Chapter Sixteen:Sweet Tooth and Kitchen Catastrophes

Arila Vellion stood in her room, victorious.

No corset threatened to rearrange her organs. No frilly sleeves tried to eat her arms. She was wearing her new clothes—a sleek, rune-stitched blouse, practical skirt with spell loops, velvet flats that didn't conspire to break her ankles, and a hooded cloak that whispered elegance with every swish.

She looked in the mirror, struck a pose, and gave herself a deadpan nod.

"This is the look of a woman ready to weaponize sugar."

Today was the day. No more delay. She was going to start her sweets empire—step one of many in her grand plan to live a peaceful, dessert-filled life unbothered by romance flags or dramatic violin backstories. She had a goal, a vision, and access to an estate kitchen with more enchanted utensils than a JRPG side quest.

Downstairs, the morning bustle of the Vellion estate hummed with routine grace. Servants bowed, nobles passed messages, and a gardener narrowly avoided being flattened by a rogue levitating wheelbarrow.

Arila paid them no mind. Her eyes were locked on the prize: the kitchen.

Lira trailed behind her, looking mildly concerned.

"My lady, are you sure this is wise? The last time you attempted culinary magic, we had to evacuate the pantry."

"That was mochi prototype v2.0. We've moved on. We're better now. Stronger. Also, I drew a diagram."

She slapped the parchment against the door to the kitchens with the same energy a general might use to declare war.

Chef Bellamy, a portly man with a handlebar mustache and a face perpetually flushed from stress, peeked out at the sound of knocking.

"Lady Arila," he said cautiously, eyeing the scroll, "you're… here. With intent."

"Correct. I am here to change dessert history. Also, possibly to cause minor explosions. But mostly history."

Bellamy paled.

Inside, the kitchen was a marvel of magical engineering: self-stirring cauldrons, temperature-regulated stoves, enchanted spoons, and mana-cooled iceboxes. Staff bustled everywhere in crisp white aprons—until they saw Arila enter. Then, one by one, they froze like startled deer.

She marched to the center like a noble girl possessed, dragging sacks of flour and jars of ingredients behind her. Lira, ever the brave companion, helped with the sugar while whispering prayers to the kitchen gods.

"We're starting with mochi," Arila announced.

"Again?" Bellamy whimpered.

"Yes. But this time with precision, finesse, and absolutely no volatile runes near open flame. Probably."

The mochi was a disaster. The rice overcooked, the pounding spell misfired and sent a glob flying into the chandelier, and the sticky dough developed mild sentience for five terrifying seconds. Arila stood in the middle of it all, sleeves rolled up, covered in flour and determination.

"Okay. Mochi's a work in progress. Plan B: taiyaki."

The fish-shaped pancakes looked promising until one puffed up too much and began smoking from the gills. A staff member screamed when it chirped at him.

"It's not demonic. It's just… spirited," Arila insisted. "Perfectly normal pancake behavior."

Next came dango. The skewered sweet balls fell apart faster than her will to live when the syrup caramelized too early and turned into toffee cement. A spoon snapped trying to stir it. Lira had to pry it off the countertop with a spatula and a minor wind spell.

Chef Bellamy by now was clinging to the wall like a man trapped in a baking-based horror movie.

"Matcha cheesecake?" Arila offered with a hopeful grin.

Bellamy whimpered.

The cheesecake attempt nearly worked. Except for the part where the oven briefly overheated from a spell feedback loop and had to be cooled with ice magic. The resulting cake was green, wobbly, and tasted like sweet velvet, but it jiggled aggressively when touched.

"It's not supposed to jiggle like that, my lady," Lira said, poking it with a butter knife.

"It's dramatic. Like me."

Then came ice cream. Arila cobbled together a rudimentary freezing churn system using leftover rune plates and a few enchanted cooling stones. The results were uneven—half slush, half concrete—but the flavor was strawberry-sugar-bliss.

Covered in flour, syrup, frosting, and possibly a little burn mark on her sleeve, Arila stood tall.

"I present to you: Dessert—Vellion style."

Evelaine entered the kitchen at that exact moment, pausing as her boot slipped slightly on a dango ball.

"Arila," she said slowly, eyes scanning the battlefield of frosting and flour. "Are you leading a sugar revolution?"

"Absolutely. Would you like to try the cheesecake that might have feelings?"

Before Evelaine could reply, Caelan walked in, saw the kitchen, and blurted,

"Stars above, it's a marshmallow massacre."

"Welcome to the test kitchen," Arila said, holding out a fork like a sword. "Taste with honor. Judge with mercy."

To their credit, her parents tried everything. Evelaine's eyebrow twitched exactly once during the mochi encounter. Caelan teared up during the ice cream.

"It's like winter sang a lullaby to my tongue," he said reverently.

Bellamy fainted.

Lira sat in the corner, dango in one hand, fanning the unconscious chef with the other.

And then came something Arila didn't expect: her family laughing. Not polite noble chuckles. Real, messy laughter as Caelan tried to scrape syrup off his sleeve and Evelaine accidentally dropped a mochi bomb into her tea.

For a moment, it wasn't about magic, nobility, or destiny. It was just… family.

Later, they all sat around a small table near the back, sharing leftovers and sipping enchanted tea. The mess didn't matter. The smell of sugar lingered warmly in the air. Arila leaned back in her chair, dusted with powdered sugar, hair tied messily, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

"Today was a success," she declared. "No one died. We invented semi-sentient cheesecake. My empire has legs."

"Will it walk on those legs?" Caelan asked.

"Only if you insult its crust."

Evelaine smiled softly.

"I think your grandmother would've loved this. She always said the best magic was made with sugar and boldness."

Lira raised her glass.

"To Lady Arila's Sweet Empire. May the frosting fall ever in her favor."

"To victory by vanilla," Arila intoned.

As the sun dipped below the enchanted treetops of the Vellion estate, laughter echoed from the kitchen windows. The staff, no longer terrified, had started sampling leftovers with cautious delight. And Arila, once Shizuku, once a shut-in who avoided people and real-world messes, now sat surrounded by warmth, absurdity, and something dangerously close to happiness.

She grinned to herself.

Tomorrow, she'd try making chocolate.

To be continued...