Chapter 268: Chapter 267: The Ausbilder’s Warning?

Chapter 267: The Ausbilder’s Warning?

“Bird eggs.”

Under the flickering light of the candle, Bai Luo extended a hand.

Flustered, Ayaka fumbled through the cupboard until she found a few eggs, carefully placing one in his palm.

Then, after a brief moment of hesitation… she took out another and added it on top.

“Spatula.”

In Inazuma, spatulas weren’t made of metal but of polished wood—smooth, simple, and quiet.

It was hard to tell what kind of wood it was, but Bai Luo was at least pleased with one thing: it was spotless.

Maybe the lack of oily seasoning stains made the utensil feel a little soulless, but at least it was sanitary.

As expected of a noble household.

“Smoked poultry.”

The pre-sliced ham hit the pan with a soft hiss, and within seconds, the room filled with a mouthwatering aroma.

“Wipe my sweat.”

“…Huh?”

Ayaka blinked, but seeing the calm look on his face, she reluctantly pulled out her handkerchief, dampened it slightly, and—rising on tiptoe—dabbed the sweat from Bai Luo’s forehead.

Somehow, she wasn’t quite sure when things had started taking such a strange turn.

Originally, she had just wanted to see him taste her ochazuke. But when he’d finished and said, “Let me show you something in return,” she’d… for some reason, decided to stay.

Perhaps it was curiosity—or maybe just a quiet, reckless impulse.

After all, when her brother had shared a drink with this Ausbilder earlier, Bai Luo’s comments on the food had been far too precise for an outsider.

He could tell if the fire had been too strong, whether a spice was misplaced, even what kind of pan had been used.

So yes, she was curious.

And as she watched him move with casual confidence, she quickly realized what he was making.

Fried rice.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar dish—Inazuma had its own version of it—but his way of cooking was subtly different.

Refined, yet instinctive. Efficient, but not rushed.

“I used to make this for the little dove back in Snezhnaya,” he said idly.

Fried rice wasn’t a difficult dish—one of Bai Luo’s most practiced ones, actually.

He used to make it often in Snezhnaya.

At least, compared to his abominations of desserts, his cooking was edible—sometimes even nostalgically good

.

For the rich, it was a taste of “home.”

As for “little dove,” that was what he called Columbina, the “Damselette” of the Fatui Harbingers.

Just as “Anatoly” carried the meaning of sunrise, Columbina meant dove.

And to call the Damselette of Snezhnaya “little dove” and still be alive—that might just be something only Bai Luo could do.

Were they close?

…That was debatable.

He wasn’t alive because they got along well.

He was alive because he was annoyingly hard to kill—a man whose existence slipped through one’s fingers like smoke.

Bai Luo could sense it—Ayaka’s faint fear toward him.

But that didn’t surprise him.

He was a Fatui assassin, a man who killed without hesitation.

He was used to such looks.

Even Collei, back in Sumeru, hadn’t trusted him at first.

Only his alias, the Battousai, was met with genuine respect… and perhaps, a little admiration.

“Try it.”

This particular fried rice was the one that had once made Columbina chase him through three city blocks after a single bite.

He still didn’t understand why the nobles tasted comfort, but the girl tasted rage.

Ayaka lifted a spoonful delicately, blew on it, and took a small bite.

“The rice grains and egg blend together perfectly. The smoked meat’s flavor stands out a little too sharply, yet still manages to meld with the rest of the dish.”

“The seasoning, however… is on the heavy side. Thoma would probably enjoy it more than I do.”

Covering her lips with her folding fan, she spoke with practiced grace.

Ah yes. The flawless lady’s review—polite, elegant… and completely devoid of meaning.

Bai Luo smiled faintly.

“It’s just the two of us here. You don’t need to sound like you’re hosting a tea ceremony.”

“Just say what you really think.”

Perhaps it was the weight of his presence—his status, his aura, or simply the pressure of being who he was—that made her retreat into vague, polite words.

Bai Luo, ever perceptive, merely smiled and suggested lightly:

“Relax a little. Be honest with yourself.”

“…”

’Honest… with myself?’

Oh, right.

He probably already knew her little secret, didn’t he?

After all, this was the same man who had appeared right behind her despite his door never once opening.

He must have been waiting there all along.

And her little midnight habit—sneaking into the kitchen for a late meal—was something she had only ever confessed to that potted blue flower.

’So he really does know everything, huh…?’

Ayaka sighed softly, resigned.

“…You put in too much salt. It’s a little… too salty.”

That special smoked meat already had a heavy flavor, and with Bai Luo’s liberal hand on the salt shaker, it was nearly overpowering.

The sharp, briny taste instantly reminded her of Thoma—if her brother had made this dish, he would’ve definitely gifted it to him.

“Is that so?”

Bai Luo tilted his head slightly.

Was it just that the rich preferred stronger flavors?

Then again, why had the “little dove” chased him for several streets over this dish?

Was it because the smoked meat was pigeon?

Or because the eggs… were pigeon eggs?

Women’s thoughts were truly impossible to decipher.

Maybe next time he should just give the dish to Pulcinella instead.

The mere thought of Sandrone’s face twisting in outrage made him grin with wicked delight.

To Ayaka, though, that grin looked entirely different.

“I didn’t mean your cooking was bad,” she said quickly, cheeks flushing, her voice soft but steady.

“It’s just… my taste isn’t as strong.”

The “Shirasagi Himegimi” title really did suit her.

Even in this strange, uncertain atmosphere—sharing a kitchen at midnight with a known enemy—she remained gentle, composed, and kind.

Perhaps that was why, despite the dark age they lived in, Kamisato Ayaka remained one of the most beloved figures among the common people.

“Thank you for the kind words, Kamisato-sama,” Bai Luo said with mock formality.

“Hmm… at a time like this, shouldn’t I offer a small gift in return? How about… flowers?”

He said it casually, with a teasing tone.

Still, the fact that he even thought of flowers

was… surprising.

After all, Bai Luo’s usual “gifts” tended to be things like cold steel, Sunsettia, or maybe a perfumed bookmark laced with some mysterious powder.

Flowers were decidedly out of character.

Had he finally—as Yae Miko liked to say—grown a conscience?

“…”

At the mere mention of flowers, Ayaka’s body tensed again.

Her fingers stiffened, and color bloomed rapidly across her cheeks—a rosy flush spreading like ink in water.

To Bai Luo, it was nothing—a simple joke, a gesture of thanks.

But to her… it carried a very different implication.

Because in her mind, “flowers” didn’t mean romance.

It meant that blue wildflower, the one she had tended secretly in her room.

The one that was, in truth, one of the Ausbilder’s many eyes and ears.

Could it be… that he knew she had given it to Thoma?

Was this “gift” talk his way of warning her?

. . . . .

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