Autumn had arrived.
Looking back, it felt as though the entire summer had been consumed by the White Swan Races, yet I had still managed to complete the summer harvest and oversee the planting of our autumn crops.
As for the races in Village Five...
They were continuing to run smoothly without any major incidents.
Actually, perhaps that was an overstatement.
While there had been no catastrophic disasters, we had dealt with several minor headaches. First, there was the sheer congestion caused by the races' unexpected popularity. Then, there was the time all the birds were disqualified because they started a brawl right before the starting signal. We also dealt with an attempted raid by a group of adventurers who were unfamiliar with the local rules; they had tried to poach the Pond Turtles for their shells.
In that particular instance, the residents of Village Five had suppressed the intruders before the Security Team or Zabuton’s Children—who were supposed to be guarding the pond—could even intervene. Zabuton’s Children later told me about it, sounding quite impressed by the villagers' efficiency. Still, adventurers are often armed, and I didn't want the residents putting themselves in harm's way. I made sure to tell everyone, including the spiders, to leave the dangerous work to the professionals in the Security Team.
Oh, that reminded me. We did actually incur a deficit once due to an arithmetic error in the payout calculations.
It was a simple mistake, really. A single large figure had been overlooked during the final tally. The error was discovered at the very last second, and the staff agonized over whether to adjust the odds. In the end, they decided that maintaining the public's trust was more important than fixing the payout mid-race, so they let it stand. The race officials had been praying for a "safe" swan with a low payout to win, but naturally, the swan with the most expensive payout took first place.
We ended up in the red that day. The Angel responsible for the calculation turned pale with guilt, but I saw it as a valuable learning experience. As long as humans—or people in general—are involved, human error is inevitable. I didn't want to hand out a severe punishment, but I couldn't let it slide entirely either, lest the staff become complacent. I settled on a minor penalty: a ten-day ban on sweets. I hoped she would do her best to prevent a repeat performance.
Despite all those minor troubles, there was plenty of good news as well.
Financially, the venture was a success. We were profitable enough overall to easily cover the loss from that one accounting mishap. We also managed to recruit enough ducks and domestic ducks to begin holding Duck Races and Domestic Duck Races. As a result, each event had grown from ten races to twelve or thirteen.
Furthermore, the area surrounding the road between Village Five and the shrine had seen significant development. The temporary food stalls were being replaced by permanent storefronts, and new housing was springing up. There were some initial concerns about the earthquake resistance of a few buildings, but the Village Council issued safety guidelines and ensured they were brought up to code.
Another positive side effect was a slight increase in literacy among the residents. This was thanks to a classroom established near the pond to teach reading and writing. Funded by the Village Council, the school operated on a drop-in basis; students could attend whenever they had time rather than following a strict daily schedule. I had initially assumed the race-goers themselves would be the ones studying, but it turned out the classroom was largely being used as a daycare. Adults who wanted to focus on the races would drop their small children off to learn. I would have preferred the kids watch the swans, but I suppose I couldn't blame the parents for wanting to avoid distractions during a big bet.
The staff had grown as well. We now had dedicated caretakers for the swans and assistants for the bookmakers. While we had to be vigilant against fraud, we hadn't encountered any issues yet. It wasn't just a matter of blind faith; we used surveillance as a deterrent. Knowing someone was watching meant that if an accusation was made, the innocent could easily be cleared. The employees understood this mutual benefit, so there were no complaints about the oversight. I hadn't told them exactly who was doing the watching, but the "eyes" were actually Zabuton’s Children.
I also couldn't forget my own contribution to the race grounds. I had been granted a prime spot to sell merchandise, primarily swan stuffed toys made by Zabuton’s Children using standard thread. We sold several varieties modeled after the actual racing swans, but the top sellers by far were the Swan Form Odette and Black Swan Form Odile. Even though those two didn't actually compete, their appearances in the halftime shows made them incredibly popular.
I also put my own carvings on display—stone and wooden statues of the swans. Plenty of people stopped to look, but since I had set the prices quite high, they didn't sell very often. Usually, only a lucky winner with a massive payout would splurge on one. At this rate, the stuffed toys might eventually crowd me out of my own stall.
