There are several archives inside the castle.
　Among them, the fourth stack, which stores the records of King's Landing's minor incidents, is a place where not many people usually come.
　This is because the number of books in the stacks has already exceeded the capacity of the stacks, and they are currently being replaced by other stacks.

　As such, it was a good place to hide.

　I hear the sound of pages being rolled up.
　A small window near the ceiling lets in a feeble amount of sunlight.

　Only in the light can you see the faint dust that continues to dance around.

　Alone in a room filled with the smell of mold and paper, she sat on a ladder stand and looked down at a book.


There you are.


　At the same time as the sound of the door opening, a familiar voice spoke up.
　It was a low voice, different from the grating high-pitched voice of a maid or the cold voice of a princess that makes people feel uncomfortable.

　I looked emotionlessly from the string of letters to the entrance, and sure enough, there was a young man standing there.

...... What do you want?　I thought today was a good day to not have to look at you.
I thought so too. I thought so, too. ...... Come hang out with me for a while, though.
What?

　I close the book with a snap.
　She memorized the number of pages in her vision for a moment and the last sentence she read, and then she put the book back on the shelf.

　From her high perch, she waddled down the ladder, put her feet on the ground, and sniffed up at him, no taller than a young man's chest.

Where are you going?
"This way.

　The young man turns his back on her, and she, brushing off her red hair, puts on her hood and follows him.

I'm not having this conversation.
Kitchen. For the servants. Do you know where it is?
I could draw you a map of the castle. It'll fetch a pretty penny when I sell it.
They'd probably execute me first, though.

　A subtle exchange that could be taken as a swear word.
　It's business as usual. --But there was a definite change in the way they perceived each other.

　First of all, when she asks him to go out with her, she puts him before the books, which is different from the time when the princess brought them together.

　This is not the case with the princess or the maid.
　She would have turned him away with her busy reading.

　It's not that I have a special fondness for him.
　It's just that she doesn't have the sensitivity to look at people favorably in the first place. Even if he is better than the others, it is a very high evaluation.

　It does not mean that she cares for him because he is her business partner.
　She is not so light as to care for such a partner. The fact that she does not sell her abilities cheaply is a sign that she is a good manager.

　So why does she seem to have a reasonable relationship with him? The answer is.

"I'm sorry about that.
"What?
"I'll do my best to get the money.
"I'll try to get paid.

　She must have given up then.
　I'm sure acting like an a**h*le for the sake of efficiency won't help you with this guy anymore.

"Thanks for the ....... Beatrix.

　I don't know what you're looking at, but I don't know what you're looking at.
　I don't know what you're trying to find out, but I don't want you to get agitated, so I'm going to keep an open mind.
　That's all I'm saying.

I heard that you're into cooking.　There's no reason why hobbies can't be useful, but why don't you wait until you're in a stable environment before you start entertaining?
"You don't know when a stable environment will be established or when it will collapse. You don't know when it's going to happen or when it's going to fall apart. If you keep saying that, you'll never be able to play.
I'm fine with it because money is like a hobby to me.
That's a twisted way of putting it.
It's just a fact.
I'm not saying you have to fix it, but what about trying something else, like ......?
I'll consider it if you can find a stable environment.
I'm not asking you to do anything.

　I'm not asking you to do anything." The conversation, which was conducted in a casual and unemotional manner, continued for the entire walk down the hallway.
　Leisurely, small talk.
　They are not in a hurry, and they are not bickering.

　There is no pressing issue that they need to worry about.

　So here they are, exchanging meaningless words.

　They will never know. But if there is one thing in their lives that is most "everyday," it is surely this exchange.

　Their steps are slow.
　His stride is matched by her smaller one.

　Of course, he does this intentionally.
　But he is not trying to thank her or to ingratiate himself with her.

　Surprisingly, it was a sign that he was also comfortable with this unobtrusive conversation.

　From the first day we met, there were many things that annoyed me.

　She's a bad person. She has a twisted personality, and her words and actions are offensive and upsetting.

　But she has a vicious air about her that she aims to project for the sake of efficiency.



　His feelings are that he can't let go of her now that he realizes that she is as lonely as his sister is.


You're a businessman, you know.


