Ch.44Tutoring a Peer (1)

“Doyoung, wake up. Time for breakfast.”

“Yaaawn… breakfast?”

The night before, Mom had fallen asleep with me in my bed, but when I woke up in the morning, I found myself alone in the bed.

“8:34 AM… My alarm went off quite a while ago.”

On Fridays and weekends, I had promised Dad that I would be in charge of breakfast.

So normally, I should have woken up to my 8 o’clock alarm and prepared the meal,

but today, since Mom had returned home and offered to make breakfast instead, I must have ignored the alarm sound and slept in.

“Good morning, my daughter.”

“Yaaawn… good morning to you too, Mom.”

Morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window.

Mom was preparing breakfast in that sunlight, wearing a yellow chick-patterned apron.

The bubbling aroma of soybean paste stew.

Next to it on the cutting board was a neatly rolled egg omelet—the first proper one I’d seen since being transported into this world.

Finally, I’m going to eat a proper rolled omelet that hasn’t undergone a career change.

“Oh, Mom.”

“What is it?”

“Did you put something on your face?”

“No. I just woke up not long ago, so I didn’t have time to put on any makeup.”

Maybe it was thanks to the bright sunlight falling through the window,

or perhaps due to the nutrition she’d extracted from Dad the night before,

but Mom’s skin looked unusually elastic and was glowing radiantly.

Her eyes were slightly puffy,

but that somehow gave her a youthful appearance, adding a strange vitality to her makeup-free face.

“Did you sleep well? You’re lucky, Ban Doyoung. You got to sleep in while Mom made breakfast for you.”

“Oh, Dad. Surprisingly still alive, I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dad had already claimed his spot at the table before I got up.

Was it just my imagination that he looked a bit more haggard than yesterday?

“You must be hungry, come on. The food’s ready.”

“Okay, okay.”

I sat at the table with excitement.

A proper home-cooked meal awaited us—something we couldn’t have when it was just Dad and me, two clueless guys with no professional cooking knowledge living together.

“What the…”

But contrary to the sizzling sounds and the fragrant aroma wafting through the air,

there was nothing on the table except for the family photo placed in the center.

“Mom, where’s the food…?”

“It’s almost done. Two minutes left until completion. Would you set the table with spoons and pour some water before the rice is done? Mom’s too busy watching the stew.”

“…Okay.”

“Oh, and when the rice cooker finishes, bring the rice bowl and scoop some rice. Just half a bowl for me.”

“…”

“Oh, we’re out of tofu. Doyoung, could you run to the convenience store and get some firm tofu…!”

Right, no matter how pretty her face is,

Mom is the same wherever she goes.

.

.

.

“Phew, at least the food is delicious.”

It was a proper breakfast after a long time.

Meals with Dad taste good too, but we often just reheat the previous night’s leftovers.

The reality was that we used the microwave more than the gas stove.

With both of us busy in the mornings, it was even harder to put much effort into breakfast.

“It’s so nice to have your cooking again after so long, Doyoung’s mom.”

“I’ll prepare lots of side dishes before I leave, so don’t go hungry. Don’t order delivery too often, and if you do, remember not to eat in the dojang—eat in the office, okay?”

“O-of course I know that.”

“Doyoung, is there any side dish you’d like me to make before I go?”

“This one.”

I picked up a piece of Mom’s bright yellow rolled egg omelet with my chopsticks.

It had no vegetables like green onions, carrots, or onions mixed in,

and it was neither too salty nor too sweet—just one bite made me reach for another.

I especially liked how the inside was slightly soft-cooked, creating a creamy texture when chewed.

Among Mom’s side dishes, this rolled egg omelet suited my taste the best.

Yes, rolled egg omelets should be made with just eggs, that’s right.

Its beautiful shape and color kept drawing my hand toward it.

Good-looking things are usually good to eat too.

Whether it’s food or people.

The neat, round shape—unlike Dad’s daily failed attempts at scrambled eggs—

was also a major factor in my selection.

“Hehe, your elementary school taste buds haven’t changed a bit.”

“You used to throw tantrums whenever there were carrots in your rolled eggs.”

“What’s wrong with that? I could eat eggs and carrots separately, so why mix them and make it taste bad?”

“Remember how you said that when you were little but ended up not eating the carrots at all?”

“…”

From Mom and Dad’s conversation,

it seems the original Ban Doyoung also loved Mom’s rolled egg omelet.

