A Matter of Course
"…What am I supposed to do with this."
Late at night, in the kitchen in the dead of midnight, I let out a silent sigh.
The table held every kind of cooking tool and assorted ingredients, plus a single cookbook tossed in for appearances. At a glance it was all laid out neatly, yet what I was actually doing was preparing to cook.
I had decided I wanted to improve Seol-hwa’s eating habits. That girl had been living alone and, from the looks of it, stuffing herself with nothing but the cheapest instant food because she had no money.
…Even after she started living at my place, though, not much had changed. I was no better, so the only real difference was a few more delivery meals. My own diet could go however it liked and I wouldn’t care, but hers was another matter entirely.
A girl who already says her body is unwell is out doing hard labor just because she’s broke…
(She’s a friend you finally made. Treasure her.)
When Mother had said that, I answered, “You don’t even have to tell me. I will,” and there had been no lie in it. I simply wanted to make sure she ate a little better…
(To me, she’s someone special…)
"…Ugh!"
I have to focus on what I’m doing, I told myself, shaking my head hard again and again to drive the stray thoughts out.
"We’re living together, so I’m just giving her the treatment she deserves. Yeah."
…Who exactly was I making excuses to when no one else was around? I slapped both cheeks with a sharp smack and forced myself to face the reality I had been avoiding.
The cooking tools were almost excessively complete because Mother had packed every last thing into the moving boxes… and that was the entire problem. It was a textbook case of pearls before swine. A master doesn’t care what tools he has. A complete beginner, though, can’t use them no matter how fine they are.
"I’ve never had any reason to cook, so…"
No matter how many times I flipped through the book, I couldn’t get a feel for any of it. My pathetic state of not even managing to start properly showed no sign of letting the sighs stop.
"Yu-seong-ssi… no, Yu-seong… what are you doing?"
Hesitating wouldn’t change a thing. When a man picks up a knife, he’s supposed to cut something—even if it’s only a radish. Just as I finished steeling myself for that rather… no, quite reckless decision and was about to psych myself up, the door opened and my eyes met Seol-hwa’s. She stood there in her pajamas.
"…As you can see."
"Cooking… at this hour…?"
"Just as a change of pace…"
I gave an awkward smile and mumbled. An honest answer wouldn’t have mattered, but boldly announcing I was cooking and then producing something inedible would have mattered a great deal—because it would be mortifying.
I knew Seol-hwa tended to wake early, so I had planned to skip sleep entirely and practice in secret in the pre-dawn hours… only to get caught before I even began.
"Um, Yu… Yu-seong."
"…What?"
While I silently pressed a hand to my throbbing forehead, Seol-hwa approached carefully and spoke. I answered by tilting my head.
"If… if it’s all right with you… could I help?"
She tapped her two index fingers together and asked in an anxious little voice. I let out a small sigh.
"…Do whatever you want."
"By the way, didn’t you say you can’t cook? …Though I have no right to talk."
As I turned on the gas range I suddenly voiced the question that had surfaced. I remembered going to her old place, staring at the mountain of instant food that dominated the kitchen, and asking in disbelief; she had told me then that she couldn’t cook.
"…I practiced a lot of times."
Seol-hwa answered with an ambiguous smile.
"After what happened before, I never touched it again… Wh-why are you suddenly stroking my head…?"
"Just because I felt like it."
I cut her off mid-sentence, running my hand over her hair. She still wasn’t used to banmal; half-formal speech kept slipping out here and there. What happened before… it wouldn’t be a good memory for her. Blaming myself for carelessness, I stroked her head before the familiar shadow could settle over her face.
A halting voice reached me.
"…Thank you."
"So… what were you trying to make?"
After a little bustle the preparations were finished. Before we started, Seol-hwa—still faintly pink in the cheeks—asked.
"Stir-fried vegetables and doenjang soup."
The whole idea had begun with concern for her health, so I had chosen plain, healthy dishes that looked easy—the ones with the lowest difficulty. Stir-fried vegetables was literally just chopping and frying; it ought to work somehow. Doenjang soup was boil water, dissolve the paste, throw in the ingredients, done.
…Easy to say when I hadn’t managed to start a single thing before she arrived.
"By the way, the cooking tools are incredible… there are so many."
"Yeah."
The table held literally everything under the sun: knife-and-whetstone sets, measuring cups in every size, a blender, a digital scale… and assorted nameless gadgets besides. Tools outnumbering the ingredients and covering the table solidly made the old saying about the navel being bigger than the belly feel exactly right.
"Mother shoved them all into the moving boxes."
The problem was that I didn’t even know how to use half of them. Until Seol-hwa and I cleaned, they had sat carefully stuffed inside boxes labeled “junk.” Once I pulled everything out, this was the result.
Seol-hwa looked over the tools with open curiosity and gave a bitter little smile.
"Seo-jin-ssi really loves her child…"
"I think it’s overprotective, honestly… once it reaches this level."
I do think she’s a good person… but “too much is as bad as too little” fits her perfectly. Parental affection can get wildly unbalanced.
"Still… I’m envious. Me."
I flicked her forehead lightly. The bitterness still hadn’t left her expression.
"Ow…"
She clutched her forehead and whipped her head around. I spoke as if gently scolding her.
"Don’t mind it. My mother seems to like you quite a bit too."
She loves cute things, and her personality is a lot like Eun-ha’s, but if she truly disliked someone she would never push so hard it became suffocating.
