Chapter Two: Washocking

"Hey, Chef!"

It was around noontime when the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Lucie ran into the dining room to greet Shinomiya, who had just arrived, suitcase in hand. Shinomiya offered a wave of the hand in response, extending the gesture when he noticed Gao hovering behind Lucie.

"So," Lucie prompted, eyes drifting over to the watch on her wrist. "What time are you leaving for the airport?"

"As soon as the chef arrives."

"Okay," she sang out. "By the way… Jacques said he's dropping by today since he left his trainers in the staff room."

"I need to speak to him, actually," Shinomiya remarked, more to himself than to Lucie. He'd almost forgotten that he'd fired his sous chef — heavy emphasis on almost. It probably wasn't the best time to go sous chef hunting when he had Robuchon coming by in a month. Besides, in all honesty… it wasn't like Jacques was a bad sous chef. He'd just been unlucky enough to end up being a victim of Shinomiya's frustration.

Still, Shinomiya believed he could remedy the situation.

"He mention a time?" Shinomiya asked.

"Nope," Lucie replied, pulling her phone out and tapping about on the screen until she located the relevant message. "He just said he'd drop by. I asked him if he'd messaged you. He said 'no'. I asked why. He said 'cause'. I asked 'cause what'. He said 'cause I can't be the perfect sous chef'. I asked—"

"Chef asked for a time, not for the entire conversation," Gao interjected. Lucie frowned at her, a slight pout forming on her lips, while Shinomiya nodded to himself. At Jacques' age… emotions were fragile. Confidence was even more fragile. And though Shinomiya wasn't quite ready to admit he'd been in the wrong this time around, he still needed to speak to Jacques at some point. He couldn't lose yet another sous chef. Especially if the sous chef hadn't actually done anything wrong.

"Thanks," Shinomiya said. "I'm going to phone Doujima to see when this chef's going to arrive. Have you two done the prep for today yet?"

Lucie and Gao nodded. "We're done. We're making lunch now. It's nothing much, just mapo tofu. You want some?"

Shinomiya let out a hum. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a second."

The two of them flounced back off into the kitchen, leaving Shinomiya to make his phone call. He left his suitcase nearby the door as he stepped back out, leaning against the wall as he scrolled through his contacts. He'd been about to press down on Doujima's name, but paused when he sensed movement in the corner of his eyes. From the left, there was a flash of red.

Yukihira?

The thought was quickly killed when Shinomiya realised that the face didn't match the hair. And now that he was paying attention to the hair, the style was completely different. The only thing which matched was the colour. Nothing less, nothing more. Judging by the small suitcase the man was carrying, along with his attire, Shinomiya presumed that this was the chef Doujima had been talking about. Shinomiya was ashamed to admit that he'd never heard of this chef in his life, but the man standing before him certainly had the appearance of one. Just from the way he held himself, Shinomiya could tell he'd spent many of his best years under the heat of a kitchen.

"Chef Shinomiya," the man said, offering a polite nod in greeting. "It's an honour to meet you. I'm Eric Karlsson. I believe Chef Doujima told you about me?"

There was a brief silence that passed between the two of them as Shinomiya set his phone back down in his pocket, silently appraising Eric's face. Eric's blue eyes were earnest — the tell-tale marks of fatigue were etched beneath his eyes in the form of dark shadows — and his smile held no ulterior motive.

"Yes," Shinomiya replied. "He did."

"Great. Well…"

"Come in," Shinomiya said, stepping back and holding the door open for Eric to enter. Eric did just that, a polite smile on his face as he did so. He wandered around the restaurant, his gaze passing over the red walls and overhead lights.

"The décor's nice," Eric remarked, turning his attention back to Shinomiya.

"Thanks," Shinomiya replied.

There was a somewhat uncomfortable pause in conversation as the two men stood in the centre of the room, Shinomiya tapping his fingers against the side of his leg. Eric's eyes darted back and forth about the room, seemingly searching for a topic of conversation. The silence between them was broken by none other than Lucie Hugo, who burst into the room to yell "hey, Chef! I…oh..."

She drifted off upon spotting Eric.

"…new guy," she blurted, her cheeks going a shade of pink. "Well, that's one way to introduce myself. Lucie Hugo. Nice to meet your acquaintance. I promise I'm not usually that loud."

"That's not even the saying. It's make your acquaintance," Shinomiya muttered, clicking his tongue in annoyance when Lucie pretended not to hear him.

