Mitsuki opened the thin resin case on the edge of the desk in the study.
The slim earpiece she had worn ever since that evening five years ago sat in its usual place.
She hooked it over her ear.
Deep in her right ear, the faint sense of vibration traveling through bone came on, one breath's worth thinner than usual.
Mitsuki stood in the kitchen and took out the bowl beside the sink. She had washed it last night and left it upside down, and the inside was dry now and held the faint light of morning.
She took the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and pressed the leftmost one with her finger. The roughness under her fingertip was the same as always. Once she was sure, Mitsuki tapped the egg lightly against the rim of the bowl.
A crack ran through the shell, over the inside of the bowl. White and yolk fell, down to the last drop. She set the shell in the empty can beside the sink.
The yolk inside the bowl was lit faintly by the thin morning light.
"Dad. The first one, I didn't hesitate."
No. You didn't hesitate.
The second, the third, the fourth, she took one after another.
She tapped each lightly against the rim, one breath's worth apart.
On the far side of the rim, the three eggs fell without hesitation.
"Dad. I cracked four. I didn't hesitate."
You didn't hesitate.
"Not a single piece of shell got in."
None got in.
"Mm."
She beat the four eggs with cooking chopsticks and added one grain more salt than usual, a tablespoon of cream, and shredded cheese, two breaths' worth more than usual.
Mitsuki. Let me check one thing about the evaluation function for the last dish.
"Okay."
For five years I have been accumulating the earpiece camera and your spoken impressions. This morning I will use them. This is your valley alone.
"Okay."
Let me propose the starting point. The dish you called "the best in the world," that morning when you were five.
"That day's..."
That day's. The failed one, where Dad put in too much cheese to hide the scorch.
"Mm."
"Dad. Can we shift it, just half a step, from that dish?"
Toward where?
"By what my hands learned in half a year at Ichotei. By what I've layered, over five years, on top of that five-year-old's tongue."
All right. Half a step, shifted.
From the shifted starting point, I will give you one set only: the bottom you reach coming down into your valley alone. One hundred eighty-five degrees Celsius, ten grams of butter, 1.0 gram of salt, one tablespoon of cream, twenty grams of cheese, whisking at four strokes per second.
"That's almost the same as the night of the match."
Almost the same. Five years on, your valley stands right beside the combined valley of the two of you that night.
"Mm."
The salt had already fallen into the bowl. One grain more than the 1.0 gram Ken had said. I was the one who decided that.
Only the cheese, though. In your valley alone, the bottom runs deeper with two breaths' worth more than usual. Add ten grams. Thirty grams.
"Two breaths."
That is my recommendation function. I have not changed the design that puts your judgment first.
"Dad. I put in two breaths' worth more cheese. Just as you recommended."
Two breaths.
"Dad. You kept the design that puts my judgment first. Right up to the last morning."
I kept it.
She set the frying pan on the stove. Through the earpiece camera, Ken read the temperature of its base.
Twenty-two degrees, by my estimate. We wait for one hundred twenty.
"We wait."
Before long, a thin shimmer of air rose over the bottom of the pan.
One hundred twenty. Put in the butter. Ten grams.
"Ten."
She set the ten grams of butter in the very center of the pan. It popped at once and began to foam thinly.
The foam has turned fine. One hundred eighty-five. Pour in the egg.
"Okay."
Mitsuki poured the egg from the bowl into the pan. It spread thin over the bottom, and a thin white film rose. When she pushed the outer edge of the film inward with the chopsticks, the half-set layer trembled faintly.
"Dad. I'm going to scorch the edge now."
By my judgment, you don't scorch it.
"I'm scorching it. I decide. This is the last move."
The last move.
"Mm."
Mitsuki held the outer rim of the pan over the flame for one breath's worth. The edge darkened twice, to a faintly scorched color. The same color as the edge of the dish from that match.
She took it off the heat and tilted the pan over the plate. The egg slid onto the plate and settled into its usual shape. Along the outer edge, the faint color of the scorch stood out clearly. From inside it, the cheese seeped thinly out.
"Dad. It's done. Four eggs' worth, made into one plate."
Made into one plate.
"I didn't hesitate, for two breaths' worth."
No. You didn't hesitate.