Soma moved through the rest of his morning, determined to leave behind the weepy boy he was from the night before. A new gross recipe brewing in his mind, he was confident that the stuck-up world of culinary students couldn't keep up with him in the kitchen, anyway. As he mixed sardine juice with freshly squeezed lemons and grape compote in the apartment's kitchen, the distant laughter of his former classmates heading to school reminded him: with no school to attend and no academic plan in mind, Soma would have to figure things out for himself, and quickly. He mixed dry-aged squid tentacles into the concoction, placed it in the fridge, and moved through his empty family home—a cozy flat of well-loved furniture and worn floorboards. Scratches and stains on them bore the evidence of years of playful roughhousing. The sakura symbol wallpaper his mother hung behind the ancestral altar. But the family portraits scattered around the walls and tabletops (he'd gotten used to accenting the quaint space that he almost forgot their existence) caught his attention. He stared at a few of his favorites: the first time he caught a fish with Grandpa Sato and Dad; the surprise birthday party his dad pinky-swore him to secrecy for months for his mother; the last picture they took as a tiny family of three before Mom got sick. So many smiling memories of his parents and him through the ages being silly and fearless on display. Reminders of a life no longer his.
He was alone now.
But that no longer scared him. He'd gotten used to being an only child very early in life, and when his mother passed, he and his father learned how to be just the two of them. Soma knew how to embrace aloneness very well. So whatever this new life on his own wanted to bring, he was ready for it— at least, until Pops returned. The unknown and uncertain future didn't need to be feared. He didn't know what he'd do, but he knew the same tenacious Yukihira sensibility would lead the way.
For the first time since his father told him he was closing the diner, Soma Yukihira was excited about what the future could bring.
He quickly harnessed that energy into deep-cleaning his room (it desperately needed it, considering he rarely thought about how messy it was) to alt-metal. Tamako would be shocked if she could see him now. He played a strenuous game of sakkā with his dirty clothes scattered around the floor, his hamper the goalpost, surprised that he almost lost to himself— good thing he had no siblings, he supposed. He scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom floors spotless, dusted the floorboards, window blinds, and knickknacks, and vacuumed the rugs and couches. Humming away to an uptempo anime tune from his childhood scrubbing the toilet and tub, a little gag came up his throat as he fought to unclog a thick clump of red hair from the drains.
Two hours later, surveying his work and proud of the fruits of his labor, Soma listened to the silence. He felt like a bachelor. Adulting didn't seem so hard. As he brushed his teeth, he looked at his reflection and absentmindedly rubbed his scar. A new dish began brewing. Red snapper… or maybe, burdock root as the star. He spat and finished washing up. He grabbed a spiral notebook out of his backpack, excited to sketch it out while waiting for the laundry—Shoot! The laundry!—Soma scampered down the hall, threw on his last clean tracksuit, and dashed down the stairs with the hamper of dirty clothes he forgot to wash.
A knock on the restaurant's main door made him spin on his heels away from the laundry shed. He froze. He didn't know why—maybe because he technically shouldn't be home alone—but his nerves bolted his feet to the floor. Then the familiar light rustle of envelopes slipping through the mail slot in the restaurant and the patter of the postmaster's boots walking away. His heart rate slowed as he scratched the back of his damp head and chuckled at how silly he was. He'll grab the mail later.
Then a thought smacked him like a crate of cracked eggs. He was now in charge of the mounting responsibilities he'd have to handle by himself until his dad returned (and knowing his dad, it was a long-shot guess of whenever that would be). How on earth would he stay on top of everything?
He wasn't much of a student, but he knew he needed to go somewhere for school. He could enroll at his neighborhood high school but didn't feel like being dragged by his equally assholey friends about not making it into Japan's most elite cooking school. Something would work out; it had to. It always did. Usually, it was because Soma always saw to it. But how to force his way to be reconsidered by such a hoity-toity, exclusive high school as Tohtsuki Academy? He had no clue, but if his father sent him there, surely they could make an exception.
But Soma immediately rejected the idea. He couldn't look or wait for a handout. He had to make his own way if he was ever going to prove himself as a chef, especially to his dad. Besides, he wasn't just following in his father's footsteps. He was also figuring out his reason for cooking. Unlike most boys his age, he was raised in the kitchen. Yukihira Diner being intergenerational made that unavoidable, and for the longest time, Soma never even thought to imagine a life where he was not continuing the family business. But this rejection made him search for a deeper reason to keep cooking, a deeper meaning behind why he wanted to be a chef.
When his dad told him about Tohtsuki, he thought the old fart was messing with his head putting all that empty pressure on him. He didn't even care about attending that school to begin with. If his dad hadn't forced his hand by mockingly saying, "it's such a ridiculous pipe dream that you could ever be good enough to run Yukihira's by yourself," he never would have cared if he had never left his cozy bubble downtown Tokyo. But so much had changed within him since then.