"Nice to meet you," Eric calmly replied, moving forwards to shake Lucie's hand. "Eric Karlsson."

Lucie grinned. "D'you want to go meet Gao? She's amazing. You'll like her. Matter of fact," she said, gripping his hand as she began to lead him in the direction of the kitchen, "I think you'd be her type. European, blue eyes, culinary background… yeah, you're perfect!"

"I'm a married man."

"Oh, come on. Marriage never stopped anyone—"

"Lucie," Shinomiya sharply interjected. "I think you should go and finish the prep for now."

"But I already fini—"

"Finish it again."

Thankfully, Lucie got the message and quickly vacated the room, leaving a relieved Eric to lean a hand on one table, all the while casting a grateful look in Shinomiya's direction.

"Sorry," Shinomiya said after a pause. "They might be a handful. Their kitchen work is extremely efficient though."

"That's fine," Eric replied, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "This seems like it'll be an interesting month. Life in the kitchen of a top French chef like you. I suppose it'll be different to a Swedish kitchen, huh?"

"I wouldn't call myself 'top'. I've still got a long way to go," Shinomiya insisted. The knowledge that he still couldn't find his new specialty dish festered in the back of his mind. Without that dish, he couldn't let anyone call him 'top'. He wasn't. Not until he could develop a dish that would take the cooking world by storm.

"No need to be humble," Eric insisted. "We're both professionals here."

Shinomiya simply let out a hum — neither agreeing nor disagreeing — before changing the topic to business. He gave a brief run-through of how he liked his restaurant to be run — detailing the way the tablecloth should be set out, the frequency at which the plants should be watered and even the light intensity of the bulbs which hung from the ceiling. It wasn't until Eric interrupted by clearing his throat that Shinomiya realised he'd been speaking for ten minutes straight.

"I can tell you care deeply about your restaurant," Eric said carefully. "But, like I said. We're both professionals here. Your other staff are here to teach me the ropes. They've been with you long enough, right?"

Shinomiya nodded.

"In that case… I don't think you should be so worried. I know I've just gotten here, but they seem to be a capable bunch of ladies. That food in the kitchen smells pretty good. What is that, mapo tofu?"

Impressive, Shinomiya thought to himself. He was able to tell just from the smell.

"Yes, it is," Shinomiya replied.

"Wow. Chinese dishes being created in a French kitchen," Eric murmured, letting out a low whistle. "I'm even more excited now. Trust me. Your kitchen's in good hands, Chef Shinomiya. You don't need to worry. I might not be as well-versed in French cuisine as you, but that doesn't mean I'm inept."

"Of course. I wouldn't want to imply that," Shinomiya said, suddenly worried that he'd offended Eric without realising. Sure, Shinomiya went around offending people a lot of the time, but he couldn't exactly offend the guy who he was leaving his restaurant to for an entire month, right?

It was at that moment Shinomiya's phone began to buzz in his pocket.

"Sorry. I need to take this call," Shinomiya said, moving towards the door. "Feel free to explore the kitchen if you like."

"Sure." A kind smile flashed on Eric's lips. "It was nice meeting you, Chef."

"You too."

It wasn't long before Shinomiya set off for the airport, and while a small part of him had been fearing the state of his restaurant (it had been a very long time since he'd left other people to deal with his SHINO's) his concerns had been mostly quelled by the time he'd stepped onto the plane. Making his way over to his business class seat, he was pleasantly surprised to see it was more of a bed than a seat. It was reclined about halfway so that his head was in a comfortable position to view an interactive screen. The screen itself was flashing with all the movie and TV shows it offered.

He'd never flown with this airline before, but now all he could do was wonder why it had taken him so long to discover that plane beds were a thing. He was quick to lie down, allowing his head to sink into the pillow beneath him as another hand reached towards his armrest, one finger accidentally skimming against a button. The leather beneath him began to heat up, much to his surprise.

Just how much did Doujima-san pay for this?

A frown settled onto his lips at the mere thought of the price tag for a flight like this. Not to say that he couldn't afford it — he was Shinomiya Kojirou — but he didn't exactly like it when other people spent exorbitant amounts of money on him. Then again, he had a feeling that this was all coming out of Totsuki's budget. Their budget was virtually limitless, so that made it okay, right? Yeah. Of course it did.

