Wen Akagi, a student VTuber who loves travel and cooking as if they were the same thing, casually asks his viewers during a late-night stream what the ideal travel partner would be. The chat floods with jokes. But the next morning, a DM arrives from Mikoto, a flashy gyaru streamer at his school. She claims she seriously wants to learn to cook and travel with him. Wen, suspicious, agrees to meet at a local market. Instead of one guest, however, Haruto, Mikoto's childhood friend who is hopelessly
A Second Toast to an Unfinished Journey - The first homemade meal, and the three of us gathered around the table.
By the time they left Asahi Shopping Street, the western sky had begun to tinge faintly with madder red. Mimori Mikoto walked with a spring in her step beside Akagi Wen, who carried the shopping bags. A short distance behind, Sanada Haruto followed with a sullen expression.
"Hey, Wen, what are you making for dinner tonight? I've been looking forward to it since morning—I couldn't even focus in class."
Mikoto leaned forward, peering up at Wen's face from below. Her large hazel eyes sparkled, reflecting the sunset. The star-shaped hairpin on her left ear flashed with every step.
"Let's see. Since I got such good ingredients at the market, I'm thinking of properly making dashi, then doing simmered fish, dashimaki tamago, and miso soup."
Wen's lips naturally softened as he pictured the contents of the shopping bags. Fresh onions from Marushima Greengrocer, eggs he'd picked up on impulse while passing Koutarou Butcher Shop, and horse mackerel—caught just this morning—that the fishmonger had selected for him. All of them were meant to be the stars of tonight's table.
"Wait, simmered fish? I don't think I've ever had that. Isn't that like, grandma's cooking?"
"Well, maybe so. But if you make the dashi properly, simmered fish becomes really delicious. Today I'll show you how to make that dashi from scratch."
When Wen said that, Mikoto clasped her hands in front of her chest and made an excited face.
Meanwhile, Haruto, walking behind them, furrowed his brow deeply as he listened to their conversation. Beneath his short-cropped black hair, his slightly upturned monolid eyes glared fixedly at Wen's back.
(Why do I have to go to this guy's house...)
Even as he muttered that in his heart, Haruto's feet kept following the two of them. Mikoto was having fun, so he couldn't just leave.
They passed through the main street in front of the station and entered a residential area. Streetlights began to flicker on one by one, and the dusk slowly deepened. The apartment building where Wen lived, Corpo Asahi, was an old two-story building about eight minutes by bicycle from the academy.
"This is my place. It's small, but come on in."
When Wen opened the door to room 205, Mikoto called out "Excuse me!" in a bright voice and took off her shoes. Haruto hesitated for a moment at the entrance, then muttered a quiet "Pardon the intrusion" before timidly stepping inside.
A single six-tatami room. Against the wall sat a streaming desk, with two cameras, a microphone, and lighting equipment arranged neatly on top. The bed was pushed into a corner, with a bookshelf beside it. It was packed full of cookbooks and travel guides.
"Whoa, this is where you stream! That's amazing. You've got so much equipment!"
Mikoto's eyes sparkled as she looked around the streaming desk with curiosity.
"It's not that impressive. They're all secondhand."
Wen scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed.
Haruto stood in the middle of the room, letting his gaze wander restlessly. It wasn't his first time entering a guy's apartment, but knowing this was the room of "the suspicious guy who suddenly got close to Mikoto" made him uneasy no matter what.
"...So you really do live alone."
"Yeah, that's right. I've been here ever since I started university."
Wen smiled and carried the shopping bags to the kitchen.
Room 205 of Corpo Asahi had a surprisingly well-equipped kitchen for a six-tatami apartment. Two burners. A deep sink with plenty of space for a cutting board. Most of all, he liked that nothing blocked the window, letting in plenty of morning sun.
Wen quickly put on an apron as he took the ingredients out of the bags. A simple navy-blue apron. The moment he tied the waist strings, his whole atmosphere changed.
