The Villainous Princess Wants to Live in a Gingerbread House - Chapter 5

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

The Villainous Princess Wants to Live in a Pastry House
Chapter 5

“Where’s the scale?”
“Chirp?”
“I need to weigh out how much to use.”
“Chirp-chirp!”
“You can’t do this by guesswork, you silly bird.”
“Chirp!”
Asha ignored the bird’s protests and was still searching for a scale when a voice called out from behind her.
“What’s this little brat doing?”
A gruff man’s voice came suddenly from behind. Asha spun around in alarm. A middle-aged man with a fierce expression, wearing a white apron, glowered at her.
“Which palace do you serve? What are you doing here? There’s no child as young as you at Taimir Palace.”
His piercing eyes made her swallow hard. The white apron, the wooden spoon he wielded like he owned the place—the man was unmistakably the head chef. Asha stifled a hiccup and hurried to speak.
But then…….
“I’m Asha, or rather, Anastasia Uriyev…….”
“Anastasia or Uriyev or whatever—I don’t care if you’re some fancy noble. Nobody enters my kitchen without permission and plays around!”
The man’s roar echoed through the kitchen. Asha gulped. Suddenly, her yellow bird fluttered between them, chirping and beating its wings furiously, forcing the man to flail his arms.
“What is this little bastard, this chick—ugh, what! Did you bring this thing too?!”
“Oh, no, it actually brought me here. And besides, ‘chick’ means baby chicken, so…….”
“Argh, bringing beasts into the kitchen! The only birds allowed in this kitchen are dead ones and pie birds! No, this damned thing!”
The bird’s fluttering intensified. For something so small, it moved with astonishing vigor and speed, leaving even the sturdy middle-aged chef helpless. Asha stepped back, watching the commotion with an almost pitying expression.
After that frantic struggle, the chef was breathing heavily, nearly gasping for air. The bird, utterly unbothered, made one elegant loop before perching on her head. As the chef’s gaze turned murderous—as if he’d roast the bird on the spot—Asha quickly waved her hands.
“I really didn’t bring it…….”
The chef glared at her, seething.
“So the thing on your head isn’t a bird but a spirit? Get it out of here before I grab it and steam it!”
The chef had stumbled upon the right answer without realizing it, and Asha couldn’t bring herself to confirm it. Just then, the bird launched at the chef again.
Asha simply watched the chef’s second battle with the bird unfold. The chef thrashed about, throwing wild punches at the air, looking nearly ready to collapse. The bird, its expression oddly triumphant, perched on the counter beside the chef’s gasping form, seeming to mock him. Then, just as before, it circled back to her head.
Asha’s pale green eyes rolled expressively.
“……Just let me bake one thing, and we’ll leave quietly.”
“Baking in my kitchen—absolutely not…….”
The chef was about to refuse firmly when the bird let out another chirp, causing him to stop short.
“……This is the only time. That bird stays quiet, you clean everything up, and then you leave!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be coming back here twice.”
Asha replied with a slight smirk and pointed toward the shelves above the counter with her hand.
“Then hand me the scale.”

