Ch.45Tutoring a Peer (2)

After school on Monday,

I came straight home.

Even though Mom only had tonight left to stay at home,

I still hadn’t been able to recreate her rolled omelet despite trying for two days.

I tied the yellow apron with baby chicks printed on it around my waist, just like Mom,

and stood beside her in the kitchen.

At first, even cracking eggs without getting shells in the bowl wasn’t easy.

“To get that yellow color, you can’t overcook it. Otherwise, it won’t fold well when you roll it.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just like making it slippery before putting it in, right?”

“Let’s not use such strange analogies.”

In creative works, when learning new techniques or special moves,

there are often storylines where the master explains things so poorly that it’s difficult to learn.

“I just swung it once and it worked.

Go bang! Then clang! Then whoosh! That’s how you do it.”

Like that.

Geniuses overflowing with talent who learn techniques by feel alone

are generally terrible at teaching others.

I suppose that’s the Creator’s way of balancing things out.

“A little sugar along with the salt. You could add soy sauce or fish sauce too, but you don’t want to lose that beautiful yellow color, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, now stir it well with chopsticks, then pour about half into the frying pan. Wipe off some of the oil you spread. If there’s too much oil pooling, the eggs will fry and won’t make a pretty shape.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“Mom didn’t know from the beginning either.”

“Were you a military cook by any chance?”

“You want a smack?”

Fortunately, Mom’s cooking class didn’t follow that kind of storyline.

As if to prove she wasn’t lying about not being good at cooking from the start,

Mom gave kind and detailed explanations, drawing from memories of when she was clumsy and learning diligently from someone else.

Calm and attentive, not missing any details where mistakes could easily be made.

There was absolutely nothing to fault in Mom’s teaching.

-BANG!

“Ah, Mom! Something’s wrong with the pan! I poured water to clean off the oil and it’s splashing everywhere!”

“Who told you to clean it with water?!”

Right.

There was nothing wrong with Mom.

I was the problem.

.

.

.

Cooking is really difficult.

Especially in today’s world where you can eat decent food without making it yourself.

When I pour the eggs into the pan and they turn a color similar to what Mom made,

and I try to roll them with chopsticks…

‘You’re not ready yet.’

The eggs seem to say as they crumble into a half-cooked mess.

“Ah.”

“You flipped it too quickly. Cover the torn parts with more egg mixture and try rolling again.”

“Okay.”

Then, following Mom’s advice, I decide to wait longer before flipping next time…

‘Too late. The honeycomb has burned.’

As if saying that, a black eclipse appears on the egg moon.

“Sigh, this isn’t easy.”

“But you’re not saying you want to give up. It’s hard, but fun, right?”

“Yeah, it’s fun.”

It bears repeating: cooking is really difficult.

Fire, oil, water, knives, and so on. The knowledge and skills you need to master are far from trivial.

“I’m smiling just thinking about him eating this.”

“Hooo…”

But the clear results achieved after all that difficulty,

and being able to share those results with others, is also the charm of cooking.

“Hmm… I wonder who our daughter wants to feed so badly that she’s getting into cooking like this?”

“He should be here soon.”

-Ding dong

Monday after school, evening time.

That guy rang the doorbell right on schedule.

“W-what is this?”

“It was supposed to be rolled omelet.”

“Th-this is…?”

“Try it.”

I picked up the freshly burnt rolled omelet and brought it to his lips.

“Say ‘ah.’ I’ll feed you.”

“I-I’m fine. I already ate dinner.”

“Don’t be shy. I made it thinking of you.”

“R-really, I’m okay…”

“Hehe, even with this?”

I unlocked my phone from my pocket

and showed it to him.

“Th-that’s… the photo from entrance ceremony day.”

“That’s right. The cover of [Magical Girl Marina★Farina] that you proudly brought to school on entrance ceremony day.”

You haven’t forgotten, have you?

That Marina-chan’s magnificent bosom is still in my gallery.

Though not as impressive as mine, of course.

“Eat this and I’ll delete the photo from my gallery.”

“Urgh…”

“But if you refuse, I’ll post this in the class group chat in five minutes. With the caption ‘Dohwang is such a hardcore otaku.'”

I saw Dohamin’s hands trembling.

But even so, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“…You’ll really delete it, right?”

“Of course, after I watch you eat.”

“…Ugh.”