He ran back to his bedroom, tucked the latest edition of Shonen Weekly in the waistband of his joggers, and headed to the laundry shed.
An hour later, he emerged back at the bottom of the stairs connecting the restaurant and apartment, laundry done, sweating bullets, hobbling with his overflowing hamper in both hands (he really should've done laundry sooner), completely forgetting his worries from the hour before. Freshly cleaned clothes tended to do that to him, especially whenever he smelled his mother's crisp white handkerchief. Placing the heavy bin down and giving his lanky arms a break, his stomach grumbled in lunchtime protest. Remembering the leftover Yukihira mapo tofu he had in the restaurant's back fridge, Soma smiled and tied the handkerchief around his forehead. It was time to get creative in the kitchen.
As the savory fragrance of mapo tofu microwaving and steaming fried rice filled the apartment kitchen, Soma looked around his cozy home. Now sparkling clean and in order, it looked bigger and felt emptier without his parents. What would he do here without either of them? He could manage running the restaurant well enough, but maintaining a home, too? How the heck—
The microwave beeped its ending warning like a blaring alarm in his ears. He grabbed the hot bowl and absentmindedly ate it while lost in his thoughts. Absentmindedly, his legs led him down the apartment stairs and into the restaurant. Maybe if his mother were still alive or his dad was still in Japan, he wouldn't have to worry about how to plan his life moving forward. And maybe if he had another transfer examiner he would still have a chance at being admitted into that snobby academy.,
His feet led him to the front of the restaurant. Still lost in his thoughts, he grabbed the mail from the welcome mat and tossed the envelopes on the restaurant's counter. Surveying his home away from upstairs, Soma began to regret being an only child. At least if he had a sibling, another adult would have to take care of them, and he would be the knottiest stress ball in his stomach right now.
He went upstairs to plate his lunch, returned to his favorite seat at the counter, and ate silently. He'd just placed his empty bowl down, ready to shake his looming sadness away in the kitchen, when something glossy flashed in the corner of his eye. Soma turned to face the counter. A white envelope had slipped out of the mail stack. He grabbed it, immediately recognizing the embossed seal gleaming at him, and all color drained from Soma's face.
Soma quickly flipped the envelope over and immediately became lightheaded. He couldn't believe his eyes as his heart somersaulted into the pit of his stomach. Was he having another lucid dream, like the night before? He'd had a few of those when he was younger, where he was flying on cloudy magical carpets or when he finally beat his dad in a food battle (oh, that glorious day). He stared at the heavy envelope he was cradling like an active bomb. Yeah, that had to be it. He was sure he'd wake up in no time.
Why wasn't he waking up? Soma slowly brought his palms close to his face, registering how real it all felt but rejecting the thought; lucid dreams also felt real. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and…
Ouch! Yeah, he was definitely awake. He stared at the snow-white envelope. There was no return address. Nowhere to respond, and no one to respond to. Nothing to indicate when it was sent or where it came from. But nothing was written on the white space except for a silver embossed cursive script around a navy blue and gold emblem and, below, his name.
Tōtsuki Tea Ceremony and Cooking Academy
遠月茶寮料理學園
Soma Yukihira
幸平 創真
He still struggled to believe they rejected him, but he didn't care if they couldn't see his talent just because a bratty princess couldn't admit the truth.
He looked down. "Now is not the time, Soma!" he silently berated himself. (Though he knew he would go to sleep that night, adding a gorgeous coldhearted blonde to his list of unbelievers.)
Soma squeezed the envelope in its center. What could be in it when he'd already received a definitive rejection? Then the restaurant's phone rang. By its own volition, Soma's neck creaked and craned toward the direction of the rattling sound in the back room. His body had to will his mind to move it in time.
"H-hello?" He croaked into the receiver. He failed to contain the anxiety throbbing in his throat.
"Soma Yukihira?" A stoic and sensitive voice came through the other end. Soma felt his heart belly flop into his stomach. "Uhhh…y-yeah. " Soma stammered.
"This is Kasune Nishizono. Please hold for the Director of Tohtsuki Culinary Academy, Headmaster Senzaemon Nakiri."
"O-oh… o-okay?"
a/n: i hope you enjoyed the surprise of a new post coming quicker than expected. i've been processing a lot of my real life through my writing because it's already proving to be a tough last month of the year, but writing for those who choose to read my work has been helping me navigate difficult emotions. so thank you for reading my work. it keeps me writing. i'll be focusing on polishing chapter 6 and finishing chapter 7 of Comfort Foods (do yourself a favor and read my long-form novel WIP!) for the rest of December, so until then, please review, like, and share with someone you think would enjoy reading!
p.s. yes, i know that the soma's name in english and kanji are inversed. it was purposeful.
-My pleasure! Hope you enjoyed!-
8.20withlove
disclaimer: i hate that i don't own the rights to SnS. but, what're you gonna do, y'know? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