Same-Age Tutoring (2)
Monday after school ends, I head straight home. Mom's only got tonight left before she leaves, and even after hanging on for two days, I still haven't nailed her egg rolls.
I tie on the yellow apron with the chick print around my waist and stand in the kitchen next to her.
Even cracking the eggs so the shells don't get in the bowl isn't easy at first.
"To get that nice yellow color, don't overcook it. It'll stick to the pan otherwise."
"Got it. Kinda like making it slippery before you roll it up, right?"
"Don't use weird analogies like that."
In stories, when someone learns a new technique or ultimate move, the master often explains it so poorly that it's hard to pick up. But I just swing once, boom!clang!whoosh! and it's done. Like that. Geniuses overflowing with talent who master skills by feel alone are usually terrible at teaching others. Gotta be the creator's balance patch, right?
"A bit of salt and some sugar too. You could add soy sauce or fish sauce, but that'd ruin this pretty yellow color, wouldn't it?"
"Obviously."
"Right. Mix it well with chopsticks, then pour in just enough to cover half the pan. Wipe off some of that oil you heated up. If it's pooled, the eggs splatter and you won't get a nice shape."
"Ooh, didn't know that."
"You think I was born knowing this?"
"Were you a cook in the army by any chance?"
"Sure, if you say so."
Thankfully, Mom's cooking class doesn't go down that cliché path. Like she says she wasn't always good at it, she draws from her own memories of fumbling through it under someone else's patient guidance, explaining everything kindly and in detail. Calm, meticulous, never skipping the spots where mistakes are easy to make. There's nothing to complain about in her teaching.
Sizzle!
"Whoa, Mom! The pan's acting weird! I poured water to wipe off the oil and it exploded!"
"Who told you to use water?!"
Yeah. Mom's perfect. I'm the problem.
....
Cooking is hard. Especially in a world where you can eat decent food without making it yourself.
I pour the eggs into the pan, and they come out a color close to Mom's. When I try to roll them with chopsticks...
'You're not ready yet.'
The eggs mush up half-cooked, like they're telling me off.
"Ah."
"You flipped too soon. Cover the tear with more egg liquid and roll again."
"Okay."
Next time, taking Mom's advice, I wait longer to flip...
'Too late. The beehive's already burned.'
A black solar eclipse hangs over the moon made of egg.
"Sigh, this is tough."
"But you're not just giving up. It's hard, but fun, right?"
"Yeah, fun."
It hurts to say it twice, but cooking really is hard. Fire, oil, water, knives—tons of knowledge and skills to master just to cook properly.
"Thinking of that guy eating this makes me grin."
"Hmm..."
But that's the charm too—the clear reward at the end of all that effort, and sharing it with others.
"Hmmm... I wonder who my daughter wants to feed so badly that she's suddenly into cooking like this?"
"He should be here any minute."
Monday after school, evening. Right on time, he rings the doorbell as promised.
"...W-what's this?"
"Egg rolls."
"Th-this is...?"
"Try it."
I pick up the just-burnt egg roll and bring it to his mouth.
"Say ahh. I'll feed you."
"N-no, it's fine. I ate dinner already."
"Don't refuse. I made it thinking of you."
"R-really, it's okay..."
"Heh, even like this?"
I unlock my phone from my pocket and show it to him.
"Th-that's... the photo from entrance ceremony day."
"Yup. The cover of Magical Girl Marina★Harina you proudly brought to school."
No way you'd forget. Marina-chan's majestic chest is still in my gallery. Not as good as mine, though.
"Eat this, and I'll delete the photo I took."
"Urk..."
"But if you don't, I'll post it to the class group chat in five minutes. With the subtitle 'Do the Otaku Emperor is a Total Weeaboo.'"
I watch Do Ha-min's hands tremble. But he can't bring himself to say no.
"...Y-you'll really delete it, right?"
"Sure. I'll watch you eat."
"...Urk."
Do Ha-min squeezes his eyes shut and reluctantly opens his mouth.
Nothing's a better hostage for him right now. You're my dog now.
So eat my egg rolls.
"Heh heh, ready, hero?"
"Urk..."
"Open wide—here comes the egg roll!"
"Mmph!"
The moment the charred egg roll hits his mouth, Do Ha-min's face twists in agony. Yeah, that's the expression I was hoping for when I made it.
"Don't worry, I'll keep my promise."
Just this one shot of him writhing from my egg roll.
"Urgh..."
Do Ha-min's face turns green from the gritty burned side touching his tongue. But he doesn't spit it out.
If he does, our deal's off. And since he manned up to face my cooking head-on, I'll honor the original promise. If he asks me to delete the photo, I will. If he wants the trash emptied, I'll clear every cache file clean.
"Mmph... mm... mmph..."
He chews slowly, bit by bit, struggling with what's in his mouth. Can't swallow easy, so his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk stuffed with egg.
"Aww, good boy. My little Do-rat."
I'm tempted to poke those swollen cheeks when he finally forces the painful bite down his throat.
"Hoo..."
"Ooh, not bad, hero. You win this round."
"Haa... Thought I'd choke and die there for a sec."
Do Ha-min polishes off every last bit of the egg roll I stuffed in his mouth. No room for complaints—a total loss for me.
"I'll specially delete the photo. Or do you wanna do it yourself, goody-two-shoes?"
"N-no, it's fine. You said you'd keep your word..."
"I could be lying, you know?"
"...You've joked around, but never lied so far."
"Oh ho ho..."
Do Ha-min decides to trust I'll keep my word and doesn't check the phone. Under the premise we don't lie to each other.
Somehow, it leaves a bitter aftertaste that he'll trust me—me, who could say this world's nothing but lies. Nah, don't overthink. The bitterness is just from my bomb-tastic egg rolls.
"Alright, under the no-lying premise, wanna answer this?"
"...Answer what?"
"The egg roll I just made. How'd it taste?"
Taste? Obvious. What else but "disaster" for that eclipse abomination? I ask anyway, to see if, no lies allowed, he'll rate my cooking honestly.
"Hmm..."
Do Ha-min thinks seriously for a moment, glances at me slyly, then looks up.
"Definitely overcooked. How long'd you leave it on the pan?"
"Uh, yeah...? Not that long... like 2-3 minutes."
I figured he'd dodge with sweat or snap "don't ask." Normal Do Ha-min would.
"That should've just been slightly browned, not charred. Did you put in a ton of sugar?"
"Uh... maybe? Mom said 'a bit,' but I didn't know how much."
"Knew it. Too much sugar burns fast. That bitter-sweet aftertaste after the char—that tracks."
But instead, he earnestly points out my mistakes one by one.
"For flavor, fish sauce beats salt and sugar. No uneven seasoning or burning that way."
"But then you don't get this pretty yellow like the apron. Won't taste like Mom's either."
"True, but this seems like your first time... Maybe start simple, then level up?"
"First time, so I don't even know what's easy or hard..."
"Hmm... Yeah, fair. Sorry, didn't mean to butt in. You probably wanna practice Mom's methods."
Why? He's being honest, like Mom—maybe more straightforward and kind. So why...
"Tch..."
His advice inexplicably sparks rebellion in me.
"Hey, you such a cooking pro? If there's an easy way, show me yourself."
"...Huh?"
"Follow me to the kitchen."
I lead Do Ha-min not to the dojo, but inside the house.