Chapter 24: Yongsaeng’s First Cooking (1)
by fnovelpia
Sunlight seeped through the cracks in the window.
Tiny particles of dust shimmered as they caught the light.
“…Mmm.”
My eyelids fluttered.
Slowly, I opened one eye.
The bonfire that had burned through the night had faded, leaving only a pile of ashes behind.
‘That’s strange…’
Even though the fireplace had gone out,
The cabin still held onto its lingering warmth.
“Huh…?”
Something warm pressed against me in my arms.
As I lowered my gaze,
I saw the child curled up against me, breathing softly in sleep.
‘Was she like this the whole time?’
A faint smile crossed my lips as I studied the child.
Her small, curled-up body,
Her slightly tousled hair.
Her face was buried against my chest,
Her lips parted just enough to let out quiet, even breaths.
Gently, I brushed the stray strands of hair from the child’s forehead.
“…Sleep well.”
Still lying down, I turned my head to look around.
The rabbit sleeping beside the blanket,
The traces of where I had treated the child’s leg,
The bread bag left untouched after I meant to feed them.
And—
The pile of luggage stacked by the door.
“…Sigh.”
Somehow,
Waking up had suddenly made me feel exhausted.
‘I should clean it up today.’
As I tried to sit up slowly,
The child’s hand groped through the air before tightly clutching the hem of my clothes.
It seemed she had noticed the warmth beside them disappearing.
“……”
“Mmm…”
I paused my sluggish attempt to rise.
Carefully, I tried to pry her hand away,
But as soon as I did, the child frowned slightly and grabbed hold again.
Her small, delicate fingers
Clutched my clothes even tighter,
As if refusing to let go no matter what.
I stared down at the child.
“Guess you’re not really awake.”
“…….”
I poked her cheek lightly.
She frowned slightly, then wriggled closer to me.
Her breathing was still slow,
And her eyelids were tightly shut,
But she stubborn reluctance to let go seemed very much awake.
Pfft— a soft, silly laugh escaped me.
“I’ll move away just for a bit. I have to make breakfast and pack up our things.”
“…….”
When I whispered it close to her ear,
The child’s grip loosened just a little.
Slowly sitting up,
I quietly tidied up around her so she wouldn’t wake.
I pulled the blanket over him,
Then added more firewood to the hearth.
Soon, warmth filled the room again.
Careful not to make a sound, I opened the door and stepped outside.
The late autumn forest air was slightly chilly.
I washed my face with cold water,
Straightened my clothes, and quietly went back inside.
I worried the sound of the door might wake him, but thankfully, the child was still asleep.
Her slow, steady breaths continued rhythmically,
Though the blanket had slipped a little off her body.
Gently, I approached and pulled the blanket back over him.
“Breakfast should come before packing, I guess…”
From the haphazard pile of luggage stacked last night,
I pulled out the grocery bags one by one.
“Utensils… bowls… cutting board… what else was it again…?”
Racking my memory, I recalled Hubert’s note.
Remembering he’d tucked it between the pages of a cookbook, I began rummaging through the pile.
“Ah, found it.”
As I opened the cookbook, the note slipped out.
Written on it in neat, bold letters— clear enough for anyone to read— were the following instructions:
[Notes for Making Vegetable Stew]
A chuckle escaped me as yesterday’s memory resurfaced.
Before returning to the cabin,
While we were still packing, Hubert had called out to me.
“For breakfast, just follow what i’ve written down. I even bought the ingredients for it.”
“Huh? Okay.”
“…Somehow, I’m not reassured. Come here for a second.”
Pausing my packing, I walked over to him.
“Do you even know what pancakes are?”
“No.”
“What about soup?”
“Uh…”
“…Fine.”
Hubert let out a deflated laugh and rummaged through his belongings.
After a moment, he pulled out a cookbook and compared it to his notes before showing it to me.
“Here, take a look.”
“Huh?”
“This is a pancake. A simple dish even for beginners.”
“…Ugh, this.”
The moment I saw the illustration in the book, it all came back to me.
A hideous yellow disc.
Unnecessarily sweet, soggy, and mushy…
Of all the human foods I’d tried, it was the most disgusting and dreadful.
My brow furrowed deeply.
I’d rather chew on a rock— at least it wouldn’t be sweet.
I sighed, glancing between the cookbook and Hubert.
“…You want me to make this?”
“That’s right.”
“…Why this?”
“Kids like it.”
Hubert added, as if stating the most obvious fact.
“It’s sweet, soft, and warm. Of course children would love it.”
