Chapter 44

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Translator: True Detective

Chapter: 44

Chapter Title: If You Had Tasted the Food Made by Your Daughter's Daughter, What Words Would You Have Said?

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1.

"Haap…."

Yura scooped up a heaping spoonful of curry and rice and shoved it into her mouth.

It was soft and deep. Amid the rich sweetness, a heavy umami seeped from the meat. The spices nailed it perfectly. Then the thick, velvety curry flavor slowly enveloped it all.

"Ah…."

The moment the curry slid down her throat, a sigh escaped her involuntarily. It was such a shame that the lingering aftertaste in her mouth faded away.

She blankly picked up her spoon again. Another bite—she naturally scooped up more curry. But then, a golden gleam sparkled in the corner of her vision.

Crisply fried tonkatsu. The instant she laid eyes on the perfectly fried cutlet, her hand froze once more.

Yura slowly picked up a piece of tonkatsu. A bit of curry soaked into the batter. She parted her small mouth slightly and slipped it inside.

Crunch-

The moment her teeth crunched through the batter, a delightful sound rang out. Her eyes widened like they might pop.

Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside. The meat brimmed with juices. A touch of curry sweetness crept in—it was pure bliss.

The superchat voice tickled her ears, snapping Yura back to reality. Enchanted was the perfect word for it.

"S-Sorry... It was so delicious I totally forgot about the stream...."

"M-Me too. I knew Hayul was good at cooking, but when she really gets serious... it's on a whole other level...."

Yura let out a secret sigh of relief at the voice beside her. She wasn't the only one.

"So, Yura. How close is the curry rice I made to your mom's?"

"Can I take one more bite before answering? That first one was such a shock, I can't remember properly...."

"You're not just saying that because you want more, right?"

Noir asked with a mischievous grin.

"Th-That's part of it too. But really, no lie...."

"Got it. Then have another bite."

"Okay!"

Yura carefully scooped up rice drenched in curry and popped it into her mouth.

Chew chew—

Even the second bite was insanely good. The best food she'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ever tasted in her life.

Umami dancing on her tongue, spices lingering in her mouth. Every flavor and aroma was meticulously calculated and tuned.

It was delicious. But strangely familiar.

The taste from those days—forgotten naturally after countless nights in Korea—was preserved perfectly right here.

"Ah…."

Another sigh slipped out. But this one meant something entirely different. Faintly forgotten memories quietly brushed back to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life before her eyes.

Rain pattered in her ears. Her body felt heavy, soaked through. A inexplicable chill crept in.

"Haap…."

She dunked tonkatsu in curry and took a big bite. Stuffing her mouth with rice brought back that warmth.

The curry's piercing aroma. The towel's texture on her fingertips. Her drenched hair. Mom quietly drying it.

"......My mom's curry and tonkatsu weren't this delicious. They were rougher than this."

Yura murmured softly. Her voice trembled. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"But it's similar... Just like the curry she made back then...."

Her expression was complicated. Joy, longing, and sorrow mixed.

"I miss Mom...."

At Yura's mutter, her sister quietly rose from her chair. She wordlessly embraced Yura's head. Yura finally let the tears fall freely in her arms.

"Hic…."

I quietly watched the two of them. Glancing at the viewer count, it had jumped by over 9,000.

Success.

Of course. With results like this, the hype was inevitable.

With this many viewers, skeptics were bound to show up.

I probably wouldn't believe it either.

Thankfully, not everyone doubted. Some believed us.

"I'll find a way to prove it later. Until then, judge for yourselves."

Part of me wanted to ignore them all. But if I did, backlash like "Why lie?" could hit Yura too.

To prevent that, some objective proof was needed. The question was how.

I'll figure it out later.

Yura's tears didn't stop easily. Only after a long while, thanks to her sister's comfort, did they finally subside. Without her sister, she might still be crying.

"Sniff... Sorry...."

"It's fine. You can cry. You're okay."

Yura hung her head low. Her bunny ears ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flushed bright red, twitching helplessly in embarrassment.

She was ashamed of crying now.

"So, to sum up: my tonkatsu curry rice feels similar to what your mom made?"

"The taste itself is way better. But yeah, super similar."

Yura's ears perked at the superchat. She bit her lip, crossed her arms.

"Like... I don't know how to explain it. It's definitely way tastier, but it still feels so similar...."

Yura bounced up from her chair.

"No way! It really is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠similar! If I called Mom here right now to cook, it'd taste just like this! Well, a bit rougher maybe...."

"Saying that on stream... Yura, you're such an unfilial daughter?"

"N-No lying!"

Yura panicked at her sister's jab but responded firmly.

"No point explaining more. As I said, believe it if you want, judge for yourselves if not."

Dragging it out would blur emotions and scatter the stream. Best to cut it here.

"That wraps up Mom's cooking. Next, shall we move to Grandma's?"

"Y-Yes!"

Recreating Grandma's was easy. Just make onigiri, done.

"Like this. Super simple, right?"

I gathered every ingredient from the Feast of Memories.

Rice, green onions, dried shaved bonito, sesame seeds, salt, kombu. And finally, slightly charred umeboshi.

Mixed it all, shaped into triangles. No nori—the memory ones didn't have it.

Plated them. Yura's eyes went wide.

"It's exactly like in the memory!"

"Dig in."

At my urging, she popped one in without hesitation. Her pupils dilated, bunny ears shot up then quivered.

"It's the same! Exactly like Grandma's back then! Not better or anything—just identical!"

"...Good."

For some reason, it stung my pride a bit. Should I have made it tastier?

