Over the next few weeks, THE GRAND OPENING OF CHUBBY KETCHUP, the once empty barn behind the mansion transformed into something glorious — sacks of tomatoes stacked like treasure, herbs hanging from beams like medieval chandeliers, iron pots lined in rows like soldiers, and tables filled with my scribbled recipes that no one except me could understand.
Above the entrance, painted in bold red letters:
WELCOME TO CHUBBY FACTORY — WHERE FAT IDEAS BECOME HISTORY
Some servants clapped.
Others stared like I had just invented witchcraft 2.0.
Inside, the packaging table was my pride. The first official product label read:
CHUBBY KETCHUP "Thick, rich, satisfying — like me."
Coffi nearly died laughing. The elderly cook covered her mouth in horror.
I winked. Brand personality: established.
To launch our brand, there were FREE SAMPLES and a MARKETING idea LIKE A QUEEN. I gathered the townspeople in the marketplace and handed out tiny wooden spoons attached to small clay jars with free hamburgers like that Coffi told me was common among the townsfolk. "No payment," I announced from atop a crate. "Not yet. I want your taste buds, not your coins."
A child tasted it first. His eyes widened. "It's like… sweet tomato magic!"
A man with a beard thicker than destiny slapped his thigh. "This tastes better than the King's banquet!"
An elderly woman whispered, "If witches made ketchup… this is it."
Perfect.
Then I added our slogan banner:
"CHUBBY KETCHUP — WHEN FOOD IS TOO BORING TO LIVE."
Free marketing plus comedy equals guaranteed addiction.
Within two more weeks, we ran out of jars twice. Villagers began hoarding like my ketchup was liquid gold capable of curing loneliness and raising social status.
Even noble wives attempted to bribe servants, offering pearls in exchange for my secret batch.
That's when he arrived. A merchant from the capital —
Tall, skinny like someone who'd never seen a second breakfast, wearing a brown velvet coat, dusty boots, and a feathered hat that screamed "I pretend to be rich but live on debt."
He bowed dramatically. "I am Merchant Lionel Tristwell the Third," he declared.
"Why the third?" I asked.
"My father and grandfather both died from poor investments…" he said solemnly.
I stared.
He stared.
Coffi whispered, "Milady… run."
But Lionel continued: "Your ketchup —was perfect, the people fight for it like soldiers for glory. I wish to be your exclusive distributor in the capital. In return, I offer thirty gold upfront, and twenty percent share of all sales."
My father, who just so happened to be nearby leaning on a railing like he owned gravity, raised his eyebrow at me. "That's… bold for someone with bankruptcy in the family."
Lionel adjusted his hat. "I may not come from profit… but I come from experience."
I folded my arms. "Fine. But you follow my rules. Lesson one: Branding is king. Lesson two: Advertisements must slap the soul. Lesson three: Free tasting is a weapon."
His quill shook with excitement.
I taught him my marketing commandments:
1️⃣ Display my ketchup near expensive items to make it look luxurious.
2️⃣ Hire attractive people to give free tasters — thirst sells.
3️⃣ Tell nobles it's imported but don't say from where — mystery equals value.
4️⃣ Always exaggerate the benefits — without lying too much.
Lionel repeated like he was reciting sacred texts, "Yes, Lady Seraphine… mystery equals value."
Then I handed him the final product template: CHUBBY KETCHUP — "Better than royal gravy."
He gasped dramatically. "I will make this legendary!"
I handed him a sealed crate and whispered the final warning: "If you betray me, Lionel, remember… even I don't know the limits of my magic."
He nodded so hard his hat fell.
The day Lionel left for the capital, the whole town gathered to watch his carriage loaded with branded crates: CHUBBY KETCHUP — "Spread happiness, not gossip."
Coffi waved.
Children danced.
My father smirked in pride.
Chubby the demon peeked out my pouch like a salted raisin.
And I stood there, fat, wheezing slightly, hair frizzy, but absolutely victorious. Because I, Lady Seraphine, have launched the first condiment empire in medieval history — and nobody is ready.