Jack slipped away from the balcony corridor and into the inner halls, the distant murmur of arriving guests gradually fading behind him. With every step toward the kitchen wing, the warmer the air became, layered with the mingled scents of crushed herbs, simmering stock, and freshly baked bread.
Unlike the polished silence of the upper floors, this part of the mansion was alive. Servants moved with purpose, trays clinked softly against porcelain, and hushed voices exchanged instruments.
The kitchen doors stood open, revealing a wide workspace clearly designed to serve a mansion of this scale — long counters, iron stoves, hanging utensils, and enough room to accommodate dozens of hands working at once.
Yet...
The moment Jack crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he was suddenly taken aback to see that the kitchen was empty.
Vanessa and the other maids were nowhere to be seen.
Jack took a moment to steady himself. He straightened his cuffs, adjusted his posture, and let his expression settle into something calm and professional, unassuming, controlled, and ready, before moving any further.
"I wonder where everyone is," he thought, stepping closer to the gleaming counters and neatly arranged equipment that would be his tools for the day. If I had to guess… they went looking for me.
He paused, letting the thought hang for a moment, then shrugged with a faint, almost amused smile.
"Well… I suppose I have no choice but to start cooking," he muttered to himself, his voice low but confident.
Jack's guess about the others looking for him was correct. A few minutes after he had slipped away from the kitchen, Vanessa had been summoned by Sil Bernard to oversee certain arrangements in the grand hall, the very space where the event would take place.
The other maids had panicked, splitting up to scour the mansion from top to bottom, yet none of them managed to find Jack. He was already back in the kitchen, completely out of reach.
Fortunately, the ingredients had already been prepped and laid out; all that remained were the instructions dictating the sequence and presentation of the dishes.
Jack shrugged lightly to himself, then removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He picked up the tools he would need, placing them carefully at his workstation. With the kitchen now entirely his domain, he allowed a small, confident smile to tug at his lips.
He didn't waste a single moment.
With practiced efficiency, he moved through the kitchen, his hands a blur as he chopped, sliced, and seasoned with lightning speed. Pots simmered, pans sizzled, and the sharp scent of herbs and roasted meat filled the air almost instantly.
Despite the rapid pace, every motion in his posture was precise—no ingredient was wasted, no utensil misplaced. He combined techniques he had honed over countless trials and errors, layering flavors, balancing textures, and timing each step to perfection.
In what would normally have taken hours, Jack had orchestrated the first courses in mere minutes. The kitchen, though now a whirlwind of activity, reflected the calm control of someone completely in command.
Every dish that left his hands looked deliberate, elegant, and ready to impress.
"...And we're done," Jack said, a small grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
He stepped back, surveying the long counters. A variety of dishes rested neatly atop them, each still steaming, the curls of heat rising into the air. Every plate, bowl, and tray looked deliberate and carefully arranged.
Jack pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time.
Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick.
He'd taken thirty-three minutes. 'According to the pocket watch and his calculations.'
Thirty-three minutes to prepare what would normally take hours, and yet every dish was flawless, both in appearance and aroma.
He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, knowing that he had more than enough time to double-check the details or handle any unexpected interruptions before the food was requested.
Now that I'm done cooking... I guess I can check out what's going on outside.
In his mind, a scene began to take shape: Sil Bernard, standing at the head of the grand hall, droning on with a formal speech that probably bored half the guests senseless. The detectives, Jack imagined, were slouched along one of the walls, with their eyes heavy with disinterest, probably counting the seconds until they could escape the tedious display of wealth and etiquette.
Jack smirked faintly, letting himself enjoy the mental image. It was oddly comforting to imagine the orderly chaos outside while he had complete command over the kitchen.
He quickly washed his hands and grabbed his coat, leaving the kitchen. But just as he reached for the door, it burst open with a sudden force. Seven maids, all searching for him, had arrived at the same moment, nearly slamming the doors into Jack's face.
Luckily, he had been a few steps back, narrowly avoiding impact.
"Ahh…" Jack muttered, momentarily speechless.
"We're very sorry, sir!" one of the maids blurted, bowing hastily. Within a heartbeat, the others followed, their faces etched with worry and guilt.
Jack blinked, confused, as his gaze darted between the swinging doors and the maids. He could almost swear that if he hadn't stepped back, the doors would have hit him square in the face.
The chaotic entrance, combined with their frantic apologies, made the moment almost comical—but Jack held back a laugh, letting himself settle into calm.
"...It's alright, I guess. But if you'd excuse me, I have something to attend to," Jack said, brushing off his coat as he stepped toward the kitchen exit.
The seven maids slowly parted, their faces still shadowed with worry.
It wasn't just about almost hitting him with the doors; they knew that. The real concern gnawed at them deeper: Jack was leaving again without giving a single instruction about the cooking. What they didn't realize, however, was that everything had already been handled perfectly while they were off searching for him.
"...S, sir—" one of the maids started, hesitation threading her voice. But her companion put a hand on her shoulder, gesturing toward the kitchen counters. The sight froze them in awe: every dish meticulously prepared, each meal steaming and arranged with flawless precision.
They stayed silent, marveling at the display, while Jack disappeared around a corner of the corridor, slipping quietly toward the mansion's main halls.
The maids stood frozen for a moment, their eyes wide as they took in the sight before them.
Steam curled gently from each dish, carrying the rich aroma of perfectly balanced spices and freshly baked bread. The meals were laid out with impeccable order, each plate a miniature work of art.
"…I… I've never seen anything like this," one of them whispered, her voice trembling with awe.
"Nor I," another admitted, her hand hovering over a tray as if afraid to touch it. "He… he prepared all of this by himself?"
The first maid nodded, swallowing hard. "It's flawless… every dish looks like it belongs in a palace banquet."
They moved slowly along the counters, their eyes tracing the neat rows of steaming plates and perfectly garnished platters. Each maid's expression softened, a mixture of wonder and respect shining through.
Finally, one muttered, almost to herself, "He… really is remarkable. I don't know how he did it, but—he's on another level entirely."
Silently, the others nodded in agreement, their previous worry completely replaced by admiration as they stood there, taking in the full scope of Jack's work.