Chapter Four: Can’t Even Make a Decent Dashi-Maki Tamago
As usual, I’m chowing down with Nikaido when an unexpected visitor barges into the classroom.
“Huh. Wonder what’s up,” Nikaido mutters, glancing toward the entrance where everyone’s buzzing. I look up, half-curious, and spot a gorgeous girl peeking through the door, scanning the room. It’s Natsukawa.
The second her eyes lock onto mine, her face lights up like a kid spotting candy. She barrels toward me with the energy of a hyperactive puppy. Lately, I can’t help but picture her with twitching dog ears and a wagging tail that won’t quit.
“Shi-ki-senpai~♡” she chirps, all bubbly and obnoxious.
“What’re you doing all the way up here?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“Came to see you, senpai! Geez, don’t be so cold!” Natsukawa pouts, faking a sulk as she folds her arms on my desk and crouches down like she owns the place.
Stop it. Don’t get comfy. Leave. Now.
The stares from everyone else are killing me.
“Man, I can practically see the heart emoji in her voice,” Nikaido snickers.
Oi, Nikaido. Don’t laugh like this is some sitcom you’re not starring in.
“Um, mind if I steal Shiki-senpai for a sec?” Natsukawa asks, all innocent.
“Go for it. He’s all yours,” Nikaido says, waving her off like he’s selling me out.
“…So, what’s up?” I sigh, knowing she won’t budge until I hear her out.
Natsukawa flashes a grin so bright it’s almost blinding. “Let’s go on an after-school date!”
“Nope,” I shoot back, deadpan.
“C’mon, senpai! President Miyase put us on shopping duty. It’s, like, official club business~” she teases, smirking like she’s got me cornered. As if you didn’t phrase it like that on purpose, you little gremlin.
“Shopping duty? You mean the weekend bulk-buy at the warehouse store, right? It’s Tuesday.”
“Yeah, but turns out we’re short on ingredients for tomorrow’s menu. President needs us to hit up the local supermarket, like, ASAP. Urgent mission!”
“Got it,” I say, leaning back.
“Normally, it’s a five-person job, but it’s just a small run this time, so it’s you and me. Besides, we’re the odd ones out in the club, right? Total outcasts!” she says, grinning like it’s a badge of honor.
“That’s so blunt it’s almost refreshing,” I mutter.
Oh, and here’s the kicker: pulling off this shopping run means we’re off the hook for the next few. No way I’m passing that up. The thought of traipsing to the warehouse store with anyone but Natsukawa or Suzu? Instant awkwardness overload.
“…So, today?” I ask.
“Yup! I’m free, but I wanted to check your schedule, senpai. It’s kinda last-minute, so I came straight to you~”
“Hm. Yeah, I’m probably good.”
“Sweet! I’ll wait by your shoe locker after school, ‘kay?” Natsukawa pops up, gives a tiny wave, and scampers off like a squirrel. I wave back lazily, then fire off a quick LINE to Sakuraba, rescheduling our cooking lesson. Her part-time shift makes it tight, but I can still walk her to and from work. I was this close to nailing a perfect omurice today, but President Miyase’s orders trump everything. No choice.
“Dude, for real?” Nikaido’s voice snaps me back. He’s staring at me, jaw practically on the floor, as I set my phone down and dig back into my katsu-don.
“For real what?” I ask, mouth half-full.
“You’re actually going?”
“Yeah? If we don’t get the ingredients, I’m screwed too.”
“No, no, no, no. You’re going alone with Natsukawa?”
“That’s the deal.”
It’s not like I’ve got a choice. We’re the outcasts, remember?
“It’s nothing weird. Just a club errand with a kouhai,” I say, shrugging.
“Dude, you’re insane! This is next-level bad!” Nikaido’s looking at me like I just set fire to common sense. He was all chill and smug a minute ago—what’s his deal now?
“Look, you’ve got a girlfriend, right?” he presses.
“Yup.”
