—Soft piano notes echo under the hum of an early spring morning. The kind that smells like chalk dust and sunshine through open classroom windows.
[Morning in Class 2-B]
Akio Hukitaske sat at his desk, face planted into his folded arms, the sunlight slipping between his hair like liquid gold. He wasn't crying. He wasn't even tired. He was… empty.
That strange, hollow feeling that wasn't sadness or joy — just the kind of vacuum that makes your stomach curl.
The faint sound of a broom brushing the hallway and the laughter of first-years echoed through the open door. He sighed. I used to code through nights without food. Thirty-two-year-old me would call this efficiency. Fourteen-year-old me calls this agony.
His stomach growled so loudly that the teenager sitting ahead — Rumane, flipping through her chemistry notes — turned and blinked at him.
"Are you okay, Hukitaske? You sound like… a small animal dying."
"I'm fine," he muttered, cheeks burning.
Then, from the seat beside him — a snicker. Hikata Yakasuke leaned back, his messy hair catching the sun. He wore that lopsided grin that could light a room — or, in most cases, set it on fire.
"You're not fine," Hikata said, tapping his pencil like a drummer setting the rhythm. "You've got that face. The 'life's meaningless' face."
Akio looked up slowly. "It's not that deep. I'm just… hungry." "Hungry?" Hikata's eyes widened as if Akio had just confessed to murder. "That's it? You're depressed because you're hungry?"
Akio didn't answer. His stomach did.
A rumbling growl that echoed off the desks like distant thunder.
Students started to giggle. Hikata grinned wider. "Alright, alright," Hikata said, springing to his feet. "Time to fix this tragedy. I hereby declare today's after-school mission: Operation Fill Akio's Soul Through Cooking."
Akio blinked. "Cooking?" "Yup. You, me, the wild unknown of the school's Home Economics room." Akio groaned into his sleeve. I was hoping for lunch. Not an explosion.
[After School – The Home Ec Room]
The sun had dipped lower, painting the windows in shades of rose and amber. Dust floated like soft motes of gold. The room smelled faintly of detergent, flour, and burned dreams.
Hikata, wearing a frilly pink apron with the words "Kiss the Chef," looked like a cartoon brought to life. Akio stood near the counter, hands in pockets. "You look ridiculous."
"That's confidence," Hikata corrected. "Fashion confidence." He dumped a bag of groceries on the table. Bread, eggs, onions, and — was that strawberry jam? "Do you even know what you're making?" Akio asked.
"Yeah. Uh…" Hikata rummaged through the ingredients, squinting. "Fried rice. Maybe. Or… jam toast with rice?" Akio pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can't mix those."
"Rules are meant to be broken, Akio! That's how innovation happens." He cracked an egg — and half the shell fell in. Then another. The pan hissed like an angry cat as Hikata poured in oil, then soy sauce, then — inexplicably — strawberry jam.
Akio's voice was steady, but his eyes twitched. "You're creating an abomination." "Art," Hikata said proudly. "This is called 'fusion cuisine.'"
Smoke curled upward. The jam caramelized into black tar. The egg resembled a crime scene. A moment later, the fire alarm blared. Hikata screamed. "THE STOVE'S POSSESSED!"
Akio yanked the plug, grabbed a towel, and waved the smoke toward the open window. Outside, the sunset bled crimson across the sky, like laughter painted in color.
When the chaos settled, Hikata slumped to the floor. "That… went worse than expected." "You think?" Akio muttered, coughing out smoke.
Then Hikata chuckled — that full-bellied, reckless laugh that somehow always made Akio's irritation soften. "You gotta admit though, it looked cool for a second." Akio couldn't help it. He smiled. Just a little.
Even disaster looks beautiful when someone's laughing at it.
[The Counterattack]
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was wiped clean. The light had dimmed into a honey-colored glow, the kind that turns glass reflections into small galaxies.
Akio rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, move. You've proven you can destroy a kitchen. Now it's my turn." Hikata perked up. "You can cook?"
"Enough to survive." He grabbed a clean pan, cracked an egg with one hand, poured rice with the other. The rhythm of it was hypnotic — the faint clatter of utensils, the hiss of oil, the rising perfume of soy sauce and onions.
Hikata watched like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time. "Whoa… you look like a pro. How'd you learn that?" Akio smiled faintly, eyes on the pan. "When I was older — before all this — I used to live alone. Cooking was cheaper than starving."
"Older, huh? You mean—" Akio hesitated. "Yeah." The words hung there — like steam caught in twilight. For a moment, the comedy faded, and silence settled. The sizzling filled it, a soft reminder that even in regret, there's warmth.
"Hey," Hikata said gently. "You really think this whole cooking thing… is worth it?" Akio looked down at the frying rice. "It's not about being worth it. It's about being needed. I used to make games to distract people. Now I want to heal them. That's… all." Hikata grinned. "Damn, you sound like an anime protagonist." "I'm living one," Akio muttered.
[The First Bite]
The meal wasn't fancy — just fried rice, golden with egg and a hint of onion. But it smelled like salvation.
Hikata took the first bite. His eyes widened. "Wow… this is amazing." Akio raised an eyebrow. "You're exaggerating." "I'm not! It's like happiness got stir-fried."
Akio looked away, hiding a smile. "Then eat before it cools."
They ate together in the fading light. Between bites, they traded stories — Akio about his "past life" (vaguely, never fully explaining), and Hikata about his chaotic family, his dream to make people laugh because "laughter saves lives."
And somewhere between the steam and the laughter, a quiet bond formed more than ever.
[Twilight Reflections]
After cleaning up, they sat by the window. The sky was deep violet now, with streaks of orange dying into night. City lights flickered awake below.
Hikata leaned back on his chair, tossing a bottle cap in the air. "So, today's lesson — cooking is harder than I thought."
Akio smirked. "That's because you tried to invent 'jam rice.'" "It was ahead of its time!" Hikata groaned. Akio laughed softly. "Sure. Let's just call it… experimental tragedy."
Then, quieter: "You know, Hikata… when I woke up this morning, I felt like the world had lost color. Everything I used to know felt so far away."
Hikata tilted his head. "And now?"
Akio looked out the window. The stars blinked faintly through city haze. "Now… it feels a little brighter. Maybe color comes back when someone's loud enough to drag you back into chaos."
Hikata grinned. "You're welcome."
A soft gust brushed past the window, stirring the curtains — and for a second, the world felt perfectly still.
[Epilogue – The Beginning of Chaos]
The next morning, Hikata burst into class holding a notebook covered in doodles. "Lesson two starts today!"
Akio blinked. "Lesson two?" "Yeah! You're gonna teach me properly this time. Step by step. I'll master cooking before the year ends!" Rumane, overhearing from the next row, whispered, "Omg help us all." Hikata ignored her. "C'mon, Akio. You said cooking's about balance and patience, right?"
"I said cooking's about not burning down the building." Akio yelled back.
"Same thing!" Hikata grinned. Akio sighed, pressing his forehead to his palm. "I'm going to regret this."
Hikata smirked. "Regret tastes like jam rice."
Akio froze. "Never. Mention. That. Again."
The class burst into laughter.
As the bell rang and sunlight pooled across their desks, Akio caught Hikata's grin from the corner of his eye — that untamed, ridiculous grin that somehow made everything feel lighter.
For the first time in months, Akio didn't feel thirty-two years of regret or fourteen years of confusion. Just warmth. Just life.
And so began the most unexpected chapter of Akio Hukitaske's second youth —a comedy of flavors, chaos, and friendship.
TO BE CONTINUED...