　He put himself in the similar situation of a "manager" who lost her position as a princess and had to struggle to survive since her childhood. The only difference was that her parents were still alive, and the way she held on to them so tightly to never let them go was not that of an evil person, no matter how she tried to fix it.

　Maybe that's why.

I'm sure there's someone else you'd rather serve your homemade food to.
It's not for me. See, you once called yourself Pasta Pomodoro.　Pomodoro's the best, or something.
Whether it's good or not is objective. I just like it.
What's the difference?
Everyone has their own taste. I don't deny that you like that maid's pasta.
No, I'm not trying to start an argument.
What else is there to say?
Well, there's a lot.

　I arrived at the servants' kitchen.
　The sweetness of the aromatic pomodoro sauce already wafting from within stopped her in her tracks.

Corona once made a delicious pomodoro soup. I asked her if she could make it and she said yes.
...... What are you doing?
I'm not trying to make any demands of you or catch you with this. I heard that you can make whatever you want, is it so strange that I want you to eat it?
Yeah, there's more to it than that.
You. ....... Okay, here's the thing. I'm sure you're not the only one.
...... If you feel obliged to me, you'll never get your head around it.
I'll just have to rack up the unpleasantness points to make up for it.
That's only going to work on me.
What?

　I'm not a saint.

I'm not a saint, I only do this kind of thing with people I'm close to.
"......

　I'm not a saint, I only do this to people I'm close to." "Corona, I'm here," said a happy voice.
　I'm not a saint, so I only do this to people I'm close to.

You'll regret it someday.

　She spat against Futa's back and stepped into the room.



"Hey, Pasta Pomodoro!　Pasta Pomodoro awaits!　I heard that Pasta Pomodoro likes Pasta Pomodoro, so I made Pasta Pomodoro, how does Pasta Pomodoro taste, Pasta Pomodoro!
How does pasta pomodoro taste, pasta pomodoro?" "I haven't even had a bite yet, and you're really annoying, you witch!

　The dish was presented on the kitchen table with a warm steam rising from it, the fragrant pasta pomodoro.
　The blonde haired maid was making a lot of noise from both sides of the pasta as she sat down.

　When I look at Futa for help, he says, without any particular emotion in his voice.

"Isn't this what a meal with someone is like?
"Not like this!

　A spirited denial.

　Exasperated, I picked up the cutlery and stared at the pasta pomodoro.
　Pomodoro sauce with chopped ario and onions, and pasta of perfectly adjusted consistency.
　Pasta's face did not brighten up in the face of such a first-rate meal.

　Futa was a little concerned about her sullen expression, but he knew she would be happy to eat it, so he continued with his fork.
　The texture of the onions and the flavor of the ario in the sweet pomodoro sauce. The texture of the onions and the flavor of the ario in the sweet pomodoro sauce are so well blended with the noodles that it makes you salivate with each bite. The firmness of the pasta allowed the flavor to seep through, and the lingering taste kept me wanting another bite.

It's so good, Corona.
I know!

　But," Corona glanced at the pasta.


But," she glanced at the pasta, "you can't beat the taste of memories.


　Futa also looked at the pasta, which remained silent as she slowly moved her fork forward. It's not as if he didn't like it, though, as he continued to eat.



You don't even have a name? Hmmm. Can I name you after the cat that died the other day?

Yeah. This is all I got, but eat it.

How's it taste? You haven't eaten anything in five days. --What, it's not good?

Well, the noodles are hard and the pomodoro is just mashed.



　--Hey, Dad.

　--I'm sorry I couldn't help you out and return the favor at .......



　The last sound was a sniffle.
　When the pasta is all cleaned up, he puts his fork down.

"How was it, pasta?
"Yeah.

　Wiping her mouth, she stands up and turns away.
　As she was about to leave the kitchen, Futa hurriedly stopped her.

"Hey, why don't you at least tell me what you think?
"...... I'll thank you for making me a good meal. But I'm sorry.



　Taking a breath, Pasta said.
　When she turned around, her expression was soft.


"My favorite pasta, Pomodoro. My favorite pasta pomodoro is not this good.


　Her smile was too fragile to be associated with her usual swear words, but combined with a single tear, it left a deep impression on Futa.