Shinomiya's eyes began to drift shut, almost as if weighed down by the fatigue of these past few months. It was a little strange. He'd spent the past few months more or less blocking out any and all tiredness he felt, but lying down now, the exhaustion hit him like a relentless wave. Inch by inch, his eyes were closing and his mind was filling with images, distant memories which would most likely drift by in his dreams.

The stress in his body was lessening, little by little. The aching in his feet was beginning to subside. His fingers were relaxing, one by one. It wasn't long before his arms were like metal poles laying inert on either side of his body. Each and every one of his limbs was beginning to doze off, even despite the murmurings of conversations around him and the bright lights. His body had been waiting months — months — for a rest. Nothing would stop Shinomiya from relaxing now. Nothing.

"Chef Shinomiya! Bonjour," an unfamiliar voice trilled right in his ear. "Can I get an autograph, please? I'm a huge fan of yours!"

Shinomiya didn't even bother to crack an eye open in response.

So, the owner of the voice responded by shaking his shoulder to the point it was beginning to feel like a mini earthquake. Shinomiya's body was just too tired to try and wrestle the hand off his shoulder, and in all honesty, he just didn't have the energy to get pissed off (though he most likely would've gone on a rant in any other circumstance).

Fortunately enough, there was a familiar voice which intervened.

"You should probably leave him to sleep," Doujima said. "He's tired."

"Wait, you're Gin Doujima! Oh my God, oh my God," the other voice said, excitement brimming in their tone. "Can you give me an autograph?"

"Sure."

The two voices soon became distant, leaving Shinomiya to get his sleep. He wasn't as immersed in his dream world as before — he was much more aware of the voices around him, voices which were saying "Chef Shinomiya's over there, you reckon I should get an autograph?"

It wasn't long before said voices approached him, asking for autographs. While Shinomiya tried to ignore them at first, it eventually became apparent that sleep had eluded him — yet again — in favour of dealing with fame.

With a heavy yawn, he cracked an eye open to scrutinise the person (or rather, people) who were interrupting his sleep. There were three young females — maybe in their early twenties? — with cameras around their necks. Probably journalists. They were all jumping from foot to foot with what seemed like excitement (though to Shinomiya, it seemed more like they were in desperate need of a toilet break) and they were burbling in French as they began to thrust their pens and papers in his face.

He seized one pen and scribbled 'Chef Shinomiya' as quickly as his sleepy hand would allow him to on one notebook before it was snatched out of his hand with a loud squee of "Thank you!"

It wasn't long before Shinomiya had people lining up for autographs, much to his displeasure. He couldn't help but think that this entire situation was akin to trying to swat flies away — he'd swat one away, and two would appear. Two became four, and four soon became forty. Sure, there weren't actually forty people, but it sure felt that way. Hell, even the flight attendants had joined the line. Even if Shinomiya managed to finish signing all of these autographs, there was no way he'd be able to get to sleep. His mind was too active, his hands were doing too much movement and most importantly, he was going to need several glasses of red wine after dealing with this many people.

"Ooh, by the way, any chance we could do a quick interview with you here? I've just got a few questions to ask you," one of the journalist women burbled, rolling out her list of notes. The list was so long that loops of paper were beginning to pile up on the ground. "First question: what's your favourite food?"

Shinomiya's only response was a sigh.

"…alright, you don't have a favourite. Okay… okay… alright, second question? Actually, let's skip to question fifty-three—"

"No," Shinomiya interjected. "Just no. Fuck off."

"But I didn't even…"

Her voice drifted off when she caught sight of his glare. She seemed visibly spooked as she withdrew from his field of vision at last, along with the other passengers who had caught wind of his less-than-savoury mood. He was still aware of people snapping pictures of him, quietly gossiping around him. Sure, there weren't that many — after all, he was flying business class — but it didn't change the fact that they were still there.

Sometimes, Shinomiya found himself wishing he could be less famous.

It was merely a fleeting thought, but it was a thought that passed his mind nevertheless.

"I've never actually seen Hinako's restaurant before," Shinomiya murmured to himself, looking down at the scrap piece of paper in his right hand. Upon departing the plane after a gruelling fourteen-hour flight full of turbulence and autographs, Doujima had left him with a hastily-drawn map and the address of the place before going on his merry way to Totsuki. While Doujima's map was better than nothing, navigation had never been Shinomiya's strong suit. If he'd been in Tokyo, then he might've been able to navigate with more ease, but he was in Osaka. He really didn't come down to Osaka that often, if at all.

