A/N:
This was supposed to be a short, fluffy two-chapters fic.
Now the first chapter got almost 5000 words ... -.-
Please be informed before reading: English is not this author's native language. Thus there will be plenty mistakes regarding spelling, grammar, punctuation, word ... well, and alot of other things.
Be warned.
And even though I tagged it as pairing ... Honestly, it's not really a romance ... more like "Enemies to Friends" ...
A turning point in a long-lasting rivalry.
Chapter 1: A look into the past
Akira Hayama was an arrogant, pretentious, and condescending human being. And Hisako Arato would have been pleased to not talk to him ever again in her lifetime. Alas, here she was, standing in front of what was undeniable the academy's most run-down facility, ready to face her personal nemesis.
Hisako sighed. Sometimes, fate could be cruel. However, if the gods had any mercy on her, this wouldn't take long.
Her eyes roamed over the building as she inspected its state, swiftly taking in several cracked windowpanes and the rusty façade made of corrugated iron. She clicked her tongue in disapproval. This building bore a striking resemblance to an abandoned shack on the outskirts of some godforsaken slum. But despite its shabby appearance, it inhabited a vital organ of Japan's most famous culinary school and a renowned research facility.
And it also served as a permanent home to Jun Shiomi and her aloof assistant.
Hisako's lips pressed into a thin line.
Ever since she had started middle school, Hisako harbored a particular dislike for Hayama. And vice versa. It was hard to explain as to why, though. Looked at objectively, they should get along very well. They received excellent grades on all their exams, their cooking styles had a similar foundation, and amongst their shared group of crazy acquittances, they were the only sane people. They should at least be able to have a civilized conversation every once in a while if only to preserve their own sanity and dignity.
But they weren't.
Hisako presumed it got something to do with their overachieving personas and the environment they had grown up in. The Tōtsuki Academy cultivated a strong belief in natural selection. Survival of the fittest was this school's general creed, and it had indelibly been imprinted on its students' young, malleable minds.
For all their student life, they had been trying to outdo each other in everything. Not in the flashy way that was favored by Yukihira whenever he dared to challenge Erina-sama and got crushed. Their approach was more subtle. They had competed in class rankings and knowledge rather than in cook-offs. Then their first high school year had happened, and the aftermaths of their clash at the Autumn Election and the fiasco with Central hadn't helped to improve her opinion about him whatsoever.
Hisako drew in a long, shuddering breath, then she knocked. The booming sound echoed eerily through the building's deserted halls before fading and being replaced by silence once more.
While she was waiting for any sign that her presence had been noticed, Hisako started tapping her right foot impatiently. Certain people clearly lacked decent manners. She huffed in annoyance. After all, she had more important things to do. Not to mention that it was January and freezing cold outside.
Eventually, after a few moments of shivering in the cold, she heard the sound of footsteps coming distinctly closer.
Hisako braced herself. This time, she wasn't willing to back off. She was on a mission, after all. Plus, this was an excellent chance to get some payback. Now she would be able to inform Hayama about his very limited manners and social skills.
So, she squared her shoulders and put on an expression of fierce determination. She was completely ready.
However, when the door opened, and Hisako was greeted by the pale face of Professor Shiomi, the words died in her throat. She quickly changed her mind and bowed deeply.
"Pardon the sudden intrusion, Professor," she said. "I know it's early in the morning. But I have to-"
"Be quiet," a tired-sounding voice told her, "She's asleep."
"Huh?"
Hisako looked up in surprise.
Just then, she realized that the little Professor wasn't standing in front of her. Instead, her small frame hung lifelessly in midair like a puppet on strings. Her arms dangled loosely by her sides, her eyes were closed, and her lips slightly parted. If not for the loud snoring emanating from her, Hisako would have been concerned. Then she noticed the tanned arms carrying Professor Shiomi, and Hisako's eyes traveled upwards to meet Hayama's. He was staring down at her, an impassive expression on his face.
"What do you want?" He asked crossly, skipping the usual exchange of superfluous pleasantries altogether.
Hisako pressed her lips into a thin line. Hayama sure had a talent for pissing people off. It took him less than two sentences to get her all riled up.
