Baby Squirrel Is Good at Everything

“Ah.”

Blinking dazedly, Beatty tilted her head in gratitude.

“Hm.”

Watching his little sister still swaying like a withering blade of grass, Carl asked:

“What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you pecking at your soup like a sick chick?”

“Oh. I couldn’t sleep well last night.”

“Hmm?”

“?”

Carl stared at Beatty as if she were some bizarre phenomenon and then opened his mouth.

“You’re telling me… you ended up like that just from missing one night of sleep?”

…What do you mean, “like that”?

Even in her drowsy state, Beatty frowned at his wording.

“You really…”

Carl’s voice was laced with pure astonishment.

“So this is why they always tell me to handle my little sister as carefully as a delicate sprout.”

He mumbled something under his breath, but Beatty couldn’t quite catch it.

While she tilted her head in confusion, Carl suddenly seemed to make up his mind.

“Don’t worry.”

His abrupt declaration left Beatty with a puzzled look on her face.

“I’ll help you.”

It should have been a reassuring statement, one that conveyed her brother’s reliability.

“……?”

Yet, for some reason, a chill ran down Beatty’s spine.

Just enough to wake her up a little.

***

After Breakfast

Before she could even have her usual tea time, Beatty was summoned to the conference room, standing before a group of people.

I thought there were back-to-back meetings scheduled for today…?

Summoned much earlier than expected, Beatty tilted her head in confusion.

Of course, the reason for the early summons was none other than the Duke himself, who had decided to prioritize reviewing Beatty’s report over all other matters.

For once, his blatant favoritism had yielded positive results.

If the report was accurate, it was a matter urgent enough to overshadow any other discussions.

The vassals seated around the long table all had their eyes gleaming with curiosity, fixated on the rumored young lady.

“So.”

At the highest seat of honor, reserved only for the head of the household, the Duke finally spoke.

“You wrote all of this?”

Gulp.

Unable to help feeling slightly nervous, Beatty swallowed before answering.

“Yes!”

“Climate predictions, huh…”

“It’s not a prophecy, just a forecast.”

Beatty promptly corrected him, only for Count Zelot to interject.

“Then that means your prediction could be wrong, doesn’t it?”

No.

Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have been able to speak with such certainty.

But having already lived through this once before, Beatty could say with absolute confidence—

“These are recurring events documented in historical records.”

She pointed to the reliable sources she had prepared in advance.

The gathered officials, seeing the stack of historical texts, nodded in agreement.

“And we’ve also detected definitive signs.”

Flutter.

Beatty pulled out a crucial document she had worked tirelessly to find—evidence of an unmistakable omen from her previous life.

The bluebird soars high in the night sky
A forgotten breath of blue long lost
Freezing the heavens, drying the waters
Tall-growing grass withers and dies
A long, frigid flutter of wings
Taking lives as payment for oblivion

A poem from Gaston’s Strange and Useful Continental Travel Journal.

It was a warning about the forgotten disaster—the Little Ice Age.

Originally dismissed as nothing more than a passage in an adventurer’s travel book, this poem had gained prophetic significance in her past life after the great famine struck.

“Lady Beatty, it’s difficult to place blind faith in a mere adventure novel.”

Count Zelot’s voice was sharp, though he seemed oddly anxious.

Beatty tilted her head, then calmly opened another book beside her.

“That’s why we should also examine the kingdom’s official climate records.”

A blue star appearing in the night sky once every two hundred years.

Referred to as the “bluebird” in the poem, this celestial phenomenon was breathtakingly beautiful—but in reality, it heralded disaster.

“In Continental Year 20, 254, and 486, each time the blue star appeared, famine followed.”

The great famine she had previously mentioned wasn’t just a single calamity.

It was a disaster formed by a series of unfortunate events stacking upon one another.

The year the blue star was observed, temperatures dropped dramatically.

First, summer saw reduced rainfall, leading to poor grain yields.

Then, crops weakened under the early cold, succumbing to disease.

And finally, winter struck with an unparalleled freeze—the culmination of two hundred years of escalating climate patterns.