Dohamin squeezed his eyes shut and reluctantly opened his mouth.

There could be no greater hostage for him right now.

You’re my dog now.

So eat my egg roll.

“Hehe, are you ready, brave hero?”

“Urgh…”

“Open wide, here comes the egg roll!”

“Mmph!”

As the Maillard-reacted egg roll entered his mouth, Dohamin’s face contorted into a grimace.

Yes, I made this expecting to see exactly this expression.

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely keep my promise.”

-Click

Except I’ll keep this one photo of you suffering through my egg roll.

“Urgh…”

Dohamin’s complexion turned awful as the burnt surface of the egg scraped against his tongue.

But he couldn’t bring himself to spit it out.

If he did, our agreement would be meaningless.

Of course, since he bravely faced my cooking,

I’ll definitely keep my initial promise.

If he asks me to delete the photo, I’ll delete it,

and if he asks me to empty the trash, I’ll clear it completely without leaving a single cache file.

“Mmph… mmm… mm…”

He slowly, painfully chewed what had entered his mouth.

Unable to swallow easily, his cheeks bulged with eggs stuffed inside.

“Aww, look at you eating so well. My little Dohamster.”

Just as I was thinking I wanted to poke those puffy cheeks with my finger,

Dohamin finally managed to swallow the painful mouthful.

“Phew…”

“Oh, not bad, hero. I admit defeat this time.”

“Haa… you shoved it in so suddenly I thought I was going to suffocate.”

Dohamin ended up eating all of the egg roll I had pushed into his mouth.

It was my perfect defeat, without room for any objection.

“I’ll delete the photo as promised. Or would you, the model student, prefer to delete it yourself?”

“N-no, it’s fine. You said you’d keep your promise…”

“I could be lying, you know. Do you trust me?”

“…You’ve played pranks before, but you’ve never lied.”

“Ohoho…”

In the end, Dohamin said he trusted me to keep my promise and didn’t look at my phone.

On the premise that neither of us would lie.

In a way, it made me feel a bit uneasy that he would trust me,

someone whose very existence in this world could be considered nothing but a lie.

No, let’s not overthink this.

The uneasiness is probably just the lingering taste of that burnt egg roll I made.

“Alright, then on the premise that we don’t lie to each other, let me ask you something.”

“…Ask what?”

“The egg roll I just made. How did it taste?”

The taste is obvious.

What other description could there be for that lunar-eclipse-looking egg roll besides “terrible”?

I knew the answer but deliberately asked Dohamin anyway.

Under the premise of not lying, could you honestly evaluate the egg roll I made?

“Hmm…”

Dohamin thought for a moment with a serious face,

then glanced at me cautiously before looking up.

“It was definitely overcooked. How long did you heat it in the pan?”

“Uh, not that long… about 2-3 minutes.”

I thought he would avoid answering while sweating profusely,

or snap at me not to ask such things.

That’s what the usual Dohamin would do.

“Then it shouldn’t have been completely burnt, just browned. Did you add a lot of sugar to the eggs?”

“Um… now that you mention it, I might have. Mom told me to add ‘some’ but I didn’t know how much that meant.”

“I thought so. When you add too much sugar, it burns quickly. That’s why there was that bitter caramel taste after the burnt flavor.”

But contrary to my expectations,

when asked about the taste, Dohamin seriously

pointed out each mistake I had made in my cooking.

“If you wanted to add flavor, fish sauce would have been better than salt and sugar. You wouldn’t have the problem of burning or having some parts too sweet and others too salty.”

“But then it wouldn’t have that pretty yellow color like this apron. And it wouldn’t taste like Mom’s.”

“That’s true, but from what I can see, this seems to be your first time cooking… It might be better to start with easier methods before trying more difficult techniques.”

“When it’s your first time, you don’t even know what’s easy and what’s hard…”

“Hmm… I guess that’s true. Sorry for butting in. You probably wanted to practice the good methods your mom taught you.”

Why?

He was clearly being honest,

Explaining things kindly and frankly like Mom, maybe even more so than Mom.

Why on earth?

“Tch…”

For some reason, I was feeling rebellious

toward Dohamin’s advice.

“Hey, are you such a great cook? If there’s such an easy way, why don’t you show me yourself…?”

“…Huh?”

“Follow me to the kitchen.”

I led Dohamin not to the dojo,

but into my home.