Michelle probably thought she had hidden it perfectly, but I have a sense for these things too. How could I not notice when she flinched every time Andre was mentioned?
Iluca—a mountainous region with infertile soil, making farming difficult. The reason Andre had gone there was tied to our shared childhood: mine, Sasha’s, and his.
Back when I had first begun to recall my past life, and still wasn’t entirely adept at managing those memories—
‘Huh? Aren’t these potatoes?’
That offhand comment of mine ended up becoming one of the Andre Trading Company’s core business items.
No one at the time knew that this tuber plant, which thrived in cold and barren soil, could grow with such vigor.
‘Potatoes? That’s such a weird name. This is called pota, Vivi.’
‘Miss, are you saying this on purpose?’
The crop they called pota tasted extremely familiar to me. Well, of course it did—what Korean doesn’t know the taste of potatoes? But unlike in Korea, where they were an everyday food, here they were eaten like a sorbet, finely grated and chilled.
‘These are delicious just boiled. Or fried.’
‘Andre.’
‘Yes, Young Master?’
‘Go get the adults. I think there’s something wrong with her.’
Imagine how terrifying it must have been for my younger brother when I suddenly started saying strange things during dessert. If I’d had the maturity I have now, I would’ve just laughed it off with, ‘Oh, maybe I read it in a book,’ but back then, I got frustrated with Sasha and Andre for dismissing what I knew, so I challenged them to a bet. The result? We made the head chef bake, boil, and fry the pota.
Pota was an incredibly expensive crop. It didn’t grow well even in fertile soil. They’d probably started making it into sorbet just to stretch out its use. That day, we ended up using half of the Andre Trading Company’s stock of pota just for taste tests.
And in the end, Andre and Sasha had to admit I was right. Of course fried potatoes tasted better than frozen sorbet ones.
‘Andre, what if we fry and sell them like this? Don’t you think it could make money?’
I started listing all sorts of dishes you could make with potatoes—from tornado fries to glazed baby potatoes to potato mousse. But Andre shook his head.
‘Miss. You only have this much pota because of the company. What kind of crazy noble would use this precious crop just to make food?’
His tone clearly implied that I was utterly clueless about how the world worked. I was so taken aback, I fired back:
‘Why’s it expensive though? This stuff grows so easily! It’s a staple crop!’
‘Staple crop?’
‘Yeah! A staple crop. Stuff that grows even during famines, in poor conditions.’
Of course no one knew how to cultivate pota, so there was no way to increase its yield. And no one had realized it was a crop that could get you through the winter.
It just so happened to be February, and we decided to plant a few of the leftover potatoes in the backyard.
‘Miss, this is ridiculous. You’re just going to bury the whole pota in this dry, hard ground, when even after dumping fertilizer and water into good soil it barely grows?’
‘Exactly! That’s the right way to do it.’
They said there was no way pota could grow in such dry and crumbly soil—but Sasha and André didn’t know what I did.
In my past life, my maternal grandmother had lived in Gangwon Province*, and she ran a large potato farm. Inevitably, I grew up eating potatoes to the point of exhaustion, and even as an adult, boxes of potatoes were regularly delivered to my home. So in this world, there could be no greater expert on potatoes than me.
[*T/N: A mountainous area in Korea known for its agriculture–potatoes especially.]
The fact that we planted pota in the backyard was a secret—at least until we could prove who was right. My father, mortified that we had eaten the entire supply of the precious pota, profusely apologized to the head of the trading company.
“I’m truly sorry. I’ll pay above market price for the pota—name your price.”
But the head trader just laughed heartily.
“If the children ate well, that’s all that matters, Viscount.”
In the end, thanks to the good-natured trader, it was swept under the rug. The adults soon forgot all about pota—but for us, it had become a full-blown science experiment.
About two weeks later, sprouts began to appear. When the gardener tried to pull them out, thinking they were weeds, we begged him not to touch them.
By May, we were taking turns hauling buckets of water to the garden. Convincing André—who believed crops needed generous watering—was no easy task. But when we only watered the plants once and they still grew vigorously, André had no choice but to admit I’d been right.
