“It’s impossible. The beans I use are the finest from the Southern Continent!” Kyle exclaimed, his face a picture of disbelief.
“Why is that impossible? There’s no way coffee made from unspoiled beans would taste like this,” I insisted, firmly and with conviction.
‘Even though I’m not a coffee expert, I lived in a country where there’s a café on every corner, so I know better.’
In ambiguous situations, the loudest voice usually wins, and right now, that voice was mine.
“Coffee is just ground beans with hot water poured over it, but this tastes like poison!”
‘I’m sure there’s more finesse involved, but from what I’ve seen of my friend’s home café hobby, making drinkable coffee isn’t rocket science.’
Pouring my frustration and the bitterness of that single sip into my words, I watched as Kyle’s confidence wavered, doubt creeping onto his face.
Taking advantage of this, I boldly demanded, “Show me the beans. I’ll be able to tell if they’re spoiled or not.”
Kyle hesitated for a moment, clearly conflicted, before he fetched the bag of beans. With a serious expression, I opened the bag and examined the contents.
Even to my untrained eye, the beans looked off.
‘These don’t look anything like the ones in coffee commercials!’
“They’re spoiled, aren’t they?” I declared triumphantly.
Kyle looked as if his world was crumbling. “That can’t be… A merchant from the South, who immigrated here, said these were rare beans, enjoyed by royalty in the South.”
But as I continued to speak with such certainty, Kyle’s voice trailed off, losing its strength.
“He even introduced me to a renowned barista, claiming that the flavor of the coffee depends on the roasting skill. These were roasted by a barista sought after by royalty.”
Kyle’s voice grew more pitiful and moist, but his plea didn’t sway me.
“Why don’t you bring that famous barista here, then?” I demanded, pushing for a direct confrontation. Kyle’s face grew even more disheartened.
“It would take a year and a half just to get him here from the Southern Continent. And that’s one-way,” he replied, sounding utterly defeated.
“Why is the barista in the Southern Continent? Did he leave recently?” I asked, increasingly confused.
“Well, that’s where he lives.”
“What?”
“Pardon?”
It was like we were speaking different languages. Realizing we were getting nowhere, I started from the beginning.
“You said the famous barista was the one who roasted these beans, right?”
“Yes.”
“And this barista lives in the Southern Continent?”
“Yes.”
“Then who roasted the beans that are here in the Empire?”
“The barista did.”
It was like talking to a wall. I rephrased the question.
“So, how does this barista, who’s in the Southern Continent, supply these roasted beans to this café in the Empire?”
Finally, Kyle seemed to grasp what I was asking.
“They’re shipped by boat on a regular schedule,” he explained.
I was horrified.
“So, these beans were roasted at least a year and a half ago?”
‘That’s disgusting.’
“Is that right?” I pressed.
Kyle didn’t seem to understand why I was so appalled.
“They’ve crossed a hot and humid ocean, on a ship that probably wasn’t the cleanest. On top of that, they were poorly sealed, and you’ve been using beans that were roasted nearly two years ago to make coffee?”
‘In my country, you’d be in big trouble for violating food safety laws, Kyle.’
I wished I could un-drink that coffee. I felt a queasiness in my stomach.
Kyle finally seemed to realize something was terribly wrong.
I pressed on, stifling my resentment towards the spoiled coffee.
“That merchant who immigrated from the Southern Continent—is he still in the Empire?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a scam artist. Roasted beans spoil easily; they should be imported in their raw state.”
Kyle’s expression darkened as he processed what I was saying.
“I paid five times the price of regular beans, thinking they were something special… What a fool I’ve been!” he groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
His usual smile returned, but it felt colder, as if his mood had plummeted from spring to winter in an instant.
He looked like an assassin who’d just realized he’d been tricked out of all his savings.
Seeing the murderous intent in his eyes, I took a step back and made a suggestion.
“There are other cafés in the capital. Why don’t you get some beans from one of them and try making coffee with those?”