“…Ugh.”
I looked back down at the picture in the book.
A soggy yellow disc, with something sticky and syrupy oozing down it.
And on top of that—
A thick, dollop of that horrid white, fluffy stuff.
I turned my head away reflexively.
“…I hate it.”
“Haha, you really despise pancakes, don’t you?”
Hubert laughed, amused.
Then, he began flipping through the cookbook again.
“Well, since it’s your first time, you don’t have to make something you dislike.”
“Really?”
“Though, if the child ends up liking it, you’ll have to make it someday.”
I listened silently to the sound of pages turning.
Hubert, leisurely browsing through the book, continued slowly.
“Still, for the first time, wouldn’t it be better to make something you can both enjoy together?”
“Why?”
“Because sharing a meal with smiles makes the memory last longer.”
Memory.
Memories, huh.
“…Wouldn’t that just make things more complicated?”
I muttered under my breath, staring quietly at the cookbook.
Then, in that moment—
One of the illustrations caught my eye.
“That one.”
“…Hm?”
Hubert stopped moving.
A brown liquid in a white bowl.
Colorful chunks submerged deep within the liquid.
Steam rose in gentle curls from the bowl, and a green herb floated on the surface.
“Is that… stew?”
“Aye, it is.”
“That was edible.”
“Heh, was it now?”
Hubert chuckled dryly.
His hand, flipping through the pages of a book, paused, and his gaze slowly turned toward me.
“Well then, let’s have this for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“It takes a while to simmer, so you’ll have to be quite diligent.”
“i’ll do my best.”
I nodded and carefully examined the relevant page in the book.
Not sweet,
But warm.
For the child,
And for me as well, it seemed like a decent choice.
“…This doesn’t have rabbit meat in it, though.”
“Hm?”
“You know… can we leave out the meat?”
Hubert raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“The child doesn’t like meat.”
“Hmm… I see.”
Hubert stroked his beard, lost in thought.
After a moment, he pulled out a memo pad and pen.
“Then let’s modify it into a vegetable stew for now. I’ll write it down for you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“But… even if the child doesn’t like it, you should still try to feed them a little meat.”
“Why?”
Hubert made a thoughtful “Hmm” sound, as if organizing his words.
Once he had gathered his thoughts, he set the pen on the memo pad and looked at me.
“That child is still growing, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“Protein is essential during growth. So meat is a must.”
“…I see.”
I gave a small nod.
I understood, but something about it still felt a little off.
Perhaps sensing my expression,
Hubert slipped the memo into the cookbook and spoke.
“Of course, forcing them to eat something she dislike is never the way…”
“……?”
“But helping them learn to like what she dislike… that’s one of the kindest things an adult can do.”
“…Kindest thing.”
Something difficult.
An unfamiliar phrase.
But it was something I had to do.
“…I’ll try.”
“Aye, that’s more than enough.”
Hubert nodded and handed over the cookbook.
“You’re new to cooking, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t overthink it. Just follow what’s written in the book.”
He glanced down at the pile of luggage, then pointed at one of the bags bought from the market with his finger.
“Didn’t you get measuring tools there?”
“Measuring tools? Ah, those things that are just different sizes and seem unnecessarily many…”
“I suppose i’ll have to explain those first, then.”
“…Yeah. Please do.”
And so, I listened to Hubert’s explanations.
How to use the measuring tools,
How to use the other kitchen utensils,
What ingredients were needed and how to prepare them.
I let out a small laugh and folded up my notes.
Before hearing his explanations, I’d felt a little lost,
But after listening to him talk about kitchen tools and cooking, it finally clicked.
Cooking and
Potion brewing were only a step apart.
Measuring ingredients in precise ratios,
Adding them in a set order,
Timing everything,
Adjusting the temperature to boil,
And finishing with the necessary additions.
It was exactly like alchemy.
“Yeah. Thinking of it that way might make it doable.”
It was a familiar process.
That act of creating something from nothing.
The one thing I could confidently say I was good at.
I pulled the ingredients out of the bag.
Potatoes, carrots, onions, garlic, butter…
All names Hubert had carefully taught me yesterday.
Clumsy as I was, if I was going to do this, I wanted to do it right.
I carefully opened the cookbook and began scrutinizing the first page.
“Let’s see… ‘Carrots, cut into 3cm pieces…’”
I’d need a ruler first.
Sitting back down in front of the pile of luggage, I began searching diligently for one.
Precise measurement and calculation.
A principle that must be followed to achieve a perfect result.
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