Pudding is an excellent cook.
She stands in her kitchen, her kitchen, at only ten years old, because she's the lady of the house. The warm red tiles on the floor are spotless, usually, and the few appliances pristinely kept. Spotless surfaces; she thinks her mother might've been proud of her, if she could see her eldest now.
She lays out vegetables, and meat, just enough to feed her siblings as she already consumed plenty of leftovers at the cafe earlier. Mint called her a bottomless pit, curling her lip with feigned disapproval, as usual, but Keiichiro merely smiled, waving her on dismissively. Go ahead, we can't serve these tomorrow anyway. They won't taste as good after this long.
Sometimes Pudding has to resist the urge to dart forward and hug the older man, warmed by the feeling of a wonderfully full stomach. But that would be breaking character, perhaps, so she squeals her appreciation and scales the furniture, blowing raspberries at Mint while she fumes.
Pudding is an expert at multitasking.
Everything is a performance. You never know who could be watching, so make it good.
The quadruplets and Heicha gather around, awaiting their daily entertainment. Their older sister may occasionally flub a trick or two, but not too often. With one hand she tosses diced chicken in a frying pan, the other whacking away at vegetables and skillfully flicking the pieces into the steaming pan with the meat.
Pudding doesn't stop to actually think about what she's doing, or how. She's on autopilot, while her body does the damn near impossible. Otherwise, she might make a mistake, and that would just be a disaster.
The aroma of stir-fried chicken and vegetables fills the air, and her siblings all run to the table where their bowls are set out for the finale. Ordinarily a bit of good natured bickering would erupt between the five of them, but the youngest members of the Fong family are too focused on dinner to argue with each other.
Pudding glances over her shoulder, grinning. "Is everyone ready?"
Five voices ring out in unison. "Yes!"
Taking off like a rocket, Pudding dashes over to the table with her frying pan and spatula in tow, tossing the pan's contents high into the air and using the spatula to fling them into the bowls on the table as they return. The silver head of the spatula cuts through the air in a complicated pattern that her siblings' eyes can't follow, but the bowls of food before them are far more important than how it got there.
The quadruplets and Heicha cheer once more before digging in, and Pudding takes a bow, careful not to burn herself with the still piping hot frying pan she's holding. That's for amateurs.
As they eat, chattering between bites, Pudding attends to the various messes they've left throughout the house during the day. It occurs to her that were her mother still alive, were her father not out training constantly, and were they still in the village she was born in back in China that perhaps her parents would already be discussing finding a match for her.
After all, it's clear that she'd make an excellent housewife one day.
The thought causes her to pause in her sweeping, her usual ever present smile fading.
Here, in this house in Japan where she is so many things and plays more roles than a child should, she wonders if she's really that upset with where life has led her. These are heavy thoughts for a child, but recently Pudding hasn't felt very much like one of the classmates she sits beside in school.
Aside from having met her wonderful friends and accepting her destiny, Pudding is somewhat glad she's in Tokyo.