“Then even if it’s just a club errand, don’t you think your girlfriend would hate the idea of you hitting up a supermarket alone with a cute kouhai like Natsukawa?!”
“…Would she?” I tilt my head.
“She would! And c’mon, Natsukawa’s obviously into you! It’s painfully clear!”
Nah, she’s just a clingy gremlin who got too used to people fawning over her and now latches onto anyone who gives her the cold shoulder. Sad, really. I must look pathetic, because Nikaido lowers his voice, all serious.
“You don’t get it, man. Natsukawa’s been the number-one heartthrob since middle school. A total untouchable. The piano squad’s gonna have your head soon.”
“Piano squad?” I blink.
“Yeah. Way back, Natsukawa said her type was guys who play piano. Now the band and light music clubs are overflowing with wannabe pianists. That’s the piano squad.”
“Whoa,” I say, half-impressed.
“Rumor has it one of their OBs went on to win a national piano contest.”
That’s wild. I kinda wanna meet that guy.
“Also, Natsukawa’s way too cozy with you. She even remembered me as ‘Shiki’s friend.’ Ran into her in the hall the other day, and she grilled me about your past. Didn’t have much to say since we only met in high school, but still…”
If she’s curious, she could just ask me directly. Unless she’s planning some prank or surprise. Wouldn’t put it past her. It’s Natsukawa.
“Just… don’t get cocky thinking you’re safe ‘cause your girlfriend’s long-distance. Karma’s gonna bite you in the ass!” Nikaido warns.
Even if he’s right, I can’t exactly skip out on club duties. I’ve gone shopping with Sakuraba tons of times—how’s this any different? If Nikaido knew about that, he’d probably lose it. Better keep my mouth shut.
“It’s not like I’m hiding anything shady. I just don’t mention it ‘cause I don’t wanna worry her. Yuna’s practical—she’d get it,” I say.
“Practical doesn’t mean squat when it comes to love! Feelings don’t care about logic!” Nikaido snaps, then groans. “Why the hell am I playing your girlfriend’s hype man?!”
“You’re too good a guy, that’s why,” I say, patting his back.
Nikaido shoots me a look like I’m a lost cause.
Sure, it might look bad to an outsider, but quitting the cooking club’s not an option. I’d be screwed without it. And cheating? Not even on the table. I love Yuna too much for that. Why would I mess with something that makes me happy?
I let out a heavy sigh and shovel the rest of my katsu-don into my mouth.
“Alright, let’s do this!” Natsukawa chirps, practically skipping as we meet at the shoe lockers. She’s swinging an empty eco-bag in each hand, looking way too excited for a grocery run.
“You hit up supermarkets much, senpai?” she asks.
“Like, four times a week,” I say.
“Pfft, for someone who trashes their own cooking, you’re putting in the effort. Good boy, good boy~” she teases, smirking.
“…Is that a compliment?”
“Duh. Nobody masters anything overnight. You’re killing it with the slow-and-steady grind, senpai.”
She flashes a soft smile and stretches up to pat my head, but I’m tall enough to make it a futile effort. I snort, and she pouts, stretching even harder.
“Hey! Don’t be a jerk, senpai! That’s so immature!”
She doubles down, tiptoeing like her life depends on it—and then—
“Eek!” she yelps, losing her balance and crashing into me.
A sweet, vanilla-like scent hits me, the kind only girls seem to have. Yuna smelled like soap last time she did this, I think, catching Natsukawa before she faceplants.
“Easy, easy,” I say, steadying her.
“Guh—hee hee. You smell nice, senpai. Deep down, you’re such a softie~” she giggles, clinging to me like a koala.
“You can stand on your own now. Let go,” I grumble, prying her off.
“Aww, no fun~” she whines, reluctantly peeling away with a dramatic huff.
Even then, she keeps yapping. “C’mon, senpai, you got to hug your cute kouhai by accident! Act a little happier!”
