Chapter 136: Sweet day (1)

Regardless of status or rank, there is one essential element that cannot be left out when young men and women gather in one place: an event.

A special event where, amidst the heated atmosphere, one can legally convey their hidden feelings.

At the private Anatolia Academy, this event is commonly known as “Sweet Day.”

Every year on May 14th, students celebrate this special day by gifting handmade sweets to their close friends or loved ones.

The sweets given can be anything—chocolates, cookies, or even an entire large cake (though going this far might be considered over the top).

Regardless of the type, what matters is conveying one’s sincerity to the recipient.

Thus, friendships are strengthened between same-gender peers, while shy feelings are exchanged between male and female students.

It is a day to reflect on the precious relationships around oneself and reinforce those bonds.

Although Sweet Day is not widely known outside Anatolia, within the academy, it is a well-established tradition that most students make sure to celebrate.

During this time, the academy’s culinary practice rooms are at their busiest of the entire year.

Lancia de Granfil stood in her mansion’s private kitchen, surrounded by various ingredients, her expression tense.

“Phew… Alright, Lancia. You can do this…”

Placing a hand over her chest, she took a deep breath.

Like any other high-ranking noble, Lancia had never once engaged in cooking in her life.

For her, meals were something that her attendants prepared and served at the appropriate times—breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all taken care of without fail.

That did not change even after she entered Anatolia.

But Sweet Day… this event was different.

It was an unspoken rule that the sweets given on Sweet Day must be handmade.

This rule applied equally to nobles and commoners alike.

Some students might try to cut corners by having their attendants do it, but if they were caught, they would be considered highly disrespectful—worse than if they had given no gift at all.

Thus, no matter what, this was something she had to do herself, without anyone else’s help.

For Lancia, who had never even seen raw flour before, let alone baked pastries, this was quite the challenge.

“Let’s see… The recipe says… First, put the butter in a bowl and crush it, then add the sugar…”

Holding a book in her left hand, Lancia carefully followed the steps one by one.

The treat she had chosen to make was the most famous among Western-style pastries—cookies.

They were easy to make, widely liked, and the best choice for beginners.

Over the years, many upperclassmen had passed down various recipes and tips, making cookies one of the easiest things to recreate.

The book in her hand was also something she had borrowed from a second-year senior.

Of course, just following the instructions didn’t mean everything would turn out perfectly.

“Ugh… My arm hurts…”

After ten minutes of nonstop stirring with a whisk, Lancia collapsed onto the floor, exhausted.

She had assumed it would be simple just because it was considered easy.

That was a mistake. The process itself was straightforward, but that didn’t mean it required little effort.

Had she not been physically trained, she might have ended up with muscle pain from just this one task.

How did chefs do this kind of strenuous work every day?

“Hah… Well, this should be enough for the dough, right?”

All that was left was to roll it out with a rolling pin, shape it neatly, and place it in the oven.

Following her plan, Lancia carefully shaped the dough into checkered and ring-shaped cookies before placing them in the oven and closing the door.

According to the recipe, all she had to do now was wait fifteen minutes.

After that, the process would finally be complete.

Fifteen minutes later, the cookies should come out sweet and delicious, just like the ones she usually enjoyed during dessert time…

“…They’re burnt.”

They did not.

Lancia stared in distress at the cookies, now reduced to charred lumps.

What had gone wrong? The heat? The cooking time?

It probably wasn’t the cooking time.

The recipe, which was based on numerous successful cases, clearly stated fifteen to twenty minutes.

That meant the issue was likely the oven temperature.

“Hm, that’s right! You can’t expect success on the first try.”

Determined, she rolled up her sleeves and grabbed more butter and sugar.

This time, she would prepare four to five times the amount of dough, just in case.

She would keep trying until she got it right. That was the Granfil family’s way.

And so, gripping the whisk now covered in sticky dough, she began another battle against the cookie ingredients.

Two hours later.

“Yes! I did it!”

Lancia cheered, throwing her hands in the air at last.

Compared to the work of a professional pâtissier, it might not be perfect, but for a beginner, her cookies were impressively well-made.

The surface glistened without any burnt spots, smooth and flawless.

The moment she opened the oven, a rich, sweet aroma filled the air, stimulating her appetite.

