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<Side Story 3>

Since Valmar lived off tourism, the royal court often sent inspectors disguised as tourists to crack down on establishments.

If word spread that "you go to see the beautiful scenery and find nothing but swindlers trying to fleece every tourist," it would bode ill in the long run and deal a blow to the kingdom's economy.

The problem was that the number of inspectors was far too few.

So ordinarily, one was unlikely to get caught—but for such guests to show up today meant…

'I've stepped in it.'

The innkeeper glared at the coachman.

How on earth could he have picked up guests like that?

He felt like unleashing a torrent of curses, but he swallowed them down.

After all, inspectors were also evaluated on their kindness.

"Having heard your words, I believe I must redo the exterior repair work."

"Wasn't this place open for business?"

Though they had had no intention of entering anyway, Asil asked in puzzlement as the innkeeper did an abrupt about-face.

"No, no—how could I possibly host guests in such a dangerous building?"

To prove his sincerity, he dashed inside and emerged with a large plank.

Scrawling hastily on it, he hung it at the front door.

—CLOSED.

Then he shouted at the coachman:

"How could you bring people to an inn that isn't even ready? You should have taken them somewhere suitable!"

"W-well…"

The coachman knew the innkeeper was shifting the blame, but he could say nothing.

That was how fearsome the inspectors were.

"Oh dear, the sun will soon set, and if you have far to go, your legs will ache and tire you out—what to do, hmm?"

The innkeeper muttered loudly enough for all to hear, then gave the coachman a subtle shove in the back.

"What are you standing there for? Go take those guests to a better place."

You brought this calamity—you clean it up.

"No need. There are many lodgings nearby. We shall find a suitable one ourselves."

"Y-you will?"

The innkeeper laughed awkwardly. Despite his expression, a storm raged inside him.

'I was trying to send them as far from my inn as possible!'

"Since you've had your valuable time wasted because of my establishment, I feel dreadful. It's little enough, but please accept this token of my—"

"We do not need money."

Asil refused because he genuinely had no need of it, but the innkeeper interpreted it differently.

'He really is an inspector!'

Unless an inspector had been dismissed for bribery, who would turn down offered money?

His face grew even paler.

"Th-then, please continue your inspection carefully."

"Goodbye."

The innkeeper and the coachman remained bowed until the two vanished from sight.

Though an inspector had appeared, nothing had actually happened—a blessing in misfortune.

However, not all merchants feared the inspectors.

And so, by evening—

"Ahem… Master. I think it would be best to leave now."

In the end, trouble had brewed.

"You come into my shop—you should order first. What's this about poking around and trying to leave without so much as a word about my restaurant?"

As Asil tried to exit, the owner, who had been preparing ingredients in the kitchen, walked out.

Confident in his bulk, he puffed out his chest and furrowed his brow to look menacing. He also subtly blocked the exit so the two could not leave.

"I fear it is unworthy to bring our esteemed master, who was raised so delicately, into such a shabby place."

"What? Shabby?"

Asil was sincere.

Dust and cobwebs clung to the corners of the restaurant, and the mop propped against the wall reeked so horribly that one could not guess when it had last been used.

Moreover, the tables were sticky with some unknown liquid, and the chairs creaked before one even sat down.

If Rianell so much as coughed, Asil felt he would reproach himself for having brought her into such a place.

Rianell went even further.

"Kitchens where food is prepared must be kept clean. However, the current condition of this establishment appears to fall short of standards. This constitutes a violation of food hygiene regulations."

Through the gap in the parted curtain, a fat rat could be seen scurrying past with a morsel of food in its mouth.

"A fussy one, aren't you—just like a proper scholar."

The restaurant owner had a waiter bring out the food.

A waiter with a surly expression returned carrying two bowls of stew and slammed them onto the table.

Food splattered, staining the tabletop, but no one seemed to care.

"Just try it. Everyone says the taste is out of this world."

Rianell did not even touch it.

The problems went far beyond hygiene.

"I observed that the sign at the entrance states that only domestically sourced ingredients are used."

"That's right. Using local produce is our restaurant's pride."

"However, the double-sword crest overlapping the laurel wreath printed on the flour sack indicates that the flour is of imperial origin."

The restaurant owner, stung in many ways, raised his voice instead.

"So what? What does that matter?"

"This constitutes a violation of country-of-origin labelling regulations."

The restaurant owner panted, his face reddening.

Who cared about such things as country of origin?

Those existed only as pretexts to charge higher prices.

At any rate, seeing the two remain unmoved, the restaurant owner decided to change tactics.

