Ahcehera left the ingredients in the palace kitchen with a satisfied smile.
The sight of mountains of purple roots and coconuts filled her with excitement. For the first time since arriving in this world, she had discovered something that reminded her of home.
Not technology, military simulations, or interstellar politics, but food.
Simple ingredients that most people dismissed as animal feed. The thought made her laugh softly as she walked through the palace corridors.
I wonder what other treasures are hidden throughout the galaxy.
The more she explored the Sirius Kingdom, the more she realized how little she truly knew. Countless planets existed beyond the capital world. Each possessed unique climates, ecosystems, and species that had evolved differently over thousands of years.
Somewhere out there, there might be vegetables that resemble potatoes. Perhaps fruits similar to strawberries. Maybe even spices that could rival those from Earth. The possibilities felt endless.
By the time she reached her bedroom, her mood had improved considerably. After a warm bath, she changed into comfortable nightwear and settled onto the edge of her bed. Her thoughts drifted toward another project. The clothing designs.
Several days ago, she had secretly sent sketches to her aunt's fashion business. The original Ahcehera favored elaborate royal dresses decorated with jewels, embroidery, and layers upon layers of heavy fabric.
They looked beautiful. They also felt like portable torture devices. Every time she wore one, she felt as though she was carrying an entire blanket collection on her shoulders.
Fortunately, her aunt had informed her earlier that the first batch of redesigned outfits would arrive tomorrow. Ahcehera practically glowed with happiness.
"Finally."
She collapsed backward onto the mattress.
"I can stop dressing like a decorative curtain."
The thought alone made her smile.
Before long, exhaustion overtook her. Her eyelids became heavy. The soft mattress embraced her body. Within minutes, she drifted into a deep sleep.
Sometime during the night, she vaguely felt something warm brush against her side. Half-asleep, Ahcehera merely shifted beneath the blankets.
The warmth followed. It settled beside her, comfortable and safe. For some reason, the sensation reminded her of hugging a stuffed toy during childhood. Too tired to investigate, she returned to sleep.
Morning arrived.
Golden sunlight streamed through the bedroom windows.
Ahcehera stretched lazily beneath the blankets. For a brief moment, she forgot she was a transmigrator, a princess, living inside an interstellar empire.
Then she felt something furry beside her.
Her body froze.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
She turned her head.
A juvenile wolf slept peacefully beside her. Its dark fur rose and fell with each gentle breath. Its tail curled around its body. One tiny paw rested on her blanket. The creature looked completely content, as though it belonged there.
Ahcehera stared. The wolf continued sleeping and remained adorable. Her heart immediately surrendered.
"It's so cute."
The words escaped before she could stop them. The little wolf twitched an ear. Then continued sleeping. Ahcehera carefully sat upright.
How did it even get here?
The medical wing was located several floors away. No ordinary animal should have been capable of escaping unnoticed. Yet somehow, the wolf had crossed half the palace and ended up sleeping in her bed.
As she studied the creature, memories from the novel surfaced. Werewolves.
One of the rarest bloodlines in the Andromeda Galaxy. Many had disappeared centuries ago. Some were hunted. Others had been forced into political marriages because of their unique abilities. Eventually, only a handful of bloodlines remained.
The most famous belonged to the Mors Family, guardians of the Northern Territory and protectors of the Sirius border. A military family feared throughout neighboring kingdoms. Their current star was Major General Richmond Mors.
A legendary officer. A military genius. And one of the male leads in the original novel.
According to countless descriptions, his transformed fur resembled pristine snow.
White, beautiful, and majestic.
The tiny wolf beside her looked nothing like that. Its fur was black as midnight. Its ears were smaller. Its body looked far too fragile.
Surely it couldn't be related. Right?
Ahcehera gently reached forward. Her fingers brushed through the soft fur. The wolf immediately leaned closer.
A smile appeared on her face. "I hope you're just a normal animal."
Complications were the last thing she needed. If the wolf turned out to belong to some important family, she could already imagine the headache.
Political investigations, formal meetings, and explanations.
Absolutely exhausting. A normal pet sounded much better.
After breakfast, Ahcehera returned to the kitchen. Today was important. She was going to make dessert.
The moment she entered, every chef immediately abandoned their tasks. Apparently, her previous cooking session had become legendary overnight.
The head chef approached nervously. "Princess, what masterpiece shall we create today?"
Ahcehera almost laughed.
Masterpiece? Yesterday, had been braised pork. Not interstellar magic.
Still, she appreciated the enthusiasm. "Today we're making cake."
