Prologue
Translator: Skythewood
Editor: Deus Ex-machina
One night, I had a dream after a long ti.
A dream when I slept really soundly, and dreamt about things I had long forgotten.
And when I woke up, I would have no mory about them.
When I occasionally rember the scenes in my dream, it would have already ended.
In my dream, I was still a child in elentary school.
Dad watched TV as he drank beer and cheered for his favourite baseball team.
Mother cut so sort of vegetable in the kitchen, probably onions.
Our family runs a restaurant, so this must be the off day that happens once a week. If not for this, it was impossible for our entire family to be around for dinner.
It was a family scene commonly seen in Showa period dramas.
I wasnt interested in baseball, and asked Dad during the comrcials:
Dad, your culinary skill is better, but why is mother always the one cooking dinner when we are ho?
Damn it, you
Dad leaned in close in a panic:
Why are you saying this all of a sudden? What if your mother hears this?
Thats why Im asking so softly Why?
You Asuta, do you dislike the al cooked by your mother?
No, I like it.
The six years old shook my head firmly.
I was a likeable child back then, even I myself thought so.
But I like the dishes prepared by Dad more, because your food is the most delicious.
A line that I would never say now.
Also because I have lost the person who I could complint.
Well Because Im a professional chef My job is to cook delicious als...
Dad had a troubled and complicated expression. He was just past 30 back then.
He was probably wondering if he should deal out judgent with his fists after hearing my answer. But after hearing a six years old give such an answer, he stayed his hand and admit his defeat.
By the way, you have been eating the food I cooked everyday, right? Dont you want to eat mothers ho cooked al once a week?
I didnt say I dont want to, Im just curious.
The match had started on the television.
But Dad was still facing , with his arms crossed and troubled.
Your thinking is still wrong. When were ho, mother should cook.
But why?
You ask why Because Im a chef.
Dad said with a stern face:
The chefs job is to cook for custors, and cooking for a family is a mothers job.
Hmm?
I was just six and didnt fully understand the significance behind his words.
Since his words appeared in my dream in this way, that ans it left an impression on .
One year later, my mother passed away. I said in tears:I wish I can taste my mothers cooking a little more.
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