I give her my best “you’re trash” glare, and she just grins wider, her eyes practically sparkling. “Ugh, your total lack of a pulse is so satisfying…”
“You’re unhinged sometimes, you know that?” I mutter.
“Huh? Did you just call Aoi-chan adorable?” She strikes a cutesy pose, fists by her cheeks, blinking her big eyes like some anime mascot.
What am I gonna do with this girl?
“But, like, you’re way cuter, senpai~” she adds, smirking.
“Come again?”
“I mean, you so don’t seem like the type to put up with girls like me, but you’ve been stuck with me since forever. That’s, like, super sweet. Totally adorable~♡”
So she’s fully aware she’s pushing her luck and banking on me not ditching her. Figures.
“You’re way too self-aware,” I groan.
It’s annoying how fast she’s got me pegged, but she’s not wrong. I don’t cut ties easily—probably because I’ve had too many connections fizzle out from moving around. I’ve changed since back then, or so I thought, but maybe she’s seen through me from day one.
And, honestly? I don’t hate her personality. She’s kind of… easy to read, in a weird way. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
On impulse, I grab her soft cheeks with both hands. She freezes, eyes widening like she’s worried she went too far.
“Fweh, fenpai…?” she mumbles, voice muffled.
Payback’s in order. I squish her cheeks like dough, marveling at how stretchy they are. Her face looks like a squashed mascot now.
“You’re way cuter,” I say, smirking.
“…Fenpai, you’re so mean,” she whines, barely coherent.
“What’s that?”
“Gah! Stop it!” she squeaks, eyes tearing up.
Her teary-eyed pout is honestly adorable, so I let go. She rubs her cheeks, shooting me a mock-glare. We’re even.
“…Oh, right. What’s tomorrow’s menu?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Chuka-don. Looks like us veggie-chopping crew have our work cut out. President’s totally screwing us over, expecting our tiny team to handle as much as the five-person squads. It’s basically me solo!”
“Hey, count me as manpower too. I’m getting pretty good, you know,” I say.
“True. You’ve leveled up, senpai. Your knife skills are actually kinda fast now.”
“Right? Someone else complimented me the other day too.”
“Who?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Sakuraba Haru. She’s been teaching me to cook.”
Since both Sakuraba and Natsukawa are internal transfers, I figure they know each other. Big mistake. I forgot how messy cooking club dynamics can be. Sakuraba’s not the type to bully anyone, but what if there’s some bad blood?
Crap. I didn’t think this through.
I’m about to backpedal when Natsukawa’s eyes light up. “Wait, you know Haru-chan-senpai?! How?!”
“Uh, President Miyase said she’s a cooking pro, so I asked her for help. Now we meet up, like, twice a week? Something like that.”
“What?! Haru-chan-senpai never visits me!” she huffs, crossing her arms.
“You’re close with Sakuraba?” I ask, surprised.
“She was my oasis before you joined the club! We’re tight. Well, Haru-chan-senpai’s got a ton of friends, so I wasn’t, like, special or anything, but still!”
Phew. Dodged a bullet. For a second, I thought this shopping trip was about to get real awkward.
“Didn’t know you had friends like that,” I say.
“I told you I did!” she snaps. “Ugh, just because I’m kinda a loner at school and Haru-chan-senpai barely shows up to club doesn’t mean I’m lying!”
“Alright, my bad! I’m sorry!” I say, hands up.
In my head, I can see Nikaido chewing me out for my lack of tact. Wanted: Delicacy. Offering: The art of resetting relationships, courtesy of a childhood as a transfer kid.
“Anyway,” Natsukawa says, “since you’re buddies with Haru-chan-senpai, you’ve gotta give me extra attention to make up for it. Got it?”
“I’m already giving you plenty!” I protest.
We’re always together at club, and sometimes we even head home together. If that’s not enough, what is?
“But you never reply to my LINEs!” she whines.
“That’s ‘cause you keep sending me pointless selfies with ‘Look how cute I am today~♡’ captions!”
