Hachiman's POV
"Phew… alright, time to get moving."
Staring at the ceiling forever was a waste of time. I needed to head down to the dining hall before my stomach started staging a protest. On my way, I checked the news on my phone—Rice was already the talk of the town.
[Japan's First Overseas Victory!!]
[G1 Glory in France: Rice Shower Takes the Crown!]
The headlines were everywhere. Seeing her finally get the recognition she deserved filled me with a quiet sense of pride. She had the talent; it was only natural. It was just that the fiascos at the Kikuka-sho and the Tenno Sho Spring had been so… toxic.
"Well," I muttered to myself, "no point in dwelling on the bad stuff today. Now, then…"
— The Dining Hall —
"Ah! He's here! Trainer-san! Congratulations on the win!"
"Congratulations!"
A group of local students swarmed me the moment I stepped inside.
"You guys came all the way over just to say that? Thanks," I said, offering a small, awkward nod. "But sorry about the result. We ended up beating your classmates on their home turf."
"Oh, don't worry about that! We aren't so fragile that a loss or two will break us!" one of them chirped. Then she tilted her head, looking at the bags in my hands. "By the way, you're carrying a lot of gear today, aren't you?"
"Hm? Oh, just some supplies."
They exchanged confused looks, but I didn't elaborate. I scanned the room, but I didn't see Rice anywhere yet.
Guess she's still at the party. Well, whatever. I'll just get started.
"Excuse me," I called out to the kitchen staff. "Would it be possible to borrow a station in the kitchen?"
The chef looked up, surprised. "In the kitchen? You're going to cook, lad?"
"Yeah. Dinner."
"Well, the front station is open. Feel free."
"Much appreciated. Right, let's do this."
— One Hour Later —
"Wow… that smells incredible…"
"Is that… Japanese food?"
"It has to be! Look at those eggs—I think they call it Tamagoyaki? It's not like scrambled eggs at all; he folded them so perfectly while frying."
"And that salmon… look at the sear on both sides. My mouth is watering."
"What's that brown liquid? It has seaweed and those little crouton-looking things in it…"
"I'm more curious about that iron box he's had on the heat. What's inside?"
"And those little yellow circles? They look like vegetables, maybe?"
I ignored the commentary and focused on the task. Bringing my own equipment and ingredients from Japan had been a hassle, but seeing the results, it was definitely the right call. It was time to give Rice a call.
— A Few Minutes Later —
"Big Brother! You said you were cooking… but you made all of this? This is amazing!"
Rice stared at the spread, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Oh, Rice, you're here. I figured you'd be getting homesick for Japanese food right about now. I went a bit overboard."
"Waaaah… it's all the things Rice loves!"
"It's probably going to draw a lot of stares since you never see this kind of spread in France, but let's eat anyway."
"Yes! Let's!"
Rice was practically glowing as she helped me carry the dishes to a table. I'd made enough for seconds, too. I'd managed to source a few things locally, but the essentials—the soul of the meal—had come straight from Japan in my luggage.
"Rice! Actual white rice!" she squealed happily.
"The real deal. Dig in."
"Thank you for the food!"
The menu was a classic Japanese spread: white rice, miso soup with kombu and fried tofu, salt-grilled salmon, takuan pickles, tamagoyaki, nikujaga (meat and potato stew), blanched spinach ohitashi, and a simple garden salad. I'd thought about grilling some meat, but fish felt more like "home."
Rice took a bite, her expression turning into one of pure bliss. "Mmmmmm~♪"
(It tastes so nostalgic…) she thought, her tail swishing rhythmically under the table. (Rice has been eating fine here, but why does Japanese rice taste so different? It's so delicious… but mostly, it's because Big Brother made it just for me!)
"Is it good?" I asked.
"Mmhmm! It's wonderful!"
"Glad to hear it. Though we're attracting quite a crowd…"
The local students were practically hovering, their noses twitching at the scent of the miso soup. I sighed. I couldn't give them everything—I had a limited supply of rice—but I could at least share the soup.
"Hey… you lot. This liquid is called Miso Soup. Anyone want a taste?"
"Wait, really?! I want some!"
"Me too!"
"I've always been curious about Japanese cuisine!"
The response was… overwhelming, to say the least. Good thing I brought an extra tub of miso paste.
"Aaah… it's so… relaxing," one girl sighed after her first sip.
"I know, right? It's such a gentle flavor."
"You'd never find a taste like this in France."
"Man… I wonder how my mom is doing back home?"
I stared in disbelief. To think miso soup alone could trigger a wave of homesickness in people who weren't even Japanese. It was a powerful tool. Still, I had to draw the line at the other dishes. The rice was precious cargo, and we still had two weeks left in France. If I used it all now, I'd be in trouble later.
"Well," I said, turning back to my own bowl. "Let's just enjoy the meal for now."
"Big Brother… can I have seconds?" Rice asked, holding out her bowl with a hopeful look.
"Yeah, I made plenty. Hungry?"
"Mmhmm!"
Eventually, even the other trainers started wandering over, asking the same questions as the students. I ended up serving miso soup to half the dining hall. I hadn't realized Japanese food was such a rarity here, but the "cultural exchange" wasn't half bad. The atmosphere was warm—a far cry from the cold silence we had left behind in Japan.
"Big Brother, just one more bowl?"
"Yeah, yeah. Hang on a sec."
I guess after a month away from home, you really do start to miss the simple things. Like a bowl of rice made by someone who cares.
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