I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

We moved from Tojo’s room to the kitchen to practice cooking.

“So, what are you going to teach us to cook?”
She had already changed into an apron without me noticing.
Since I’d brought the one I use at home in advance, I tied it around my waist and replied.

“Nothing too complicated, or you won’t be able to follow. We should start with something simple.”
I had three candidates in mind.
Karaage, Vienna sausages, and rolled omelette.

With these, even a total beginner could follow along.
They were also bestsellers in the bento side dish world.
Apparently, my suggestions sounded reasonable to both of them, as they nodded in agreement.

Kishimoto asked brightly.
“Then what are we making first?”
“Vienna sausages.”

In terms of difficulty, it was definitely the easiest of the three.
All you had to do was cut some slits in the sausages and fry them in a pan.
Upon hearing that, Tojo immediately picked up a kitchen knife.

“…It’s kind of ominous seeing you hold that.”
“Wanna die, punk?!”
Maybe because she was from the Kendo Club and used to handling blades, Tojo started swinging the kitchen knife through the air with dramatic flair.

Her red hair and fierce eyes only made it more terrifying.
Anyway, after waiting for her excitement to die down, I placed the red Vienna sausages on the cutting board and explained clearly.
“Think of it as cutting about a third of the way into the sausage. Do it twice and you get four legs, four times and it’s eight legs. Simple, right?”
“Hmph, that’s nothing!”

Saying that, Tojo began cutting the sausages with surprising skill.
Since the two of us were working together, we quickly finished preparing a whole pack of Vienna sausages.
I decided to add a little decoration on top of that.

Kishimoto, who had been watching us cook from the side, muttered.
“Black sesame?”
“We’ve gotta give the octopuses eyes, right?”

As I said that, I used a toothpick to poke black sesame seeds into the octopus-shaped sausages.
With that, prep was done.
I placed the frying pan on the stove and, once the surface was properly heated, dumped the prepared Vienna sausages in.

──Sssssszzzzz!
As they heated up, the sausages began curling outward slightly.
Unlike Korean Vienna sausages, which are mostly brown, Japanese ones are red on the outside and white on the inside.

The red comes from the dyed casing, while the white interior is due to a high flour content—kind of like fish-paste sausages.
No special cooking skills were needed, so I simply cooked them until they were nicely browned and plated them neatly.
Shortly after, Tojo plated the sausages she had cooked and dusted off her hands with a proud look.

“Heh! If it’s me, this kind of thing is nothing!”
Having confidence while cooking isn’t a bad thing.
We both handed our plates over to Kishimoto, who was in charge of tasting.

“Hmph,” she said, stroking her imaginary beard, picking up a pair of wooden chopsticks.
She dipped one in a bit of yellow mustard and then popped my sausage into her small mouth.
Crunch!

“Mmm!”
As soon as she took a bite, her eyes sparkled.
“It just tastes like a normal Vienna sausage, though?”

“Of course. I didn’t add anything special.”
After tasting mine, Kishimoto picked up one of Tojo’s sausages.
“Ah, this one’s okay too. Aside from the slightly burnt edge.”

Hearing that, I picked up one of Tojo’s sausages with my chopsticks and tried it.
Chew chew.
“The heat control’s a little off, but for a first try, this is definitely a passing grade.”

As she heard our verdict, the corners of Tojo’s mouth twitched upward.
But we still had a long way to go.
The twin peaks of the bento side dish world—rolled omelette and karaage—still lay ahead.

***
The chaotic cooking lesson ended about two hours later.
Having gained confidence from the easy Vienna sausages, Tojo Karen lost all motivation after a string of failures.

“Haah… I didn’t know cooking was this hard.”
“It’s okay! If you practice a lot, you’ll improve in no time!”
Sure, no one gets full from the first spoonful, but even considering that, this girl was seriously cursed with clumsy hands.

The biggest issue was her insistence on using only high heat.
Who knew someone could live their life without understanding the concept of low and medium heat?
The moment I looked away, she decided things were going too slow and cranked up the burner, producing scorched rolled omelettes and karaage that looked like they’d been twisted in the underworld.

