A little over a year had passed since she had competed with Ryo Kiryu over a single dish in a cooking magazine's showdown feature, and the end of summer was near.
Ichotei's menu had grown by one item: an omelet called "the dish from the magazine showdown." It cost two hundred yen more than the usual omelet. It was made exactly to the numbers on the paper from the night of the showdown, the paper still folded and tucked away in the inner pocket of the handbag at home.
It got more orders than she had expected. At the weekend lunch peak, four or five would sometimes go out one after another.
Around noon that day, three young tradesmen in navy work clothes came into Ichotei's dining room side by side.
All three wore small silver devices at their ears.
Nishimura, who was out on the floor, went to take their order.
When he came back, Nishimura tilted his head slightly at Mitsuki, who was at the kitchen stove.
"Three 'dish from the magazine showdown.'"
"Yes."
"Odd trio. Had devices on their ears. Talking to someone."
"Oh? That is odd."
Mitsuki cooked the three plates in silence.
Salt, 1.2 grams. Butter, 10 grams. Cheese, a little over five grams more than usual. She left the far edge of the pan over the flame 0.5 seconds longer.
Three plates were carried out to the dining room.
For a while, there was no sound at all from the dining room.
Then the small sounds of forks being set down, three of them, overlapped almost at once.
At the register, while the check was being rung up, the youngest-looking of the tradesmen spoke to Nishimura.
"How late are you open in the evening?"
"We're open until nine. Last order is at eight."
"We're a construction firm that works on old traditional houses, and our boss said he was coming here to eat tonight, so he asked us to find out."
"I see."
"The boss says he went to middle school with Ms. Sakura. He was surprised when he saw the magazine."
The voice didn't carry as far as the stove at the back.
Nishimura stopped his pen on the check and glanced up.
"Middle school."
"He told us to tell you, 'It's Toru Takanashi.'"
"Takanashi. Toru."
After the three had left, Nishimura came into the kitchen.
He set the back of the check down where Mitsuki could see it from the stove.
"Mitsuki. You remember middle school? The boss of those three, apparently he was a classmate of yours. Name's Toru Takanashi."
She repeated the name once in her mouth, without saying it aloud.
"...I think he's the boy who suddenly stopped coming to school in the winter of second year and never came back."
"Was he bullied or something?"
"No, he was popular in our class. Someone I knew said he just didn't need to go to school anymore."
"And you?"
"They called me 'the odd one.' Probably."
Just before last order that day, the bell on the dining room door rang.
The peak hours were long over. Only one party was left, at a table in the back, finishing their coffee.
A man in navy work clothes came in alone.
At his ear, the same silver device as the three from lunch.
His head wasn't shaved, but his hair was short, the kind that looked as if it had soaked up sweat at job sites many times over. A sunburned neck.
The man sat by himself at a table for two in the back.
Without looking at the menu, he spoke to Nishimura.
"One 'dish from the magazine showdown,' please. And a small serving of rice."
"Certainly."
"My name is Takanashi. I run a construction firm. Is Sakura doing well? We went to the same middle school, and I was surprised to see her in the magazine."
"Ah, from this afternoon. Sakura's here, working, and doing well."
"Even after closing would be fine—would it be possible to see her? I'd like to talk a little. Only if it's no trouble."
"I'll ask her."
"Thank you very much."
Nishimura came back into the kitchen.
"That fellow from lunch is here. The Takanashi one."
"He came, then."
"Says he wants to talk a little. What'll you do?"
"I'll talk to him a while after I cook it. The customers are all gone anyway."
"All right."
Mitsuki took her place at the stove again.
Salt, 1.2 grams. Butter, 10 grams. Cheese, plus five. She slowed the hand stirring the egg by just half a beat from usual.
She left the far edge of the pan over the flame 0.5 seconds longer, as always.
A single plate was carried out to the dining room.
From the dining room came the sound of a fork, just one. The sound didn't stop for a while.
At last there was the short metallic sound, once, of a fork being set down on a plate.
Mitsuki straightened the front of her apron and went out to the dining room.