Sure, she’s cute in every single one, but what am I supposed to say? I stopped replying because it’s too much hassle. I do respond to her actual messages, though.
That reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to bring up. “Hey, I’ve got a girlfriend question.”
“Oooh, I’m all ears for this. Spill!” she says, leaning in.
“So, Yuna texts me ‘good morning’ every day. It’s not that I mind, but I never know what to say back. Like, is this even necessary?”
“Dude, if you tweeted that on SNS, you’d get canceled,” she laughs. “But I get it. If it’s just ‘good morning’ with no follow-up, it’s kinda pointless, right?”
“Exactly! What am I supposed to reply with?”
“Just say ‘good morning’ back. She probably just wants to hear from you, even if it’s boring.”
“Man, she must really like me, huh?” I say, half-joking.
“Ugh, spare me the lovey-dovey crap,” she groans, rolling her eyes. “Oh, we’re here! Wanna split an ice cream? Your treat, obviously~♡”
“No way. I’m only buying what President Miyase told us to.”
“Call it a consultation fee.”
“Fine, I’ll treat,” I sigh.
“Score!”
It’s a necessary expense. Whatever.
We push a cart through the supermarket, checking off everything on President Miyase’s list. No frozen stuff, so we plop down on a bench outside to eat our ice cream before heading back to school. Even though it’s just a small run, the club’s got over thirty members, so the bags are heavier than I expected. We can manage, but I’m beat.
“This ice cream’s amazing~” I say, savoring the cold bite.
“See? Told you it was worth it,” Natsukawa smirks, licking her soda-flavored popsicle with a grin.
It’s only June, but the sun’s got some bite today, making the treat taste even better.
“You’re scary efficient, Natsukawa,” I say. “First time doing a haul this big, and I’d have been lost without you.”
“Really?” she says, tilting her head.
“Totally. I’m clueless about where stuff is in new supermarkets.”
I take another bite, genuinely impressed, and she leans in close, all smug. “Pretty great, huh? Praise me more!”
“Fine, you’re awesome. Here, have a bite,” I say, tilting my vanilla ice cream toward her.
She freezes, eyes darting between the ice cream and my face, her expression oddly stiff.
I grabbed a little spoon at the register, thinking I could tease her about an indirect kiss—payback for all her flirting. But something’s off.
“…N-no thanks~,” she stammers. “If I try your vanilla, it’ll mess up my soda vibe, y’know?”
“Right, my bad,” I say, pulling back.
Even if we’re chill, I might’ve overstepped. The air’s a little awkward now, so I pivot to something Nikaido mentioned at lunch.
“So, I heard you’re into guys who play piano?”
Her face lights up instantly. “Wait, how’d you know?!”
“Word gets around.”
“Senpai, you’re so into me, aren’t you? Ehehe! You play piano, right~?”
“How do you know that?!” I shoot back.
Natsukawa just grins, all innocent and smug. Probably pried it out of Nikaido or someone, but where the hell’s my privacy gone?
Sure, I technically play piano, but only because my mom used to be a piano teacher and forced me into lessons as a kid. I tell Natsukawa I haven’t touched a keyboard in years, and she just pats my arm like I’m some sad puppy. “Don’t worry, senpai! I’d like you even if you couldn’t play a note! Besides, piano skills aren’t why I’d fall for someone anyway!”
I’m not even moping, geez.
“So that’s what you call a ‘type’?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Hmm, a type’s more like… a bonus, y’know? Like, optional flair. So, what’s your type, senpai? And no lovey-dovey girlfriend talk, please. Keep it neutral.”
“Uh, I guess… someone who’s killer at making hamburgers?”
“Nice. So, is your girlfriend a hamburger pro?”
“…Nah,” I admit.
“Exactly! It’s just something that makes your heart skip a beat, not the whole reason you fall for someone. Get it?”
“That how it works?”
“Yup, that’s how it works.”
She nods sagely, like she’s dropping some profound truth. Man, that’s brutal.
