Chapter 202. Side Story. Spring, Again (2)
What's the core of a business? Hard to pin down in a single phrase, but... Reading and reflecting the needs buried within the tangled desires of one's customers. —or so Penelope believed. In simpler terms, it meant that beyond Cola, Fried Chicken, and Braised Ribs, a steady stream of new menu development was essential.
And so, the next item singled out for Y&P Trading Company was Wood-fired Pizza. A new menu item made by layering tomato paste, various ingredients, and cheese atop dough, then baking it in a scorching stone oven for a mere 90 seconds.
And so, one day, with the opening of the Nortaris trial store right around the corner. The development building's trial kitchen.
"You said an important guest is coming. Who is it?"
Penelope asked, arms crossed.
"A request came in from Rosemore, wanting to invest in the Wood-fired Pizza."
"Pizza? It's not even soft-opened yet."
"They said it's bound to succeed, so they wanted to take a look ahead of time. Apparently they'd like to observe it once before the opening."
"Well, it's bound to succeed, sure, but..."
Penelope, looking a touch smug, tilted her head.
"...But what does that have to do with the guest?"
"Clarisse said she wanted to observe the process herself."
"Sister? That's unusual."
No sooner had Penelope finished speaking than the kitchen door opened.
Creak—
Standing awkwardly in the doorway was Clarisse, fully armed in a pure white apron. A notepad in one hand. A pen clutched in the other.
Not quite as sharp as Serena, but Penelope had her own share of intuition. Something felt like it was being rushed into motion. On top of that, there were the wordless glances passing between Clarisse and Jurgen.
"Hmm...?"
Just as she was about to sense something suspicious in the air—
"Ah, dear me, would you look at that. I completely forgot about my appointment today."
"Huh? W- wait a moment! You're just going to leave me here like this?"
"Sorry about that! I'll see you again at dinner!"
Click.
The door shut.
Jurgen fled as though escaping.
The sisters, left behind in the kitchen.
What in the world was this situation?
Penelope, looking flustered, glanced between the now-closed door and Clarisse, who stood there awkwardly, notepad clutched tight in both hands.
It clicked.
This was Jurgen's attempt at brokering a reconciliation.
She had, after all, once casually mentioned in passing that she had no idea how to treat Clarisse. This was probably the setup meant to fix that, wasn't it?
Then at least stick around and back me up, would you!!!
The awkwardness was already setting in.
It was utterly maddening, but she couldn't very well chase her sister out either.
"...Haah."
Penelope let out a short sigh and pulled the strings of her apron tight, tying them off.
"Sister, go wash your hands."
"Okay."
"The dough goes like this. Push with the base of your palm, fold, turn it half a rotation. That's how the gluten develops so it puffs up in the oven. Fermentation takes a full day at low temperature. If you're in a hurry you could use Acceleration, but slipping a process like that into the middle would throw off the franchise's supply chain."
Penelope pulled out a lump of dough covered in thin paper and handed it to Clarisse.
"We don't have time to let it age properly, so let's use pre-aged dough instead. You'll make the base out of this."
"Can I really do this?"
"You've always been good with your hands, Sister. You'll manage, I bet. Come on, follow along."
"Like this?"
Clarisse followed Penelope's demonstration, stretching out the dough.
Sneaking glances at Penelope out of the corner of her eye, Clarisse found herself considerably taken aback.
"This is how you stretch the dough using centrifugal force."
Penelope gave one of the doughs she'd been diligently kneading a quick toss into the air. Spinning round and round, it thinned out gracefully before settling softly back onto the back of her hand. Like some kind of acrobatics.
Meanwhile...
"......"
Clarisse's dough turned out looking nowhere near as pretty. A lopsided oval, as if someone had stepped on it. Nowhere near as even as Penelope's, somehow sloppy in its own way. Let alone attempting anything so skillful as spinning it—she couldn't even imitate that much.
Press, press.
In the end, Clarisse settled for laying it on the flour-dusted counter and pressing it flat by hand.
"You're quite good at this."
"I wasn't good at it from the start either. Do you know how much Brigitte used to laugh at me? Miss Penelope, you're putting holes in the dough again! she'd say."
Neatly folding and turning the dough, Penelope's explanation flowed on without a hitch.
"Anyway, it's an important step. You have to knead and turn it well by hand, or it won't come out chewy and delicious when it's baked in the oven."
Beyond that, with her sleeves rolled up, Penelope's hand movements flowed as smoothly as running water.
Clarisse found herself gazing, as if entranced, at Penelope's face, faintly touched with a warm smile.
"......"
The younger sister Clarisse knew existed only within memories of the past. Every piece of information about her since then had come only from the dry lines of Social Circles' reputation, records of failed businesses, and surveillance reports. Nowhere among them had there been any mention of Penelope, skillfully cooking away like this.
Whether the tightness settling in her chest was guilt or pride, she couldn't quite say...
Poke.
Just then, Clarisse's clumsy attempt to follow Penelope's lead left her dough riddled with holes.
There was no helping it. On top of being a beginner, this was the first time in her life she'd ever stood in a kitchen. Even the greatest genius the Rosemore Family had ever produced, blessed with nothing but the favor of the gods, stood powerless before a lump of flour dough for the very first time.
"Want a little help?"
"Would you?"
Unable to stand by and watch any longer, Penelope pressed in close beside Clarisse. And then she laid her own hand over the back of Clarisse's.
"It's easy once you get the knack. The strength goes here—not your wrist, think of it as pushing with your whole body instead."
For a moment, Clarisse's body stiffened. It was because of the sense of déjà vu. A moment of memory, buried under stale dust, rose up before her.
