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“Here you go.”

Inazuki laid out dish after dish on the table, filling it to the brim.

There was nikujaga, simmered daikon and squid, grilled salmon with saikyo miso, and blanched spinach. She even prepared miso soup.

…This was an unexpected lineup, especially coming from Inazuki. It was rare to see her serve such a purely Japanese meal, given she usually begged for international dishes.

“Uh… thank you for the food.”
“Yeah, dig in. I’ll start too. Thank you for the food!”

I carefully spooned some nikujaga onto my plate and took a cautious bite.

“Hmm… this is…”
“How is it?”

The presentation was normal, but the taste was unmistakably Inazuki’s creation.

It was sweet. Way too sweet. It was so sugary, I could only assume she had mistaken sugar for salt.

“You should try it yourself first.”
“Hmm? …Oh wow, that’s sweet.”

Even though she had made it herself, Inazuki’s face twisted in an indescribably displeased expression after taking a bite.

“Did you mix up the sugar and salt?”
“No, I didn’t. Most dishes taste better on the sweet side, so I just added a lot.”
“Did you taste it?”
“Nope. I just went by feel.”
“…Inazuki.”

I didn’t mind her experimenting, but tasting the food before serving it would be nice.

This was less like a meal and more like dessert.

“That’s weird. I was expecting something like, you’d taste it and start crying, all nostalgic, like it reminded you of your mom’s cooking.”
“Even if it had tasted good, I don’t think I would’ve cried.”

I don’t even know what “mom’s cooking” tastes like.

But I didn’t say that part out loud.

“Aw, I wanted to see you cry, Iroha.”
“Want me to chop some onions?”
“That doesn’t count.”

After taking another bite of the overly sweet nikujaga, Inazuki fixed her gaze on me.

“…By the way, do you even have a ‘taste of home’?”

She looked deadly serious, as if she was about to confess something important.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know the answer already, so why was she asking? Was she trying to lead up to something significant? I met her eyes and smiled a little.

“No, I don’t. Neither my mom nor my dad cooked, so I’ve hardly ever had homemade food.”
“…Then,” she said softly.

After taking a deep breath, she mustered up a determined expression.

“Let’s create our own taste of home, together.”
“…Huh?”
“I mean… you know. I want us to make food that both of us find delicious.”
“Am I the one doing the cooking?”
“I’ll help, too.”

I took another bite of the nikujaga. It was still too sweet, to the point that I couldn’t imagine any way to salvage it.

“Let’s create it together—a taste of home.”
“To do that, you’ll have to improve your cooking skills a bit more, Inazuki.”
“I will. I’ll do my best… I promise.”

Sweet. Everything was so sweet.

Even the miso soup was somehow sweet too. Adding sugar to miso soup, even if you prefer sweet things, is definitely overkill.

If I kept eating Inazuki’s idea of home-cooked meals, I might end up with diabetes one day.

“Did something happen? It’s kind of strange for you to say something like this all of a sudden.”
“…Well…”

Inazuki narrowed her eyes.

“I want to be the home you can return to.”
“…What?”
“If your heart ever feels lost, I want you to know it’s okay to stay here… If words alone aren’t enough, I want to show you through something tangible.”

She said it quietly, but there was a weight to her words.

That was exactly what I’d been yearning for.

A place to belong, a place to return to—those were things I had always wanted. I just never expected that Inazuki would see through me so clearly.

Or maybe it was obvious. After all, anyone would figure that out once I explained why I ran away from home.

…But even so.

I couldn’t imagine Inazuki becoming my “special someone.” It wasn’t her fault; I just couldn’t see anyone in that light.

There wasn’t enough to trust—no strong connections, and nothing tangible to hold onto. I knew too well how words could fail to reach someone. People don’t even always care for their own blood-related children, so how could I ever believe in someone else?

Inazuki, though, was different. Hugging her, touching her—it felt right, and I preferred it with her.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this emotion was temporary. One day, it might be discarded, like that letter, leaving nothing behind. The deeper my feelings grew, the more terrified I became of what would happen if they shattered.

And I couldn’t say for sure that I wouldn’t be the one to throw them away.

“This is probably all I can do right now. So… please…”
“…This might take some time,” I muttered. Inazuki kept her gaze fixed on me. “Inazuki, first of all, you have to follow the recipe properly. No messing up the measurements, no skipping the steps. And taste everything carefully—no improvising until you can make it right.”
“Y-Yes.”
“If you really want to experiment, call me. We can cook together.”
“Okay.”
“And one more thing,” I added with a smile. “Thank you, Inazuki. It makes me happy that you’re thinking about me. If there’s ever something you want me to do for you, don’t hesitate to ask. As long as I can, I’ll do anything.”
“You really shouldn’t say things like that so easily.”
“It’s not easy. I only say it to you.”

I liked Inazuki.

I didn’t know if we could ever become lovers, but I wanted to get even closer to her than we were now.

There was something I wanted to know.

I wanted to find out if the scenes I’d been seeing recently were really from a previous timeline. And if they were, I wanted to understand the process of how Inazuki and I became lovers in that time.

Right now, I couldn’t become anyone other than who I was. But if I learned about that other time, maybe it could open a new path for me.

If I could change from someone who couldn’t truly love anyone to someone who could… If that happened, the only person I could see myself loving was probably Inazuki.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “If this were soccer, that’d be a red card.”
“I don’t really get it.”
“It means foul play. Seriously, you couldn’t complain if I did something.”
“Are you going to do something?” I asked, looking straight at her.

Inazuki averted her gaze slightly.

“I won’t. I couldn’t. Not when you look at me like that,” she whispered.

I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to do something for her, whatever she wished for. But if she didn’t want to do anything, that was fine too.

If, one day, Inazuki told me the reason behind the lonely look she sometimes wore and asked for something from me, I’d want to do everything in my power to help her.

“I see. Well, if you ever need anything, just say the word. I’ll be there.”
“…Yeah.”
“…For now, let’s eat?”
“You can leave it all if you want.”
“No, I’ll eat it. You put your heart into it.”

This meal wasn’t made for anyone else—it was made for me. It wasn’t the best-tasting food, but it was the most heartfelt meal I’d ever had.

I’d eaten food made for others many times before, but this was probably the first time anyone had cooked something just for me.

It was also the first time I felt this kind of happiness while eating.

And because of that, I didn’t want to leave even a single bite on my plate. I reached out for the food, and though every dish was overwhelmingly sweet, I felt happy the whole time I ate.

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