The soft, gentle young man from moments ago switched to something sharp and focused—the air of a craftsman. Mikoto noticed the change and caught her breath.
"Wen, you suddenly got really cool just now."
"Huh? Really? I'm the same as always."
Wen laughed as he filled a pot with water and took out a piece of kombu.
"Today, I'll start by making ichiban dashi. First dashi from kombu and katsuobushi. This is the foundation of Japanese cooking."
His voice quickened when he talked about cooking. His eyes grew serious too.
"Kombu needs to be steeped in water slowly, over time, to draw out the umami. You mustn't let it boil. Keeping it around sixty to seventy degrees is the key. I don't have much time today, so I'll steep it a bit shorter, but the aroma will still come out properly."
Wen lightly wiped the surface of the kombu and submerged it in the pot of water. Then he opened the bag of katsuobushi. The dry, smoky fragrance of bonito wafted through the room.
Mikoto stood at the kitchen entrance, watching intently.
"You wipe the kombu? You can't just put it in as-is?"
"Right, that's important! The white powder on the surface of kombu—that's crystallized umami, so you mustn't wash it off. But you do want to remove any dirt, so you lightly wipe it with a firmly wrung cloth. That's the basic method."
Wen explained with shining eyes. Mikoto nodded repeatedly, impressed. "Wow!"
Haruto leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the two of them. But even he could tell that Wen's knife work was not that of an amateur. There was no hesitation in the hand gripping the knife. His movements handling the ingredients flowed without waste.
(...Well, at least his cooking seems to be the real thing.)
Haruto reluctantly admitted that in his heart.
Before long, the pot with the kombu began to warm slowly. Tiny bubbles rose to the surface and disappeared. Wen watched the heat intently, checking the temperature.
"Okay, this should be about right. Take out the kombu... and now add the katsuobushi. All at once, a big handful."
The moment Wen dropped the katsuobushi into the pot, a rich dashi aroma rose up with the steam and filled the room.
It wasn't just a "nice smell." It was a deep, gentle fragrance—the mellow sweetness of kombu mingling with the powerful smokiness of katsuobushi. That nostalgic scent that reminded you of your grandmother's kitchen.
Mikoto's nose twitched.
For a moment, she looked blank, and then her eyes began to well up.
"...Wait, what is this? I almost started crying."
Mikoto hurriedly rubbed her eyes. The pale blue glitter of her nail polish sparkled in the light.
"Mikoto, are you okay?"
"I mean, when I realized dashi smells this amazing, it just hit me. I've never almost cried from the smell of dashi before in my life."
Mikoto sniffled and laughed sheepishly. Her right snaggletooth peeked out.
Wen felt a warmth spreading deep in his chest as he watched her.
(Ah, this is why I cook.)
Having someone see the foundation of his cooking and be genuinely moved by it—he hadn't realized how happy that would make him.
Haruto, too, was twitching his nose at the dashi's aroma. Unconsciously, his body had leaned slightly toward the kitchen.
"...I could at least taste it for you."
Haruto said brusquely.
"Sure. Here you go."
Wen poured some dashi into a small dish and held it out to Haruto.
Haruto took the dish and timidly brought it to his lips. He took a sip.
His eyebrows twitched.
A mellow umami spread through his mouth. There was no salt or soy sauce in it, yet it had a distinct flavor. No—more than flavor, this was "umami." A sensation like it was melting softly on his tongue.
"...Not bad."
Haruto said just that and set the dish in the sink. But his expression was slightly softer than before.
"Haru, your face is red! Are you embarrassed?"
"N-No! I'm not embarrassed! It's just a little hot in here!"
Haruto raised his voice. The tips of his ears were bright red.
Wen held back a laugh as he strained the dashi and moved on to the next step.
"Alright, now I'll use this dashi to make the miso soup and the simmered fish. And Mikoto, want to try cutting the onions?"
