Side: Sakuraba Haru – “A Stirring Appetite”
Midoriya-kun would probably be shocked to hear me say that, but I bet a lot of people who cook regularly feel the same way. Unless you’re some culinary fanatic, you already know how it’s gonna taste before you even take a bite.
I shove a forkful of stir-fried meat and veggies into my mouth—some nameless dish thrown together from whatever was in the fridge. I eat to stay alive, not because I’m starving or anything.
For the past six months or so, I haven’t been hungry. Food’s just… flavorless.
“…Is this even good?” I mutter, poking at the plate.
Even if you’re a pro in the kitchen, you don’t whip up gourmet meals every day. Especially not when you’re cooking for one.
I stare at the thousand-yen bill Mom left on the table, chewing mechanically, tasting nothing but texture.
I started cooking to make Mom happy. She’d call my food delicious, and no matter how long it took to prepare, it felt worth it. But about a year ago, she switched to a job with night shifts. I get that she’s busy, but it’s lonely. Without her saying it’s delicious, I can’t even tell if what I’m eating is any good.
“It’s supposed to be tasty, right?” I whisper, as if to convince myself, and keep picking at my food.
Because Midoriya-kun sure seemed to think so. He was scarfing it down like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
The thought of him makes me smile, unbidden. How does he eat with such gusto? That kind of enthusiasm makes me want to cook him anything he wants.
“Gochisousama,” I say to no one, hands clasped. I clear my plate and start washing dishes in the sink. This hollow ritual of a meal feels empty.
My mood’s dipping, so I try to focus on something to look forward to. Tomorrow’s a work day. It’s a drag, but at least I’ll see Midoriya-kun.
“Order twelve, up! Can you take it?”
Working the kitchen at the family restaurant is no joke. The weekday evening rush, when everyone’s heading home, is a straight-up battlefield.
Midoriya-kun would probably keel over if he worked here.
Even with training, he’d be hopeless. The guy burns tamagoyaki even with me coaching him step-by-step.
I stifle a giggle at the thought.
Being around Midoriya-kun is easy. He knows my secret—my job, against school rules—and I don’t have to put on an act with him.
Plus, food actually tastes like something when we eat together. The texture comes alive with flavor, and I can enjoy it.
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind eating with him every day. But lately, he’s been replying less, canceling plans last-minute for “unavoidable commitments.” I’m not lonely or anything, but it bugs me. Why’s he pulling away?
“…Says the guy who doesn’t have anyone else to lean on,” I mutter.
Chop. Chop-chop. I dice an onion with more force than necessary, shoving the pieces to the side of the cutting board.
From what I’ve seen, he doesn’t have many friends. At school, he’s either with that one guy or reading alone. If he had a big social circle, he wouldn’t have come to a stranger like me begging for cooking lessons.
I figured there’d be at least some gossip about us—maybe people thinking I’m cooking for him or something—but nothing. Is it because he’s got no friends to spread rumors? Or is he just… a decent guy?
Probably both. I don’t fully trust him yet, but he doesn’t seem like the type to blab. If anything, I’m the one who got caught staring at him in the hallway, and a friend asked if we were close. I brushed it off, then casually asked what they thought of him. “He’s an exam student, so I don’t know him well,” they said. “Kinda mysterious, though. Pretty cool, right?” I didn’t know how to respond.
Mysterious? The way he chows down on my food, grinning like a kid, is anything but. It’s straightforward, almost childish.
Passing him in the hallway makes my heart race.
I sneak glances, but we’ve never locked eyes. It’s not like he’s avoiding me, but he never looks my way. Yet at his place, he stares at me with those bright, eager eyes, and it throws me off.
“Not that I mind,” I murmur.
“Haru-chan, you say something?” Enoshima-san, the manager, calls out.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply, flashing a quick smile.
“Good,” he says, then slinks over and slides an arm around my back, stroking it. A shiver crawls up my spine.
“Hey, got a sec? Wanna talk about next week’s schedule. Come with me.”
“…Can’t we talk here?” I ask, voice tight.
“Nah, it’s private. Just between us.”
This is bad. Really bad.
But he’s my boss. There’s no escaping.
He leads me to the backroom, where inventory’s stacked. He gestures to a couple of flimsy chairs, insisting we sit side by side. The second we do, he leans in.
“Haru-chan, you’ve been avoiding me lately, haven’t you?”
“No, I—”
“You have. We used to grab food together all the time before you got that boyfriend. Did he say something?”
As if I’d want to hang out with you even if I were single. I bite back the words. Why does he act like it’s a given that I’d want to?
“…Sorry,” I mumble instead.
“It’s cool, it’s cool! Let’s grab drinks sometime, on the down-low.”
“I’m underage,” I point out.
“I know a place that doesn't have a card. Don’t you wanna try drinking? When’re you free?”
This guy’s not listening.
I force a strained smile, my legs trembling. My face feels stiff, my body frozen.
“I’ve been pretty busy lately…”
I hate myself for not quitting. If I’d been born into a richer family, would I have to deal with this? Am I a bad daughter for even thinking that?
I pull out my phone and open LINE, pretending to check my schedule. I can’t take too long, or he’ll get suspicious. My fingers fly across the screen, sending Midoriya-kun a quick message: “Call me.”
