"Most Sichuan dishes are built around bold flavors and heavy seasoning. That intensity is what makes them addictive, and heat is the easiest way to wake up the palate. But for people who didn't grow up eating spicy food, the flavor has to be adjusted."
Satoru stood beside Shino's cutting board and snapped open an apron before tying it around his waist. The effortless knot alone suggested a man who had survived his share of kitchen battles.
Unfortunately for his dignity, the apron was pale blue and covered in pandas.
The pink bunny slippers did not help.
Shino watched him deliver his lecture with all the seriousness of a professional instructor and nodded along.
"How good are you at cooking?" Satoru asked.
"I'm decent, I guess. I only cook for myself, so I worry more about nutrition than flavor."
"Stir-frying, pan-frying, deep-frying, boiling, simmering, stewing, flash-frying, dry-frying, and braising."
He gave her an assessing look.
"Which of those can you do?"
Shino could only blink at him. She knew what frying and boiling were, but the solemn precision of his question made it sound like a final exam.
"Are there really that many different methods?"
"That's only part of it. There's also red-braising, baking, quick-frying in sauce..."
He rattled them off without hesitation, then reconsidered.
"No, never mind. You probably don't know the less common ones either. So I was right."
His expression turned grave.
"You can't cook."
"...I can boil noodles. And I know how to make hamburger steaks," Shino muttered.
"How naive!"
The force of his declaration made her flinch.
He stared down at her with the unshakable conviction of a master confronting an ignorant beginner. Shino found herself unable to argue.
"That barely qualifies as convenience food. Anything you can make without experience or practice doesn't deserve to be called cooking."
His voice dropped ominously.
"A proper dish, one that pleases the eye, the nose, and the palate, is built from countless failures. Your knife work changes an ingredient's texture. Your control of heat decides whether flavor blooms or dies. Even the balance between taste and nutrition rests on hundreds of attempts."
He paused, his expression solemn.
"Food is life itself. Therefore..."
His voice grew lower.
"Cooking is nothing less than a sacred path."
Shino had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded impressive.
"Oh."
Apparently satisfied with his student's enlightenment, Satoru nodded.
"I'm glad you understand."
I don't. Not even a little.
Shino could only offer an awkward smile.
"Honestly, I was surprised when you said you wanted to learn," Satoru continued. "Most of the chefs I knew, including the ones at restaurants where I worked, were men. Full-time homemakers seem rarer now too. Times are changing quickly, and plenty of women have careers of their own. Still, I think every woman should have at least a few domestic skills."
He seemed to consider his next words.
"No matter how tough she has to be outside, coming home and cooking something delicious for her husband and children can create a warm, happy family. That kind of ordinary happiness sounds pretty comfortable to me."
So the clueless blockhead was an old-fashioned traditionalist too.
Of course he was.
"But like you said, a wife who's worked all day will be tired when she gets home," Shino replied. "She won't have much energy left, especially if she's expected to create that 'ordinary happiness' every single night."
"Exactly."
He accepted the point without the slightest resistance.
"And if she has no experience, learning to cook properly takes time. Serving failed experiments at the dinner table every night would only make things worse. That's why she should learn in advance."
He nodded to himself.
"Fortunately, that won't be a problem in my household. I can cook, so my wife won't have to. She can come home, sit on the couch, watch the news, and wait a few minutes for dinner. Afterward, she can read a magazine or browse shopping sites while I run her bath. Then she'll take a shower and go straight to the bedroom, where I'll already have the temperature set exactly right, and get a full night's sleep."
He was only getting started.
"The next morning, I'll bring her hot coffee and a nutritious breakfast. Her lunch will already be packed. I'll remind her to bring her keys and enough money, and give her my bank card just in case. The PIN will be her birthday, of course. Then I'll walk her to the station and take the children to school myself."
He let out a long, contented breath.
"See how simple it is? Knowing how to cook keeps the household peaceful and prevents pointless arguments. Before long, she'll be completely caught in my gentle trap, and we'll live happily together for the rest of our lives."
A hopeful look entered his eyes.
He had been nurturing this fantasy for two or three years already. Considering how much she depended on him, the plan was practically flawless.
The Sword Saint had conquered one game after another through positioning, preparation, and carefully laid traps.
Of course, he had complete faith in his strategy.
Shino had been nodding at first. Then her imagination took over, warming her cheeks and quickening her heartbeat.
Wait.
Wasn't that kind of life incredibly appealing?
All the wife had to do was come home and let herself be pampered.
Shino shook her head hard, trying to banish the image of Satoru opening the door for her and asking whether she wanted dinner first, a bath first, or...
A dry chuckle came from behind them.
"Oh, right, Shino."
Satoru seemed to remember something.
"Wh-what is it?"
"Why did you suddenly decide to ask me for cooking lessons?"