"If our restaurant displeases you so much, then leave! The age when the customer was king and threw their weight around is long over!"

Rather than forcing them to eat, he would extract money from them.

After all, a restaurant ultimately ran on the money customers paid.

"You received the food, so pay before you go. That's only proper, isn't it?"

The restaurant owner tried to intimidate them with a ferocious glare, but it had no effect on Rianell.

"I neither ordered nor consumed any food, so no obligation to pay arises."

At the same time, Rianell pointed out the owner's act of blocking the entrance.

"Furthermore, obstructing the exit and restricting freedom of movement constitutes unlawful confinement, and demanding money by threat constitutes coercion."

Rianell's words were flawless.

But words that were too correct often provoked anger in others.

"These brats are getting—!"

The enraged restaurant owner raised his arm.

When threats failed, he resorted to outright force.

"Oh, sir."

That arm was caught mid-air and would not come down.

The one holding it was Asil.

'Ah—it won't go down?'

The restaurant owner was flustered.

He had inwardly looked down on the man, who had been nothing but polite and deferential, always watching the woman's cues.

He gritted his teeth and strained to lower his arm, but it was useless.

What was even more galling was that the other man did not even seem to be trying hard.

"There is no need for you to be angry, sir. We shall go to another restaurant, and you can resume your business with the remaining seats."

'If I had known it would come to this, I should have just let those fussy scholars leave when they stood up!'

The restaurant owner regretted it too late—but it was already done.

Their standoff was now affecting the other customers.

Foreign tourists, even when treated unfairly in a foreign land, often did not know what was wrong, or even if they did, they did not know how to protest—so they let things slide.

But now, words like "food hygiene regulations" and "coercion" were being bandied about from the mouths Rianell had planted.

'If those lot leave without paying too, I'm done for!'

Moreover, if the disturbance grew any larger, an inspector might actually show up.

For now, the priority was to shut these people up.

If a problem could not be solved by force, one simply brought in greater force.

"Ban!"

The restaurant owner shouted toward the stairs beside the kitchen.

"Ban! Get down here now!"

He did not want to call the man, who had to be paid a hefty sum each time he was summoned—but now he had no choice.

After a moment.

"What is it?"

The attic door burst open.

Thump, thump—

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs, shaking the steps.

The stairs seemed rather narrow, so the giant came down hunched over.

Because of his stooped posture, his face was not visible—but the oppressive aura of his massive frame was unmistakable.

The bustling restaurant fell silent as if by magic.

The customers stared at the giant as if watching an approaching calamity.

'Yes—this is how it should be!'

The giant was certainly worth his expensive wages.

[You call this rubbish 10 francs? Do you take me for a fool?]

[10 francs? I won't pay even 1 franc!]

[Is that so? Ban, this guest doesn't seem willing to pay. Why don't you have a word with him?]

[Ah, no! No. No words needed. Here's 10 francs.]

Most problems were solved by summoning Ban.

This time would be no different.

"Ban! Over here!"

Only the restaurant owner was elated, waving his hand.

Asil, bracing for any eventuality, moved Rianell behind him and stood ready.

Then, the moment the giant raised his head—

His face was revealed.

"You—"

Before Rianell could speak, the other man strode forward and seized her hand.

"Sister?"

"Zar—"

"What brings you all the way to Valmar, Sister?"

The giant—no, Prince Zarvan—pumped her hand vigorously up and down before Rianell could get a word out.

"You should have told me you were coming!"

"What?"

The restaurant owner, his arm now freed from Asil's grip without even realising it, stood gaping.

He could not understand what was happening.

"Brother, these people are from my hometown. Could you let it slide, for my sake?"

"Uh, wha…?"

Let it slide? Hometown?

The words were entering his ears, but they refused to make sense, and the restaurant owner parroted them stupidly.

"These two are new to Valmar—they made a mistake."

Zarvan pressed some money into the restaurant owner's hand.

Normally, the owner paid Zarvan whenever he used him—but this time it was the reverse.

He was dumbfounded, but he took the money anyway.

"Hmph, well… if they're from your hometown, I suppose it can't be helped."

"You're a generous man, Brother, as always."

Zarvan ignored the restaurant owner entirely and smiled at Rianell and Asil.

"Now then, let's go outside and talk. It's been a long time—we must catch up."

And so, led by the giant, the three left—and the restaurant fell silent in an instant.

The restaurant owner, fiddling with the day's earnings, suddenly felt something amiss and raised his head.

"Huh?"

The other customers had all vanished, leaving the restaurant eerily quiet.

"What the—! Where did those bastards go now?"

Alone, he fumed in fury.

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