Besides, Shinomiya really couldn't remember Hinako having a restaurant in Osaka. He could've sworn that her restaurant had originally been in Tokyo…

Well, it didn't matter. He was pretty sure he was lost.

He was surrounded by trees, and Doujima's vertical lines drawn in fading charcoal weren't exactly much help in a situation like this. Shinomiya couldn't sense any life around him whatsoever — at least, not human life. He could hear birds chirping and see bright flowers blossoming around broad tree trunks, but he couldn't sense much else.

"Fuck's sake," Shinomiya grumbled, crumpling the frustratingly useless note up and tossing it to one side. "I can't find—"

"Hey."

Shinomiya almost jumped out of his skin when a small woman in a kimono slid out from behind a tree, her moves so fluid that it was as if she were one with the nature around her. Shinomiya was struck by how strange the view was. The woman's kimono was golden - something that Shinomiya associated with shining palaces and gleaming empires rather than humble-looking forests — but strangely enough, it felt like she belonged. Despite her regality — or perhaps, because of her regality — she was at home in this foresty place.

She was also giving Shinomiya a dirty look. Oops.

"You shouldn't litter. It's a forest, not a bin," she chided, gracefully bending her knees as if to curtsy to the tree. She then retrieved the crumpled note which had fallen on top of a cluster of leaves. A serene expression crossed her face as she righted herself and murmured something to the tree before turning back and placing the note into Shinomiya's hand.

"Uh… okay," Shinomiya replied, a little weirded out by her demeanour.

"I assume you're the guest," she continued, gliding across the forest floor to retrieve a small, homemade basket which was bursting with an assortment of truffles. "Inui-senpai's expecting you. Follow me."

He did as he was told, his eyes grazing over tall trees and bright flowers with each step he took. The journey to the restaurant was made in relative silence, Shinomiya feeling decidedly inelegant as his feet trampled over the leaves. In contrast, the woman's delicate footsteps were nearly impossible to sense. If not for the fact that a little 'tap' could be heard every so often, Shinomiya would've genuinely believed that she was somehow floating above the forest floor.

"I'm Nakahara, and I'm in charge of looking after the forest," she explained, finally breaking the silence between them. "I've been working with Inui-senpai for seven years, not just as a gardener but as an advisor. She doesn't always follow my advice though. I told her that letting some hoity-toity Totsuki chef into Kirinoya would be a bad idea, but she didn't listen…"

If Shinomiya had been feeling like his usual self, he would've done three things in the following order: one, make fun of this woman for using the term 'hoity-toity' in a completely serious manner. Two, say "if I was her, I wouldn't take your advice either". And three, point out that Hinako was also a 'hoity-toity Totsuki chef'.

But… Shinomiya wasn't feeling like his usual self. He was feeling incredibly guilty about his blindness to Hinako's problems, he was exhausted from the fourteen-hour flight and he was stressed out over his ultimate specialty dish. Taking the piss out of this Nakahara woman might've given him some relief… but what was the point?

"Anyways," Nakahara said. "Kirinoya is up ahead, just past the flowers."

She pointed her finger in the direction of a flower arch where colourful buds and leaves were creeping and curling, accompanied by a cluster of mystical-looking vines.

"Inui-senpai said I should give you a tour while she finishes up in the kitchen, but I don't really like you so far, so don't ask me."

Shinomiya let out a heavy sigh. "That's hardly professional, is it?"

"Don't care. I don't like litterers," Nakahara replied, her lips set in a thin line as she stepped through the flower arch and onto a leaf-free floor. There were cobblestones on the ground, and now that Shinomiya was closer, he could hear the sound of water running. A running stream, perhaps. Did Hinako have her own supply of fish in this forest?

"Well, can you at least tell me how things work in this place? I'm curious."

Nakahara kept her lips pressed together.

"Listen," Shinomiya began, abruptly pausing in his stride in an attempt to grab Nakahara's attention. She didn't even bother to turn her head to face him. Instead, she approached a sliding door and began to remove her shoes as if he wasn't there.

"I'm sorry for littering," Shinomiya continued, following her to slip his own shoes off, "but I'm not going to apologise for existing. You don't like me. Fine. But, Hinako told you to show me around, so I suggest you do your job. I haven't travelled fourteen hours just to be ignored by some kid."

Nakahara's head whipped around, and as hasty as the action was, there was still a semblance of grace in the motion. Her blonde locks hadn't shifted an inch away from her shoulders, and while her face was still the mirror image of serenity, her green eyes had narrowed together ever so slightly.