Well, since I could use all of Ban Doyoung’s physical talents,

it makes sense that I’d inherit her taste preferences too.

“Anyway, I like this. I won’t be greedy—just make 100 servings before you leave.”

“You’ll smell like a chicken coop, silly.”

“It’s good that you enjoy it, but rolled egg omelet isn’t something you can keep for long. It spoils quickly.”

“Hmm… Mom, when will you be home next?”

“Well, after Siyoung’s international competition ends, so probably not until summer at the earliest.”

“But it’s only March now?”

Oops.

My head drooped in disappointment.

Damn. That cursed little sister I’ve never even met.

So you’ve been eating Mom’s cooking like this every morning.

“Is there still room in the kendo study abroad program?”

“A-are you saying you want to go just for the rolled egg omelet?”

For a moment, I thought about following Mom abroad to study kendo.

Ah, but then I wouldn’t see the ending and couldn’t return to my original world.

That damn Do Hamin.

He’s to blame somehow.

“Then at least 10 servings… so I can eat three meals a day.”

“W-wow, you’ve really grown to love eggs while I was away, my daughter. You liked them before, but not this much.”

“I guess she just loves your cooking.”

“Even with all that flattery, 10 servings is still difficult. Cooked eggs don’t last long even in the refrigerator.”

“Hmph…”

Unfortunately, Mom was right.

I couldn’t keep egg omelets that would start smelling like a chicken coop in the fridge.

“Or, would you like to learn how to make rolled egg omelet from me?”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday you asked me to teach you something besides kendo, right? If you learn diligently today and tomorrow, you might be able to make it yourself.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. When I’m alone, I often miss your cooking. Takeout just doesn’t taste the same.”

“Hmm… but I’m not particularly good at cooking.”

This applied not only to me,

but to Ban Doyoung as well.

Unlike kendo, where I could perform skillfully with Ban Doyoung’s talent despite being a complete novice,

I didn’t sense that Ban Doyoung had any particular aptitude for cooking.

“Don’t worry about that. Mom wasn’t good from the beginning either.”

“Really?”

“Of course. It’s all the result of practice.”

Mom, sitting next to me, gestured lightly toward me.

It was a signal to bring my face closer to hers.

I followed her cue and leaned my upper body toward Mom.

Our chests touched, blocking each other’s path.

Since I couldn’t reach Mom just by leaning my upper body anymore,

I brushed my left hair aside, revealing my hidden ear, and brought it closer to Mom.

“If you want to wrap a man around your finger, you need to capture his ‘tongue’ first.”

Mom whispered her know-how with a wink.

Her soft, sweet breath that was too quiet for Dad to hear from across the table brushed against my ear, making the corners of my mouth curl up involuntarily.

“At first, they might just say it’s delicious… but as time passes, they’ll start thinking, ‘I want to eat the food this person makes’… That’s what you need to make them feel. Just like how you wanted to go study kendo abroad because of the rolled egg omelet.”

“Ohhh…”

“And finally, when they think they only want to eat the food you make…? That’s when it’s all over.”

“Is that what you did, Mom?”

“Of course. That’s why I come back occasionally to make side dishes—to keep him from breaking free of the brainwashing.”

“Wow, Mom, you’ve got an addictive charm.”

“I prefer to be called ‘opium poppy,’ dear.”

-Flick

Mom laughed lightly at my joke and gave me a small flick on the forehead.

Though it was a gentle flick, the former national representative’s right hand immediately left a red mark on my forehead.

It stung a bit, but at least it completely chased away my morning drowsiness.

Indeed, she was the best teaching material I’d chosen in this world.

“What are you two talking about so happily? Let me in on it too.”

“Nothing, really.”

“Dad doesn’t need to know.”

And so, Sunday afternoon was spent almost entirely in the kitchen.

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.

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Time passed, and Monday after school arrived.

Evening time before self-study began.

As promised, Do Hamin came to our house in the evening to learn kendo from me.

As expected, in his right hand was a plastic bag containing the can of Zero Lime—my tutoring fee.

“Hehe, you’ve arrived right on time, brave warrior.”

“Oh, hi. That’s unusual—you’re waiting at the door…”

“Yeah, I was looking forward to seeing you. I’ve been waiting eagerly.”

“W-what…?”

As Do Hamin blushed in confusion,

I held out a plate of black, charred lumps to him.

“Want to help me dispose of these?”

“W-what is this?”

“What used to be rolled egg omelets.”