Baby Squirrel Is Good at Everything

"I originally planned to use matches, but..."

Since it was her first time handling fire, there was no way they would allow her to use such an unreliable tool. Instead, she was handed a magical item against her will, forcing her to play the role of a magician.

"This isn't magic, but I’ll show you something magical."

Taking a deep breath, Beatty put all her focus into the act, brandishing the staff as if she were a real magician.

Whoosh!

Like a passing gust, flames swept over the glasses.

"Whew."

Fortunately, they all lit up at once.

As the flames touched the sugar cubes, they slowly melted, dripping down into the liquid below.

"Keep your eyes on the glasses," Beatty instructed.

Following her words, the guests peered into their drinks—and their eyes widened in shock.

"W-What?"

"The color—?"

The liquid, which had been mossy green just moments ago, gradually changed, turning a brilliant shade of gold.

"Oh, it's glowing...!"

Soon, the drinks began emitting a soft, luminous shimmer.

"My goodness, it's beautiful."

"Such a perfect golden hue… It’s almost like the golden eyes of the beastkin!"

"Just as expected."

Their reactions were exactly what she had anticipated.

Every noble of Astrum harbored a deep admiration for beastkin, often regarded as the noblest of bloodlines.

This vague fondness extended to their features as well, particularly their golden eyes, which were highly favored in aristocratic circles.

Raising the now completely golden drink, Beatty spoke.

"This is potion tea, made from refined Wermut herbs that grow only in the snow-capped mountains."

'Well… technically, it's just heavily diluted concentrated potion.'

Concentrated potions were far too potent for human tongues to handle, so she had no reason to feel guilty about watering them down.

"Wermut grass only consumes snow to grow, which is why it loves sweetness. See how it brightens up when given something sweet?"

Later, scholars would discover that the reaction had more to do with the soil’s composition and temperature fluctuations. But that was an uninteresting detail she had no reason to remember.

"An explanation fit for an eight-year-old should be fine."

She had made up the reasoning on the spot, but it seemed convincing enough coming from a child’s mouth.

Judging by the warm expressions on the nobles' faces, it had worked.

"The young Lady of Aslan has certainly put in a lot of effort."

"Shall we give it a taste?"

Having already been captivated by the mesmerizing sight, many nobles approached to receive a cup of potion tea.

As she watched them gather in small groups, discussing the flavor, Beatty smirked to herself.

"Heh. Just as planned."

Showcasing an upcoming trend through a banquet and setting the stage for its popularity could be a way to gain fame.

"But fame isn’t really..."

It wasn’t as if she intended to be recognized as a legitimate member of the ducal family or live as a noble for the rest of her life.

For a neglected child like her, fame held little value.

What truly mattered was something else.

"Money! It’s all about money!"

No matter what—whether she joined a trading company or established her own—the more money, the better.@@novelbin@@

The entire reason she introduced Wermut potion tea at this banquet was to lay the groundwork for that goal.

"Hmm."

Count Muscat, who had been meticulously examining the decorations one by one, accepted a cup of potion tea.

Bringing it to his lips, he took a small sip and closed his eyes, as if savoring the taste.

The people around him whispered amongst themselves.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"Isn't he one of those notoriously picky central nobles?"

"Count Muscat? Oh, don’t even get me started. He calls himself a gourmet and a culture critic, but honestly, he's just a pretentious snob."

"There are plenty of banquet hosts who’ve been reduced to tears because of his critiques."

Unbothered by the hushed murmurs around him, Count Muscat continued to sip his drink in silence before suddenly opening his eyes wide.

"This taste!"

With an almost dazzling glint in his eyes, he began to speak with fervor.

"Magnificent! A delicate yet robust base flavor, layered with golden droplets that sparkle on the tongue. It feels like drinking the very essence of the Northern mountains!"

Tilting his glass, he kept showering the tea with praise.

The surrounding nobles stared in disbelief.

"Unbelievable… That finicky man is actually giving genuine praise?"

"Was even Count Muscat intimidated by the Aslan Duke…?"

"But honestly, this Wermut tea is quite good."