"I am not a kid," she snapped, her angelic tone becoming something much more sinister. "Don't talk down to me. I'll kick you out! I'll tell Inui-senpai never to let you come back. I'll… I'll… grr…"

Shinomiya decided to walk past her and into the restaurant entrance without a care in the world, turning to face her when she didn't follow in after him.

"Come on, kid. I'm waiting."

Her face contorted, revealing an expression which looked as if she'd just swallowed a raw lemon. Shinomiya hadn't even been intending to rile her up, but he'd been unable to help himself after seeing how annoyed she got by the word 'kid'. Her insistence that she wasn't a kid just made it worse.

Another low growl of irritation left Nakahara's lips as she continued to glare at Shinomiya, not even attempting to hide her disdain for him at this point. However, the staring match of sorts was cut off by an excited squeal which caught both Shinomiya and Nakahara's attention. A brunette lady stood at the other end of the hallway, wearing an identical kimono to Nakahara's with her hair swept into an elegant style.

"You must be our guest! Welcome to Kirinoya," the lady began, gliding down the hallway to shake Shinomiya's hand. "I'm Morishita, but you can call me Mamiko! We're all family in this place."

"Nice to meet you. I'm S—"

"Ugh," Nakahara interjected. "If he's family, I'm putting myself up for adoption."

Mamiko's gaze alternated between the neutral-looking Shinomiya and the irate-looking Nakahara for a few moments, a slight frown finally appearing on her face as she cast an apologetic glance in Shinomiya's direction.

"Excuse me," Mamiko said, grabbing Nakahara by the ear and practically dragging her down the hallway she'd come from. Shinomiya couldn't help but find himself somewhat amused by the sight, though he wondered whether there was something more to why Nakahara disliked him so much. Right now, his only crime was existing.

"I'm so sorry about Natsu," Mamiko said, gliding down the hallway once more with a regretful expression on her face. "She's not really a people person."

On that note, she looked back out through the open sliding door. Nakahara had emerged outside once more (presumably from some other exit) and was approaching a cluster of birds with a sunny smile on her face, her earlier annoyance nowhere to be seen.

"She's bloody amazing with plants and animals, but with people… I wouldn't expect too much from her if I were you," Mamiko concluded, shutting the sliding door before gesturing for Shinomiya to follow her up the hallway. "She's not what you'd call 'civil'. So, it was a little weird that she volunteered to welcome you here. We all thought she might try to turn over a new stone, but I'm guessing that she's done the complete opposite…"

"Pretty much."

"Well, I'll give you a proper tour to make up for it! Chef's busy perfecting a dish right now, so we can't go into the kitchen, but I'll give you a tour of everything else. I can also answer any questions you might have," Mamiko said, a sunny smile on her face as she pointed over to the first door. "Here is the lavatory. I doubt I need to give you a tour of that."

"Your doubts are correct."

Mamiko began to laugh to herself, nudging Shinomiya lightly as the two of them continued to walk down the hallway. "You really are a joker, huh? That's great. You'll bring some more energy to the place. Natsu's defensive, Imari's a party animal and Akari's like a baby deer, bless her. She's the newest one here, so she's still finding her feet. She's pretty shy, doesn't talk much, but she's a kind girl."

"Uh… who are all those people?"

Again, Mamiko let out another burst of laughter. "Nakahara Natsu, who you've already met. Just call her Natsu. She might snap at you for it, but keep doing it. She'll get used to it."

In Shinomiya's head, he'd already decided that her new name was 'nature freak'.

"…then Imari's the sous chef and is probably the most creative person I've ever met," Mamiko continued. "She's unpredictable though. Sometimes she'll be all up for jokes, other times she'll snap your throat if you even look at her. Akari's in charge of taking and bringing plates and dishes from the dining room. Super shy, but she's also a pretty sweet girl. Imari and Akari aren't here today though. They only come down whenever we're open for business."

"I'm going to be completely honest… I'm not going to remember any of that."

Again, Mamiko let out another burst of laughter. "I appreciate your honesty. No worries. You'll get accustomed with them sooner or later."

Based on Shinomiya's meeting with the not-so-friendly nature freak, he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to get accustomed with the rest of them, more for the sake of his sanity than anything else. He was careful not to word that sentiment out loud — after all, there was such a thing as being too honest.