After taking a bite of her own creation, she made a face ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) beyond verbal description.
“Mmf… ugh… haah!”
Tojo, her eyes slightly tearing up and her expression vaguely lewd, forced herself to swallow without spitting it out—but after that, her chopsticks only ever moved toward the food I had made.

She practically treated her own cooking as trash.
To help her deal with her impatience in the kitchen, I taught her how to use a timer.
For people with poor focus like her, it was better to set a strict cooking duration.

Today, we had to stop here due to time constraints, but I made sure to jot down the recipes and instructions in a notebook and reminded her to practice again.
Tojo hugged the recipe notebook to her chest like it was a treasure.
“Well, we should eat dinner before it gets too late.”

After checking the leftover ingredients from the bento side dishes, I decided to make Chinese-style fried rice, my specialty.
─Ssssszzzt!
I poured oil into a large wok, added a ton of finely sliced scallions, and stirred with a ladle.

This was to make scallion oil—to infuse flavor into the oil and enhance the umami of the dish.
Normally, home stoves don’t have enough heat output for proper Chinese cooking, but this place had commercial-grade burners, so firepower wasn’t an issue.
As the scallion oil started bubbling up quickly, I poured in the beaten eggs and instant rice I had prepared earlier.

Slam! Slam!
Like a ship facing a violent storm at sea, golden waves flew up from the black wok with every flick of my arm, dazzling to behold.
At the end, I seasoned it simply with salt and pepper, shaped the rice in a bowl, and flipped it onto a plate.

Five minutes after starting, the golden fried rice was complete, radiating its beautiful presence on the plate.
“Waaah!”
Kishimoto’s eyes sparkled at the sight of carbohydrates.

Tojo, beside her, looked just as delighted.
As I handed them each a spoon, they immediately dove into the fried rice.
I’d set aside my portion separately, so I ate calmly and quietly—until Kishimoto suddenly looked curious and asked:

“Ryuu-chan, when did you get so good at cooking?”
Hearing her question, I searched my memory.
“When was it…?”

I first thought about making my own lunchboxes during the second semester of my first year.
Back in middle school, I went to a nearby school, but once I started commuting to this one, I had to leave the house around 7 a.m. to make it on time.
So my mom used to wake up every morning to make me a lunchbox. Watching her tired face made me feel guilty, so starting that semester, I decided to make my own.

The first time I tried, I woke up at 4 a.m., but failed to make anything edible and ended up skipping lunch.
The next day, I finally learned how to crack eggs properly and barely finished by 7:30. I was late for school that day, of course.
As time went on, I gradually got faster. One day, I realized that even if I woke up at 4 a.m. and made a lunchbox, the sun wouldn’t rise until I finished.

Doing the same thing every day without skipping had led me to a sort of enlightenment.
My dad, who quietly watched me go through all of that, eventually allowed me into the kitchen of our family restaurant.
It felt like I had been recognized as the heir to Mikoya, the restaurant that held my parents’ youthful passion.

After hearing my calm retelling of the story, Kishimoto dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket.
“Sniff! You decided to make your own lunch just to help your poor mom? That’s so touching!”
“Who makes yours?”

“Hm? Of course, my Mama packs it with love every day.”
This fire-type filial daughter…
Chatting idly like that while we ate, the fried rice disappeared in no time.

Feeling a bit sad, I licked my lips and asked for their plates to do the dishes.
Tojo insisted that the house staff could handle it and tried to stop me, but as a guest, I felt it would be rude not to clean up myself.
She also offered to drive me back, like when I came, but since the subway was still running, I declined.

Then, walking us to the station, Tojo fidgeted with her lips and bowed her head deeply.
“Thanks to both of you for today. I won’t forget this kindness.”
Grinning, Kishimoto cheerfully waved and said,

“Then, see you at school tomorrow!”
It seemed that today, the two of them had naturally become friends.