered by these two when neither
"The money for the Magical Tools! I'll pay upfront."
If they started haggling and drove the price up, I'd be in trouble, so I immediately produced my guild card and the Guild Master matched it to settle the payment on the spot.
"So you really did have it... That Benno."
The Guild Master groaned in frustration. It seemed Benno had slipped through the net the Guild Master had so carefully laid.
Way to go, Benno!
"Mine, eat as much as you like."
"Thank you for the meal."
I couldn't stop my face from lighting up.
Because the bread served for breakfast was white bread! White bread made from nothing but wheat! And on top of that, I could drizzle as much honey on it as I wanted—how absurdly luxurious.
After stuffing my cheeks with the sweet, delicious bread, I reached for the soup.
The soup was salted, but the vegetables' flavor seemed to have been lost in the process. They'd probably boiled everything completely and then discarded the cooking water, as usual. That must be the standard method of cooking around here.
The bacon and eggs were delicious, and there was even fruit for dessert.
I was moved by this lavish breakfast—just like what I used to eat in
As I chomped away, the Guild Master watched me with furrowed brows.
"Where did Mine learn her manners?"
"I haven't learned them anywhere in particular?"
I'd read etiquette books cover to cover and practiced at family restaurants, but I'd never formally studied, so it wasn't a lie.
The Guild Master furrowed his brows even further, his face clearly written with bewilderment, but I did my best to ignore it and finished breakfast. Dwelling on it meant losing.
After breakfast, the Guild Master headed out for work.
While Frieda and I were taking a break, word arrived of visitors. They had apparently stopped by just to see my face before heading off to work.
"Mine!—Whoa!?"
My father burst in, but my mother pushed past him.
"So you're awake. Thank goodness. When Lutz told me you collapsed at Benno's shop and were carried to Frieda's house, I thought my heart was going to stop."
"Sorry for worrying you. Frieda was the only one with the same illness who could figure out what was wrong."
If I told them honestly that I'd used Magical Tools costing two small gold coins and eight large silver coins, they'd surely faint on the spot.
"Frieda, thank you so much."
"Mom, did you bring the 'Simple-chan Rinshan' as a thank-you gift?"
It was the only non-monetary thank-you gift I could think of, and since Frieda's
"Yes. I don't know if something like this counts as a proper gift, but... Turi."
"Thank you for saving Mine, Frieda."
Turi said that and handed Frieda a small jar. Frieda accepted it with a bright smile and gave a slight bow.
"You're very welcome."
"We're truly grateful. Lutz told us she was in a very dangerous state. Thank you so much for helping our daughter. Mine, if you're feeling well enough, would you like to come home today?"
My father's eyes were practically begging me to come back. Since I'd been causing my family worry, I wanted to go home if I could, but Frieda stood in my way with a smile.
"No, as we discussed yesterday, I'll be keeping Mine here to monitor her condition until the Baptism Ceremony. I wouldn't want her health to suddenly take a turn for the worse."
"...I see."
"We'll be imposing on you, but please take care of her."
My mother bowed to Frieda.
Thinking it was just a polite gesture, I leaned forward for a better look, but Turi grabbed both my cheeks in her hands.
"We're going off to work, but Mine—you can't go around saying whatever selfish thing you want like usual, okay?"
"I know, Turi. Come pick me up when it's the day of the Baptism Ceremony. Good luck with work."
As my family rushed out the door in a hurry, nearly bumping into someone on their way, Lutz arrived.
"I heard you woke up. How's your fever? Has it really gone down?"
Just as Frieda had done that morning, he began patting my forehead and neck to check for fever. But Lutz's hands, having just come from outside, were incomparably colder than Frieda's, and I let out a shriek.
"Hey, Lutz! Your hands are freezing!"
"Ah, sorry."
"You worried everyone. I'm totally fine now."
"...'Totally fine' means you've got about a year, right?"
Lutz, who knew about the Self-Eating and the Magical Tools, still couldn't bring himself to be cheerful, pursing his lips. But having approximately a year had bought us crucial time.
"Yeah. ...In the meantime, I'll think about all sorts of things and try to find a better solution. First, though, I need to make books."
"That's all you ever think about. Anyway, I'll go let Benno know. He said he'd stop by this afternoon to check on you, remember?"
The moment Benno's name came up, Frieda's expression turned sour. She'd been standing a step back, listening to my conversation with Lutz, but now she cut in between us.
"Well, this afternoon is a problem. We've promised to make sweets together this afternoon, haven't we, Mine?"
Somehow, I had a bad feeling about letting Frieda and Benno meet right now. I could practically see the future looming before me—I'd be the one caught in the crossfire, sandwiched between the two of them as they glared at each other. In any case, I had nothing but a bad feeling about it.