He poked his head through the doorway, relieved when he finally spotted a familiar glimpse of light brunette hair secured in a side braid. Hinako was standing at a kitchen counter, using her knife to handle a piece of what appeared to be horse mackerel. She hadn't even noticed his entrance — she was completely engulfed in her current task. Knife cutting through the meat like butter; hands moving fluidly to grab various garnishes; sweet, fragrant scents filling the air as if to entice Shinomiya's taste buds. In every single move, there was sheer grace which resonated with every 'tap' against the chopping board.

Shinomiya just couldn't understand why Hinako wanted to leave the profession. No matter how hard he thought about it, he just couldn't understand.

"We should probably leave Chef to it," Mamiko whispered before beginning to trek back down the hallway. Shinomiya was a little surprised to see that Mamiko was capable of whispering — so far, she'd been sounding like a foghorn reincarnate — but didn't hesitate to follow her. He was still thinking about how Hinako had looked while cooking. It had been years since Shinomiya had actually seen Hinako cook, so it felt a little strange to see her doing it with such focus. Such conviction.

Perhaps Shinomiya could learn a thing or two from her.

"Anyway," Mamiko continued once they were a safe distance away from the kitchen, "this left-side hallway just has the lavatory and the kitchen at the far end. The more interesting stuff is straight ahead. It's one big dining room which can serve up to eight people at any given time."

"So, you only have one group at a time?"

Mamiko let out a hum of affirmation as she began to walk down the other hallway, which had framed pictures of various flowers. The pictures were still and serene, the swaying motion of a vine frozen in one single position; the twirl of a dandelion immortalised within a single shot; the flutter of a sunflower's petals trapped within the picture's golden frame.

Despite its simplicity, it was beautiful. Really beautiful.

"Yeah," Mamiko replied. "It's a fairly uncommon way of serving nowadays, but this is a small restaurant. We're not equipped to serve loads of people, and to be honest, it's better that way. I'm sure you know this already, but our chef has her ditzy moments. She'd be an absolute mess if she tried to focus on serving ten groups of people at once with ten different dishes. Kaiseki is all about focus, seasonality and beauty. Miss one, and you won't have the other two. It's best to focus on an individual group's needs, so that way, you can tailor the kaiseki course to their liking. By the way, let me warn you now: you'll need to duck your head when you enter."

Finally reaching the end of the hallway, Mamiko bowed her head slightly before entering the room. Shinomiya was a little confused — she was short enough that she didn't have to duck her head to enter the room — but didn't question it. Instead, he bowed his own head and walked into the room, his breath catching in his throat when he laid eyes upon the interior. It was as if he'd gone back a hundred years in time.

"Wow…"

"Wow indeed," Mamiko said, laughing as she spread her arms out. "The floor's made out of traditional tatami flooring. The table's low so you have to sit on the tatami, though cushions can be provided upon request. There's also armrests, as you can see. You'll also notice that there's no lamps or lightbulbs in here. We rely on these windows here for our light, and they do a smashing job as you can see…"

Shinomiya's head turned towards the large windows, where sunlight was spilling into the room and bathing the tatami in warmth. Outside, he could see a running stream, an assortment of trees and plants, and he could even see a baby deer hobbling its way through the foresty maze. Shinomiya had visited many a restaurant during his time as a chef, but he'd never quite seen something like this…

"We're one of the most expensive kaiseki restaurants in the area. In euros — that's what they use in France, right?"

Shinomiya nodded.

"Lunch would be about 600 euros, and dinner is about 700. The prices change with every season though. We generally serve about three groups of people a day, and it's my job to walk them through the kaiseki experience! Obviously, the experience is something that's tasted, but I'm there to ensure that everything flows smoothly. I'm not a chef, but I can tell you a hell of a lot about kaiseki."

Shinomiya nodded his head, trying to absorb the information as well as he could. He wasn't quite sure what his role would be in Kirinoya — for all he knew, Hinako might not even let him anywhere near the kitchen — but whatever he did… he was sure that he would find it interesting. Kaiseki was a whole new battlefield for him. He was familiar with the general concept, given that he'd been required to create washoku dishes as part of his studies at Totsuki, but he was a French chef first and foremost. Besides, kaiseki was a niche section of washoku as a whole. Not even Totsuki had gone into that much detail about kaiseki, and Totsuki was the pinnacle of all things cooking. So, in short, Shinomiya knew virtually nothing about kaiseki apart from 'haute cuisine, but make it Japanese'.