A very long time ago, in the Alchemy Workshop of the Rosemore mansion. The day she'd laid her own hand over Penelope's small one, as she cared for her catalysts.
The strength goes here. Not your fingertips—you wrap your whole palm around it.
Sister, Sister, like this?
That's right. You're doing well.
Back then, Penelope had looked up at her and smiled shyly.
A sharp ache bloomed in her chest.
"Sister? What's wrong?"
"Ah, it's nothing."
Clarisse hurriedly dropped her gaze back down to the dough.
In the end, it was the same as always. What words to say—she still had no idea.
And yet.
"This brings back memories."
Penelope spoke up.
"When you used to teach me Alchemy, Sister. You held my hand like this back then, too."
"...You remember that? That was such a long time ago."
"I remember. How cold your hands were, too. Oh, cold hands are supposed to be good for dough, they say."
Somehow, the conversation began to string itself together, bit by bit.
"...This, today—you asked Jurgen to set this up, didn't you, Sister?"
"......"
"And last time you came by, that was all just an excuse too."
"That was..."
A flush of red rose to Clarisse's cheeks.
Penelope let out a small burst of laughter.
Clearing her throat, Clarisse pressed down on the dough and continued.
"Honestly, I don't know how I'm supposed to treat you."
"......"
"We can't just go back to acting like nothing ever happened, can we?"
Penelope's brow furrowed.
"No, we can't."
Her tone was resolute.
Every single day Penelope had spent swallowing humiliation like mud would not simply vanish. Even if you gathered up the shattered glass and glued it back together, it could never return to what it had been. As if that were exactly what she meant to say.
The truth was, Clarisse had known this too. It was precisely because she knew it that it had been so hard.
"...I see."
And yet, an undeniable disappointment weighed down on her shoulders regardless.
"Sister, do you like sweet things?"
An out-of-nowhere question.
Clarisse was visibly flustered.
"I don't dislike them."
"Spicy things?"
"...I can eat them."
"I didn't ask if you can eat them, I asked if you like them."
"I don't like them all that much. But, why do you ask?"
"Since we're making two whole pies anyway, why not make one to your taste? Here, I already prepped the toppings ahead of time."
Hadn't they just been having a fairly serious conversation a moment ago? What was with this sudden change of subject?
While Clarisse was still caught off guard, Penelope went on.
"I'm not planning to act like it never happened. If anything, I wanted you to just be honest with me. You threw my life into the pits without ever once asking my opinion, all on your own terms. So I do resent you for that, quite a bit. But..."
Penelope said, cracking open a can of tomatoes.
"Getting through those hard times is my pride, my own self-respect. I am who I am today because of those days. So no, I have absolutely no intention of acting like it never happened."
Clarisse's eyes went wide.
"Can't we just start over and grow close again, Sister?"
Penelope's profile, turned away in what looked like embarrassment, had grown up far more than Clarisse remembered.
"I see."
"Yeah, that's how it is. Now come on, let's hurry and make a pie to your taste. We're going to spread this sauce here..."
Before long, in front of the oven.
Penelope slid the pizza into the oven. Inside, the dough began to puff up, and the cheese started bubbling away.
Having finally brought their long-overdue reconciliation to a close, the two sisters spent a good while simply watching the oven.
90 seconds later.
After all its twists and turns, Clarisse Rosemore's very first pizza in her life was complete. The cheese had slid lopsided to one side. The sauce had run off to the other. And the toppings were scattered about like nomads, more or less everywhere.
The two sisters sat perched side by side on the countertop, sharing it between them.
Penelope took a bite.
"How is it?"
Clarisse looked at Penelope, her face full of anticipation.
"...Honestly, it doesn't taste great."
"I see..."
"You said you don't like salty food! Why did you put in so much sauce?"
"Once I actually tried it, controlling the amount wasn't so easy..."
"So much for being a genius Alchemist, geez."
Taking Penelope's teasing in stride, Clarisse took a bite of the pizza too.
Her brow slowly crumpled.
"...This is terrible. Let's toss this and eat yours instead."
"I'm going to finish it."
"Penelope?"
Penelope picked up a second slice.
"You made it for me, Sister."
"Honestly, half of it was made by you, though..."
"Anyway, don't even think about stopping me."
The two of them shared the not-particularly-tasty pizza, chatting cozily along the way.
"Oh, right, Penelope."
"Hm?"
"That... how are things going with Mister Jurgen? Are you two doing well?"
"Wh- what's with that weird question all of a sudden!"
"Sisters are supposed to talk about these sorts of things too, or so... I read in a book."
"...That wasn't a book Serena gave you, was it?"
The long evening glow sank slowly beyond the window.
***
At that very moment, outside the kitchen door. Through the slightly open crack in the door, four pairs of eyes were lined up vertically.
"Hic... Wh- why do I keep tearing up...? This is just so moving...!"
Serena, at the top, sniffled.
"That seemed like a fine prescription, coming from Mister Jurgen, of all people."
"You've been speaking your mind more and more freely by the day, haven't you."
"Th- that was a compliment. A compliment."
Jurgen clicked his tongue at Serena's increasingly bold candor, growing bolder by the day.
"So, are the two of them on good terms now?"
Brigitte, sandwiched in the middle, whispered the question.
"Guess so."
Aiden, at the bottom, answered with a faint chuckle.
"Anyway, watching that's made me a little peckish. Should we go grab a few slices too? Ow, ow! Captain! Captain, come on!"
As always.
It was just another peaceful day at Y&P Trading Company.