When I tell Nikaido about it the next day, he clutches his head and groans, “She’s not just a little devil—she’s a full-on demon!” I swear to myself to steer clear of the piano squad from now on.
“Hello?”
“…Sorry, I can’t talk long today.”
That’s the first thing Yuna says when I call her.
“No worries. You busy?” I ask.
“There’s a big mock exam tomorrow. It’s used for class placements at cram school, so I really wanna ace it…”
If that’s the case, she shouldn’t be wasting time on the phone with me. She sounds so guilty about it, I make sure to tell her it’s all good.
I wanted to talk about a bunch of stuff—like Nikaido chewing me out at lunch—but it can wait. Another time.
“You could’ve just skipped the call, y’know,” I say.
“…I just wanted to see your face, even for a bit. That’s okay, right?”
Before I can respond, she switches off her camera.
“Whoa, hold up—”
“It’s embarrassing! Don’t make me say stuff like that!”
“You knew I’d tease you,” I shoot back, grinning.
She grumbles something about me being clueless, and yeah, she’s probably right. Everyone’s been calling me out on my lack of tact today. Guess I owe her an apology.
“Yuna,” I say softly.
“…What?”
“Kick butt tomorrow. I’m cheering you on from afar, and I know you’ve got this.”
“…Okay.”
“I love you.”
I hang up before she can reply. She got to fluster me, so it’s only fair I get the last word.
Sure enough, a LINE pops up seconds later: “No hit-and-run confessions!” Too bad, Yuna. I can just imagine her blushing on the other side of the screen.
Smirking to myself, I head to the bath, feeling pretty damn good.
Living alone’s taught me a few things.
Veggies are pricier than you’d think. Fruit? Forget it, that’s a luxury. Grocery bags are heavier than they have any right to be. Making food you’re actually happy with is a pain in the ass.
And, most of all, cooking for one kinda sucks in the cost-benefit department.
“…You let food go bad again?” Sakuraba says, peering into my fridge with the dead-eyed stare of a Tibetan sand fox.
“C’mon, you try using up a whole pack of eggs solo. Eating eggs every day gets old fast.”
“You could make boiled eggs or something, y’know?”
“If I had that kinda foresight, I wouldn’t be wasting food in the first place.”
I tried boiling eggs once after Yuna suggested it over the phone. Total disaster—yolks hard as rocks, shells impossible to peel without mangling the whole thing. Took forever, too. Never again.
“I told you to buy smaller portions, even if they’re pricier,” Sakuraba sighs. “Throwing stuff out’s a waste, and that’s worse than spending a little extra.”
“Why don’t you just move in? Then it’s basically two of us, and we’d go through food faster,” I joke.
“I’m here almost every day before my shift as it is. Live with a cooking disaster like you full-time? Hard pass,” she teases, smirking.
“Ouch. Shot down.”
I’m half-kidding, but I’m so over living alone. I’m not saying I want someone to baby me like when I was a kid, but splitting chores with someone else? That’d be nice. The best-case scenario’s Yuna getting into a Tokyo university and us moving in together, but that’s two years away. Two years. Either I get used to this solo gig, or I lose my mind first.
I let out a heavy sigh, and Sakuraba gives me a look like she’s dealing with a sulky kid. She picks up a daikon and a carrot with a dramatic flourish.
“Alright, I’ll make your favorite tonjiru to cheer you up. So perk up already.”
“For real?! I’m, like, instantly cheered up.”
“Talk about simple,” she laughs.
But, c’mon, tonjiru’s a culinary genius. Veggies, meat, and miso—a fermented food trifecta. All that’s straight from Sakuraba’s lectures, but the real kicker? It’s freaking delicious.
“So, what’s on the lesson plan today, Teach?” I ask.
“Dashi-maki tamago. You said you liked mine last time, right?”
“I did… but can I just eat yours instead?”
“No slacking! You’re not gonna get anywhere if you don’t learn to make it yourself!”