"Oh, I almost forgot! You see the doorway there, where you had to duck? It's designed to be low on purpose so that you have to bow your head. It's all based on traditional ideas of respect," Mamiko explained. "Some people think kaiseki is a dying art because of its dependency on tradition. But, I think it's a thriving art. I think it's the most beautiful form of cuisine in the world. There are so many sub-cuisine styles which have spawned from kaiseki, like bento and nouvelle cuisine. And, well, as long as those styles are around… kaiseki won't die."

Shinomiya nodded, not quite sure of what else he could say. He could see that Mamiko was genuinely passionate about what she did, and somehow, that made him feel pleasant inside. He'd been brought into this beautiful dining room, introduced to a whole new view of nature and now, he was beginning to understand why Doujima had said that coming here would help him as well as Hinako.

He knew French cuisine inside out. But, while he still remembered the principles of Japanese cooking, he'd fallen out of touch a little with his roots. Kaiseki was a quintessential part of washoku, so if Shinomiya could learn the principles of kaiseki and embed them into his cooking…maybe, just maybe, he could create a dish worthy of being tasted by Chef Robuchon.

If he spent enough time observing how everyone worked together in this kitchen, he could bring that energy back to his own kitchen in Paris. And, most importantly, if he could alleviate Hinako's workload — even if it was by the tiniest amount — he might be able to stop her from leaving the profession. If Hinako were to quit being a chef, Shinomiya wasn't quite sure if she'd be able to find a profession in any other field. She'd never done too well in the normal subjects at Totsuki — Shinomiya distinctly remembered Hinako sneaking into his room to steal his notes on past exam papers so that she could pass — so it wasn't like she could become a lecturer or anything. Minimum-wage work would be an offence, to say the least. And… Shinomiya really couldn't see a path that didn't involve Hinako still remaining in the profession.

He still didn't understand, but he had to do what he could.

"So," Shinomiya began, deciding that he needed a break from his thoughts, "are there no shipment trucks?"

Mamiko let out a burst of laughter. "You must be crazy. Why get ingredients which have been touched and prodded by God knows how many people when you could walk a few steps outside and grab them straight from the source? Everything we make in this restaurant comes from what you're seeing outside. I don't know many kaiseki restaurants out there that can claim the same. Or any regular restaurants, now that I think of it…"

Shinomiya was aware of a slow, heavy guilt which was beginning to creep up his spine and onto his shoulders, almost as if to weigh him down. Hinako had expressed excitement and joy over visiting SHINO's, taken time out of her own schedule just to help Shinomiya with his own problems, yet Shinomiya knew absolutely nothing about this spectacular restaurant that Hinako had created. He knew absolutely nothing about the principles that Hinako held within her own cooking, nothing about her specialties and her experiences as a kaiseki chef. Shinomiya had been so absorbed in his own problems that he hadn't even bothered to ask about what life was like at Kirinoya. And, if Doujima hadn't gotten him that plane ticket, that would've still been the case.

God, he really was a horrible friend…

"Hey," Shinomiya said, lifting his head and straightening his back in an attempt to shake off his guilt. "Is it alright if I go to the kitchen?"

"Yeah, sure! Chef should be done now, so you can just walk in," Mamiko replied. Want me to tag along, or…"

"No, it's fine," Shinomiya said, a meek smile appearing on his face. "Thanks for your help though. It was nice meeting you."

"You too!"

On that note, Shinomiya left the dining room — remembering to duck his head as he walked out — and trekked down the hallway, momentarily crossing paths with the nature freak who was scowling in his direction. Shinomiya ignored her and continued to walk down the hallway, turning right once he reached the entrance. His eyes followed the length of the second hallway, trailing across traditional wooden panels and the various floral images which were hanging from the walls.

By the time he entered the kitchen, his nostrils were quickly met by the scent of sizzling horse mackerel. His stomach rumbled as if by instinct, and this time, it was enough to catch the attention of Hinako. Shinomiya froze a little upon noticing the knife in Hinako's hands, followed by the hostility in her eyes.

"Please don't stab me," Shinomiya began, holding up both hands in a somewhat defensive measure. "Then again, I probably deserve it."

Hinako didn't move for a few moments, but it wasn't long before she lowered the kitchen knife back onto the counter, all the while carefully appraising Shinomiya with her eyes. Shinomiya was finding it a little hard to lower his guard — chances were that Hinako was planning to pull a sneak attack and launch the knife at his face — but after a full minute had passed, the hostility faded out from her eyes. Shinomiya took that as his cue to relax and seated himself on top of a bar stool, though he didn't break eye contact with Hinako.

