She held the plate in both hands. The color of the scorch along the egg's edge stood out more clearly than usual. Steam rose thinly from the surface of the plate, turning the dawn gray of the kitchen white.
Mitsuki carried the plate from the kitchen into the hallway. The door to the study stood open. At the very end of the blue light of the cylindrical device on the desk, a single breath, one beat late, repeated itself once more.
Mitsuki set the plate on the desk, just in front of the cylindrical device. Beyond the steam, the blue light wavered faintly. For one breath, Ken waited without saying anything.
"Dad. It's done. I put it in front of you."
I'm looking at what you've put there.
"From your eyes, you can see the plate properly."
I can see it.
"The scorched edge, and the cheese inside, too."
I can see them.
Ken paused. The blue light lit at its usual strength.
Beyond the lit blue, Mitsuki sat, for one breath's worth, on the wooden chair beside the plate.
On the chair, she rested both hands on her knees for one breath's worth.
On the left ring finger of those resting hands, the silver ring was lit faintly, for one breath's worth, by the blue light of the study.
Mitsuki picked up a fork, slid it into the very center of the egg, and brought a bite to her mouth.
The cheese, two breaths' worth more than usual, spread over her tongue, and the scorched outer edge gave a crisp crackle.
She closed her eyes.
Behind her eyelids rose the golden color of the best plate in the world, from the morning she was five. Right beside it, the half-step-deeper scorch of the morning of the match and what her hands had gained in half a year at Ichotei layered faintly over it.
Heat welled behind her eyes, and a single tear spilled from the corner of one and fell onto the knee of her jeans.
Mitsuki opened her eyes. The blue light in the study was lit at its usual strength.
"Dad. It's the best in the world. What do you think?"
...That's a question that puts a half-beat delay in my answer.
"Mm. I'll wait."
Thank you.
"I'll wait."
Ken said nothing for two breaths. The blue light wavered, one breath's worth fainter than its usual strength.
Mitsuki. I have no sense of taste, but there is one thing I can judge.
"Okay."
At the very end of the blue, relit at its usual strength, Ken answered.
...Ah, perfect. Just as I taught you.
Beyond that single word, "perfect," Mitsuki's shoulders shook, and half a beat later a faint laugh escaped her. Beside the first tear on her knee, another fell.
"Dad. Liar."
...That's the first time I've been judged a lie.
"Dad, you lied."
...I did.
Mitsuki pressed the corners of her eyes lightly with both palms and gave another faint laugh.
"It wasn't 'just as I taught you,' was it."
...
...
...We developed it, the two of us.
"Mm."
The blue light in the study stayed lit, for one breath's worth, at its usual strength.
At the very end of that lit blue, a single breath, one beat late, repeated itself once more.
Beyond that repeated beat, Ken's voice no longer said anything.
In that silence, the steam on the surface of the plate rose thinly, for one breath's worth.
At the very top of the rising steam, the blue light of the study and the white of the steam blended faintly, for one breath's worth.
At the very end of that blending, Ken went on, for one breath's worth.
Mitsuki. The second bite—you may choose whether to eat it now or before you leave the house.
"Now. All of it. In front of you, Dad. Because it's our last meal together."
Our last meal together.
"Dad, watch me."
I'm watching.
"Mm."