"Well... you remember when we visited your uncle's place, right? I realized Misa-nee is really charming. I thought it would be nice to learn from her, so I decided to start with cooking. She owns the restaurant, after all."
Shino looked away.
It was not a convincing story.
Satoru noticed immediately. Misa Wakaba might own the restaurant, but whenever anything actually needed doing, his uncle handled it. In looks and social grace, she was close to the perfect woman. Cooking, however, had very little to do with it.
He frowned.
There was more to this.
His searching gaze met Shino's evasive eyes, and then realization struck.
"Ah, I see."
He clapped his hands and smiled.
"There's someone you like. You're planning to win him over with your cooking."
Shino froze.
The laugh behind her came again, colder this time.
"You're at that age, after all," Satoru said, genuinely pleased. "This is good. You've moved past what happened before, so you should enjoy the awkward excitement that comes with being young. Is he a classmate? Or some handsome upperclassman you met somewhere?"
He leaned closer, intrigued.
"Is he an athlete who practices until sunset? Or a brilliant student council boy with glasses?"
Having dropped out of middle school, Satoru had only television dramas to draw from.
"Don't worry. Since you came to me, I'll give this everything I've got. Learn even thirty percent of what I know, and some schoolboy won't stand a chance. You'll have him eating out of your hand."
He proudly thumped his chest.
"...Right."
Shino forced a smile.
His instincts really did live up to his reputation inside the game. When it came to himself, however, the wall of sheer density remained undefeated.
"Let's begin."
Satoru turned to the stove and rolled up his sleeves, exposing his thin forearms.
"If the target is a male student, we should start with something that won't be too strong for the average Japanese palate. For a well-known Sichuan dish..."
He considered it.
"Mapo tofu is the obvious choice."
He took a perfectly square block of chilled tofu from the refrigerator and arranged every ingredient he would need within easy reach.
"All right, Shino. I'll do this slowly."
He placed the tofu on his left palm and drew a small knife with his right.
"First, cut the tofu into even cubes. Each piece should be about one bite, or half a bite if you prefer them smaller. Once the blade starts moving, don't hesitate. Clean, smooth cuts preserve the texture."
His delivery was so precise that he might have been reading from a cookbook.
Maybe it was Shino's imagination, but she could have sworn he gave the knife a quick spin out of pure habit.
The blade flashed down five times, then swept across the tofu another five. Every cube dropped neatly into a pot of water. They were almost identical in size, with smooth surfaces and no cracks or ragged edges.
The entire process took less than seven seconds.
"Add salt to the water and let the tofu soak for fifteen minutes."
He immediately turned to the wok.
"Heat the pan, add oil, and fry the minced beef."
Before the oil was even hot, he had already reduced fifty grams of beef to a fine mince. It hit the wok with a sharp hiss, sending tiny droplets of oil into the air as the smell of browning meat filled the kitchen.
"Once the beef changes color, add the doubanjiang. When it becomes fragrant, add the fermented black beans and keep frying. Minced garlic comes next, followed by Shaoxing wine."
The metal spatula belonged to Shino, but it seemed like a completely different tool in his hands. His smooth, practiced movements made the difference in their experience painfully obvious.
"Add enough water to make the sauce. Stock is even better if you have it. Season with soy sauce and salt, bring it to a boil, then add sugar to taste."
He drained the tofu.
"Now add the tofu to the wok. Use chicken bouillon for flavor and a cornstarch slurry to thicken the sauce."
He gently rocked the pan instead of stirring.
"Keep it moving so the tofu doesn't stick or break. Once the starch thickens, plate it."
The tofu emerged steaming and deep orange-red, coated in a rich, spicy sauce. Satoru finished it with a light dusting from his hand.
"Ground Sichuan peppercorn and chopped scallions."
Done.
The perfectly even cubes sat in a glossy pool of sauce. Red peppercorn powder and bright green scallions decorated the center, their colors balancing the fiery orange of the dish. The sharp, fragrant scent of Sichuan pepper rose with the steam.
"What do you think? Pretty simple, right?"
"...Yeah."
Shino's voice and expression revealed nothing.
Satoru scratched his head.
Had he done something wrong?
"Well, it's finished, so let's eat. I'll make a few more dishes, and the three of us can call this dinner."
Shino settled at the table with a sigh and cautiously tasted the mapo tofu.
"Whoa... That's spicy."
A second later, she stuck out her tongue.
"I should've used more sugar."
Satoru rubbed his chin, then glanced toward the one person who had remained perfectly still.
"Saki, what's wrong? You haven't said a word since you got here."
"Heh."
From the shadowed corner on the other side of the table, Saki gave a low, humorless laugh.
No, technically she had made sounds.
Every sound she had made was simply loaded with inexplicable hostility.
Satoru grew even more confused.
Maybe Saki simply did not like tofu.