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Noelle had known something of the Black Bulls’ reputation before she joined. Specifically, that they were lazy, bloodthirsty battle freaks who wouldn’t know decorum or sense if it waltzed in front of them in nothing but the Clover King’s crown. In the months since joining, she’d discovered that this reputation was broadly accurate, but missing key details.
For example, for a guy called ‘Lord of Destruction’, Yami was actually shockingly domestic. Asta might have wound up doing the lion’s share of cleaning for the sole reason that he got up first, but Noelle had been completely lost to discover that laundry, dishes and dog-walking were on a rotation. A rotation that included her name right along with everyone else’s.
Thankfully she’d been smart enough not to ask where the maids were.
Cooking, however, was Charmy’s domain. She enjoyed it, she was good at it, and Noelle wasn’t sure she would have trusted most of the other Bulls in a kitchen. Herself included.
Then Charmy went on a mission. For a week. The next chore schedule had a list of cooks. Noelle was relieved not to be on it, but the sight of the names of her comrades made her worried. At least, she told herself, Asta was not on it either. She’d had enough of tatoes at the impromptu eating contest.
Magna and Luck’s ideas of what constituted cooking (charred, over-spiced meat and too-sweet pudding) turned out to be just as bad as she thought. It was with dread, therefore, that she sat down to breakfast on the day it was Yami’s turn.
There was a weird broth, a red paste, and… actually, no, the rice and fish looked fine. Huh. Still cautious (Luck’s pudding had looked safe too) Noelle took a bite. Then another one. Her expression must have been something, because Vanessa took one look at her and started laughing. The rest glanced her way, and Noelle felt her cheeks heat up at the sudden attention.
Vanessa winked. “Keep it a secret, won’t you Noelle? If they knew he could cook Captain would never escape the admirers.”
Yami was more direct. “Tell anyone and die.” Noelle nodded frantically (next to her Asta was doing the same) and went back to her unexpectedly delicious meal.
Lunch and dinner turned out to be just as tasty, if similarly foreign. It was a shame that the Land of the Sun was so far away if this was what their cooking was like.
Having finally tasted real food again, it was with considerable reluctance that Noelle went to breakfast the next morning. It was Finral’s turn, and Noelle was in a position to know how little nobles knew about cooking. But, she told herself, at least Finral had been raised knowing what decent food tasted like. Maybe he’d just dip into his savings and portal in take-out.
Instead, moments after she took her place, Noelle found herself staring at the plate of food in front of her. It wasn’t the same dish as yesterday, but…
Asta, less prone to hesitation, was the one who voiced her thoughts. “This is the same kind of thing Captain made, isn’t it? I thought it was Finral’s turn?” Looking up, Noelle saw Finral rub the back of his neck self-consciously. He opened his mouth to answer, but Yami snorted.
“Who do you think taught spoiled noble boy how to cook?” Yami asked, voice thick with amusement. Or maybe it was that he hadn’t bothered to stop chewing. Noelle averted her eyes in time to see Finral go pink. She stared for a second, a bit startled. Finral was such a flirt that she hadn’t really imagined that he could blush. Then he looked at Yami.
For a split second so brief she was sure she’d imagined it, Noelle thought she saw Finral’s eyes narrow. But then he laughed, easily admitting that he’d been a completely hopeless chef when he’d first joined the Bulls. The conversation turned into a general comparison of culinary experiences. The commoner members of the Bulls, especially Asta, seemed curious about some of the more extravagant extremes of noble cuisine.
Surrounded by her friends, Noelle found it was easier to remember some of the better parts of her past. It was even sort of nice. She’d just finished recounting some truly excellent caviar she’d had at a ball a few months before she received her grimoire when Finral sighed.
“Hmm, I haven’t been to a ball since… Captain Boismortier’s promotion ball? Yami didn’t feel like flying,” he added. Noelle went still aside from her eyebrows, which she could feel creeping towards her hairline.
Unable to help herself, she blurted out, “Captain Yami went to a ball?!”
Finral smiled, clearly not noticing the way the head of the table had started to get darker despite the morning sun streaming in the windows. “Of course! All of the captains were required to attend, it’s tradition for them to toast their new fellow and start the dancing.” Noelle vaguely realized that she was gaping, and forced her mouth to close. A touch of apprehension went down her spine as she looked between Finral’s oblivious smile and Yami’s flaring aura.
Finral, she thought, had the survival instincts of a lemming. Noelle would have never ignored it if Nozel, Nebra, or-she shuddered- Solid had been giving off an aura like that. It was weird, because on a mission, Finral’s senses were almost as good as Luck’s.
She was distracted from her concern when Gauche looked up from his picture of Marie. There was a rare note of curiosity in his voice as he asked, “I thought commoners didn’t learn waltzes?”
Finral’s smile widened as he replied, “Who do you think taught this guy how to dance?”
There was a sliver of silence. Finral hadn’t even had to say something along the lines of ‘this crude meathead’ for that exact impression to hang in the air nonetheless. Meanwhile, Noelle felt the words she’d been ascribing to Finral-unaware, oblivious- click over to a new shape: conscious, deliberate. Another flutter of panic jumped in her gut. If she’d mocked Nozel like that-
Then Magna burst out laughing, followed by Luck. Vanessa almost knocked over her wine when she slumped against the table in helpless giggles. Asta looked stunned in duplicate, as Grey had transformed into him to express her own shock. Gauche was blinking slowly like the mental image was not quite processing.
Abruptly Noelle realized that Yami’s killer aura had receded, and she looked towards Yami’s end of the table. Yami didn’t look murderous anymore. He looked… annoyed, but also pleased, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was the way he looked when Luck or Magna managed to hit him during a sparring match.
Noelle looked back at Finral. He was still smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but he’d tilted his head just enough to be looking back at Yami instead of pretending to ignore him. This time, Noelle didn’t have any problem interpreting the expression.
I win.
Noelle laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.
The Black Bulls were a bunch of lazy, bloodthirsty battle freaks who wouldn’t know decorum or sense if it waltzed in front of them in nothing but the Clover King’s crown.
But they weren’t anything like her siblings, and Noelle loved them for it.