Chapter 6: Feed Me
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 6: Feed Me
A week passed.
Kishimoto Rika was true to her word.
While she wouldn't say a single word to me at school, she waited for me every day after class in front of the subway station platform.
Anyone who saw us would have easily gotten the wrong idea, but since neither of us thought of it that way, our consciences were clear.
On the train home, just like any other day, I was chatting with her when I casually brought up the protagonist.
It had already been a week since she transferred, so I figured there must have been some progress.
"By the way, Kishimoto, you seem to be getting along with Sakamoto, the guy next to you."
Kishimoto Rika, who had been humming while on LINE, looked up at me. "Hm?"
"What's with the sudden question? Haha~! Cooould it be... you're jealous?"
"..."
Her sudden accusation left me at a loss for words, so I exercised my right to remain silent.
"You're cuter than you look~ You little punk! You!" she said, poking me in the ribs with her elbow. She then slipped her smartphone into her cardigan pocket and continued.
"Well, it's true that Sakamoto isn't a bad guy. But as for whether I'm interested in him romantically, I'd have to say... probably not?"
"Why's that?"
"I have a policy of not messing with people who are already taken."
It feels like I'm stealing, you know?
Kishimoto Rika looked up at me as she said this, then grinned. "Nee-hee-hee."
Hmm. For a modern high school girl, many of whom are quite predatory, she had a surprisingly wholesome view on romance.
But from my perspective as an observer, this was quite a problem.
The person presumed to be the main heroine of Volume 1 was now confiding in a friend that she had absolutely no romantic feelings for the protagonist.
Is this really how it's supposed to go, Scramble Love?
I couldn't help but wonder.
Though we'd been walking home together every day for a week, this was the first time we'd had such a deep conversation. Perhaps feeling a bit shy, Kishimoto just stared endlessly at the scenery outside the window.
Her side profile looked like a painting, and as I found myself staring blankly, a strange noise suddenly came from her stomach.
Grrrrowl—
"Ah."
Startled, she lifted her head, and our eyes met.
Her ears turned red as she ducked her head. Then, as if remembering something, she glanced up at me and said.
"You said your family runs a restaurant, right? Feed me."
...What?
*
"I'm home."
Mikoya (美子屋).
It was a Korean restaurant named after my mother, Lee Mi-ja, located in a renovated two-story wooden building in a residential area.
The main offerings were Korean-style yakiniku and a full range of Korean dishes.
It was a rare find in Japan, where the cost of living is high, as they served three or four basic side dishes for free. Because of this, it was incredibly popular among Korean international students who missed home-cooked meals and local regulars.
My mother, who was in the main hall clearing a table that customers had just left, greeted me before her expression turned to one of surprise.
"Yoo-Sung, who's this young lady with you?"
This was only the second time I'd brought a friend home since starting high school.
And the first time had been almost half a year ago, so it was no wonder my mother was surprised.
"This is—"
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am! I'm Kishimoto Rika, Kim-kun's classmate!"
My attempt to introduce her was drowned out by Kishimoto's energetic greeting.
"Oh, right."
Perhaps flustered by the sudden address from a girl who looked like a foreigner, my mother stammered in English.
"Whe-where are you from?"
"? I'm from Shizuoka."
And Kishimoto, ever so innocent, answered her directly.
The key point here was that both of their pronunciations were a million light-years away from native speakers.
A battle between Konglish and Japlish. The scene was truly epic.
I decided to clear up the misunderstanding before it got any worse.
"Mom, this girl here is a pure-blooded Japanese who boasts fluency in zero languages."
"Hey! Who are you calling fluent in zero languages!"
Kishimoto huffed, puffing out her cheeks to show she was mad as she hit my chest, but her fists were like cotton so it didn't hurt at all.
My mother, who had been watching us with a strangely warm gaze, suddenly clapped her hands.
"Oh, my. Look at me. You two haven't had dinner yet, have you? Kishimoto-san, if you don't mind, why don't you eat with us? I'll whip up something delicious for you."
"Really?!"
As if finally remembering her original purpose, Kishimoto's face lit up and she cheered, "Hooray!"
From my perspective, her exaggerated gestures were honestly a bit cringey, but to adults, they must have just looked like cute antics.
After seating her at an empty table, my mother, who was about to head to the kitchen, suddenly beckoned me over.
Wondering what was up, I put down my bag and walked over. Ms. Lee Mi-ja leaned in and whispered in my ear.
"What's your relationship with that girl?"
"We have no relationship whatsoever."