In such extreme conditions, only a few plant species could survive.

Even the ones that managed to grow became shriveled husks, falling prey to blight and pests.

“…That’s why there will be a severe food shortage, leading to a great famine.”

To prove her point, Beatty had gathered all the documents referenced in her past life.

Recalling the hardships she had endured just to track down those records in the vast library, she knew the effort had been worth it.

If we prepare now, we can prevent the duchy’s forces from being halved like before.

In her previous life, the duchy had suffered a devastating blow when the first retreat weakened its military might—only for the famine to strike soon after, dealing another crippling loss.

Determined, Beatty took a deep breath and declared:

“This will be an unprecedented food crisis.”

“Then you’re saying we should reinforce our winter preparations?”

“No.”

Beatty firmly shook her head.

“This famine won’t be a one-year disaster.”

“Hah…”

The certainty in her voice made the gathered officials inhale sharply.

At this point, she expected them to dismiss her words as an exaggeration.

But she was prepared for that.

“The coming cold will be unlike anything we’ve experienced before. Our preparations must be equally drastic.”

Flutter.

As she flipped through her carefully compiled report, her handwritten notes were revealed.

Though still in the slightly clumsy handwriting of a child, every line had been painstakingly reviewed and revised.

“The first priority is food storage. Other regions will also struggle with their food supply, so we need to stockpile enough to last several years.”

On this point, she was confident.

Rather than simply spending more money to purchase food, she had already secured an alternative food source.

“Food storage…”

“Haha. Until now, we’ve relied on imports, but it seems we may be able to sustain ourselves.”

Recognizing where this was going, the gathered officials turned to Beatty expectantly.

She nodded.

“Yes. We will utilize Tuberosum.”

“Just as I thought!”

“So far, we’ve only gathered wild Tuberosum, but if we start cultivating it, we can secure a stable supply.”

Having explained her plans for mass production, Beatty paused.

Now comes the real challenge.

What she was about to propose would likely face strong opposition.

This policy had only been implemented in her past life after several territories had already collapsed.

Swallowing nervously, Beatty spoke.

“And next… the establishment of public soup kitchens.”

The gathered officials looked confused, as if hearing the term for the first time.

“Soup kitchens…?”

“Are you suggesting we distribute food for free?”

A sharp voice cut in.

Count Zelot, still holding a grudge from the previous military rations incident, was not pleased with Beatty’s growing influence.

Furthermore, after seeing how she had miraculously solved that crisis with the unheard-of method of consuming Tuberosum, he had grown wary of what unexpected schemes she might propose next.

But upon hearing her latest suggestion—

How foolish. She’s just asking for a larger-scale charity project to feed beggars.

Realizing it was nothing more than a naive child’s wish to help the starving, he felt he had wasted his time being cautious.

“Lady Beatty, I understand your kindheartedness, but handing out unlimited charity will only make commoners lazier.”

Maintaining an indulgent tone, Count Zelot smirked inwardly.

Just a typical eight-year-old’s way of thinking.

If she were to burst into tears from his rebuke, that would be troublesome, so he planned to soothe her with some gentle words.

But as he turned to look at her—

What?!

There was no panic, no embarrassment.

Beatty’s expression was completely composed.

“You make a valid point.”

“…What?”

Not only that—she calmly agreed with him.

Caught off guard, Count Zelot faltered.

Beatty, still maintaining her unaffected demeanor, continued.@@novelbin@@

“Count Zelot, your concern is that food will be distributed indiscriminately with no returns, correct?”

“Ahem! Yes, exactly. No matter how generous the intent, some will simply take advantage of such charity.”

Finding his footing, Count Zelot smoothly continued his speech.

“If people abuse your kindness, wouldn’t that be a shame? I only speak such harsh words out of concern.”

“I see.”

Nodding in understanding, Beatty listened patiently.

In truth, she was merely following a strategy she had read in The Memoirs of a Merchant Lord.

Rule #1 of Persuasion: No matter what nonsense they say, agree first.
Then, when they drop their guard, strike.

With that in mind, Beatty’s eyes gleamed as she prepared to make her move.