"A long time ago, I spent a lot of time choosing things based on what all sorts of people loved."
Yume blinked.
"What kind of person feels at ease looking at what. What colors loosen the heart of someone who's tired. I watched for that kind of thing for a long time. So I can tell."
Something from the past flickered at the edge of my mind. Someone walking through the door with a worn-out face, and the moment they were shown into the room, their shoulders easing. For the sake of that moment, I'd spent a very long time choosing colors, and lighting, and the feel of fabrics.
But that's a job that's over now.
"...So what did you used to be?"
"I'm just the house manager."
I stood and headed for the kitchen. I didn't say any more than that. I had no intention to.
But the good in her work was the truth, so that much, at least, I wanted her to know. Not as comfort, not as flattery. What I saw, exactly as I saw it.
"Are you hungry?"
"Huh..."
"I'll make grilled rice balls. They won't take long."
I shaped some cold rice with my hands. Not packing it too tight. Gently, leaving air inside. That way, when it grills, the outside gets crisp and the inside falls apart softly. I brushed a thin coat of soy sauce over the surface and set them on the grill.
They sizzled.
The soy sauce scorched, and a toasty smell rose up. Freshly brushed on, soy sauce still has a sharp saltiness. But once the flame hits it, the edges soften, and from deep inside comes the sweet scent of fermented grain. The smell the koji spent so long brewing comes undone all at once in that final bit of searing. Why is it that the smell of scorching soy sauce makes people's stomachs growl like this?
The surface of the rice balls slowly turned a deep caramel brown. The edges crisped and charred. Each grain of rice stood up, popping with tiny crackles. I brushed on two more layers of soy sauce. Each time it sizzled, and the aroma spread through the room with the steam. Beneath the toastiness was a faint sweetness. The sweetness of the rice itself.
At my feet, Komugi let out a soft whine and lifted his nose.
"Not for you."
I put the grilled rice balls on a plate and brought them to Yume. Crisp outside, piping hot inside. The steam rose straight up.
Yume held one in both hands. Saying "hot, hot," she brought it to her mouth. The steam fogged her glasses. When she hurriedly took them off, her eyes were still red. Even so, she took a bite.
The outside gave a crunch.
The toasty scorch of soy sauce on the outside. Inside, plump white rice. The toastiness of the char and the gentle sweetness of the rice mingled in her mouth.
"...Mm, it's so good."
This time she didn't hide it. With a grain of rice stuck to her lip, she took another bite. For a while, she ate without a thought in her head.
Her pace gradually settled. At first she'd been practically wolfing it down, but by the second half she was savoring it. A little pause between each bite.
During one of those pauses, I set a glass of barley tea in front of her. Without a word. Yume took a gulp and let out a breath.
As she was finishing, Yume spoke up quietly.
"Hey, Mister."
"Yes."
"What you said earlier. About the colors."
"Yes."
"That... I did it on purpose. I made it so you could see just a little of the lining. So it'd look pretty when it moved."
Her voice was a little damp.
"Nobody noticed. I didn't make the contest. My followers went down. I thought nobody was looking at me."
Yume stared at the empty plate.
"But there was. One person who was actually looking."
I said nothing.
"Not at numbers... someone who actually saw this. There was someone."
She wiped roughly at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"...Not that I'm crying or anything."
"Okay."
"The burnt rice ball just stung my eyes."
"Okay. Next time I'll use a lower flame."
Yume gave a small laugh. Then, carrying her plate to the sink, she stopped in front of it and turned back to look at me.
"Hey, Mr. Mana..."
She broke off and pressed her lips together. For an instant she looked like she'd blown it, and then, as if to cover her embarrassment, she deliberately corrected herself.
"...Mister, seriously, who are you?"
I tilted my head.
"Who am I? I'm just a middle-aged guy who's good at cooking."
"There's no way that's all."
Yume narrowed her eyes at me. The eyes that had been red earlier now had a slightly amused glint. Even with her looking at me like that, I honestly had no idea what she meant.
"Well, shall I grill one more for a late-night snack?"
"I'll eat it."
An instant answer.
"Oh, but it'll make me fat, so I'll pass. ...Actually, I'll eat it."
"Which is it?"
"Half."
I shaped another one.
At my feet, Komugi was still gazing longingly at the plate.
Beyond the upstairs windows, the summer night quietly deepened.