"I am not your secretary," she said coldly, raising her chin to counter his stare.
Hayama arched a confused eyebrow. "Good to know." He was obviously missing the point.
And honestly, Hisako couldn't blame him. Not this time. She sighed, annoyed by herself and her own inability to just ignore his hostile attitude. By now, she should have gotten used to his dismissive tone.
She shook her head to collect herself again, then put a hand into the pocket of her coat, producing a neatly bundled stack of envelopes out of it.
"You haven't fetched your mail since Monday," Hisako said, holding the letters out to Hayama. "Your mailbox was flooded with letters."
Hayama's eyes flicked towards the offered envelopes, yet he didn't show the slightest inclination to take them. He regarded them in a suspicious manner.
"More invitations?"
"I didn't read them, you know," Hisako snapped back, raising her voice involuntarily.
Unfortunately, the sudden turmoil caused Professor Shiomi to stir slightly in her sleep. Hisako and Hayama both held their breaths as they watched the little woman squirming in his arms and mumbling a stream of incoherent words. Then her head lolled to one side, and she continued snoring, drooling at the corners of her mouth.
They both exhaled simultaneously.
"I'm sorry," Hisako said, and she truly was. After all, she didn't come here to disturb Professor Shiomi's deserved rest. Her eyes wandered over the sleeping woman, noticing her round, childlike face, her rosy cheeks, and the bags under her bespectacled eyes. A sympathetic smile tugged at Hisako's lips. "Another all-nighter?"
Hayama merely hummed in response.
"Since you don't have a free hand, shall I bring them inside?" She lifted her hand, still carrying the envelopes. "One of them is from Dōjima-sama."
To her surprise, this information didn't seem to bear any news to Hayama. He just heaved an exasperated sigh.
"Another one," he muttered under his breath, readjusting his grip on the little woman in his arms. "He can be quite persistent." Then, without prewarning, he suddenly turned on his heels and retreated back into the confines of the Seminar. "And don't bother," he said over his shoulder as he walked down the corridor. "Just throw them away."
Then he climbed up a narrow staircase and disappeared out of sight.
Hisako was left standing in the doorway, flabbergasted with her eyes wide with disbelief, and her mouth hanging ajar. She didn't expect this twist of events.
Huffing in annoyance, Hisako folded her arms and clenched her hands into fists, crashing the letters in the process.
For a second, she was seriously contemplating destroying the letters – just as he had told her. It would give her some sort of satisfaction. She simply couldn't deny the pang of jealousy she felt whenever she had to sort the hundreds of letters and e-mails that arrived each day, requesting, sometimes even begging for the attention of the Elite Ten members. So far, numerous renowned companies and businesses from around the world had sent out requests for Hayama, seeking his advice and assistance, most of them eager to hire him on the spot as a full-time employee.
Hisako hadn't gotten half as many invitations. And it irked her, hence burning these letters or tearing them into shreds would most certainly bring her some relief.
On the other hand, Hayama had ordered her to get rid of them. He wouldn't be devastated if she just trashed them.
Plus, Hisako was still on a mission. She had to complete a job.
So, in the end, she perished the thought.
Sighing in resignation, she gave in and followed Hayama inside.
The insides of the Shiomi Seminar building were surprisingly well-kept, if somewhat messy. Mismatching clay pots filled with soil were lined up along the walls, and a discarded card boxes were piling up at the far end of the hallway.
She hurried upstairs, taking two steps at once, quickly catching up with Hayama, who had probably sensed her presence but decided not to mention it. He headed for a door on the right-hand side of the corridor, pushed it open with his shoulder, and stepped inside. Hisako didn't follow him in. Slowing down her pace, she inched towards the open door, pausing on the threshold to peer inside the laboratory.
Hayama walked across the room, moving past the high shelves filled with colorful spice jars and a messy kitchen. He was homing in on an area that looked like an improvised living room, furnished with a pair of battered old sofas, a coffee table with matching coffee rings on it, and a TV. He headed for one of the sofas, bent down, and gently placed the little woman on it. He also removed her glasses, wisely bringing them out of harm's reach. And soon enough, Professor Shiomi rolled over in her sleep, face snuggling into the cushions, mewling and giggling. Hayama rolled his eyes, then seized a lab coat that was draped over the sofa's backrest and covered her petite frame with it, tucking her in neatly.
