Chapter Three
SECOND trimester came and went. With the interclass sports meet and cultural festival behind us, we were on the cusp of Christmas and ready for a well-deserved winter break.
It was amid that festive atmosphere that I found myself standing in a brightly lit, studio-like kitchen space, wrapped in an apron and surrounded by adults and teens of various ages. I saw college girls, working men and women, even a few high school students who’d come with their parents. Middle schoolers, though? None—except for me.
“Hello everyone and thank you for coming. My name is Takanori Endou, and I welcome you to Endou’s Cooking Salon’s special winter workshop!” announced the charismatic pastry chef, effortlessly commanding everyone’s attention. “Since it’s a special holiday session, we will of course be making a classic—no, the classic—Christmas dessert. That’s right: a yule log! Now, to start off…”
As he instructed us, I reflected on the twist of events that had brought me there. I wasn’t even the one supposed to attend the “Exclusive Winter-Themed Pastry Workshop” in the first place—my mother was. She’d been invited by her new best friend Ayako and had been thrilled at the idea of baking an extravagant Christmas cake for the family. Until my grandmother in Miyagi Prefecture took a nasty fall, breaking her wrist and derailing all of our plans.
To better care for her, we initially asked Grandma to spend the holidays with us, and she argued that because she had a dog, cat, and some goldfish in her care, she couldn’t leave Miyagi. She requested that we go to her instead, and my mother, with no other option as an only daughter, left immediately. The rest of us would depart once the school break began and return after New Year’s. As a small consolation, Mom assured us that she would insist that Grandma install handholds around her house, especially near the entrance and in the bathroom, so a similar incident wouldn’t happen again.
Given everything that was going on, Mom decided to forgo the workshop, yet Ayako managed to convince her to send me in her stead. “There’s no age limit, really. I mean, I wouldn’t send a grade schooler, but Haruka should do just fine. She can already bake, and besides, I’ll be there,” she’d said. She’d also pointed out that opportunities to learn from a professional were hard to come by and that we’d be relinquishing a spot for a workshop that had a waitlist in the double digits.
So there I was—alone and supremely uncomfortable as the only middle schooler in the mix. If Ayako hadn’t been shooting me reassuring glances from time to time between her assistant duties, I might’ve fled. Rallying against my anxiety, I studied my surroundings. Everyone was focused on the instructor; nobody was paying attention to me and my solo presence. I breathed a small sigh of relief, mentally shaking off my nerves.
“…okay, and if there are no questions, then let’s get to it!”
Upon his closing remark, the classroom erupted into a frenzy of activity. I shared my table with two women around my mother’s age and a college-age girl, a party of four in total.
“P-Pleasure to be working with you all,” I mumbled.
“Oh my, you came by yourself? How admirable!” the college girl said.
“I wish I had a daughter… All I have are boys,” one of the mothers said.
“Same here!” the other agreed.
Instantly connecting, the two women bonded while the other girl gazed longingly at Chef Endou. I swiftly started to crack eggs. All right, I’m going to do a good job today, I told myself. We could take home whatever we made during the workshop, and the cake was to be the centerpiece of our slightly earlier-than-normal Christmas celebration. Such a chance didn’t occur often, so I wanted to bake something truly special.
The process to create the log-shaped dessert was essentially two steps: make a Swiss roll, then decorate it with chocolate cream. With premeasured ingredients, professional equipment, and meticulous guidance from the chef—he even explained what to look out for when whipping cream—success seemed almost guaranteed, barring any catastrophic mistakes.
My work progressed swimmingly, and soon I was pulling my freshly baked sponge cake, the base for the Swiss roll, from the oven. It looked perfect—moist, smooth, and uniform in color. I inhaled its sweet aroma and was about to praise myself for a job well done before remembering my triumph was thanks only to the high-quality equipment—whoops, almost got ahead of myself there. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but admire its appearance as I submerged the chocolate for the frosting into a warm water bath.
“Very well done,” a male voice commended from beside me.
I turned to see Mr. Dreamboat Pâtissier himself. “T-Thank you!” I stammered. Oh my gosh, that startled me. So enamored by my cake, I hadn’t noticed his approach.
After inspecting my efforts, he flashed a broad smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t scare you, did I?”
Wow, pictures and videos really don’t do him justice. Complemented by roguishly handsome features and neat dark-brown hair, his charm was even more striking in person. I was momentarily lost in appreciation as he peered into the bowl I was using. “That looks about done as well. The chocolate just needs to melt; it doesn’t need to heat up too much. And remember to grab your cream and everything else from the staff members.”
“R-Right.”
He’d hunched to my eye level to talk to me. With his hands on his knees, he resembled a parent speaking to a small child. His face was also kind of extremely close to mine—like, able-to-count-his-every-eyelash close. Uh-oh. Why is he so close? Why so smiley?
“Excuse me, Chef? Does this look right to you?” interrupted a female voice.
“Sure, one second.” He directed another dazzling smile at me. “Keep up the good work, Haruka.”
“Y-Yes, sure…” I choked out as he moved to assist the woman who’d called for him.