"Hey, Lutz. Sorry, but could you tell Benno I'll come by the shop again?"
"Sure, but... What are you gonna make? Something new?"
More than Benno, Lutz seemed more interested in the sweets-making he had promised with Frieda.
Chuckling, I shook my head.
"I can't decide what to make until I talk to the cook."
"Oh? Mine doesn't get to decide?"
When you didn't know what ingredients or tools were available, there was no way to plan what to make.
And depending on whether the cook was cooperative or difficult, I might aim for something a bit involved or go for something as simple as possible.
"I have no idea what ingredients and tools I'm allowed to use, so I can't decide."
"But you made them for Lutz, didn't you?"
Frieda pouted, clearly unsatisfied with my explanation. There was no way to compare Frieda's house, with its vastly different living standards and materials, to Lutz's house, where the tools were nearly identical to what we had.
"I only teach them how to make it. Lutz's family makes them at Lutz's house with Lutz's ingredients, and they put in all the effort. Right, Lutz?"
"Yeah, Mine doesn't have the strength, stamina, or height for it."
"I'll have them done by evening, so save some for tasting, okay?"
"For real!? I'm looking forward to it!"
Frieda seemed to be burning with competitive spirit toward Lutz. After glaring at the door Lutz had left through, she puffed out her cheeks adorably and looked at me with a disgruntled expression.
"You're too soft on Lutz, Mine."
"That's not true at all. If anything, it's the other way around. Lutz is too soft on me."
My words only made Frieda look even more displeased. Honestly, I had no idea why she was upset.
Seeing me at a loss, Frieda thrust her index finger at me primly.
"Then I'll spoil Mine just as much!"
"Huh? Why?"
"Because you're my best friend, but I'm not yours! It's so frustrating!"
What was this adorable creature?
I wanted to poke those puffed-out cheeks.
Once I realized Frieda's bad mood was caused by jealousy, I couldn't help but smile.
"Then how about I do some girls-only activities with you that I can't do with Lutz, and that puts you in a better mood?"
"Girls-only activities?"
I thought about things I could enjoy with Turi, giggling and chatting.
Frieda tilted her head. Her hobby was money. Even normal girl things like playing with dolls would probably take an unconventional turn with her. That might be interesting too, but we didn't have much time to play together.
"We could take a bath together, wash each other's hair, roll around in the same bed and chat—things you can only do with other girls, right?"
"Oh, how lovely. Well then, let's go see the cook and start making sweets."
Frieda pulled me along and dragged me to the kitchen.
There we found a slightly plump woman who had just finished cleaning up from breakfast. She looked about the same age as my mother, with an atmosphere similar to Lutz's mother,
"Ilse, Ilse. About today's sweets..."
"Yes, yes, My Lady. You're making them with your friend, right? I've already heard about it several times."
"Could I ask what ingredients are available?"
When I asked, Ilse raised her eyebrows slightly.
"Ingredients? What exactly are you planning to use?"
"Well, basically, I need to know if there's flour, butter, sugar, and eggs. At home, we don't have sugar, so we use jam or honey instead, but I was wondering if you have some here..."
The availability of ingredients and tools could dramatically change what sweets were possible. The reason Lutz's house was limited to pancakes and French toast was no accident.
"We have sugar."
"Really!? That's amazing! Oh, um, do you also have an oven?"
"Of course. Can you see it over there?"
Ilse shifted her body slightly, revealing a large wood-fired oven.
My chest swelled with growing excitement. I clasped my hands tightly together in front of my chest and looked up at Ilse.
"If there's an oven, then there must be oven-safe dishes and baking sheets too, right?"
"Of course there are."
"And a scale?"
Naturally."
Ilse shrugged as if it were obvious, and I was so delighted I could have jumped for joy.
"Wow! Then I could bake a 'cake'!"
Sweets recipes flooded through my mind. Of course, there were several whose measurements I remembered by heart.
Wait, but—even if I remembered the recipes, there was no way they used gram measurements here. What was I going to do?
My thoughts had flown off into sweets-making mode, and I'd completely forgotten: ingredients and tools alone weren't enough. You had to measure everything precisely, or you'd fail.
The Paru cake I'd made at Lutz's house had been made by feel, like okonomiyaki, so it had come out different in fluffiness and thickness every time. Since Lutz, who was perfectly satisfied as long as there was a decent amount, had been the one eating them, it had worked out, but for a proper attempt, exact measurements were essential.
At Frieda's house, using a wood-fired oven no less, I couldn't afford to fail, and there was no room for trial and error.
Wasn't there something... something I could make even without knowing gram measurements?
As I tried to think of sweets I could make without knowing grams, I recalled something perfect from a French sweets cookbook.
"Well, I was thinking of making something called 'quatre-quarts.'"