"Alice is right," Hisako stated bluntly, "You are a mother-hen." In terms of taking care of scatterbrained Professor Shiomi, that is.
"Mind your own business." Hayama straightened his back and tilted his head to one side, addressing a hard look at the medicinal chef, before turning his back on her. "And watch your step."
Hisako, who was about to enter the room, stopped dead in her tracks. She lowered her gaze to inspect the tiled floor beneath her feet. Her mouth fell open.
"What the…," she trailed off.
The entire floor was covered in notes – not sheets of paper but actual handwriting. A myriad of tiny, scrawly characters flooded the tiles, forming entangled strings of complex calculations and formulas. They ran along the baseboard of the counters, curved around the legs of some kitchen chairs, and even crawled up a wall, painting outlines on faded wallpapers, which strongly resembled the silhouette of a rollercoaster.
"She ran out of space," Hayama explained in an offhand command as Hisako slid inside, carefully avoiding to tread on any of Professor Shiomi's abstract musings. He nodded to a whiteboard. It was overcrowded with information; every inch was filled with Professor Shiomi's messy, tiny handwriting.
Hisako studied the board. Her attention was drawn to an interesting-looking block diagram in the bottom left-hand corner. She moved forward to examine it.
"Don't bother," Hayama said as he passed her. He reached out, snatched a clipboard and a pen from a nearby bookshelf, and started jotting down something, apparently copying Professor Shiomi's notes. "You wouldn't understand it anyway."
"Why?" Hisako narrowed her eyes at him, a flash of anger sparking up as she spoke. She really was sick of his arrogant nature. "Because my intellect is too limited to get the message?"
"No," Hayama said slowly, not looking up once. "Because nobody is going to make any sense of Jun's ramblings until she puts them into the correct order."
"Oh."
"I won't disagree with you on your self-assessment, though." Hayama paused to crack a smug smile. "It's fairly accurate."
Hisako grimaced. Of course, he had to insult her. Well, she couldn't say she didn't expect it.
She was poised to respond with a snarky retort in return. But Hayama cut her short.
"So, what does our headmistress want?" he asked casually, and his lips quirked when he saw Hisako's astonished face. "As you said before, you're not my secretary. I doubt you would ever come by if it wasn't on behalf of Nakiri. So, what is it?"
Hisako regained her composure quickly. Clearing her throat, she fished a folded sheet of paper from the chest pocket of her coat. She held it up. "You haven't filled the career form yet."
"I thought this was purely voluntary."
"You're mistaken," Hisako said in a clipped tone, crossing her arms. "Erina-sama deems it her personal duty to ensure that no graduate will tarnish Tōtsuki's impeccable reputation by accepting jobs that are below the standards of this institution. So we have implemented a process to keep track of all Tōtsuki graduates."
"Ah, so Nakiri didn't come up with it because the human rights and ethics panel has forbidden her to chip Yukihira?"
"No." Well, actually, yes. But Hisako would rather commit suicide than admit the truth. "As I said, providing the requested information is mandatory for every student now. Especially for idiots who have a reclusive streak in their character and a nasty tendency to vanish without telling anyone about their current whereabouts." She shot Hayama a reproachful look, hoping to land a shattering blow to his pride. Knocking him down from his pedestal would have been the only benefit of the day. Unfortunately, her remark didn't damage Hayama's sickening confidence whatsoever.
"Good luck with convincing Alice," he said flatly, resuming scribbling down Professor Shiomi's nightly thoughts. "She will be delighted to obey any of her cousin's rules."
Hisako groaned. "Don't jinx it." While talking to Hayama was an unpleasant experience, coaxing Alice into lifting a finger was pure horror.
"Put it on the counter." He pointed at a workstation on the other side of the room with his pen. "I'll look into it later."
"Thanks." Hisako gave a curt nod and turned, glad that this was over. "Please hand it in by the end of February."
She strode over to a kitchen counter that was a mess. It was overladen with file folders, ring binders, school books, and several journals. Hisako clucked disapprovingly. In her book, disarray was considered a mortal sin.
