Asahi and Fuyuka were served a magnificent eight course meal: amuse-bouche, hors d'oeuvre, soup, fish, sorbet, entrée, dessert, and—finally—a small cup of coffee with petits fours on the side. Each and every dish had been nothing short of a true masterpiece and left nothing to be desired.
“That was incredibly delicious.”
“You said it. I don’t think I have the vocabulary to even begin to describe it.”
Asahi and Fuyuka continued to marvel over the great food long after they had left the restaurant. It was all they could talk about as they strolled the neon-infested city, as they rode the train back home, and as they walked back to their apartments.
“Can you cook like that too, Asahi?”
“Not even in my wildest dreams,” Asahi quickly said.
“That was a prompt reply...”
“I’m like a fledgling that’s just started learning to fly in the eyes of the pros. Comparing me to them is just plain ludicrous at this point.”
Although they might not have looked or acted the part, Kazuaki and Toko were elite chefs in their own right. Asahi might have been able to make something that looked similar to their dishes, but it would be tantamount to a cheap imitation of the original. There was no way his dishes could even hope to be as complex as theirs.
“If you believe it’s impossible with your skills, then it surely must be a pipe dream for me,” Fuyuka concluded.
“Was there something on the menu that you wanted to recreate?” Asahi asked.
“N-Not particularly...”
“It’s the tourin soup, isn’t it?”
“H-How did you know?”
“It’s written all over your face.”
It seemed that Asahi had hit the jackpot based on the amazed look on her face. She appeared to have taken his comment literally, however, as she quickly covered it with her hands. Seeing her innocent attempts at warding off any inquiring looks was nothing short of adorable, and it left Asahi feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
“What are you smiling about, Asahi?!” she asked as she glared at him from between her fingers.
“Ahem. Anyways, you sure do love eggs with your food, huh?” he said in an attempt to change the subject.
“Indeed, I do.”
“Is there a reason behind that?”
“A... reason?”
“Yeah. You never thought about why you like it so much?”
When asked about one’s favorite dish, just about anyone could easily answer the question. Generally, at least one prominent dish would come to mind. Explaining why they liked it, however, was an entirely different issue. It was one that most struggled to answer, surprisingly enough. People were born with certain preferences, and most tastes would be established and firmly rooted by childhood. In other words, Fuyuka liked it because—
“It was my mother's speciality. She used to make it fairly often for me when I was still a child. I’ve loved the taste of eggs ever since,” she muttered after a brief pause.
Asahi nodded in response. It was the same for him, as well—most of his favorite dishes could be traced back to what his parents had made for him growing up. He’d even felt a tinge of nostalgia when he enjoyed the exquisite food they had prepared for him today.
“The soup they make at Soleil Levant reminds me of my mother’s cooking. That’s why I would love to learn to cook it someday, but... that would likely be rather difficult, unfortunately,” she said, her face slackening into a weak smile. Asahi figured that she must be reminiscing over her childhood days spent enjoying her mother’s cooking. It was a gentle, delicate smile, yet Asahi noticed a modicum of grief and sorrow looming deep within.
Her mother used to make it for her when she was a kid, huh? Asahi thought to himself. A certain theory—one that he had been inadvertently avoiding so far—started to take form within his mind. Upon this moment of realization, a timely northern gust of wind swept by, as if to confirm his suspicions. Fuyuka’s smile would sometimes conceal sadness underneath, and it was only exclusive to when she talked about her past and her family.
“Something the matter, Asahi?” she asked.
“Hm? No, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he replied after snapping out of his ruminations. Fuyuka was looking at him with concerned eyes. He collected his composure, calmed his wavering heart, and continued, “I know I was just saying that it’s impossible to make a soup anywhere near as good as my parents’... but we can still give it a shot.”
That particular tourin soup had a massive significance on Asahi’s life, as well—not only was it the first dish that Asahi’s parents had ever made together, but it was also the first dish that they had ever taught him how to make. While it was true that he could never hope to come close to replicating it, right down to the finest details, he was still confident that he could still make something that was similar enough.
“I could teach you next time if you’d like,” he said.
“R-Really? You would do that for me?”
“Of course. They more or less taught me how to make it.”