"Really? What a shame. She seems so bright and friendly. She looked like perfect daughter-in-law material."
"..."
What? Is my mother's brain also being controlled by the laws of romantic comedy now?
Calling her son's friend, whom she met less than ten minutes ago, daughter-in-law material?
"Stop with the nonsense and just get us some food, please."
As I said this and gently pushed her from behind, my mother reluctantly but obediently went into the kitchen.
Finally getting a moment to breathe, I walked to the fridge to get a water bottle and some cups. Then, a thought occurred to me, and I asked Kishimoto, who was sitting at the table swinging her legs.
"Cider or Coke?"
Her expression immediately brightened.
"Both!"
I nodded, grabbing two chilled cans from the fridge along with the water bottle, and returned.
Pssshht!
The moment I handed her the red Coke can, Kishimoto popped the tab.
I took a sip of cold water and asked her.
"Still not allowed to drink soda at home, I take it?"
"Kyahh!" Kishimoto nodded, a mustache of Coke foam on her upper lip.
"Isn't it true that any food tastes better when you have it occasionally instead of every day? It's the same principle."
Finding myself agreeing with her surprisingly plausible philosophy, I asked the question that had been on my mind on the way here.
"But is it really okay for you to eat at my place? Won't your parents be waiting?"
Kishimoto, who had already drained the Coke can and was tapping it to get the last drop, tilted her head. "Hm?"
"Did I not tell you? My mama said she'd be home late today, so I had to eat out anyway. I just came to your family's place since it was on the way."
The mystery of why she had suddenly asked me to feed her on the way home was finally solved.
I guess it made sense. It's not like she was some freeloader who would randomly ask me for food for no reason.
As I headed to the self-serve bar to prepare the side dishes for my busy mother, Kishimoto, who was chewing on her chopsticks, probably out of hunger, asked with a nonchalant expression.
"Oh! After we eat, can I go up and see your room?"
"...What?"
Startled by her sudden proposal, I froze, the tongs in my hand stopping mid-air.
"I don't know when I'll get another chance to visit, you know? Back in Shizuoka, I only had girlfriends, so I've always wanted to see what a boy's room is like."
Clatter- clatter-
Acting as nonchalantly as possible, I brought the plates of side dishes back to the table and replied.
"Do whatever you want."
Shit, I'm fucked.
*
"Here you go! Sorry for the wait!"
My mother came out, beaming, with the restaurant's signature dishes: spicy stir-fried pork and odorless Cheonggukjang.
Although the Cheonggukjang had been thoroughly localized for Japanese palates to be odorless, it still retained its unique, savory flavor.
"Wow! It looks delicious!"
Kishimoto, who had been chewing on her chopsticks for a while now, watched with sparkling eyes as the food was placed on the table.
Surprisingly, her gaze was fixed not on the spicy pork, but on the Cheonggukjang.
What's this? Does she have the palate of an old man?
As I watched her with a bewildered expression, Kishimoto exclaimed in a bright voice.
"Ma'am! My favorite food is natto-jiru!"
Hearing this, my mother, who was setting down the Cheonggukjang, replied happily.
"Oh! Is that so? Then you'll enjoy this too, won't you?"
"Huh? It's not natto-jiru?"
Sensing a disconnect in their conversation, Kishimoto tilted her head cutely. My mother chuckled and explained.
"Young lady, this is Cheonggukjang, the Korean version of natto-jiru."
"Chong...gukjang?"
Well, for a first try, her pronunciation was quite good, but the word itself sounded a little... off.
The speaker herself didn't seem to notice, so I decided not to mention it.
"It's delicious on its own, and it's also great if you mix the ingredients inside with your rice."
My mother said as she personally ladled the Cheonggukjang from the earthenware pot into a bowl and handed it to Kishimoto.
Kishimoto looked down at the odorless Cheonggukjang with curiosity, then took a big spoonful and put it in her mouth.
"...!"
Her eyes shot wide open. She then began to frantically scoop up rice and Cheonggukjang together.
Fortunately, it seemed to suit her taste.
Watching her with a satisfied smile, ladle still in hand, my mother said to Kishimoto.
"Eat up, dear. If you want more, I'll make you another serving."
"Gamsaham-nida!"
With her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, Kishimoto spoke in broken Korean and bowed her head to my mother. Then, without even glancing at the spicy stir-fried pork, she began to devour only the Cheonggukjang.
'What the heck, this is scary.'
Does this girl have Cheonggukjang running through her veins instead of blood or something?