Quatre-quarts is French for "four quarters." It was a cake made with equal parts flour, eggs, butter, and sugar. With quatre-quarts, since all the proportions were equal, I wouldn't need to know the unit of weight—I could just measure out equal amounts on a scale.
"I've never heard of it. What kind of sweets is it?"
"It's a cake you make by putting in the same amount of flour, eggs, butter, and sugar."
"You're seriously going to make something like that?"
Ilse looked at me with such shock that I flinched and immediately retracted.
"...If it's impossible, I'll make something else."
"It's not impossible, but you really do know how to make it, right?"
"Yes."
We arranged for the wood-fired oven to be prepared to coincide with our baking time, and then we retreated from the kitchen.
After that, Frieda and I went looking for aprons to use while baking. Frieda had apparently never worn an apron before, having never helped with household chores.
The servant woman found one and presented it to us. I put it on and folded a large handkerchief into a triangle to cover my hair.
When we headed to the kitchen at the agreed-upon time, Ilse looked at us with comically wide eyes and laughed.
"Oh my, My Lady. That's quite the determined look you've got going."
"Well, I'm making them too, you know."
Unfortunately, there were no cake pans, so we decided to use a small iron pot as a mold and got started.
"Well then, let's hear the explanation of how to make it. I need to know the general process before I can help."
"Yes. First, measure out the ingredients, then whip the eggs and sugar together at roughly body temperature."
"How do you get it to body temperature?"
"Um, you put hot water in a bigger bowl, set this one inside it, and warm it that way."
"Ah, a water bath. Then we need to boil water before measuring anything."
Unlike a gas stove, water didn't boil instantly here. It was obvious, but since I'd never made proper sweets in this world before, I kept overlooking these details.
"Whipping the eggs and sugar is the most important step. You whip them until they're thick, then fold in the sifted flour. Then you add melted butter and gently mix it in without deflating the whipped eggs too much."
"So you melt the butter. Do you bake it once everything's mixed?"
"Yes."
Ilse, who seemed to have grasped the process, took out a scale and set it on the worktable. She then directed us to measure out the lined-up ingredients.
While Ilse showed me how to use the scale, Frieda and I measured out identical portions of the ingredients.
In the meantime, Ilse started boiling water.
First, we measured the eggs and sugar, set them in the water bath, and Ilse whipped them steadily at roughly body temperature. This whipping was what determined the cake's rise and flavor.
While she did that, the two of us measured out the flour and butter.
"This should be perfect."
"Let's grease the mold with butter."
"Why?"
"To make it easier to remove the cake."
I greased the iron pot with butter and dusted it lightly with flour. Since there were no cake pans and no parchment paper, there was no other choice.
"Shall we sift the flour too?"
Being careful not to let it scatter everywhere, I sifted it through a sieve. Sifting it about three times to incorporate plenty of air was the key.
"My, the yellow eggs have turned quite white, and the volume's increased."
Frieda watched longingly as Ilse whipped the mixture with a clatter. Since it was obvious she wanted to try, Ilse laughed and handed the bowl and whisk to Frieda.
"Want to give it a try?"
"Yes!"
She started whisking happily, but Frieda soon gave up. Making cake without a hand mixer was a test of arm strength.
"About like this?"
"Yes! Now add the flour."
I placed the sieve over the bowl again and sifted the flour in, then mixed the batter with a wooden spatula using a cutting motion.
"This is how I'm mixing it. Next, I'll add the butter. Has it melted?"
"Ah, I left it by the hearth after warming it in the hot water."
"Ilse, could you take over? My arms are at their limit..."
"My goodness. Both my young ladies are lacking in strength."
Ilse took over with a wry smile. Following the same procedure, she added the butter and mixed it in.
Frieda pulled the iron pot closer and watched with gleaming eyes.
"Once you pour it into the mold, you tap it like this to release the air bubbles."
Since the iron pot was heavy, I left that to Ilse. She hadn't expected us to handle everything from the start, so she did exactly as I explained.
"Now it just needs to go into the oven, and it's done."
I wasn't sure how to use the wood-fired oven, so the best approach was to leave it to Ilse.
She briskly placed the iron pot with the cake batter inside the hot oven and immediately shut the lid with a clang.
"It should be done while we're cleaning up."
While I tried to help in between staying out of Ilse's way as she cleaned up with brisk efficiency, a lovely, fluffy aroma began to drift through the air.
Frieda was so fidgety and restless that it was absolutely adorable.
"Is it done yet?"
"Not yet."
Oh wait—didn't they use bamboo skewers here?
How was I supposed to check if it was baked?
And so, I finally managed to make a cake.
It was the author who turned pale at the thought of making sweets in a world that didn't use gram measurements, while trying to figure out which treat to have her make.
Next time, we're taking a bath together and squealing with delight.