It’s a late shift today—three hours until I’m off. Asking him to come now is a stretch, but if he calls, I might be able to slip away.
“Sorry, my schedule’s pretty packed,” I say.
“What about after your shift today?”
“My boyfriend’s picking me up.”
“Oh… right,” he says, smirking like he knew that already.
His hand brushes my thigh—definitely not an accident. My skin crawls.
“He’s tall, sure, but kinda bland, don’t you think? You could do better, Haru-chan.”
“…”
“You should think it over—”
“That’s none of your business,” I snap, cutting him off. “I like him.”
The words spill out before I can stop them.
I like Midoriya-kun? Me?
“I-I mean—”
Enoshima-san’s face twists, and I’m scrambling to backtrack when my phone buzzes. Brrring! The ringtone’s relentless.
I glance at him, frozen, but he sighs and says, “Pick it up.”
Grateful, I hit accept, and a loud voice blares through, even without speakerphone.
“It’s an emergency!” It’s Midoriya-kun, his low voice steady and reassuring.
“Emergency?” I ask, heart pounding.
“Your little sister collapsed at school! They need you to come get her, ASAP!”
“What?!”
“I’m heading there now, so get off work and meet me!”
His voice is loud enough for Enoshima-san to hear. I glance at him, and he yanks his hand off my thigh, stammering, “W-Well, if it’s an emergency, no choice, right?”
I bolt out of the room, change in a flash, and slip out the back exit.
“Midoriya-kun!” I cry, spotting him. Tears prick my eyes, and I throw my arms around him without thinking.
His black tracksuit smells like a mix of cheap fabric softener and indoor drying—hardly a good scent, but it calms me. I breathe it in deeply, not wanting to let go.
He hesitates but doesn’t push me away, his warmth grounding me.
“…You okay? Did I get it right?” he asks, voice soft.
“Perfect. Hundred points,” I murmur.
“Good. You scared me with that ‘call me’ text. Thought it was some crisis.”
His quick thinking saved me.
I don’t have a sister, but Enoshima-san doesn’t know that, and he bought it hook, line, and sinker.
“…Sorry for the sudden text. Thank you,” I say.
“No big deal. My place is close, and I’m doing this for the food, right?” he teases.
His easygoing attitude pulls me out of my spiral.
I want him to keep smiling like that, clueless and carefree.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he says, patting the back of his bike.
“…We’ll get caught,” I warn.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Emergency, remember?”
I make a face, and he laughs brightly, unfazed.
Normally, I’d never, but… just this once.
I climb onto the back of his bike, gripping the sleeve of his worn-out tracksuit tightly.
“Thank you. Really,” I say again.
“No prob. Payment in hamburgers, please.”
“Deal. I’ll make some next time.”
“Sweet! Maybe those simmered ones?”
“Of course. I’d make hamburgers for you anytime. Or, y’know, something else if you want.”
“Hamburgers are the peak of luxury… Oh, wait! Could you help me study? I’ve got a test next week, and I’m screwed.”
I laugh. “Sure, I’ll tutor you.”
He starts pedaling, humming cheerfully. The familiar streets to his apartment pass by at a leisurely pace—he’s going slow, probably so I don’t fall off.
“I like him.”
The words I blurted to Enoshima-san echo in my head.
As a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Kindness alone doesn’t make me fall for someone.
Midoriya-kun’s sweet, and he eats my food like it’s heaven, and his smile’s kinda cute, but he’s not my type. My type’s someone with their life together—smart, mature, dependable. Not that I’ve ever been in love, so it’s all just a fantasy.
Can you even fall for someone who’s not your type?
“…You’re not my type at all, Midoriya-kun,” I mumble.
“Hah, I know,” he replies, laughing.
I slap a hand over my mouth. I didn’t mean to say that out loud, and of course he heard me.
Right. He’s not my type. We’re just partners in this deal, so saying stuff like that shouldn’t make things weird. If anything, it’s convenient.
Part of why I agreed to help him was because he didn’t seem like he’d fall for me. His fridge was so pathetically empty, it made him seem… trustworthy.
But hearing him say “I know” stings a little.
I need to fix this. But backtracking now would be weirder—like I’m saying he is my type.
I have to say something.
My words stick, and instead, I tug at his sleeve.
“Whoa, what’s up?” he asks, stopping the bike and turning to look at me.
His eyelashes are surprisingly long, I notice, and I let go of his sleeve in a panic.
“…Sorry. It’s nothing,” I mumble.
“What’s that?” he says, grinning, and starts pedaling again.
That’s all it takes to make me happy.
What’s wrong with me? Is my heart broken or something?
Even now, the relief from when he came to rescue me hasn’t faded. When I saw him at the back exit, I couldn’t help but wish, just for a moment, that he was my real boyfriend. I usually think piercings are tacky, but on him, they’re kinda cool.
I should swing by the cooking club soon. I want to see how Midoriya-kun’s doing there. Is he struggling? If he is, I want to help.
The bike rattles along, the breeze brushing my cheeks.
When his apartment comes into view, a wave of relief washes over me, my eyes prickling with tears. Suddenly, I want to get even better at cooking—to make food that’s even more delicious.
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