She’s got a point. Thanks to her, I can whip up a halfway-decent omurice now—fifty-five points, according to Sakuraba’s brutal grading, but still. Being able to make something edible is a game-changer. If I can master dashi-maki tamago too, I’d be stoked.
I stand up, wash my hands, and tie on an apron. Sakuraba efficiently pulls out the ingredients and hands me a carrot.
“Let’s start with a review. Where do your hands go when you’re cutting veggies?”
“Like this,” I say, striking a pose.
“Nice try, but that’s wrong,” she says, giggling. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with a bandage instead of dinner.”
She steps behind me, grabbing my left hand firmly. “When you’re using a knife, your left hand goes like this.”
“I know, I know! Cat’s paw, right?”
“Correct. Look at you, actually remembering. Good job.”
She’s totally babying me now. Maybe it’s because she grew up in a single-parent home, but for an only child like me, Sakuraba’s got this uncanny knack for looking after people.
Still, she’s way too close right now. It’s hard not to notice.
We’re just friends, bound by a deal—her cooking lessons for my fake-boyfriend act. That’s why she’s so relaxed around me. But lately, she’s been a little too chill, don’t you think?
At school, Sakuraba’s known as this untouchable goddess who’s friendly with everyone but keeps them at arm’s length, or so Nikaido says. So why’s she so unguarded with me? It’s not fair.
If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I might’ve fallen for her. I sneak a glance at her profile, feeling a twinge of guilt. She’s totally my type, face-wise, but I can’t be thinking like that.
“What? Something confusing?” she asks, catching my stare.
“Nah, just… you’re scary efficient, as always.”
“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, but I’ll make your portion extra big as a treat.”
“Score!”
We lock eyes and laugh, diving back into meal prep.
I wonder if living with Yuna would feel like this. Probably not. Based on that one time she brought me some simmered dishes, Yuna’s even less domestic than I am. She’s such a pampered princess—she’d probably struggle more than me with this whole adulting thing.
A few dozen minutes later, our tiny table’s packed with nikujaga, tonjiru, and spinach ohitashi. Oh, and my slightly charred dashi-maki tamago, which is… there.
At some point, Sakuraba started making extra dishes to use up ingredients, leaving me with leftovers. Thanks to her, I’m eating like a king tomorrow too. Absolute lifesaver.
“Itadakimasu,” I say.
“Itadaki—wait, photo first!” Sakuraba interrupts.
I always snap pics of her cooking. Partly to send to Yuna, but mostly because it’s just that good. Gotta immortalize it.
“You don’t have to do that every time. It’s just normal food,” she says, waving it off.
“No way. I’m a fan. I’ve got a whole folder for these, and one’s my wallpaper.”
“Seriously?” she asks, eyes wide.
I show her my phone, and she laughs, her gaze a mix of pity and amusement. “Wow, that’s… something. Makes it kinda worth the effort, though. It’s fun for me too.”
“Glad to hear it. Alright, tonjiru time… holy crap, this is amazing.”
The miso flavor hits like a warm hug, sending shivers down my spine. I’m in bliss.
“You eat like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted,” Sakuraba says, smiling.
“Because it is. This might sound old-school, but whoever gets to eat your cooking every day is one lucky bastard. You’d make an awesome wife.”
“…You think?” she says, laughing shyly. “Doesn’t feel like I’ll be finding anyone anytime soon, though.”
Is she kidding? If she wanted, she’d have guys lined up in seconds. I slurp my tonjiru, secretly hoping she doesn’t get a boyfriend. If she did, our whole fake-dating deal would fall apart.
“Hey, random question,” I say. “You planning on getting a boyfriend anytime soon?”
“What’s with you all of a sudden?” she asks, tilting her head. “Nah, not for a while. Work’s keeping me too busy.”
“…Good to know.”
I worry I said something dumb, but she doesn’t respond, so I swallow my excuses along with a bite of nikujaga. My dashi-maki tamago’s bland and underwhelming, but Sakuraba eats it all, saying, “It’s got a simple charm. I like it.”
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