The scent alone made her want to take a bite and savor the crispy, sugary taste.

Lancia had to resist the urge as she gulped down her own saliva.

“Alright, these are for Princess Isabella, and these two will go to the twins…”

Excitedly, she began sorting the cookies into wrapping papers.

It might sound a bit petty, but even among friends, there were different levels of closeness.

It’s only natural for a person to want to give better gifts to those they feel especially grateful to or have a deeper connection with.

While doing so too blatantly might seem petty, as long as it’s done subtly, it should be fine.

For Lancia, her fiancé, Prince Martin, and her mentor, Sion, were precisely those “special people.”

Martin was, without question, the precious person she would spend her life with—a deep bond that had lasted since she was just eight years old.

On the other hand, though she hadn’t known Sion for nearly as long, the grace she had shown her was no less significant, making her just as important.

No matter how expensive a gift she offered these two, it would never be enough to repay what she had received.

That’s why Lancia had decided from the start—to save the two best-made cookies for Martin and Sion.

And, thanks to divine luck, the two finest cookies now lay before her eyes.

A masterpiece that would convey her sincerity to both the prince and the hero.

“Alright. The left cookie goes to the prince, and the right one goes to the hero—”

Lancia giggled and reached out toward the cookies on the plate.

But at that moment—

“……!”

Her arm suddenly froze in place, as if struck by an electric shock.

“H-Huh…? Wait a minute, this…?”

Mumbling in confusion, she stiffened on the spot.

There was no doubt—both cookies were perfectly made.

If she were to be a little self-indulgent, even the king wouldn’t find fault in them.

Either one would be sufficient to express her gratitude and affection.

However, looking at them objectively, with a completely neutral perspective…

The left cookie was ever so slightly better than the right one. The dough was about 5% more compact, and its surface gleamed just a little brighter.

If someone had to choose the more appetizing one, they’d hesitate slightly but ultimately pick the left cookie.

And because of that tiny difference, Lancia found herself in an agonizing dilemma.

A question so difficult to answer that cold sweat began to form.

‘Which one should I give to the prince, and which one to my mentor?!’

That was the most pressing issue she faced now.

Giving the better cookie meant, in a way, that she valued that person just a little more.

Conversely, it also meant that the other person was, relatively speaking, considered less important.

Looking at it from this perspective, choosing who to give the left cookie to was no simple matter.

It was, in essence, a profound question directed at herself.

Between Martin and Sion—who was more precious to her?

Before entering this academy, she would have answered Martin without hesitation…

“Ugh, ughhh…!”

Lancia tightly shut her eyes in anguish.

Logically, of course, her fiancé was more important. That was obvious. Anyone would say the same.

But Sion had shown her a new realm of swordsmanship, helped her improve her grades, and even saved her life.

Though they had only known each other for half a year, the grace she had shown her was incomparable.

But to give the best cookie to Sion and the second-best to Martin?

Could she really do that? Was that truly okay?

Was she that fickle and capricious of a woman?

No, of course, this wasn’t a romantic matter, but still…

“Aaaagh!”

Lancia clutched her head, groaning in distress.

If only she hadn’t noticed the difference! But now that she had, there was no going back.

She had to make a decision.

She had to judge who among these two irreplaceable figures in her life was more important.

Who was it? Who mattered more?

Martin? Sion? Or maybe Martin? Or was it Sion?

Maybe she should just flip a coin—

…Wait!

At that moment, a flash of realization struck Lancia’s mind.

“Now that I think about it, there’s no need to worry about this at all!”

She clapped her hands together.

If the issue was choosing where the better cookie should go, then the solution was simple—just eliminate the concept of a “better cookie” altogether!

She could make two cookies of absolutely identical quality!

That way, neither of them would feel left out.

With renewed determination, Lancia’s eyes burned with resolve.

“Alright! Let’s start from scratch!

This time, I’ll bake two cookies that are absolutely perfect and completely equal in every way!

You can do it, Lancia! Let’s go!”

She clenched her fists, filled with fiery determination.

“…Why did you bring a whole cart piled with cookies? Are you planning to sell them at the school gate?”

“There were… circumstances,” Lancia answered weakly.

If possible, she wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.