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 - A Toast at the End of the Waves, and a Broth Bought Out
Morning light fell through the paper screen, casting white rectangles onto the tatami.
The sound of waves repeated endlessly in the distance. *Swoosh, swoosh* — the ebb and flow of the tide. Akagi Wen lay in his futon, listening. His eyes were open. No — he hadn't slept a wink. Behind his eyelids, yesterday's sunset at the fishing port clung stubbornly, refusing to fade. The sinking signboard. His own hand, unable to reach out in that moment.
*(Today is the real thing.)*
The Big Catch Festival. The day Shiohama town brims with more energy than any other day of the year. A day meant to deliver the taste of Shiozake Shokudo to the townspeople — and to Taiga. That was how it was supposed to be.
Wen slowly sat up, made his way through the hallway of the Namima guesthouse, and headed toward the small shared kitchen. He stood before the gas stove. He filled a pot with water, intending to make miso soup. He picked up the cooking chopsticks.
—*Clatter.*
The chopsticks slipped from his fingers.
*(Again.)*
The moment he tried to grip a knife, his fingertips froze like ice. His breathing grew shallow. Those words from that day — *"Taste doesn't matter."* — echoed deep in his ears.
"......"
Wen crouched down in the kitchen. He tried to pick up the chopsticks, but his fingers trembled and couldn't grasp them. It was as if they weren't his own hands anymore.
"Wen."
A voice called out. He turned.
Mimori Mikoto stood there. Her fluffy gyaru-style curls still messy from sleep. The star-shaped hairpin on her left ear caught the morning light with a sharp glint. Her large hazel eyes looked straight at Wen.
"......Morning. Sorry, did I wake you?"
Wen forced a smile. He wasn't sure if it looked convincing.
"Hey, Wen. I was watching, you know. The whole time, from here."
Mikoto slowly approached. Her barefoot steps echoed softly against the hallway floor.
"You can't hold a knife, can you? I knew. Last night, I saw you standing alone in the kitchen, just staring at your hands."
"......No, that's not it. I was just half-asleep."
"Don't lie to me!"
Mikoto's voice rang sharply through the kitchen.
Wen lost his words.
Mikoto sat down directly in front of him. She knelt on the tatami and gripped both of Wen's hands tightly. Her fingers were warm.
"You know, Wen... your cooking was the first time I ever thought food was delicious."
Mikoto's voice trembled.
"I'd only ever eaten convenience store bento before. But when I ate your dashimaki tamago, I thought — wow, this is what it tastes like to be alive. Until then, I thought food was just something you put in your stomach. But I was wrong. It's warm, and gentle, and the taste of something someone made for you... it made me so happy."
Large tears rolled down Mikoto's cheeks and fell onto the backs of Wen's hands, still clasped in hers. They were hot.
"So please. Let me eat it again. Let everyone eat your cooking. I love your cooking, Wen. I love it more than anything."
Something deep in Wen's chest cracked with an audible sound.
Something that had been frozen solid — *snap.*
His vision blurred.
"......Thank you."
Wen managed to say just that.
A single tear spilled over.
But his fingertips were still trembling.
---
8:00 AM.
Sanada Haruto burst through the front door of the guesthouse. He was out of breath, his close-cropped black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Deep wrinkles creased his brow, and his monolid eyes blazed with anger and urgency.
"Hey, everyone! We've got a problem! The venue's been changed!"
Everyone turned at Haruto's shout.
"The venue? What do you mean?"
"It's that bastard Masaki! He bribed the setup crew and got the festival moved from Kamome Plaza at the fishing port to the old Shiohama Elementary School! I went to the port this morning and nobody was there. Thought it was weird, so I asked at the town office — the application was rewritten yesterday evening!"
Haruto's voice cracked with rage.
"No way... but the festival starts today..."
Sana murmured, her face pale. Her dull black bob swayed slightly. She clutched the sleeves of her white apron tightly.
"The old elementary school is on a hill, a fifteen-minute walk from the station. It's quite far from the fishing port where tourists gather."
Rena spoke in a quiet voice. She retied her dark brown ponytail with a sharp tug. Her hand moved to the knife roll at her waist, her eyes cold and clear.
"That man intended to crush the festival from the start. He wanted to gather tourists at the port so no one would eat our food."
Haruto bit his lip.
"What do we do... maybe it's impossible now."
Sana's voice was barely a whisper.
"Sana-san."
Rena stepped in front of Sana.
"I will borrow a gas burner and a stockpot for the stall. If the location has changed, then we simply change our destination as well."
Rena's voice was matter-of-fact. As steady and unshakable as when she drew dashi in the morning.
"Rena-chan..."
Mikoto stared at Rena.
"My ichiban dashi can be drawn anywhere. Whether it's the schoolyard of an old elementary school or the top of a mountain. Taste is not affected by location."
With that, Rena walked out the front door of the guesthouse.
Wen stared blankly at her retreating figure.
*(Rena is already fighting.)*
*(She's not even from this town. And yet, just for the sake of dashi.)*
His chest burned. Frustration. He was the only one who couldn't hold a knife.
"I'll go too."
Sana raised her head.
"I'll load the recipe notebook and the signboard onto a cart and run to the old elementary school. That signboard isn't the one my brother sank into the sea. I made it again myself."
A strong light dwelled in Sana's eyes.
"Me too! Wen, let's go! I'll hold your hand!"
Mikoto took Wen's hand.
"I'll lead the way. I'll carry the fish on my back. It's not the phantom fish, but I got the freshest ara at the port this morning."