Even if this café was just a cover for his guild activities, he couldn’t keep selling spoiled coffee. I offered a solution.
“Thank you for the advice, Miss Diaz,” Kyle said, bowing slightly in gratitude.
“It’s nothing, really,” I replied, watching as his expression turned icy again, presumably thinking about that Southern merchant. I quickly dragged Everett out of the café before things got any more tense.
As we walked away, Everett, who had been observing our interaction, suddenly asked, “Miss Diaz, you seem to know quite a bit about coffee.”
Surprisingly, knowing that coffee beans could spoil after two years made me something of an expert in this world.
‘Coffee has only been imported here for about ten years.’
“Coffee arrived at the academy before it reached the capital,” I said, using it as an excuse.
The academy was one of the first places where coffee was in high demand, given its ability to keep students awake during late-night study sessions.
Perhaps Everett had only brought up coffee to start a conversation, because he quickly shifted the topic. Thankfully, this time, our meal at the restaurant was pleasant and the conversation flowed smoothly.
The knife was sharp enough, and the atmosphere was enjoyable. But once again, I didn’t return the handkerchief. This time, I claimed I’d forgotten it at home.
—
After escorting Lina home, Edwin returned to the café. Kyle, now dressed in a different outfit, greeted him with an unusually bright smile.
“Perfect timing,” Kyle said, his earlier grumbling about Edwin not using the back door completely forgotten.
He approached Edwin with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in hand.
“Would you please try this? This time, I made it with beans from the oldest café in the capital. The owner even confirmed their quality. I assure you, my coffee no longer tastes like sewage water. Please, just this once.”
Kyle looked as though he might collapse in despair if Edwin refused.
With a crooked smile, Edwin accepted the cup, humoring his friend’s strange obsession with his hobby.
“You’re lucky I refused to drink your coffee all those other times. If I had, and gotten sick from that spoiled brew, you’d be guilty of regicide.”
Kyle’s only response was a sheepish smile, unable to argue with the truth. After all, he had chosen to run a café as a cover for his intelligence guild, and the emperor had been the one to drink the most of his concoctions.
Hoping to shift the conversation, Kyle added, “I made sure that scam artist got what he deserved.”
Edwin’s interest piqued slightly, so Kyle continued in a hushed, almost boastful tone.
“I turned him over to the authorities.”
“That’s all?” Edwin asked, knowing Kyle’s true nature was far from gentle.
A wicked grin spread across Kyle’s face. “Not quite. First, I made him drink every last drop of coffee brewed from those spoiled beans.”
From the tone of his voice, it was clear that Kyle hadn’t served the coffee with any kindness.
Having identified the problem with his coffee and exacted his revenge, Kyle seemed more content than ever.
“It’s all thanks to Miss Diaz,” Kyle added, his eyes shining as he praised Lina. “I knew from the first time I met her that she was a good person. She has refined taste and a deep sense of propriety.”
Edwin felt a slight irritation creeping in as Kyle continued to heap praise upon Lina.
Before Edwin could act on his displeasure, Kyle preemptively asked, “You’re going to see Miss Diaz again, aren’t you?”
“Probably. She said she forgot to bring the handkerchief,” Edwin replied, unable to suppress a small smile.
Kyle, noticing the softened expression on Edwin’s face, presented him with an invitation.
“What’s this?” Edwin asked as he accepted the invitation.
“It’s an invitation to an ancient artifact exhibition. How long are you planning to use that handkerchief as an excuse?”
Kyle had remembered from previous investigation reports that Lina had taken archaeology courses throughout her time at the academy, even though it wasn’t her major. He had prepared the invitation accordingly.
Edwin, who had been fretting over what to do after retrieving the handkerchief, carefully tucked the invitation away.
“This exhibition changes its theme every week. It’s a four-week series,” Kyle said with a satisfied smile.
The more he thought about it, the more Kyle realized that Carolina Diaz might actually make a fine empress.
After all, she had refined taste and a deep sense of propriety.