As an aside, the very first piece I had poured my heart into—a massive swan carved from pure white stone—was actually purchased by Odette herself. It was currently standing on display near the racing pond.
That pretty much summed up the state of the White Swan Races.
Wait, what was that? Lu?
Ah... right. Well, I should probably mention that Lu’s private room was currently overflowing with protective charms and luck-boosting amulets. I suspected the rooms of certain Angels looked much the same.
Autumn was a busy season, but I found myself with a bit of free time once the primary field work was finished. It was then that I received a summons from Village Five. Some time ago, I had invested in several cultural preservation projects to prevent too much wealth from centralizing in the Village of the Great Tree. One of those groups, the Cooking Culture Group, wanted to present their findings.
The group had three main missions. First, they were to research and record regional home-style cooking from across the land. I used to think the cuisine of this world was limited to simple roasting and boiling, but that was a narrow perspective. I was certain that in places I hadn't yet visited, there were diverse dishes waiting to be discovered.
Second, they were to study regional seasonings and cooking utensils. I was convinced that every area had its own unique flavors and tools that weren't found anywhere else.
Third, they were to spread the culinary knowledge of Village Five to other regions. This was a bit of a selfish request on my part; I hoped that by sharing our techniques, we might spark the creation of entirely new dishes.
The presentation today focused on the first two missions: a showcase of regional home-style cooking, accompanied by demonstrations of local seasonings and tools.
Unfortunately, the third mission hadn't seen much progress. The primary obstacle was that many of our recipes relied on seasonings that could only be found in Village Five—miso, soy sauce, mayonnaise, and the various spices produced in Village Four. It seemed I needed to look into increasing production. I planned to consult with the Goroun Company about that later.
For the moment, I focused on the presentation. The venue was lined with food stalls, each serving a different regional dish. It was a practical approach; a live demonstration was the best way to explain how to use specific seasonings and tools. The group members had done their best to recreate the authentic flavors of each region.
The crowd included not just Yoko and myself, but also many Village Five residents who were passionate about food. While there were plenty of professional cooks, the majority of the visitors were migrants who had come in search of a taste of home. People move for many reasons, and some had surely left their hometowns with a heavy heart. While they tried to cook their childhood favorites in Village Five, many had struggled because they lacked the proper equipment or ingredients.
Now, thanks to the Cooking Culture Group, those rare tools and seasonings had been brought to the village, and the dishes had been faithfully recreated. To top it off, the food was being sold at a special, low price. It was no wonder the place was packed.
"This is it... this is exactly how I remember it..."
"I thought I'd never taste this again..."
"This is just like the food my mother used to make..."
All around the stalls, people were breaking down in tears of nostalgia. Seeing that sight made me feel that my investment in the group had truly been worth it.
"By the way, Village Head," Yoko said, stepping up to me.
"What is it, Yoko?"
"I'd like you to try this."
She handed me a dish from a nearby stall. It looked like a roasted item—something akin to a stir-fry. It used ingredients I had never seen before, so I couldn't even begin to guess the flavor. I didn't want to be rude, so I took a bite.
...
...
I stared at Yoko. She gave a slow, solemn nod.
It wasn't good. In fact, to be perfectly honest, it was terrible. The texture was equally unappealing. Yoko had double-checked with the members of the Cooking Culture Group, and they insisted that this was exactly how the dish was supposed to taste.
Given the number of people crying with joy around us, I suppose they were right. This was the authentic flavor. I sampled a few other stalls, but every single dish was mediocre at best.
...
I decided to ask some of the crying residents a question. "If these stalls were to open as regular businesses and charge normal prices, would you come back as a customer?"
"Hahaha. No, I don't think so."
"I used to think this was the most delicious food in the world back in the day, but now..."
"It needs soy sauce. Definitely soy sauce."
"I think miso would actually fix this one."
...
Well, I decided to look on the bright side. We had discovered some new seasonings and rare tools, and that was a win in itself.
"This was a culinary presentation, yet we didn't have a turn..." one of the High Ogre Maids lamented.
"Tomorrow," I promised quickly. "I'll take you all with me tomorrow."