"There’s Mother, and me, and that Eun-ha kid. So… don’t get too down."
Worrying about people who are family in name only only ends up hurting yourself. When I offered the carefully chosen words of comfort, Seol-hwa answered softly,
"…Yeah. You’re right."
and smiled.
We chased the gloom far away and finished getting ready. There was only one apron, though, and Seol-hwa had so few clothes that dirtying them was out of the question. I ignored her repeated refusals and made her put it on.
Come to think of it, she always wore the same sorts of clothes or her school uniform, and the luggage she brought had looked pitifully small… I made a quiet resolution to take time soon and buy her various things.
Back to the point: the plain beige apron might have looked simple, yet somehow it suited her perfectly.
Because the original is good, I suppose.
Even an apron that would look shabby on me was more than satisfying at this level.
"Um… is something weird?"
Had I been staring without realizing it? Seol-hwa asked in a worried tone. I shook my head.
"No. I was just thinking it suits you well."
"I-if so, that’s a relief…"
Leaving the frequently blushing Seol-hwa behind, cooking began.
It began, but…
"…I distinctly remember hearing that you can’t cook."
I felt like a spectator at a cooking show. The vegetables on the cutting board were being sliced with a rhythmic precision that belonged in a manga… I had been reduced almost entirely to watching.
When I spoke in open disbelief, Seol-hwa answered looking troubled, yet her skillful hands never stopped.
"I thought I couldn’t, but…?"
"How is this ‘can’t’?"
She had been top-tier at cleaning too, so I had half-expected something for cooking… but never this much. With the ingredients shaped this cleanly, I was certain the finished dish couldn’t possibly turn out strange.
What kind of people were the family that made a girl capable of this think she was worthless? Anger rose unbidden and I almost frowned.
By the way…
"…Should I just go back to my room?"
The feeling that I was only standing around blankly and getting in the way was definitely not my imagination. Host and guest had completely switched places. I knew it was a pathetic thing to say, but I still thought it better to step out appropriately, so I said it to Seol-hwa.
She hesitated, then asked,
"Can you… stay with me?"
so I had no choice but to find something I could manage and start acting as a proper assistant.
While I did, the cooking skill I was watching proved considerable. Or rather, “skilled” was the right word. Come to think of it, it had been the same with cleaning.
That day… I recalled the words Seol-hwa had spoken on the school rooftop while telling me her old story.
(I really… tried to do my best. Even if my body was weak, I wanted to keep my heart strong.)
They hadn’t been empty words. Seol-hwa had tried. Cleaning, cooking, and probably everything else—she had become skilled enough at all of them with nothing more than the single desire to be recognized by her family.
The sight of her cooking with complete concentration was more than enough to make anyone feel how hard she had worked. Should I be angry at the family who discarded that effort without even looking at it, or should I feel sad for Seol-hwa, who accepted it all as natural?
A delicious smell began to drift up and tickle my nose. All I felt, though, was bitterness.
Time passed, and breakfast that was easily nine-tenths Seol-hwa’s work finally began.
"…It’s delicious, as expected."
Saying “as expected” was because I had fully anticipated this result would appear… probably. Stir-fried vegetables and doenjang soup, and, worried that alone might not be enough, a golden fried egg had been added as well.
The vegetables were neither bland nor salty. Seol-hwa, who couldn’t possibly know my tastes, had seasoned them moderately without leaning either way, and it landed exactly right. The soup carried the full flavor of the paste, a warmth that drove the winter chill straight out of my insides. And the fried egg had a soft texture that made it easy to eat, serving perfectly as the lubricant that let the white rice slide down smoothly.
"I-is it…?"
"Do I look like I’m lying?"
"That’s not it, but…"
She simply couldn’t shake the anxiety. To Seol-hwa, who couldn’t continue and only trailed off, I said nothing. I placed the egg on the rice and put it in my mouth.
"It’s delicious."
"…Didn’t you just say the same thing?"
"Yeah. I’m going to keep saying it’s delicious until you accept it."
"Whaaat?!"
Whether Seol-hwa was startled or not was none of my concern. I calmly poured the soup into my mouth.
"Deliciou—"
"I get it now, so you don’t have to say any more…!"
When I couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of her face flushing red as she shouted in resignation, Seol-hwa puffed her cheeks a little.
"…Yu-seong is sometimes mean."
"I won’t deny it, but it would be a waste."
"A waste…?"
"Same with cleaning, same with cooking. It’s better for both of us if we say you’re good at the things you’re good at, right? If it’s burdensome and you hate it, I’ll hold back."
It had been the same with cleaning, and it was the same now. I paused a moment, then continued.
"You worked hard, didn’t you?"
I know perfectly well how sad it is to try your hardest and still receive nothing in return. I want this girl who has only ever been wounded to live a little brighter.
Somehow I had ended up not giving but receiving. Even the receiving side, though, has its own duties.
"More than anything, I said it’s delicious because it is delicious. Simple, right? I don’t say empty words. Calling delicious food delicious is the natural thing to do."
When I said that, Seol-hwa answered,
"…I’m glad."
and showed a soft smile of pure relief.
Looking at that smile… a strange sense of longing washed over me. Something I had been feeling only lately.
"…Yu-seong?"
Only when Seol-hwa asked worriedly, as if something were wrong, did I come back to myself. I had no choice but to trail off.
"…It’s nothing."