The staff exchanged confused glances. "Cake?"
A few nodded uncertainly. Others appeared completely unfamiliar with the concept.
Ahcehera suddenly remembered.
This galaxy lacked many traditional Earth desserts. Most sweets came in the form of nutrient bars, flavored supplements, or synthetic treats. A true homemade cake was practically unheard of. Perhaps this would be even more successful than she expected.
The first step involved preparing the ube. The vibrant purple roots fascinated her. After cleaning them thoroughly, she steamed and mashed them into a smooth paste. The aroma immediately filled the kitchen.
Several chefs leaned closer. Their curiosity became impossible to hide. Next came the real challenge.
Sugar.
Or rather, the lack of sugar.
Fortunately, Ahcehera had spent most of the previous evening researching available alternatives. After numerous experiments, she discovered that mature coconuts contained enough natural sweetness to extract glucose-rich syrup.
The process took time.
A lot of time.
Several kitchen robots assisted with grinding, filtering, and refining the liquid. Eventually, a thick syrup emerged.
The chefs looked amazed. "Princess, you created a sweetener from animal feed?"
Ahcehera resisted the urge to laugh.
Technically, yes.
The irony remained beautiful. Using her homemade syrup, she transformed the mashed ube into a rich purple jam. The color alone captivated everyone.
One young assistant stared at it in awe.
"It looks like a gemstone."
"It tastes much better than one."
The assistant immediately nodded.
Hours passed.
The kitchen became increasingly busy. Batter was mixed. Ingredients were measured. Experimental substitutions replaced missing Earth components.
Several attempts failed. One cake collapsed. Another became too dense. A third emerged looking suspiciously like a weapon.
The chefs wisely pretended not to notice.
Eventually, success arrived.
A golden sponge cake rested on the cooling rack.
Ahcehera carefully sliced it into layers. Then she spread the vibrant purple jam between them. The contrast looked stunning. Even before the decorations were added, the dessert appeared luxurious.
Creating frosting proved significantly harder. Yet after several attempts, she succeeded. The final result resembled a work of art.
Elegant purple swirls. Delicate coconut decorations. Beautiful patterns inspired by stars and flowers. The entire kitchen fell silent.
One chef whispered, "It's too beautiful to eat."
Several others nodded.
Ahcehera crossed her arms. "I made it specifically to eat."
Nobody moved. Apparently, destroying beautiful desserts was emotionally difficult.
Eventually, Ahcehera cut the first slice herself.
Problem solved.
The reaction was immediate.
Eyes widened.
Expressions froze.
Several chefs looked moments away from tears.
"Princess..."
One chef swallowed.
"This is incredible."
Another nodded vigorously.
"I've never tasted anything like this."
"The sweetness isn't overwhelming."
"The texture is perfect."
"The aroma is amazing."
Soon, everyone wanted another slice.
Then another.
And another.
Ahcehera watched with satisfaction.
At that moment, one of the kitchen technicians rushed forward carrying a scanner.
"Princess!"
"What is it?"
"The toxicity report."
The room immediately became quiet. Everyone waited for the results.
The technician stared at the results. Then blinked. Then checked again.
His voice trembled. "Zero."
"What?"
"Zero radiation contamination."
Absolute silence.
The chefs looked shocked. Many ingredients throughout the galaxy carried low levels of environmental radiation. It was considered normal. Yet somehow the ingredients Ahcehera had selected contained virtually none. The implications were enormous.
Her smile slowly faded. A new possibility entered her mind.
What if this wasn't just about desserts?
What if it could change the food industry entirely?
Nutrient solutions dominated the market. Radiation suppressants generated massive profits. Safe, natural food remained expensive and rare. But if ingredients classified as animal feed possessed lower toxicity...
Then everything could change.
A food business, agricultural reform, and affordable healthy meals. The possibilities multiplied rapidly. Ahcehera saw an opportunity far greater than simple cooking.
This could become an empire.
A delicious empire.
The thought made her grin.
"Emil."
The robot immediately appeared.
"Yes, Princess?"
"Prepare gift boxes."
She carefully packaged slices of the cake.
"If this is going to become a business someday, I need professional taste testers."
Emil tilted his head.
"And who would those be?"
Ahcehera smiled.
"My family."
Considering she had two living grandparents, a king, a queen, seven brothers, numerous uncles, and numerous aunts...
The royal family alone could practically consume an entire bakery.
"Start with my parents," she instructed.
"The king and queen deserve the first taste."
Unbeknownst to her, that simple decision would trigger a chain of events far beyond a dessert's humble beginnings.