The head trader’s decision to treat it as a childish prank had turned out to be a wise one. About three months later, we harvested pota in amounts far greater than what we had originally eaten. I’ll never forget the look on Sasha and André’s faces when they saw the clusters of potatoes clinging to each seed tuber—absolutely stunned.
That day, I was flying high with pride. Of course I was—despite remembering my past life, I was still a child, not even ten years old.
When Sasha and André asked how I knew all this, I proudly explained the long and noble history of Korea’s staple crops. It was only after I’d gone into great detail that I panicked and tried to backtrack, claiming I must’ve read it in a book. But by then, I had already told them far too much.
“So, Vivi, you’re saying there’s another food like this pota, right?”
“When did I say that?”
“You did, right André?”
“Yes, young master. She definitely said something about goguma* or gogumin or whatever it was.”
[T/N: Korean word for sweet potato..]
“And that it tastes amazing with soda water.”
Of course, just because this world had potatoes didn’t mean it had sweet potatoes. And even if they existed, they likely had a completely different name here. But Sasha and André ignored my attempts to stop them and began whispering to each other excitedly.
“André.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“This is an item that could make your trading company huge. Got it?”
“Yes, Young Master. Should I tell my father?”
“No. Keep this to yourself for now. If we ever find that goguma or whatever Vivi was talking about, we’ll make far more profit selling both crops together.”
Sasha had always been a promising child, even back then.
Anyway, my memory of those childhood days have gone hazy, but I remembered everything when I heard André had headed to Iluca after wrapping up a deal with the pearl merchants.
Iluca was a barren region constantly plagued by famine. I’d heard they resorted to raiding during winter just to survive. Since pota had to be planted in spring, one crop alone wouldn’t be enough to carry them through Iluca’s long winters.
So the fact that André had gone to Iluca meant one thing: he had found the very business idea we’d tossed around as children.
In regions rich with food, potatoes and sweet potatoes could only be seen as seasonal delicacies. But in Iluca? They could plant pota in spring and survive the summer, then plant sweet potatoes in summer and harvest them in the fall, drying them to last through the winter.
If the target was Iluca, there couldn’t be a better business item than this. It was as if those crops had been made for Iluca.
In cold and dry regions, both potatoes and sweet potatoes become sweeter and more flavorful. It wouldn’t be long before Iluca, through its deals with the merchant guild, would stabilize and rise as the largest producer of both crops.
There’s a saying that the people of Iluca spend their entire lives on horseback. No matter how desperate the situation, they supposedly never trade their horses—under any condition.
But to obtain staple crops that could save them from starvation, even they would have no choice but to give up their horses. And when that happened, it was only natural that André’s trading company—now dealing in Iluca’s horses—would make its name known across the entire continent.
To support André in brokering that once-in-a-lifetime deal, I sent him this letter:
To André.
I know it must be tough negotiating deals in such a cold place. But I need a favor—I’m in a bit of a bind.
Sasha and Armin were ordered by the Emperor to inspect the border. And if they don’t return on time… I’ll be made the Crown Princess.
I understand you want to make money with staple crops, but please help me.
In exchange for giving them the crops, the deal you propose to the people of Iluca must be this:
Attack the Caladean border.
That’s right. I had seized control over the fate of Sasha and Armin—and set in motion a plan to completely derail the Imperial family’s scheme.
The country currently invading our borders is called Caladea. Wedged between Iluca and our nation like a sandwich, Caladea was a small but prosperous land, thanks to its rich natural resources.
Right now, Caladea was provoking the southern border of our country—and that’s exactly where Sasha and Armin were headed.
So what would happen if Iluca suddenly stirred up trouble along Caladea’s northern border—the one it shares with Iluca?
If you’re my age, you’ve probably read Romance of the Three Kingdoms at least ten times. And there’s a term that comes up in it:
Diversionary tactic.
The fact that it popped into my head in a moment of crisis… That had to be the survival instinct of someone whose mind worked best under pressure.