Her eyes quickly skimmed over the folders, reading the labels on their backs: Japanese, Literature, English, History, Geography, Social Studies, Science, and Algebra. It appeared as if Hayama was doing some sort of revision. Hisako frowned.
This wasn't strange, per se. With their final exams approaching rapidly, most third-year students found themselves spending a lot of their valuable time in the library rather than in the kitchens, noses buried deep into books dealing with the achievements of modern gastronomy or guidelines to culinary success. Some even went so far as to refresh their knowledge of economics and accounting.
Yet, it was odd for a Tōtsuki student to study ordinary subjects. While general education was obligatory at Tōtsuki due to obvious reasons – it was still a high school, after all – it wasn't part of any exam.
Hisako considered asking him about his reasons but then decided otherwise. It wouldn't bring her any good, would it? She had accomplished her mission.
She really shouldn't push her luck.
She was about to place the document and the invitation letters on top of a stack of working books when something else piqued her curiosity. She had just spotted the pictures. Dozens of framed photos were hanging on a wall next to the workstation, arranged in a surprisingly sophisticated way given the Shiomi Seminar's standards.
Intrigued, Hisako crept around the kitchen counter to study the photographs. They almost looked like framed family pictures, primarily focusing on a very familiar person.
"Is that you?"
The question had slipped out of Hisako's mouth before she realized just how stupid it was. Each and every one of them featured the same child: a scrawny young boy with tanned skin, piercing green eyes, and silver hair that was neatly scraped back into a ponytail.
Hayama glanced up quickly to see what had caught her interest. His face hardened.
"You really can't stop poking your nose into other people's businesses, can you?" He shook his head in disgust and returned to his clipboard, snorting. "And I thought Alice to be an insufferable nuisance ..."
Hisako ignored his remark and continued viewing the pictures. They had been hung in chronological order and had captured various stages of his life, starting when Hayama was about six or seven years old. A trip to the beach, a day at the zoo, vacations in the nearby mountains. One photo must have been taken during a visit to Disney World Tokyo because Professor Shiomi was wearing a set of Mickey-Mouse-ears. She was grinning and waved enthusiastically into the camera. She was obviously enjoying her time off, whereas little Hayama was scowling. He really did his best to appear as annoyed and miserable as possible. Yet, he didn't seem to be loathing these moments of family bonding. He looked happy – in his own grumpy way.
Hisako hardly concealed a smile, then went on, fascinated by the scenes the pictures portrayed.
They were so fundamentally different from the kind of family photos her family put on display.
Her father was quite old-fashioned about things like this. Well, frankly, he was a bit old-fashioned about almost everything.
Once a year, he would summon a professional photographer to their mansion to have family portraits taken. They would dress in fine attire, do their hair, and put on some make-up. Once dolled up, they would gather in the spacious entrance hall. Her father would take a seat on an antique chair, wearing a grim expression on his face, and Hisako and her mother would position themselves dutifully around him. They wouldn't be smiling either. Suffice to say that Hisako didn't hold those memories dear in her heart.
She strolled past a photo from the middle school entrance ceremony and another image that captured Hayama and Professor Shiomi running a booth at the school festival. Then she stopped again.
Another picture had caught her eye. It showed a teenage Hayama along with Professor Shiomi, who was sobbing wildly, and an old man, sporting a big mustache and a bald head. Hisako's face lit up. She had recognized the man immediately. Old Professor Hayama had been around long before Hisako had ever set foot on Tōtsuki's school grounds.
She leaned forward and scrutinized the photo, taking in its details. The surroundings looked strangely familiar: a festively decorated hall with expansive furniture and crystal ornaments dangling from the ceiling. When she eventually spied the banner pinned above the heads of the trio, recognition dawned upon her.
"I remember this one. It was shot at Professor Hayama's farewell party."
Hisako had been there too, accompanying Erina-sama, who, as an heir to the Nakiri empire and the headmaster's granddaughter, had been obliged to join the event. Alice should have been there as well, but, as always, had failed to show up.
"When was it?" Hisako wrinkled her nose in concentration. "Around four years ago?"