The head chef, Pavel, clenched his teeth and said he would teach her the recipe if she was so determined. But the girl, with her soft peachy-blonde hair hanging loose, gave a surprisingly flippant response.
“Pavel doesn’t handle pastries anyway. Do you even know how to make them?”
“…….”
Instead, she simply asked him to prepare hot water—treating him like an errand boy. She looked barely ten, yet her manner was remarkably competent.
“Oh……there’s a shell in it.”
Though her hands were clearly still not fully developed.
Pavel clicked his tongue. Her tiny fern-like hands had cracked open an egg, but a piece of shell had fallen into the bowl.
“……I’ll handle the eggs.”
As if to prove a point, Pavel took over. The girl pouted but obediently tilted her cheek toward him. With practiced ease, Pavel cracked three more eggs one-handed into the mixture.
“What are you making?”
“Um, like a chocolate cake of sorts? Put some hot water in another bowl for me.”
“Chocolate? What’s chocolate?”
The girl seemed to have never seen a whisk before—she stared at it in wonder, muttering about the mysterious bundle of wood, then looked up with an expression of even greater surprise.
“That’s chocolate right there. Don’t you even know what’s in your own kitchen?”
“That tiny thing…….”
Pavel’s expression flashed with irritation, but instead of snapping at her, he picked up the brick-like object she pointed to, roughly the size of his forearm. He did know what it was. He’d simply forgotten it was here until now.
It was something that Baron Sarato had sent as a gift, but its bitter taste had made him set it aside long ago. He’d heard that down south they’d grind it and mix it with sugar or honey to drink, but that murky brew wasn’t to his taste. Still, being a gift, he couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it away.
“You’re going to use something this bitter?”
“……It’s bitter?”
The girl’s eyes went wide with surprise. Her bright green eyes, like fresh sprouts, blinked once before she pinched off a piece of what he held and popped it into her mouth.
Her face scrunched up instantly.
“Blegh.”
“There, I told you it was bitter! Ha, that’s the taste of life for you. You understand now, little squirt?”
He’d meant to frighten her with his bluster, but the girl paid it no mind and spoke up again.
“When are you going to heat up the water?”
“This kid is something else!”
Pavel swallowed the sound of exasperation he’d been about to make. Normally he’d have nothing to do with such childish games, yet here he was.
‘Curse this spirit or sprite or whatever it is…….’
A yellow chick perched on the girl’s shoulder fixed him with a menacing black stare. Oblivious to his thoughts, the girl chattered on merrily.
“Okay, melt 220 grams of chocolate and 220 grams of butter together in a double boiler. And…….”
The girl paused mid-sentence and tilted her head about, her gaze landing on a white jug sitting in ice water.
“Cream too. Um, 50 grams of cream.”
“……Hmm. So chocolate, butter, and eggs in equal measure?”
“Right!”
Rather than the simple child’s play he’d assumed this to be, the tiny girl rattled off a surprisingly coherent recipe. Pavel found himself genuinely interested.
The girl poured the melted chocolate Pavel had prepared into the egg mixture and began stirring slowly with a spatula. The batter was growing stiff, and the quantity was considerable—it looked like too much for her small arms to manage. Pavel decided to be magnanimous.
“Step aside. Let me do it.”
“No, I’m doing it. You go fetch the flour.”
“‘You’ is it now.”
“60 grams of flour. Preferably cake flour, if you have it.”
“What sort of place do you think this is? Of course we do!”
The sifted flour went into the girl’s batter. As she stirred it in slowly, a rich cake batter came together in moments.
“That’s done…… oh, but I forgot to preheat the oven.”
“Do you think it’s possible for an oven in my kitchen to fail to heat?”
At his proud words, the girl’s eyes grew enormous. She dashed toward the oven he’d indicated with a nod, examined it from every angle, then turned back to him.
“Wow. Can you actually adjust the temperature on this thing?”
The question was so innocent that Pavel hesitated. Here was this elfin creature who’d been acting so grown-up just moments ago, and now she gazed at the oven as though witnessing magic itself.
“How does this even work? I don’t see a hole for feeding in firewood.”
“Firewood? What, are you from the age of the Otrop Kingdom or something?”
The Otrop Kingdom had ruled this land a thousand years or so before the empire’s rise. Of course, it had long since fallen and vanished into history.
Mana Stones

run it through their heat output. We refine Mana Stone powder into a powder that’s used to make wiring and…… no, never mind explaining. The point is, temperature adjustment is obviously possible!”
“Like heating elements?”
The girl murmured thoughtfully.
Wondering if she’d actually grasped his meaning, Pavel hesitated again—but the girl quickly steered the conversation back to finding a suitable baking dish.
When she confidently demanded a small bowl the size of an adult fist, Pavel’s face twisted slightly even as he retrieved half a dozen white porcelain dishes. The batter yielded more than expected, filling all six identical bowls with some left over.
“Pavel, you said you don’t bake pastries, right? Then do you bake bread?”
“Everything that goes into His Highness the Crown Prince’s mouth, I make myself.”
“Even though you don’t bake pastries.”
“That’s not my job!”
“Fine then. Set it to bread-baking temperature.”
At the girl’s thoroughly deflecting answer, Pavel sensed his pride continuing to chip away piece by piece, yet he couldn’t very well wrestle with a tiny child. He quietly adjusted the oven to bread-baking temperature.
“Put these in the oven. Eight minutes!”
Pavel made a show of clenching his fist as if to punch something, but instead arranged the ceramic bowls on a tray, slid it into the oven, and set the nearby hourglass—which chimed when time was up—to eight minutes. The girl’s attention caught on the hourglass as well.
“What’s that? Is that made of Mana Stone too?”
“Of course it is. The sand flows for exactly the time you set it, and when the time’s up, a bell chimes…….”
“So why doesn’t the oven have one of these?”
“Why would the oven need one?”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————