Chapter 8: Sukiyaki and Streetlight

Sukiyaki and Streetlight

Invited to Miyuki’s house, I somehow ended up being the one making sukiyaki.

According to her grandmother, sukiyaki is something a man is supposed to cook.

That’s such a Showa-era mindset, I thought—but then again, her grandmother is a true Showa woman.

At my house, too, it was always my grandfather or father who made sukiyaki. But I’d assumed that was just because they were the heads of the family.

Surely, she doesn’t expect me to take on that role, does she?

The pillars in this house all look so thin and frail, like they might snap at any moment.

Not that it matters—my way of making sukiyaki is pretty slapdash anyway.

Aside from my grandmother, the rest of my family wasn’t careless so much as completely thoughtless.

My method was simple: coat the sukiyaki pot with melted beef fat, sauté some green onions and regular onions, then pour in the warishita sauce.

Once the meat changes color, you dip it in beaten egg before it gets tough—and after that, all that’s left to do is eat.

I popped open a can of beer I’d brought as a small gift, and through the steam rising from the pot, I saw Miyuki and her grandmother smiling.

What’s so funny?

Maybe they thought it was amusing, watching me open a beer can like some clever monkey.

They probably expected me to spill it all over myself.

“To everyone’s happiness—cheers!”

With Miyuki’s grandmother leading the toast, our small, cozy feast began.

At first, they’d asked me to give the toast, but of course, I deferred to the elder.

“You’re quite skilled at making sukiyaki.”

As she spoke, Miyuki’s grandmother poured more beer into my empty glass, the liquid trickling in with a soft tok tok.

The glass was an old-fashioned design, decorated with thick yellow sunflowers.

I couldn’t remember whose house it was, but I had a vague memory of drinking juice from a glass just like this at a classmate’s home in elementary school.

“Ah, no, I wouldn’t say skilled—I just copied what I’ve seen.”

Ah, no? What kind of half-assed response was that?

Surely, I could’ve worded that a little better.

“I haven’t had sukiyaki at home since my parents passed away. I never realized it was this sweet… and this good.”

Wait… is this house still stuck in the Showa era? Come on, Miyuki, what decade do you think this is?

“You should eat some meat too. You’ve only been picking at the pickled cucumbers this whole time.”

Now that she mentioned it… she had a point.

“Well, I mean, these pickled cucumbers are exceptional. You must take great care of your pickling bed.”

The memory resurfaced—eating my grandmother’s ochazuke while crying my eyes out. That meal had been the best thing in the world.

“Fufu, I appreciate the compliment, but if you don’t eat some meat, we’ll be left with too much.”

“Haha, in that case, I won’t hold back.”

“And drink more beer. I’ll pour for you.”

Miyuki and her grandmother started piling my small bowl with beef, shirataki noodles, grilled tofu, and green onions—so much that I had no room left for beer. Then they stared at me impatiently, clearly waiting for me to hurry up and drink.

Hey, I’m not a high schooler anymore. I was stuffed—I couldn’t eat another bite.

I surrender. I’m withdrawing from this sukiyaki war.

“Eh? You’re not having the closing udon?”

“Geez, this is the best part, you know.”

Oh, come on. You two are the ones who stuffed me full in the first place.

As she washed the pot and dishes, Miyuki’s grandmother suddenly spoke to me.

Since Miyuki’s house was small, the kitchen and the living room were close enough that you could hold a conversation even while washing dishes.

Convenient, in a way.

“Do you usually go out for lunch?”

Ugh… Talking about food on a full stomach was the last thing I wanted.

“Ah, no, I get my meals from a delivery service.”

“Ehh?! You actually eat that cat-rejected bento? I can’t believe it.”

Cat-rejected—that’s harsh. Then again, considering how picky modern cats are, I suppose even they wouldn’t touch it.

“Miyuki-chan, is it really that bad?”

“Yeah. I tried ordering it once… I nearly threw up.”

“Fufu, in that case, why don’t you cook for him, Miyuki-chan?”