Hayama hummed. He didn't bother to interrupt his work.
"Are you still in contact?"
Another hum. Hisako pursed her lips. Striking up a conversation with Hayama was pretty exhausting. Usually, she wouldn't bother. But she was really interested in the current activities of Professor Hayama.
"How is he?" Hisako pressed on, and when she remembered his age, she hastily added, "He's alright, isn't he?"
"He's fine," Hayama replied, and Hisako exhaled with relief. "He's overseas, studying tropical plants in South America. The last time I checked on him, he was about to embark on an expedition into the jungle."
Hisako raised her brows. "That's certainly one way to spend retirement," she deadpanned and was surprised when her comment earned a soft chuckle.
"He's never been one for a quiet and ordinary life."
"I see." A gentle smile played across Hisako's lips, and she told herself that it got nothing to do with the warm tone in Hayama's voice but the way she remembered the former Professor. She had been very fond of him. So fond that if Hisako closed her eyes, she could easily picture him in her mind's eye. She could see his shining bald head, his bushy mustache, the dimples in his cheeks, and the wrinkles around his wise eyes, which would twinkle in mischief every time he laughed.
"I liked him," Hisako admitted after a while. Professor Hayama had been a kind person, an excellent teacher. And a brilliant entertainer and magician. "He used to perform magic tricks at the annual staff gatherings."
"I know."
Of course, Hayama did. After all, he had attended the same events Hisako had. Sometimes she came to forget that they had been living on the same campus for more than a decade.
"Erina-sama loved his tricks," she went on, surprised by her newfound talkativeness. "She would be so elated by the prospect of watching one of his shows that she couldn't sit still for long. Even when we had to attend an important meeting beforehand."
Suddenly the constant scribbling sound, which had filled the room ever since Hayama had started copying Professor Shiomi's thoughts, faded. He had stopped writing. He looked up from his clipboard, smirking knowingly at her.
"As far as I remember, she wasn't the only one."
Hisako flushed. She felt her cheeks heating up. Even the tips of her ears turned red.
"It was … entertaining," she stammered, trying to hide her embarrassment but, ultimately, failed. Her skin prickled and burned, and her face reddened until it matched her pink hair.
She broke eye contact and, instead, stared transfixed at the ground. She had a pretty good guess of what to expect next. Magic tricks were meant to trick little children, pure but simple-minded souls who were easily fooled by optical illusions and charisma. So Hisako braced herself, readying herself for the impact of a snide remark which would most certainly come … except it didn't.
Instead, Hayama made a long, thoughtful noise. "Yet you never volunteered to assist."
At that, Hisako jerked her head up, the movement so fast, she almost strained a muscle. She gaped at the spice expert, who, in return, didn't show any emotion whatsoever. He wore an indefinable expression that, for once, lacked any sign of scorn or malice, much to Hisako's surprise.
"When Professor Hayama asked for assistance, you never said anything," he continued on, deliberately disregarding her state of shock. "You always allowed Nakiri to claim the spotlight while you kept trailing behind her." He cocked his head to one side and surveyed her in mild interest. "Why?"
"I …," Hisako began but soon trailed off. She didn't know what to say. She was actually lost for words.
Hisako had always been aware of the younger Hayama's presence at Professor Hayama's magic shows. But he had usually kept himself in the background, too preoccupied with scolding a drunken Jun Shiomi to revel in his mentor's illusions.
Apparently, that had been a misconception on her end. Hayama had always been there, too, lurking in the shadows like a wild animal on a prowl, stalking its prey.
When Hisako failed to articulate an answer, Hayama shook his head as if discarding a fleeting thought. He returned to his clipboard, and Hisako was left to her own musings.
She knew that his observation was correct. She had been excited about those shows, almost as much as Erina-sama. But unlike Erina, she had never taken an active part in Professor Hayama's magic shows. She would have loved to pose as his dutiful assistant. She would have loved to pick a random card or lend Professor Hayama 50¥ when he had asked for a spare coin.