Skepticism followed as expected, but milder. We'd been through it, and it was simple food.

"It's really good!"

"Hey, Yura, mind if I try one?"

"Go ahead!"

Her sister picked one up, curiosity sparkling. The moment she bit in, her body shivered faintly.

"Th-This taste…."

"Good!?"

Under Yura's sparkling eyes, her sister awkwardly lifted the corners of her mouth.

"Y-Yeah... It's good...!"

"Great! Then I'll leave the rest to Noir! One's enough for me!"

"Th-Thanks…."

Her sister forced a smile, holding the onigiri. She shot me a pleading look, but I slyly turned away.

Not my thing...

The umeboshi's sour-saltiness was too much for me. But with Yura so happy, no need to say it.

"So, we've recreated Mom's and Grandma's dishes. Satisfied?"

"Totally satisfied!"

Yura beamed. Her sister silently chewed beside her, gloomy face making me chuckle unwittingly.

"Why're you laughing?"

"Nothing. Cooking's done, so we'll head out. Thanks for watching!"

"Thanks!"

I bowed deeply; Yura waved energetically.

The end notification popped up, and Yura flopped down right there.

"Haa, haa... Thought I was gonna die...."

I knelt to her eye level.

"You okay?"

Yura panted roughly, nodding vigorously.

"Y-Yeah. Just... tension released all at once... Kept worrying I'd mess up...."

"You did great today."

"R-Really?"

"Yes."

I smiled and gently patted her head. Yura squeezed her eyes shut, grinning in relief.

"Phew…."

"Rest a bit... then let's cook again."

"M-More cooking?"

Her eyes went wide, ears perking in surprise.

"Yeah. You said you wanted to serve Grandma's food to your mom. Can't just give her one onigiri, right?"

"True... But I never mentioned any other Grandma dishes. How do you know?"

I smiled mysteriously, quirking my lips.

"Secret. Just trust me. Got it?"

"O-Okay…!"

Yura gulped.

Poke poke-

Someone jabbed my side. Turning, her sister glared sulkily. Still chewing, onigiri in hand.

"Noir! Onigiri good?"

Her sister just mustered an awkward smile at Yura's innocent question.

"Let's start cooking."

Staying might force the onigiri on me, so I quickly pulled Yura up.

"Yay!"

I ignored the sharp gaze from behind and headed to the kitchen with Yura.

...Sis. Sorry.

But it's tough for me too.

2.

Warm sunlight filtered through the window one afternoon. An elderly woman lay quietly on an old sofa.

Her limbs hung limp, deep shadows under her eyes. A face etched with the weariness of years.

"Mm…."

How much time passed? A faint scent reached her nose, making it twitch.

"This smell…."

Her eyes slowly opened, a dazed expression crossing her face. She rose slowly and wandered down the hall, steps sluggish as if still dreaming.

Reaching the kitchen, her body halted at the sight of the food on the table.

Rich brown braised lotus root. Golden-roasted fish. Steaming miso soup and a bowl of snow-white, warm rice.

Familiar.

So familiar it was unbelievable. Memories she'd thought faded flickered vividly before her.

"...Mom?"

A whisper like a breath escaped. She feared speaking louder might make it vanish like a mirage.

This was the table her mother prepared with care in childhood. The kind, warm meal always given to her child.

Eaten so often it bored her then, now craved but unattainable.

"Mom!"

She looked up at the voice ahead.

"...Nagi?"

At the achingly familiar face, she panicked. It was unmistakably her daughter.

Nagi dashed over and hugged her tight. She froze in surprise, then tentatively wrapped her arms around the girl's back.

"Suddenly... how'd you get here?"

"Wanted to cook for you!"

"You cooked?"

Her gaze drifted to the table.

"All this—you made it?"

"Yep!"

Nagi beamed. Joy mixed with bewilderment for the woman.

"...How on earth? You never touched cooking before. This... how?"

"Practiced hard, obviously! Met a benefactor in Korea!"

"Benefactor?"

"Yep! Details are secret. Food's almost ready anyway. Sit!"

Her daughter grabbed her hand, seating her before she could resist.

"Wait a sec!"

Nagi dashed back to the counter. Her busy back strangely overlapped with someone in memory.

"Done! Here!"

She returned, carefully placing an onigiri beside the miso soup.

"This…."

Memories bloomed at the onigiri. A wistful smile touched her lips.

"Eat up, Mom!"

"...Okay."

She reached chopsticks toward the lotus root. But just before her mouth, her hand trembled and paused.

Maybe better not to eat? The smell was close, but if the taste differed? The disappointment and loss...

Don't want to hurt her...

Sensitive girl. Expectant face offering her cooking. Showing disappointment would wound her for sure.

Not good parenting.

"Mom."

Nagi simply gripped her hand tight. Small but firm warmth transmitted.

Under that gentle pressure, she finally ate. The braised lotus root slipped cautiously into her mouth.

Chew-

"Ah…."

Soy sauce's saltiness spread across her tongue; she gasped softly.

"......How is it?"

Her daughter asked timidly, tense-faced.

"A-Are you crying, Mom? I-Is it bad?"

Tears traced her cheeks quietly. Nagi startled, fumbling for a handkerchief.

"No. Delicious. So delicious... that's why."

"Don't cry, Mom…."

Her daughter hugged her. The woman stroked her head gently.

Long-buried longing surged in her chest.

If you were still alive—
If you'd tasted the food made by your daughter's daughter, what words would you have said?

Mom...

An afternoon when Mom felt especially missed.