I’m Quitting Everything and Selling Cola Chapter 154

Chapter 154. I Thought You Might Need So Help

Marianne sat slouched crookedly in her office chair, unable to sleep, gnawing at her fingernails.

"Countess!"

At that mont, Bernard ca dashing breathlessly into the office. Marianne leapt to her feet.

"It arrived?!"

"It arrived!"

The goods ordered from the Black Sail Guild had finally co. Did they have any idea how it had eaten her alive when those people suddenly started going on about having no stock?

"See! Bernard! There's nothing money can't solve."

Though she had paid more than five tis the original sum, she had sohow managed to scrape together the ingredients she needed!

"I'll go and check it myself."

Marianne rushed quickly down to the kitchen to inspect the raw ingredients that had just arrived. In the kitchen, Chef Gabriel was examining the contents packed between ice and sawdust.

"How is it? Is the condition alright?"

The bright colour drained from Marianne's face as her brow furrowed. Chef Gabriel's expression was grave.

"What is it? Is sothing wrong?"

"……Just a mont more, if you please."

Gabriel flexed the joints of a King Crab's legs and turned an Abalone over to examine it.

"About half of these are frozen."

"Pardon?"

"Yes — up until now, they were certainly fresh. There were occasional ones that had died in transit, but……. This batch looks as though nearly half has been frozen before shipping."

"Those swindling scoundrels!!!"

Marianne ground her teeth.

The logic here was simple. The rare seafood from the kingdom's eastern waters had been wiped clean of stock, swept up by Marianne paying a premium. And amid all that, the Waterspout had made fishing impossible any further.

Paying more money could not conjure goods that simply did not exist. And yet no rchant, faced with a fool offering five or ten tis the going rate, would deal in good faith either.

It wasn't for nothing that the first thing Jurgen prioritised when running Y&P Trading Company was securing a stable supply of raw materials.

"How big a difference is there? Between fresh and frozen. Is it to the point that cooking is impossible?"

"One can certainly eat it, but…… there is a significant difference in sweetness and texture."

"These absolute……"

Marianne felt the blood drain from her in an instant.

But this was not the ti to go to war with the Black Sail Guild. That very evening, she had a hall full of custors to face. She had to entertain guests with these ingredients — half decent, half inferior.

"Chef, can you tell which are fresh and which are frozen?"

"Of course. That much is certainly possible."

"How much does the taste fall off if you cook the frozen ones?"

"Well, they are flash-frozen goods, so…… around thirty percent or so……"

Chef Gabriel's expression, which had been tilting thoughtfully to one side, went rigid.

"Countess, s-surely you aren't……"

"I'll have Bernard draw up a list of the key guests visiting tonight and pass it to you. For those tables, use the A-grade. For the other tables, put out the B-grade."

Marianne spoke, deliberately averting her eyes from his gaze.

"Use a heavier hand with the sauce, do whatever you must — just make sothing work with the B-grade. It'll be fine. Didn't you say seafood varies in condition depending on the day?"

There was no choice. If she cancelled the reservations at this juncture, investors would be in uproar, and she would have to refund enormous sums in deposits.

"You rember what salary I offered you, don't you?"

"Leave it to !"

Abruptly reminded of that fact, Chef Gabriel gave a vigorous nod.

That evening. The Golden rmaid operated exactly as Marianne had prescribed in her drastic redy. For key guests — A-grade ingredients, with a minimal touch. For general guests — B-grade ingredients, smothered in thick sauce.

"Phew……"

By so miracle it seed to have scraped through, and Marianne pressed a hand to her chest in relief.

However, the following day, in a salon of the Social Circles.

"Ugh, don't even ntion The Golden rmaid! I ate the Abalone dish because they said it was good, and it was so greasy, all I could taste was the cream sauce……"

A Baroness waved her fan and vented her dissatisfaction.

"Oh my, really?"

Beside her, a Countess widened her eyes.

"The Abalone I had was sweet and springy and absolutely delicious."

"That was delicious? All that cream smothered on it?"

"There was hardly any sauce on mine."

"……?"

"……?"

The Baroness and Countess exchanged puzzled looks. But the Countess covered her mouth and laughed belatedly.

"Oh my, ho ho ho."

"What are you laughing at?"

Here, one characteristic feature of the Social Circles bears noting. Status is determined even by whether one's dog bowl is silver or gold.

"It seems I was perhaps a sowhat more important guest. Our family made quite a considerable investnt this ti around, you see."

"Wh-what did you say?"

"Well, to think that after paying the sa mbership fee, they would make such a distinction……"

"It's not discrimination so much as showing greater care to more valued guests."

In the face of that sly, self-satisfied laugh, the Baroness's face flushed a chaotic red and blue.

"Y-you……"

And then, another characteristic of the Social Circles worth noting—

Rumour travels faster in the Social Circles than in the financial world.

Less than a full day after the Baroness's humiliation, a quiet rumour began to circulate.

"Apparently Countess Blanchard divides what goes on each table according to how much one has invested."

"Countess Blanchard? Surely not, that must be a misunderstanding."

The Northern old money were, in truth, more snobbish than anyone. And precisely because they were snobbish, they loathed being placed in a position where they received snobbish, shallow treatnt in return. In other words — a case of wolves despising other wolves.

Among the guests who belatedly discovered they had received B-grade fare, the reaction went without saying.

"Ha, I truly never imagined being stabbed in the back like this."

"They were criticising Y&P Trading Company for being common. At least over there, whether a beggar walks in or a queen, they put out the sa food."