“Huh? I mean, I don’t mind… but you can’t get mad if it doesn’t taste good, okay?”

“Ah, no, that would be too much trouble for you. I’ll have to pass.”

“That won’t do. If it’s that bad, then it must contain something terrible for your health. Are you really okay with ruining your body like that?”

Whoa. The same grandmother who’d been all smiles just moments ago was now glaring at me with the face of a wrathful hannya demon.

The drastic shift from her sweet smile to this menacing stare was so extreme that it brought to mind the eerie encounters I’d had in the past. Damn, that’s terrifying.

It reminded me of the times my late grandmother used to scold me, and for a second, I nearly pissed myself.

And with five cans of beer in my system, that was no joke.

“Uh… uh… I-I’ll eat it. I’ll eat it.”

“Ufufu, as long as you understand.”

As soon as she smiled again—like a morning glory in full bloom—I couldn’t help but feel relieved.

But still… Miyuki doesn’t actually like me, so isn’t this just a hassle for her?

“Miyuki-san, is this really not a burden for you?”

“Hmm… no, not really. I just have to make twice the usual amount, so it’s not that different.”

I didn’t get it. Why wasn’t she bothered by the extra work? What a strange woman.

As thanks for the sukiyaki, I bowed my head repeatedly before leaving Miyuki’s house.

“It’s still early,” she pouted, hurriedly untying her apron. For some reason, she wouldn’t take no for an answer when she insisted on walking me to the main road. Why? What a mystery.

“I’m not a kid. I can walk home on my own.”

“Hmph. Don’t be mean.”

Though she looked annoyed, Miyuki slipped her arm around mine, pressing her body against me.

Even though her grandmother was watching from the doorway, she was still using seduction tactics.

Well, we’re getting married anyway, so maybe this is fine for her. But… is it okay for me to just go along with this?

The scent of sukiyaki lingered on her, and I thought—if I were hungry right now, she’d probably smell delicious.

“What do you mean, ‘mean’?”

“You had such a warm smile for Grandma, but you were pretty cold to me.”

“Huh? Was I? I don’t think I was that cold.”

“Hmph. You were. I wanted to see you smile more.”

Saying that, Miyuki stopped in the dimly lit alley and stared at me.

The old streetlight cast a faint orange glow, flickering uncertainly over us.

Even if she asked me to smile, I didn’t think I could. There was nothing to smile about.

If I were a good-looking guy, I could probably pull off one of those effortlessly charming grins. But I didn’t have that kind of skill.

Guys who aren’t blessed in the looks department start out with low stats, so they never develop those kinds of talents.

There was even someone in my family who used to lament that their bad genes made it hard for them to grow a full head of hair.

Feeling strangely restless under Miyuki’s serious gaze, I acted on impulse—I reached out and touched her small cheek.

It didn’t mean anything. Her skin simply caught the light of the streetlamp, glowing faintly with a lonely hue.

“Ah… you touched me,” she murmured. “That makes me happy.”

Then she reached out too, her fingers brushing my cheek. And before I knew it, I had pulled her into my arms.

I hadn’t planned on doing this. It was just… the momentum of the moment.

“You smell good.”

The rich scent of sukiyaki still clung to her, making her seem almost edible.

“Ugh… this is embarrassing. Hmph, you’re not allowed to sniff me.”

With half-lidded eyes, Miyuki gazed up at me—and just like that, I kissed her.

It’s fine, right? We’re getting married, even if it’s fake.

…Wait.

No, that’s wrong. I already decided—I wouldn’t go through with the wedding just to keep her grandmother from crying.

As I pulled away, Miyuki whispered,

“Is it really okay for it to be me?”

Her voice carried a quiet urgency, pressing me for an answer.

“I don’t dislike you, Miyuki.”

Tch. What kind of pathetic answer is that?

Come on, say it properly. Stop half-assing this.

“I’ve fallen for you. Kiss me again.”

This time, I kissed her a little longer before finally parting ways.

Under the flickering glow of the old streetlamp, Miyuki kept waving at me long after I had started walking away.