CHAPTER 46: A TASTE OF SINCERITY

Two days had passed since Alaric’s initial visit to the Crydias estate. The morning air was calm and fragrant with the scents of street food and flowering trees.

In the quiet corridor of the upper-class hotel they were staying in, a light knock fell upon Alaric’s door.

It was Virellen.

She stood at the threshold with a subtle smile, dressed in her casual noblewear—simpler than her maid’s garb, but still elegant in a mischievous, effortless way.

"My father requests your presence, Master,"

She said with a bow more playful than formal.

"He would like to finalize the restaurant deal today."

Alaric, who had just set down his notebook filled with measurements and fermentation ratios, nodded.

"Tell him to prepare a kitchen, and to make sure the ingredients are ready. I’ll be cooking him a taste of what’s to come."

He said.

Virellen’s smile deepened.

"I’ll let him know. Shall I mention the name of the dish?"

"No need,"

Alaric replied coolly.

"Let it be a surprise."

***

In the two days prior, Alaric had rented a private alchemy chamber through the Alchemists’ Association—a process which, officially, should have required weeks of waiting and verification.

But bureaucracy was no match for gold and a little misdirection. No one asked questions. No one suspected a thing.

Inside that sealed chamber, Alaric had perfected it.

The soy sauce.

It had taken days of trial and error, fermentation adjustments, and precise heating techniques, but the result was finally in his hands—a dark, glistening essence, full-bodied and rich with umami, unlike anything in Velmora.

Serineth had accompanied him through every step, quiet and diligent. Her delicate script filled notebook after notebook, recording the process in detail—ratios, timings, even the humidity of the room.

Alaric glanced at her now, sitting quietly beside the flask containing the finished batch. Her blue eyes met his, then returned to her notes. She would remember every detail.

***

Now, with the final product sealed and packed, Alaric and the girls dressed in casual attire—simple tunics, soft fabrics, none of the noblewear from their last visit.

They strolled through the capital streets at an unhurried pace, their mood light. The sun climbed toward its peak as they made their way to the Crydias estate.

By the time they arrived, it was noon.

Caelthorn welcomed them with a firm handshake and a calm nod. Maristella stood beside him, her gaze gentle but measured.

As always, she seemed to watch everything, though said little. Virellen stood proudly between them.

Pleasantries were exchanged, brief but respectful.

Then Caelthorn gestured toward the wide double doors of the estate’s high-end kitchen, already cleaned and readied.

"please come in, I’ve prepared the kitchen, as requested."

He said.

Maristella stepped forward.

"Is it truly fine for you to cook, Lord Alaric?"

Her voice carried the grace of nobility, but also the curiosity of a woman who had once run her own household’s kitchen.

Alaric offered her a smile—not warm, but firm and sincere.

"I haven’t taught this recipe to anyone yet. This dish is... unique. Consider it a token of sincerity. A way to show that I am serious about this partnership."

And then he entered the kitchen.

***

He tied on the apron himself.

The room was large and well-equipped, lined with magical appliances that kept temperatures steady and prepared ingredients fresh.

A few house chefs stood along the edge, uncertain whether to assist or simply observe.

The four girls—Aurevia, Cellione, Serineth, and Virellen—sat quietly on the far end of the kitchen, hands folded on their laps, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. They’d tasted his dishes before. They knew what was coming.

But this—this was the first time with the soy sauce completed.

This was the real test.

Alaric worked silently at first, his motions practiced, fluid. He marinated the diced chicken in the freshly brewed soy sauce, garlic, and crushed chilies.

Rice—already cooked and cooled beforehand—was tossed in oil, eggs cracked and stirred in with a flick of the wrist. Vegetables were chopped with ruthless efficiency: onions, scallions, bell peppers, cabbage.

Then came the soy sauce. A rich, dark pour. A sizzle.

SZZZZZT—

The scent struck the room like a silent thunderclap. The chefs leaned forward. Caelthorn’s brow lifted. Even Maristella’s calm expression broke into something of open intrigue.

Alaric plated the dishes with precise care.

Golden-brown chili chicken, glistening with sweet-spicy glaze.

Perfectly fluffed egg fried rice, aromatic and steaming.

And a crisp, cool vegetable salad, drizzled with a light soy dressing.

It had taken less than half an hour. Magical heating tools and fresh-cut ingredients saw to that.

And yet, it was art.

***

Alaric turned, placing the final plate on the table.