"I have no intention of ever setting foot in that gaudy place again. I'm thinking of holding this next banquet at Royal Kitchen."

And two days later. These rumours produced an imdiate effect.

"Haah……"

The past few days had been a blur. Marianne had gone out herself and struck deals with various small trading companies, and had miraculously managed to secure fresh raw ingredients. How long this route would hold she had no idea, but for the mont the fire was out.

"Countess!"

"What is it again, Bernard? I'm frightened now, I really am! Please knock before you co in!"

"That's hardly the most pressing concern right now!"

Bernard spread open the reservation ledger with trembling hands.

"Yesterday and today……. Of the four weeks of reservations……. Sixty percent have been cancelled."

"……What?"

Marianne's jaw dropped.

"Sixty percent? Are you sure you're reading that right?"

"Y-yes……"

"Why!"

"That…… in the Social Circles…… a rumour has been going around that they serve different dishes at different tables…… that they put out different food according to how much money you have……"

As Bernard spoke, sweating profusely, Marianne felt the strength leave her legs entirely.

In that short a ti? It had been a re two days.

"I-it's fine. Calm down."

Marianne forced her voice to remain steady.

"We just need to hold onto the key guests."

"Well, um…… that……"

"What now?!"

"Those key guests as well…… have indicated they will be putting the third round of investnt on hold entirely……"

The logic was simple.

What they had expected of The Golden rmaid was a bold new venture from Countess Blanchard — one that would put Y&P Trading Company in its place. Not the vulgar spectacle of dividing guests into tiers.

From that point, everything proceeded as it naturally would.

"……"

Marianne, who just days ago had been dreaming of claiming the throne of the goddess of fine dining — Queen would be treason, after all — stared blankly at the sparse reservation ledger.

With the guests went the investnt. The value of mberships had already been offloaded on the open market at half price. Which ant that even the avenue of raising funds through mbership sales was now closed to The Golden rmaid.

No noble had any desire to hold important etings at a restaurant that was falling apart.

They had all returned to Royal Kitchen or to the hotel. Naturally, The Golden rmaid's ambitious aspiration to beco a fine dining salon was handed its death sentence alongside them.

Beside the hollow-eyed Marianne.

"Countess…… the outstanding paynt to the Black Sail Guild. The due date was three days ago."

An equally hollow-eyed Bernard murmured his report.

"I have no money. The investnt is cut off and the mberships aren't selling — where am I supposed to find money……"

"Well, I suppose not……"

Before Bernard had even finished speaking, a servant brought in a notice from the Black Sail Guild.

[Non-paynt of outstanding balance confird. Effective today, all food supply to The Golden rmaid suspended. Legal proceedings to comnce.]

Now even the ans to source ingredients was cut off.

The small trading companies Marianne had desperately scrambled to contact were, in the truest sense of the word, small. Their quantities were more limited than the Black Sail Guild's, and their unit prices were higher.

They were in a situation where even serving the few remaining guests a proper dish was becoming difficult.

"……Is there anything left in our family to sell?"

"Nothing……"

Only now that it had co to this did Marianne call a particular woman's face to mind.

Penelope Rosemore. A useless flower. The woman Marianne had looked down on, whom she had thought of as a competitor she would one day surpass.

Unlike The Golden rmaid, which had flared and fallen like a firework, Y&P Trading Company remained as steadfast as ever.

"Why is that?"

Marianne recalled Y&P's history as she had read it in the newspapers.

They had not relied on investnt. Not relied on it — rumour had it they had taken none whatsoever. They had created innovative products, secured a stable supply chain, and only once everything was firmly in place had they taken the next step.

Only now did Marianne begin to understand, however dimly, what an extraordinary achievent Y&P had accomplished.

Compared to that, The Golden rmaid……

"Haah……"

To be honest, she wasn't even sure where it had gone wrong. Marianne felt that she had given everything she had, and that even if she were to do it again, she couldn't do better than this.

And hadn't she done quite well up until the middle, at least?

"But in the end I still managed to fail……"

Well. It is over now.

She had not the faintest sense of how to revive things from here.

She had taken on a mountain of investnt and ended up with nothing but debt…… It would be prison, or being sold off in marriage to so wealthy nouveau riche, most likely.

As a defeated woman who had accepted all of this failure, she threw one final question at Bernard.

"……Bernard, is there really nothing left in our family to sell?"

"Nothing……. We've already stripped everything down to the paintings."

Knock. Knock.

At that mont, a knocking sound ca from the door.

"W-who is……?"

"I-I don't know either. There were no appointnts scheduled."

Marianne gave an involuntary flinch. Could it be the debt collectors had co already? It shouldn't be ti yet!

"Forgive the intrusion."

A man in a plain, understated suit — one that sat rather at odds with The Golden rmaid's splendour — stepped inside.

The man gave a brief, courteous nod to Bernard and surveyed the hall. And then he found Marianne, sitting slumped in blank despair.

"Hooo…… quite magnificent. The rumours of your aesthetic sensibility were certainly no exaggeration."

Bernard stepped forward protectively, placing himself in front of Marianne.

"Who are you? If you are a custor, we are not currently open for business……"

"I thought you might be needing so help soon, so I dropped by."

"Help?"

He drew a card holder from his jacket and handed it to Bernard.

Bernard's gaze slid slowly down to the card.

Written there, as a matter of course, was—

[Y&P Trading Company, Co-Representative — Jurgen]

The na Jurgen.