"Of course it's because Tomoko-san's cooking skills are so incredible that being picky about food becomes literally impossible," I replied with genuine appreciation.
"Thank you, Sosuke-kun. Children who aren't picky eaters are good children—that's the only way to maintain a healthy body," she responded with that motherly warmth that somehow made my chest flutter.
Wait, did she just call me a child? I'm not sure how I feel about that...
But then something strange happened. Matsumoto Tomoko glanced at me with an odd expression, and for reasons I couldn't fathom, she seemed to... swallow nervously? Her throat moved almost imperceptibly, and there was something in her eyes that I couldn't quite identify.
"Ah, look! The eggs really are on sale! And it seems like there's a limit of one box per person—perfect! We came at exactly the right time," she suddenly exclaimed, her attention shifting with the laser focus of a bargain hunter who'd spotted premium prey.
She quickly grabbed my arm—sending a small electric shock through my system—and guided me over to snag two boxes of eggs before adding them to our growing collection of culinary ammunition.
We continued our shopping expedition through the maze-like supermarket, our conversation flowing as naturally as if we'd been doing this for years.
What struck me as remarkable was how Matsumoto Tomoko seemed to have discovered something magical in what should have been a mundane chore. Shopping for groceries—typically the kind of task that ranked somewhere between doing taxes and cleaning gutters on the excitement scale—had somehow transformed into something genuinely enjoyable.
With my presence beside her, the simple act of selecting daily necessities had taken on an entirely different quality. It felt almost like...
Like we're...
When that thought crossed Matsumoto Tomoko's mind, her heart skipped several beats and a barely perceptible blush painted itself across her fair cheeks.
Like we're a couple. A real couple doing couple things.
However, reality crashed back into her awareness like a bucket of cold water. Here she was—a single mother in her thirties—standing next to a college student still wearing his school uniform.
She couldn't shake the feeling that other shoppers were undoubtedly observing them with curiosity, perhaps wondering about the nature of their relationship.
Let them wonder. This is my life, and I don't need to justify it to anyone.
After a moment of internal conflict, she felt the tension leave her shoulders. After all, this was her life to live, and she didn't need to waste energy worrying about the opinions of strangers.
Life's too short to care what random people think.
After completing our supermarket conquest, we returned to the apartment complex laden with enough supplies to survive a minor apocalypse.
"Alright! Now it's cooking time, Sosuke-kun. Your only job is to sit back and prepare yourself for culinary heaven," Matsumoto Tomoko announced with sudden enthusiasm, practically radiating excitement as she looked up at me.
Soon, the symphony of food preparation began echoing from the kitchen—the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the sizzle of ingredients hitting hot oil, the gentle bubble of simmering broths. I'd attempted to offer my assistance, but I'd been firmly banished from her domain with the authority of a general commanding her troops.
Left to my own devices, I migrated to the living room and turned on the TV for some mindless entertainment. However, my attention kept drifting toward the kitchen, where increasingly tantalizing aromas were beginning to escape.
The woman in the kitchen moved with the precision and efficiency of a professional chef, orchestrating multiple dishes simultaneously while maintaining perfect timing and temperature control.
When all the dishes had been arranged on the table like offerings at an altar, Matsumoto Tomoko wiped the perspiration from her forehead, her face glowing with the deep satisfaction of someone who'd just completed something truly meaningful.
"Come and have dinner, Sosuke-kun!"
Given the obvious care and effort that had gone into this meal, I knew I had to approach it with the reverence it deserved.
"Itadakimasu," I said formally, bringing my hands together before reaching for the miso soup bowl.
The moment the rim touched my lips, I took a slow, deliberate sip, allowing myself to fully appreciate the complex interplay of miso and dashi.
Oh wow.
The flavors that spread across my tongue were nothing like the instant varieties I'd grown accustomed to in my bachelor existence. This was the result of careful calculation and precise adjustment—a perfect balance where the miso provided depth without overwhelming the delicate dashi base.
The initial sip was deliberately light, clearly designed to complement rather than compete with the other dishes. It was the kind of thoughtful preparation that demonstrated genuine mastery.
"This is absolutely incredible," I couldn't help but murmur in appreciation.
Matsumoto Tomoko, still wearing her apron like a badge of honor, settled into the seat across from me with her eyes crinkled in happiness.
The grilled tilapia was a masterclass in technique—perfectly seasoned while retaining every bit of its natural moisture. Too much heat would have resulted in dry, flavorless protein, but this fish was tender and bursting with flavor.
The tamagoyaki was exactly the way I preferred it, as if she'd somehow read my mind and translated my preferences into reality.
Enticed by its brilliant golden surface, I took a bite and was rewarded with the mellow richness of dashi-infused egg. This wasn't just any tamagoyaki—this was her unique style, enhanced with what tasted like the subtle sweetness of honey.
The delicate balance of flavors made it impossible to stop after just one bite. Each piece seemed to demand another.
"Absolutely delicious," I sighed, almost talking to myself as I reached for another piece.
Watching me eat with such obvious enjoyment, Matsumoto Tomoko's eyes filled with pure happiness.
"You look like you're really enjoying it," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made the food taste even better.
"Because it really is that good, Tomoko-san. You should eat some too," I urged, not wanting her to miss out on experiencing her own masterpiece.
At my encouragement, Matsumoto Tomoko picked up her chopsticks and began sampling her own creations alongside me.
Soon, the table full of culinary treasures had been completely cleared by our combined efforts.
Maybe it was the heat from outside, or perhaps the temperature of the miso soup, but both Ginjo and his landlady had begun perspiring simultaneously as the meal concluded.
"It's so hot," Matsumoto Tomoko murmured, fanning herself with her hands while occasionally tugging at her collar to allow some air circulation.
My attention became inexorably drawn to the apron she was still wearing, and before I could stop myself, my mind began wandering into decidedly inappropriate territory...
Matsumoto Tomoko noticed where my gaze had wandered, then looked down at herself as if suddenly realizing something significant...
Without saying a word, she left me sitting there in my slightly stunned state and quietly retreated to her bedroom.
When she emerged again, she was still wearing the same apron.
But underneath that apron...
Wait. What? Is she...?
"So... Sosuke-kun..." Matsumoto Tomoko's gentle voice pulled me from my increasingly chaotic thoughts, but when I turned to look at her properly, words completely abandoned me.
Holy mother of...
I witnessed a sight so shocking that my entire body seemed to freeze as if I'd been struck by lightning. My brain struggled to process what my eyes were reporting.
The combination of a beautiful woman and nothing but an apron possessed an intuitive, devastating appeal that bypassed all rational thought.
Matsumoto Tomoko's fair skin had taken on a rosy hue, and she seemed genuinely embarrassed by my reaction, looking as if she might flee at any moment...
But she didn't run. Instead, she remained exactly where she was, presenting herself in this incredibly seductive outfit for my appreciation.
"Do you like me dressed like this?" she asked, placing one slender finger at the corner of her mouth before biting her plump, tempting lower lip with pearly white teeth.
"Of course! Of course I like it!" I managed to stammer out, though my voice sounded foreign to my own ears.
Like? The word 'like' seems completely inadequate for what I'm feeling right now.
This wasn't just appealing—this was a dream come true!
This was a fantasy within a fantasy!
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