Chapter 53: Behold! The Horse-Shaped Sandwich!

On the morning of the swordsmanship tournament, under the supervision of Keithwood, executive director, the sandwich squad got to work.

"All right. Miss Liora, like we discussed, you're going to take that chicken and roast it in the oven over there. I know it's a little different than you're used to, but it should actually be easier to control the heat this way."

"Okay... I understand."

Liora straightened her back and saluted before making her way to the chicken. She plucked out all its feathers, gutted it, seasoned it with salt and spices, filled the inside with herbs, and then... tossed it in the oven. It landed with a rather disturbing splat, which Keithwood decided that he definitely hadn't heard. He was pretty sure that if he let every little problem get to him, he'd lose his mind before the day was out.

"As long as it's cooked... it's edible... as long as it's cooked..." he muttered to himself, reciting the words like some sort of incantation as he moved on to the next station.

"Meat doesn't have to look good, anyway. It'll be fine. Now, next is..."

"Keithwood, how do these look?" asked Tiona as she walked up to him carrying her work in her slender arms.

He looked over and gave a satisfied nod.

"Looks good. I see the good lady of the Rudolvons is as adroit as ever," he said, causing Tiona to blush a little.

Ever since their practice session, he'd known that so long as Tiona had a correct sense of quantity and scale, she'd be a useful addition to the team. She should be fine. The problematic one was...

"May I start baking this as well?" asked Mia as she held out her work.

Keithwood took one glance and immediately felt a headache coming on. The only saving grace was that Anne had probably handled the actual kneading. Judging from how it looked, it... probably would function as dough. Now if only it would function as a sandwich. He stared at it — at the head, the ears, and the four legs — and felt the pounding in his head grow stronger. Just like last time, the dough Mia prepared was shaped like a horse. Horse-shaped bread did not a sandwich make.

I told you to make it a goddamn square...

Admittedly, he saw signs of improvement. It was now flat and thin enough to be heated all the way through. Its size was also arguably within the limits of what could be considered reasonable. The fact that it was shaped like a horse, however, was definitely a problem. Furthermore, in what must have been a misguided attempt to pursue fidelity, the body of the horse-dough was of realistic proportions, making it very narrow.

This is supposed to be a sandwich, damn it! How do you intend to sandwich anything when it's shaped like this?!

He felt a strong urge to slam his fist into the thing and beat it back into a pulp, but a glance at Mia stayed his hand. Not only would such an act be extremely inadvisable from a foreign relations standpoint, he could tell from the expectant look in her eyes as she awaited his appraisal that she'd put her heart into making the thing. Squishing it would be unnecessarily cruel. At the same time, it wouldn't hold its contents properly, making it impossible to use as is. With its awkward shape, it was a disaster waiting to happen. He could already imagine how everything would burst out the second somebody took a bite.

Solutions, Keithwood. Focus on solutions... All right.

"Excuse me, Lady Forkroad, but could you and Miss Anne go make some white sauce? As for ingredients..."

"Oh, don't worry, I know what to use. I've read about it before. Miss Anne, I'll list the ingredients off for you. Could you grab these..."

Under Chloe's instruction, Anne quickly gathered the necessary ingredients. This was no surprise, as the breadth of Chloe's knowledge easily rivaled that of even Keithwood. So long as she knew the correct knowledge to draw from — that is, not the ones that involved raw meat and exotic cuisine — she'd be an invaluable member of their team.

All right. We'll use the sauce as glue.

The biggest problem with Mia's bread was that all the meat and vegetables were going to fall out. To remedy this issue, Keithwood was going to keep everything stuck together using sauce.

After the horse-dough became horse-bread, he took a piece, covered one side in sauce, placed a layer of vegetables on it, covered those in another layer of sauce, added the meat on top, and topped it off with another slice of bread.

"Okay. Done..."

...It was complete.

Behold the fruit of Keithwood's painstaking labor — the horse-shaped sandwich!

After they'd finished making everything, Mia walked over to Keithwood.

"Please accept my thanks, Keithwood. Your help has been greatly appreciated."

Keithwood lowered his head in a polite bow.

"It is my honor to have been of service. I shall duly relay your thanks to His Highness," he replied by rote. The servant's deed was the master's credit. Praise for the attendant was meant for the lord. Such was the way of things, and Keithwood naturally assumed Mia's words were meant for Sion. To his surprise, though...

"No, I am not thanking Prince Sion. I am thanking you, Keithwood," she said as she looked him in the eye. "You were the one who helped us, and it was because of you that we were able to make these lunchboxes." She beamed at him with earnest gratitude.

Ahh... I see now. So this is how she does it... How she touches people's hearts... he thought, feeling something stir in his chest.

Normally, nobles never deigned to thank attendants. The expression of gratitude was an act of lowering oneself, and the pride of nobles would never allow them to place themselves beneath lowly servants in any sense. Mia, however, flouted such pointless customs. She voiced her thanks and did so earnestly. For Keithwood, who'd been steeped in the sweltering mires of noble culture for most of his life, Mia's words came like a breath of fresh winter air — shockingly new and sharply stimulating.

Gotta admit, if I'd run into this girl before I met Sion... I might be calling her milady.

It was probably for the best that he was blissfully ignorant of the thoughts going through Mia's head.

Hmph! As if I'd ever thank that jerk!

Indeed, Keithwood had no idea how petty Mia's reasoning was. Of course, in the previous timeline, Keithwood had been responsible for a good amount of her suffering as well, but that was irrelevant to her. After all...

The attendant's wrong is the master's fault! It's all Sion! He's the one to blame!

Never would Keithwood imagine that, in fact, Mia observed those pointless customs of nobility faithfully.