Yukihira Restaurant had begun to quiet down. Several chairs had been put away, leaving only the soft sound of Souma's cleaning cloth wiping the tables. In the kitchen, the strong aroma of earlier dishes was slowly fading, leaving traces of garlic and soy sauce.
Raku, Chitoge, and Shinobu had just set down their chopsticks. The three Donburi bowls that were once full were now empty, leaving only a bit of thick broth at the bottom.
Joichiro, who had been watching them, slowly approached, slipping his extinguished cigarette into his shirt pocket. His eyes were sharp, but his smile was friendly. He looked at Raku with a curious expression.
"Boy," he said softly. "It seems your palate… is not ordinary."
Raku, who was drinking water, nearly choked. "Eh? My palate? It's actually nothing special. It's just that… the food earlier was delicious. One of the best I've ever had."
Joichiro stared deeply at him, then smiled faintly. "In that case… would you like to try cooking something?"
Chitoge and Shinobu immediately turned toward Raku, equally surprised.
"Eh!?" Raku reflexively flinched, his face slightly red. "I… I can cook, but I'm not a chef."
"That's not a problem," Joichiro replied with a calm yet commanding tone. "I'm just curious. I want to confirm something, that's all. As chefs, sometimes we have to try to understand the emotions that come from a dish. You can prepare whatever you like."
Raku fell silent for a moment, then sighed. "Alright… maybe I'll try two simple dishes."
Souma, who stood behind the counter, was shocked. "Eh? Dad, are you seriously letting a customer into the kitchen?"
Joichiro only glanced briefly. "It's fine. Tonight is quiet, and I want to see something."
With a bit of nervousness, Raku entered the Yukihira kitchen. Chitoge and Shinobu watched from their seats, anxious and curious. Souma crossed his arms, observing his every move.
Raku wore a simple apron given by Joichiro, then began preparing ingredients. His hands were a bit stiff at first, but soon his movements became calm and rhythmic. He took tofu, dried seaweed, and miso paste, then slowly simmered dashi broth. Meanwhile, he marinated chicken pieces in a mix of soy sauce, garlic, and ginger, then lightly coated them in flour.
Ssszzzzz—! a crispy sound was heard as the chicken hit the hot oil. A savory aroma instantly filled the room.
There were no flamboyant techniques, no extravagant plating. Everything was done in silence, as if every movement Raku made simply followed faint memories of a home kitchen.
After a while, he arranged a bowl of warm miso soup and a plate of simple karaage on the stainless steel counter.
"All done…" said Raku, his voice hesitant.
Joichiro stepped forward, took a spoonful of the soup, and tasted it slowly. At that moment, he fell silent.
Warm. Calm. The miso soup had no complex techniques or extraordinary flavor surprises. But there was something that enveloped his tongue—a sincere feeling, simple and full of honesty.
Joichiro set down the spoon, closing his eyes briefly. 'It's been so long… since I felt food like this. All this time, Tōtsuki has been obsessed with beautiful plating, luxurious flavor combinations, dazzling techniques. But they forgot… that food is first and foremost about warmth of the heart.'
Raku lowered his head, his fingers gripping the apron. "H-how is it? Is it bad?"
Joichiro opened his eyes, then smiled broadly. He gently patted Raku's head, something he rarely did. "Delicious. Very delicious. I almost forgot… that food could bring warmth like this. You really don't want to become a chef?"
Raku gave a thin, somewhat bitter smile. "No. I… even have amnesia. I'm just trying to remember who I am… and maybe helping my family cook."
Joichiro stared at him for a long moment, then patted his head again. "Thank you. It's been a while since I felt this."
Souma, who had been watching all this time, finally stepped forward, took a bowl of miso soup, and sipped it. As the warm liquid entered his body, he suddenly felt his chest warm—not because of saltiness or umami, but because of something hard to describe.
"…What is this?" Souma muttered, his brow furrowed. "The taste is simple, even ordinary. But… why do I feel so comforted?"
Shinobu watched him with curiosity, while Chitoge felt slightly moved without knowing why.
Souma still held the miso soup spoon, his eyes fixed on Raku who stood awkwardly in the kitchen. He finally chuckled softly, though there was a rare serious tone in his voice.
"My friends would laugh if they knew a regular guy could make such a simple soup that had this kind of effect…" he said.
Raku scratched his head, confused. "Effect? But I just cooked like usual."
Joichiro smiled broadly. "Exactly. You weren't busy thinking about technique or appearance. You simply put your feelings into it. And that's the essence of cooking."
Chitoge, who had been watching all this time, lowered her head for a moment, then looked at Raku. Her face was slightly flushed. "I… I didn't expect you could cook. And the result made everyone fall silent."
Raku gave an awkward smile. "Heh, just a home habit. Besides, I'm not a professional chef."
Shinobu, sitting with her small feet on the chair, tapped the table. "You may not be a chef, Master. But that soup… it felt like something that could even fill the soul of a vampire like me." She giggled, then covered her mouth with her hand. "Hahaha, it felt delightful."
Souma leaned forward, his demeanor now full of curiosity. "Hey, have you ever thought about seriously learning to cook? If you entered Tōtsuki, you might surprise everyone."
Raku quickly shook his head, almost panicked. "Eh? Me? No, no… I haven't even found who I really am. Joining an elite academy? Sounds impossible."
Joichiro lightly patted his shoulder, calming Raku a little. "No need to force it. What's important… is never forgetting that cooking is not just about taste. There's something inside it—a trace of the heart. That's what you showed me earlier."
Silence briefly enveloped the small kitchen. Only the sound of the exhaust fan and the lingering aroma of karaage filled the air.
Chitoge lowered her head slightly while smiling faintly. In her heart, there was a strange feeling—pride and admiration toward Raku. 'He's not just a clueless guy who's often careless… he can also make people feel something just from a simple meal.'
Shinobu yawned slightly then hopped off the chair. "Well then… I'm full. Time for this little vampire to find a cozy place to rest."
Souma chuckled softly. "You guys are really strange customers. But… delightful."
Raku took off the apron and returned to sit with Chitoge. The night was getting late, streetlights outside the restaurant glowing softly.
Joichiro lit his cigarette briefly, then looked at Raku once more. "Anytime you want to cook again, come here. Yukihira Restaurant is always open."
Raku smiled, a bit relieved. "Thank you… I'll remember that."
Chitoge turned, her eyes lingering on Raku longer than usual. "Raku…" her voice soft, almost a whisper. "There's still so much about you I don't know."
Raku paused, then chuckled slightly to ease the awkward mood. "Hahaha, maybe I don't know much about myself either."
That night ended with a warm feeling—not just from the food, but from the bonds that slowly began to grow between them.