Fuyuka pulled her hands away from her face, and Asahi prepared himself for the worst. However, contrary to his expectations, her expression was brightening up in happiness. The girl in front of him was now smiling with joy. She was no longer “The Ice Queen” she once was, the girl who hid her emotions away behind a frosty façade. She was now a girl like any other, expressing herself through joy, sorrow, and everything in between. The most notable change, however, was that her once icy words were now finally beginning to show signs of warmth.
Perhaps that was why Asahi had been able to pick up on that gloomy expression she would sometimes make; the same way he was able to perceive that something felt off about her at that moment.
“Is everything okay with you?” he asked.
“H-Huh...?”
“You look like you’re deep in thought about something.”
Asahi had no evidence to support his claim. Call it intuition, perhaps. He could be wrong, for all he knew, but it seemed that he hit the bull’s eye. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she slowed down as she tried to grasp the words that failed her.
“Well, you see...” she finally managed to explain. “I just remembered our agreement. You said you would teach me how to cook until we finished the final exams...”
While they had grown accustomed to eating dinner together, it was all because of their agreement to help each other out. Fuyuka would assist Asahi with his studies, and he would in turn help to improve her cooking skills. The former had achieved his goal by getting great results on his exams. The latter had barely had enough time to improve before the start of winter vacation. In other words, the end of exams also marked the end of their figurative contract. They would no longer have an excuse to meet up with each other again.
Now that Asahi was able to think more clearly about the matter, his heart ached with sadness. His fingers wandered aimlessly to the brooch, and he found himself tracing its outline. Now that I think about it, she gave this to me on the same day we made that deal, he recalled.
Neither said a word as they walked. As they finally approached their apartments, they both finally mustered up the courage to speak. Unfortunately, they both did so at the same time.
“Hey—” “Umm—”
They stopped dead in their tracks and stared at each other. The awkward silence was only punctuated by the whispering wind.
“Would you... continue to teach me how to cook properly, please? Though I would understand if you were to decline...” she mumbled. Her frail voice echoed in the otherwise silent street. She cast her eyes down, clearly afraid to hear Asahi’s answer.
He had already made up his mind. “You know, the food you’ve cooked so far has yet to impress me. And you did tell me you wanted to learn how to make that soup, so...”
“Does that mean...?” she asked expectantly.
“I’ll keep teaching you how to cook until you’re satisfied, Fuyuka.”
Fuyuka might have beaten him to the punch, but Asahi had planned to propose the exact same idea. After all, he could still vividly recall her determined smile when she’d said she would make him acknowledge her ability.
“Thank you so much, Asahi,” she said with a grateful smile. Her expression of happiness was far from novel at this point, but it never failed to make his heart skip a beat. The gloomy clouds that covered his heart dispersed, and he was now enveloped by a pleasant warmth.
“Well then, may I visit you tomorrow morning?” Fuyuka asked.
“I don’t mind at all. It’s Christmas tomorrow, so why don’t we go all out?”
“Sounds great. This is going to be so much fun.”
“Don’t expect too much, okay? It’s gonna be a step down from what we had tonight,” he warned her.
“Don’t worry. I’m still excited for it,” she replied. “I’ve... taken a liking to your cooking, after all.”
“Have you now?”
“Yes, I have,” she replied, her cherry red lips forming into a grin.
She was so dazzling that it was genuinely hard to look at. Asahi wanted to avert his eyes and focus his attention on walking down the road, but Fuyuka was, once again, just that one step ahead of him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she concluded as she briskly walked to the entrance of the complex. It might’ve been Asahi’s imagination, but he could’ve sworn that her ears were slightly redder than usual.
God, I hope I’m not blushing, too, he thought to himself. Their farewell had been sudden, but Asahi felt relieved nonetheless. His heart couldn’t handle any more surprises that night. He was finally alone on this chilly December night. It was time for some inward reflection—why had he been so unusually terse and silent?
I must’ve been too self-conscious of Fuyuka tonight, he thought. Who could have blamed him? Fuyuka had been incredibly charming in her dress, and she’d revealed a side to him that no one had ever seen before.
It was the holiest of nights—an occasion that only occurred once a year—but his mind kept wandering back to Fuyuka. He contemplated why his heart was beating so rapidly. An idea came to mind, but it was promptly scrapped. He shook his head in denial, telling himself over and over again that it couldn’t possibly be true. The winter’s freezing winds beat at his bare cheeks. Yet, for some curious reason he couldn’t understand, it didn’t feel as cold as he’d expected.