Watching people eagerly sip their drinks, Beatty nodded with satisfaction.

There might be some who hadn’t tasted it yet, but no one could stop at just one sip.

In the future, Wermut potion tea would become one of the most famous specialties of the North, as addictive and sought-after as coffee.

"And unlike coffee, it's actually good for your health."

Since its concentrated form was a medicinal potion, even its diluted version provided long-term benefits.

Most importantly, it was beautiful!

"This tea is divine—the flavor, the golden shimmer, even the process of making it! Everything is perfect!"

Beatty smirked at the noble’s passionate exclamation.

Filling the glass with emerald Wermut extract, placing an ornately carved spoon on top, and finally melting sugar over an open flame to create golden tea—it was the perfect aesthetic appeal for nobles who loved extravagance.

Tea time would soon be rebranded as Golden Hour, with Wermut tea becoming an aristocratic sensation.

"Now that they've experienced it firsthand, they'll crave it when they return home."

Imagining the future where the trend spread across the kingdom, Beatty grinned.

"Next time, I’ll charge them for it!"

The more Wermut tea became popular, the more funds she would secure for her independence.

If things went well, even her brother might agree to invest.

As she daydreamed about securing investment funds and crafting a business plan, her face was practically glowing with excitement.

Meanwhile, on a secluded terrace overlooking the banquet hall—

"It’s going well."

Watching Beatty’s bright, satisfied expression, Aether chuckled softly.

"Good for you, Little Star."

It was the only memory he had that shone with pure brightness.

"Little Star."

Since she always got annoyed when he called her "small," he kept that nickname to himself.

A genuine smile—not his usual fabricated lightheartedness—formed on his lips as he affectionately whispered the name.

"……."

But the moment his gaze shifted to a certain figure gripping a fan with trembling hands, his smile instantly vanished.

Pirina Siurus.

Beatty’s aunt, and the one assigned as her guardian in the capital during the war when the Aslan household was preoccupied.

"A kind relative who took in her young niece"? Hardly.

Aether vividly recalled how the woman spoke down to Beatty with blatant condescension.

More than that, there was something else bothering him.

That night—

When he visited Beatty again under the guise of "Atel," she had said something that wouldn’t leave his mind.

"Our first meeting? Oh, I was really surprised back then."

He had thought her wide, round eyes were cute.

"After all, I’d heard that Stars were gods from another world. And if you prayed really hard, they’d grant your wishes… So I prayed every night, but my wish never came true."

Her face fell into a dejected pout.

"That’s why I was so startled when Atel appeared. It was the first time a Star had come down to me."

Her bright, beaming smile made his chest tighten.

"And my wish? Um…"

She hesitated before whispering shyly.

"I wished for my dad… to not hate me."

The Duke of Aslan. He hadn't expected that.

He hadn’t even tried to figure out the full story—just flipped his stance in an instant the moment he heard Beatty’s words.

"Oh, and I also asked for a little money."

She had gone on to explain, with sparkling enthusiasm, how she planned to invest and grow the funds before donating a portion back as an offering.

But then, there was something else she had said—something he couldn't overlook.

"If I had money, I could buy warm soup and bread, and patch up my clothes."

The Lady of Aslan… worrying about tattered clothes?

Looking back, that was clearly strange.

"Back then, I just assumed she was a servant’s child."

When Aether first met Little Star, he had thought she was a live-in maid at some noble estate.

It was an obvious assumption to make—her clothes were worn and ragged, and the place where she stayed was a remote corner of the house, typically used as servants’ quarters.

Her reaction to the sweets and jeweled music boxes he had brought from the palace had also played a role in solidifying his belief.

She had marveled at them as if they were rare treasures, things she had never seen before.

Thinking she was just a low-born child, Aether had deliberately hidden his identity.

He didn’t want to see the clear, untainted gaze that met his own be replaced with fear upon learning that he was a royal—someone whose status was beyond the reach of commoners.

"Who would have thought she was the daughter of the Aslan Duke?"

He had assumed she was a mere commoner, but in reality, she was nobility—no, not just any noble, but the daughter of a Grand Duke.

That was something he had never even imagined.