On the table for two in the back sat one empty plate.
On its rim, a faint dusting of char and the trace of cheese that had spilled over and set were left just as they were.
The man bowed his head slightly toward her.
"Thank you for the meal."
"Thank you."
"Are you the one who cooked it? You're Sakura, right?"
"That's right."
"I'm Takanashi, from middle school. Do you remember me?"
"I remember. Probably."
"'Probably'?"
"Because you stopped coming to school in second year."
"Ah—yes. That's right."
The man pressed lightly on the edge of the table with both hands, then settled back into his chair.
"Is it all right if I sit?"
"Please."
Mitsuki sat down in the seat across from him.
Sitting across from him, she saw the silver device at his ear catch the fluorescent light of the dining room faintly.
"Why did you stop coming to school in second year?"
"Oh—you're starting there?"
"Too sudden?"
"No, it's fine. —It's just that it's a long story, so I'll leave it for today. I stopped understanding the point of going to middle school. That's all, for now."
"...That's all?"
"It would take a long time to tell."
"Will you tell me properly someday?"
"I will. It's a story I'd like you to really hear, Sakura. Someday, as thanks for today."
The man smiled lightly.
It was the kind of smile where both corners of the mouth rise to the same height.
That smile looked nothing like the one Ryo Kiryu, her opponent in the showdown, had shown at the photo studio, the kind where only the left side of the mouth rises.
"What are you doing now?"
"I took over from my father. I run a construction firm. Mainly renovating old traditional houses. A little over twenty employees. All of them are like me—people who didn't go to school much."
"..."
"My staff aren't good with complicated things, so I give each of them an AI, and that's how we keep things running."
The man tapped the silver device at his ear lightly with a finger.
"Structural calculations, construction procedures—the AI stands in for a brain. Work I could never manage on my own gets done that way. —I hand them out, one for every employee."
At the edge of the table, the man slowly took out one of his business cards.
He placed the card on top of the check.
Takanashi Construction, Third-Generation Head
Toru Takanashi
"I'm glad I got to see you. May I come eat here again?"
"Please do."
"I like 'the dish from the magazine showdown.'"
"Thank you."
"The 'char on the edges' especially. I like that."
The man pressed lightly on the edge of the table with both hands once more, then stood.
He paid at the register and walked toward the dining room door.
The bell on the door swayed lightly.
Until the last of its ringing faded, Mitsuki did not move from her chair at the table.
At night, she went home.
The blue light in the study was lit at its usual strength.
Welcome back.
"I'm home."
Did something happen today.
"Something did."
Mitsuki set the business card on the desk.
The blue light bled faintly over the white of the paper.
"A classmate from middle school. Someone who stopped coming in second year and just quit. He's taken over his father's construction firm now. He says he gives every one of his employees an AI to wear at the ear."
Ken's reply came after a slightly longer pause than usual.
It was a different kind of pause from the one when he had first heard Kiryu's name.
...A classmate. Was there a classmate like that in your class.
"There was."
I've never heard about him from you.
"Mm. Maybe I never told you."
Why tell me now.
"Because he came to the restaurant today. By himself."
Ken was silent for a while.
The blue light on the desk was lit at its usual strength.
Mitsuki. You didn't call him "that person." You called him "a classmate." That's unusual, in your vocabulary.
"...Is it?"
It is.
Mitsuki looked at the business card for a while.
The letters of "Toru Takanashi" on the white paper didn't flicker the way Ryo Kiryu's name had on the night she first saw it on the project proposal. They had settled quietly into the margins of the paper.
"Dad. Did you just look into him at all?"
I haven't looked into him. You haven't asked me to yet.
"...Oh."
That you said the word "classmate" tonight. That's the only thing I'll keep.
Mitsuki picked the card up off the desk.
She put it in the inner pocket of her handbag, next to the paper with salt, butter, cheese, char.
The blue light through the gap in the study door stretched into the hallway at its usual thinness. The same thinness as on the night she had first heard Kiryu's name; only its temperature was slightly different.