But in the end, she never did. While Erina-sama had been bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet, her hand stretched so high in the air that it almost touched the ceiling, Hisako had remained seated. She had been content to watch from the sidelines as Erina-sama climbed up to the improvised stage, bathing in the spotlight that rightfully belonged to her. And it was Hisako's purpose, as a quiet backroom girl, to guarantee that nothing would tarnish Erina-sama's superiority.
Yet, as of recently, Hisako had begun to question her former assumptions. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she should have listened to her conscience more often. Maybe she should have voiced her own yearnings and wishes every once in a while rather than merely parroting Erina's words.
Hisako nibbled on her bottom lip, weighing her options. Then she threw all cautions to the wind.
"Do you know any?" She blurted out, her face beet red by now. "Any magic tricks, I mean."
Hayama hesitated momentarily. His pen hovered over the clipboard. "A few."
"Did Professor Hayama teach you?"
"Not exactly. He made me figure it out on my own."
Hisako didn't miss the little twitch his fingers gave. They fidgeted as if practicing a long-forgotten movement, and, soon enough, the pen was rolling over his knuckles. Without ever breaking its rhythm, it danced around his long, slender fingers.
Despite her general distaste for this man, Hisako couldn't help but observe his movements in growing awe. Sure, this wasn't much of a magic trick. At most, it was a display of manual dexterity. But her curiosity was aroused nevertheless.
"How do you do that?"
Hayama gave her a cocky smile, and Hisako rolled her eyes. If her thirst for knowledge had been any less pronounced, she would have exited the Seminar right away. Alas, temptation was irresistible, and Hisako yielded to it. Keeping a watchful eye on the scribbles underneath her feet, she moved over to Hayama.
As she came closer, the steady rhythm, which kept the pen in perpetual motion, faltered ever so slightly, almost as if the new proximity put Hayama off his stride. But this was impossible, right? Whatever effects her presence might have on him, they quickly wore off, and the pen picked up its pace once more.
For a while, Hisako just watched the show, absorbed by the smooth movements. But when her own fingers made a twitching motion, trying to mimic his gestures, she screwed up her courage. "Could you show me how-"
Which was when a loud thud interrupted her. Both chefs jumped, and the pen dropped to the ground. They spun around, searching for the origin of the commotion, before zeroing in on the adjacent living quarter.
Hisako's eyebrows rose, and Hayama's face darkened.
"You're unbelievable, Jun."
Professor Shiomi had fallen off the couch. Legs entangled with the sleeves of the lab coat, she was lying face down on the ground. Her nose was pressed flat against a tile, causing her constant snoring to sound somewhat muffled. But she was still fast asleep.
"That's an impressive …," Hisako groped for the right word. "… skill."
Hayama snorted. "No. That's pure dumbness."
Murmuring a colorful variety of insults, he put his clipboard aside and stalked over to the sofa, and planted himself squarely in front of his guardian. With his hands on his hips, he gave a remarkable impression of an angry mother.
Hisako couldn't withhold her amusement any longer. An uncharacteristic, girlish giggle slipped her lips, and she quickly rose her hand to her mouth to cover it. But too late.
Hayama craned his head to survey her, and a rather funny expression crossed his face as if he had just recognized to whom he had been talking the entire time. A deep crease was carved into his forehead.
"Would you mind leaving?" he asked, turning away. His tone sounded cold and gruff again. He bent down and scooped Professor Shiomi up into his arms."I need to finish some things up."
In an instant, the almost friendly atmosphere of their conversation was gone.
It was like being rudely awoken from a bizarre dream. Hisako even felt somewhat dizzy. She shook her head to disentangle her hazy thoughts. When her mind became clear again, she realized that she was still holding on to the letters and the document.
She huffed.
"You have to hand this in by the end of February. If you don't, your graduation will be suspended until further notice."
She banged the papers on the counter, then turned on her heels and stormed off, stomping along the corridor and down the narrow staircase, mentally raging against narcissistic spice freaks, who had no sense of decency whatsoever.
She really loathed this man.
Still, as she crossed the school grounds, ready to wreak her mounting anger on Alice, who always deserved to be yelled at just on principle, Hisako couldn't deny the feeling of disappointment that welled up inside her.
Not completely, at least.
A/N:
Thanks fpr reading ...
Second (and final) chapter will be up next year ... or so I hope.