"This, is what I intend to begin the restaurant with. The first dish on our menu."

He said no more. He didn’t need to.

The scent alone had already delivered the first message.

Caelthorn stepped forward. He picked up the chopsticks—imitations Alaric had brought from his world—and tasted the chili chicken first.

A long silence followed.

Then he set the sticks down and looked at Alaric, eyes sharpened, thoughtful.

"This, is going to change the food culture of Caerywn."

He said,

’And the profit margins,too.’

Alaric thought quietly.

He didn’t smile. But the faint glint in his eyes said everything.

*****

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶

✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧

⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰

✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢

*****

A moment passed in stillness.

Then another.

Caelthorn leaned back, arms folded, eyes closed in contemplation. The kind of silence that demanded respect—not just for the food, but for the man who had made it.

The flavors lingered on his tongue, complex yet balanced, the soy sauce weaving through every note like a masterful conductor.

Maristella was the next to move. She took a bite of the egg fried rice, her movements slow and graceful.

The spoon paused midway to her lips as she chewed. Her gaze flicked toward Alaric—no longer cool, but curious.

"This is...far beyond what I expected."

She said softly.

Even the chefs—trained, polished men who’d built their reputations on tradition—were now whispering to one another in hushed tones. One dared to lean forward, speaking low to another:

"What even is that flavor...?"

"Soy sauce,"

Alaric answered without being asked, his voice firm, controlled.

"A brew of fermented soybeans and wheat. No magic. Only time, patience, and a precise fermentation process."

Serineth, sitting at the back, beamed ever so slightly—just enough to be noticed by those who knew her. She clutched her notebook to her chest, proud of her contribution, silent as ever.

Caelthorn opened his eyes.

"We’ll need to revise the business model, This isn’t just a restaurant concept. This is culinary dominance."

He said simply.

Alaric didn’t react. Not visibly. But the atmosphere shifted, as though the weight of his intentions had finally settled in.

Virellen tilted her head, her voice laced with amused admiration.

"You didn’t come to open a kitchen, did you, Master?"

He met her gaze.

"No. I came to start a movement."

The room fell quiet again.

Then Cellione stood, the sharp clack of her heels echoing as she approached the table. She snatched a bite of chili chicken with casual boldness and chewed slowly, savoring it with a mischievous hum.

"Mmm... we’ll need a name for this,"

She said.

"Something dramatic. Something that makes people think they’ve stepped into another world."

Aurevia gave her a side glance but offered no rebuttal. Instead, she quietly tasted the salad and nodded, once—approval without flourish.

Only Serineth remained seated, timidly eyeing the table until Virellen nudged her forward with a grin.

Alaric allowed them their moment.

Maristella turned toward him, her expression shifting from praise to something more thoughtful—calculating, even.

"May I ask... where did you learn this? It doesn’t taste like anything from the Kingdom’s culinary schools."

"I didn’t,"

Alaric replied.

"No one taught me. This recipe came from a place far away."

His tone didn’t invite further questioning. It didn’t need to.

Caelthorn cleared his throat.

"Then allow me to be blunt. I want in. Full investment. My family will finance the restaurant, handle licensing, staffing, and location. You provide the recipes, oversee quality control, and allow our family name to stand beside yours."

A brief pause.

Alaric’s gaze was calm, unreadable.

"And the terms?"

"You’ll retain full creative control,"

Caelthorn said.

"And a fifty-one percent share of the restaurant’s earnings."

Virellen raised an eyebrow at her father, clearly surprised.

Alaric didn’t hesitate.

"Done. But as I said before. I won’t take any money earned from the restaurants or the dishes. It is a token of my sincerity."

Alaric said with a serious expression.

The room exhaled.

Caelthorn wanted to argue for a second but seeing Alaric’s expression he stopped and nodded with a sigh.

Alaric smiled at that.

It was Serineth who finally spoke, her voice small, but carrying weight.

"Does this mean... we’re opening soon?"

Alaric gave a small nod.

"This summer."

Virellen laughed, full of delighted mischief.

"Then we’d better come up with a name soon, Master. Something people will remember."

He turned toward her then, his eyes catching the golden flicker of sunlight on steel cutlery.

"We already have one."

She blinked.

"We do?"

Alaric looked around the room—the chefs, the nobles, the women bound to him in loyalty and fate—and said, in a voice like an oath:

"Sincerity."

-To Be Continued