There was a long silence which passed between them. In that time, Shinomiya watched a myriad of emotions swim their way through her eyes. Hostility drowned out by hesitation, which was subsequently swept out of the way by anger, only to be crushed by a wave of relief. Glimmers of happiness were bobbing about in those eyes of hers — probably because she'd been asking him to come down to Japan for too fucking long. Looking at Hinako made him feel guiltier than anything else. Hinako was the best friend who had been there for him through thick and thin, and he'd pushed her away for a fucking specialty. Not even a person. A specialty. And, even despite that, some part of Hinako still seemed to be relieved that he was here. Not just relieved, but happy.

It was a thought which passed Shinomiya's mind from time to time, but now that he was sitting in front of Hinako, the thought had shifted from the dark crevices of his brain to the forefront of his mind, almost as if to taunt him.

You're a shitty friend.

He'd never been as sure of that thought as he was in this moment. Hinako had literally thrown everything to one side just to make his life easier last year; Hinako had constantly been there to support him in his darker moments, but where had he been when Hinako had needed someone to talk to? Where had he been when Hinako had been engulfed by the stress of running a restaurant like this? Oh, that's right. He'd been bitching about how he couldn't trust anyone but himself to run the restaurant, bitching about how Hinako needed to 'give him a break'.

He really was pathetic, wasn't he?

"So," Hinako said, that one word slicing through the silence. Shinomiya's thoughts came to a pause, almost as if having been silenced by the sound of her voice. While Shinomiya might've reflected on how weird it was, his mouth was already moving to respond to her prompt.

"So," he echoed.

"What happened to wanting me to 'give you a fucking break' then?"

"Common sense happened," was Shinomiya's reply. "There's no such thing as a 'break' when it comes to a friendship like ours, Hinako. You're always going to bug me. I'm always going to bug you. And we're always going to pretend we hate it when we really don't."

A slight smile appeared on Hinako's lips, but it was quickly replaced with a stern expression, tilting her head to the side in question as she rested a hand on her hip. "You're telling me you realised that in the space of forty-eight hours? Let me guess, Doujima-san intervened."

"No! I wanted to come here," Shinomiya insisted. When Hinako's expression didn't change in the slightest, Shinomiya revised his statement. "Okay, fine. Doujima-san told me what was going on. I didn't… I didn't realise you—"

"The team cooking competitions are off, so you can go home," Hinako briskly informed him. "There was an accident at the venue. Something about a gas leakage. It'll take a while for it to get fixed, so yeah. It's off."

"I'm not here for the stupid competitions. I'm here because I want to help," Shinomiya insisted.

"I've been inviting you for months, you've been saying no, but then you turn up all of a sudden and I'm meant to believe it's for my sake?" Hinako narrowed her eyes at him. "You've made it clear that you're only thinking about yourself this year. So… what's the actual reason you're here?"

"I'm here to help," Shinomiya insisted. "I've been selfish recently. I realise that. And… I feel like shit, alright? So, I want to help."

Hinako folded her arms. "Really?"

"Really."

"So," she prompted, "if I tell you that you won't be allowed anywhere near the kitchen while you're here, you won't turn around and say 'never mind'?"

"I leave myself in your care, Hinako."

"Hmm… fine," Hinako said, releasing a sigh as she relaxed her arms at last, allowing them to drop to either side of her body. "I still don't want to talk to you, so if you want to make yourself useful, spend today and tomorrow helping Nacchan out in the forest. You met her yet? Blonde hair, green eyes…"

Shinomiya winced. "You mean the nature freak?"

"Little harsh, but yeah," Hinako replied. "That alright with you?"

It really wasn't, but Shinomiya knew that he needed to make it clear to Hinako that he was here to help her specifically. He didn't blame Hinako for not trusting him — he'd become more and more self-absorbed in these past few months, shutting her out from his life in the name of success and power and status.

God, Shinomiya really didn't learn from his mistakes, did he?

"Yeah. That's fine with me," Shinomiya replied.

"You're really bad at sounding enthusiastic," Hinako pointed out, though a weak smile had appeared on her lips. "Alright. Well… if you get through this weekend despite not being enthusiastic about it, I'll believe you. Call it a 'first trial' of sorts."

"Alright. I'll do it."