Haruto called out from outside the entrance. On his back was a styrofoam box that looked incredibly heavy.
Wen looked at his own hands.
Still trembling.
But Mikoto's hand wrapped around them.
---
The schoolyard of the old Shiohama Elementary School was larger than expected.
The wooden school building, closed three years ago, stood on the hill overlooking the sea. At the edge of the schoolyard, a small stage had been set up, apparently relocated from the fishing port. But there were few people around. A handful of local elderly residents, and a few tourists who had come to see what was happening. The bustling crowd that had been expected at the port was nowhere to be found.
"Well, well. You're late."
Everyone froze at the sound of that voice.
Masaki stood at the entrance to the school building.
Mid-thirties. Neatly slicked-back black hair. A suit that wasn't cheap, but wasn't expensive either. A thin smile was plastered across his lips.
"Surprised by the change of venue? Ah, the paperwork at the town office is so inflexible. I apologize for the inconvenience this sudden change has caused everyone."
Masaki slowly approached.
"You bastard... you've got some nerve showing your face."
Haruto set the styrofoam box on the ground and moved to confront Masaki.
"Oh my, Sanada-kun. There's no need to make such a scary face. I was only thinking of the town's best interests. This hilltop has much better airflow than the fishing port, don't you think? The aroma of cooking will carry much farther."
"Don't give me that crap! You bribed the setup crew and changed the venue on purpose!"
Haruto's angry shout echoed across the schoolyard.
Masaki's smile didn't waver.
"What an unpleasant accusation. Do you have any proof? More importantly, I have some good news for you all."
Masaki pulled a sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his suit.
"Hamano Taiga-kun has put his seal on the land sale documents. With this, the land of Shiozake Shokudo officially belongs to us, Kaien Development."
The color drained from Sana's face.
"No... my brother..."
Sana staggered. Mikoto quickly caught her shoulder to steady her.
"What a shame, young lady. But this is reality. An old restaurant has no future. What this town needs is a new resort."
"That's a lie! Taiga-san would never do something like that!"
Mikoto shouted.
"Whether you believe it or not is your choice. But facts are facts. Look — here is his signature."
Masaki waved the paper back and forth.
At that moment—
"—That's a fake."
A low voice rang out from inside the school building.
Everyone turned toward the entrance.
Hamano Taiga stood there.
Twenty-two years old. Closely cropped hair. Sharp eyes. But in those eyes, the hesitation from yesterday had vanished.
"Taiga...-kun?"
For the first time, Masaki's smile froze.
Taiga walked up to Masaki without a word and snatched the paper from his hand.
Then — *rip, rip* — he tore it to shreds.
"I'm not selling the land. I never put my seal on any documents. What you have is a fake with my name copied onto it without permission."
Taiga's voice was cold, but carried a certain strength.
"I'll protect Shiozake Shokudo. I won't let you do whatever you want with my sister and that taste any longer."
The scraps of paper danced in the wind.
The smile vanished from Masaki's face.
"...I see. But Taiga-kun, if you refuse to sell the land, that's fine. However — no one in this town will eat your food."
Masaki produced another sheet of paper.
"This is the result of a survey I conducted independently. To the question, 'Would you like to eat the food of Shiozake Shokudo?' — a staggering ninety-three percent of townspeople answered 'No.' They have no interest in the taste of an old restaurant. Everyone is looking for something new."
Masaki read aloud in a deliberately loud voice.
The townspeople gathered in the schoolyard stirred.
"...Ninety-three percent?"
"Well, Shiozake Shokudo is pretty old, after all."
"But that ara soup was really good, though..."
Whispers spread like ripples.
The atmosphere froze over.
Wen looked at his fingertips.
The trembling wouldn't stop.
*(Again.)*
*(No one wants my cooking.)*
*(Taste doesn't matter.)*
Those words spun round and round in his head.
At that moment—
"—Please wait."
Sana stepped forward.
In her hands was an old, worn notebook.
"Everyone, please listen. This is a recipe notebook that my great-grandfather spent a hundred years writing."
Sana's voice trembled. But it didn't stop.
"At the very end of this notebook, my great-grandfather wrote this: 'Any meal eaten while looking at the sea is delicious.'"
Sana cast the notebook down before the crowd.
*Flutter.* The notebook fell to the ground.
"Our cooking isn't anything special. But eating while looking at the sea, together with family and friends — that alone makes any meal a feast. My great-grandfather believed that, and for a hundred years, he cooked in this town!"
Sana's cry rode the wind from the hilltop and flowed out toward the sea.
"Please. Just one bite of our ara soup is enough. Please try it. My great-grandfather's taste. My taste. The taste my brother is trying to protect. Please!"
The schoolyard fell silent.
Only the sound of waves repeated in the distance — *swoosh, swoosh.*
Wen watched Sana's back.
*(Any meal eaten while looking at the sea is delicious.)*
Those words seeped deep into his chest.
Suddenly, what surfaced in his mind was his grandmother's kitchen.
In the morning, when he woke up, the smell of miso soup filled the air.
"Good morning, Wen. Today I made your favorite — clam miso soup."
His grandmother was always smiling.
Steaming white rice. A small rice bowl. His own seat at the table.
*(The first person who ever waited for my cooking...)*
*(...wasn't a viewer or a customer.)*
*(It was my grandmother, who always smiled for me.)*
—*Click.*
Something quietly settled deep in his chest.
The trembling in his fingertips stopped.
"......Sana-chan."
Wen stepped forward.
"Let me cook too."
Sana turned arou
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