"Wait, me!? I want to try! But I've never even held a knife before."
Mikoto happily came into the kitchen. Wen lent her an apron and carefully taught her how to hold the knife, starting from the basics.
"You don't grip the handle tightly. You hold it by pinching the base of the blade between your thumb and index finger. That stabilizes your wrist."
Wen demonstrated with the knife in his own hand. Mikoto imitated him and gripped the knife.
Her hands were trembling slightly.
"Th-This is scary. What if I cut my finger?"
"You'll be fine. Just go slowly. Remember the cat's paw? The hand holding the food should have its fingertips curled, like this."
Wen gently took Mikoto's left hand and adjusted the shape of her fingers. Mikoto's shoulders jumped.
"...Your hands are warm."
Mikoto murmured quietly. Wen didn't notice.
"Yes, that shape. Now, let's try cutting slowly."
Mikoto took a deep breath and placed the knife against the onion. With clumsy movements, she slowly pressed the blade down. With a soft crunch, the onion was sliced into a round.
"I did it! It cut, Wen!"
Mikoto's face lit up.
"Yeah, you did great. Let's try cutting the next one a bit thinner."
Encouraged by Wen's praise, Mikoto grew more confident. But with confidence came carelessness.
The moment she turned to look at Wen, the knife grazed her fingertip.
"Ow!"
Mikoto let out a small cry. A faint red line appeared on her fingertip.
"Whoa, blood!? Is it bleeding!?"
Mikoto held her finger up in front of her face and began making a fuss. In reality, it was just a tiny nick—barely enough to draw blood.
But the moment he heard her voice, Haruto moved as if he'd been shot.
"Mikoto!? Are you okay!? Disinfectant! Where's the disinfectant! Band-aids!?"
Haruto rushed into the kitchen and started opening every cabinet he could find.
"Hey, where do you keep the disinfectant! Hurry up and get it out!"
"Huh? Oh, wait. You don't need to panic that much—it's not a serious cut..."
"Not serious!? It's Mikoto's finger! A girl's finger getting cut is a huge deal!"
Haruto was genuinely panicking. His face was pale, and his eyes were watery.
"Haru, you did the same thing when I fell in elementary school—you ran all the way to the nurse's office. That brings back memories."
Mikoto laughed merrily.
"Wh-Why are you laughing! I'm worried about you!"
Haruto shouted with tears in his eyes. The sight was so funny that Wen couldn't help bursting out laughing too.
"Sorry, Haruto. The disinfectant is in the back of that drawer over there."
When Wen pointed, Haruto yanked open the drawer at full speed and pulled out the disinfectant and a band-aid.
"Mikoto, give me your hand. I'll disinfect it."
"Yes, yes, please do."
Mikoto held out her finger, still laughing. Haruto, with a serious expression, gently applied the disinfectant to her fingertip and wrapped the band-aid around it.
The whole sequence of movements was surprisingly careful.
Wen watched the scene from a short distance away.
(Those two really are close.)
That unique sense of distance that childhood friends have. No hesitation with each other, yet bound by deep trust at the core.
He felt a tiny pang of loneliness at not being able to enter that circle.
No—not loneliness. This was...
Wen shook his head and switched gears.
"Alright, I'll take it from here. Mikoto, go sit down."
"Aww, but I want to help more. Sorry I messed up."
"Don't worry about it. Cooking is something you learn through mistakes. You'll do better next time."
Mikoto's face brightened at Wen's kind words.
From there, Wen proceeded with the cooking efficiently. He filleted the horse mackerel into three pieces and cut it into portions for simmering. He added soy sauce, mirin, and sugar to the dashi to make the simmering liquid. He added the fish, placed a drop-lid on top, and let it simmer gently.
Meanwhile, he made the dashimaki tamago. He beat the eggs, mixed them with dashi, and rolled them over and over. The yellow egg puffed up
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