The Shadow Chef: Seven Days Cal and Pecorine Never Knew - Fading Ink—Three Years of Diaries and the Awakening of Love

Morning light bleached the windows of the accounting office white. Kyaru sat at her desk, chasing the numbers in the ledger. Her straight black hair was cut in a neat fringe, with red ribbons tied at either side. Her cat-like, almond-shaped blue eyes traveled back and forth over the columns of figures, again and again. A single cowlick sprouting from the crown of her head swayed softly in the breeze from the window. Kyaru, entrusted with Gourmet Guild's bookkeeping, was good with numbers. But it wasn't purely natural talent. In truth, she was a hard worker who never skipped her daily arithmetic drills. (We're over budget on ingredients again this month.) Kyaru muttered inwardly as she ran her pen across the page. Three days now since Yuuki had collapsed. The Gourmet Guild's head chef and sub-leader, who had fallen in the kitchen from overwork and malnutrition, lay sleeping in the infirmary on the second floor. The nurse from Mirabel Clinic had said it would take seven days for him to recover. Fortunately, his fever was steadily coming down. (Thanks to Saren's soup, I suppose.) A small pang shot through Kyaru's chest. That woman—Saren. Sunset-colored hair loosely braided, the Gourmet Guild's sub-leader. A quiet, gentle presence. An unremarkable woman. But her skill in the kitchen was unmatched in the guild, and ever since Yuuki had collapsed, she had been cooking recovery meals more devotedly than anyone. Last night, too, she had stood in the kitchen through the night. Kyaru knew. She knew that Saren was sacrificing something for Yuuki's sake. (What are you sacrificing?) When pressed, Saren wouldn't answer. "I'm fine." That was all she said, with a quiet smile. (There's no way you're fine.) Kyaru set down her pen. The numbers wouldn't enter her head. --- From the kitchen, she could hear the sound of a knife. A steady rhythm. But somewhere in it, a disruption. Kyaru stood and opened the door of the accounting office. She walked down the corridor and peered into the kitchen from the entrance. Saren stood before the prep counter. A slender figure from behind, wrapped in a white apron dress. The sunset-colored braid swayed slightly against her back. Far too thin a frame for a cook. No wonder Director Pecorine worried. But this morning, Saren was different from usual. Her hands were off. On the cutting board lay a mountain of chopped vegetables. Carrots, onions, celery. All of them unevenly sized. The usual Saren would slice them into perfectly uniform thin pieces. (What's wrong with you?) Kyaru furrowed her brow. Saren picked up a jar of seasoning. She shook white powder into the pot. —No. Kyaru's eyes widened. What Saren held was the sugar jar. And yet what she shook in was clearly the amount of salt. Three times the usual amount, at that. "...What are you doing?" The words escaped before she could stop them. Saren turned around slowly. Her amber eyes reflected Kyaru. "Kyaru, good morning." "Don't 'good morning' me. You just mixed up sugar and salt. And the amount is wrong." "...Huh?" Saren looked at her own hands. Then she looked at the pot, then the jar, then the pot again. "...You're right." Her voice trembled faintly. "I'm sorry. I'll remake it." "Remake it...? Aren't you feeling unwell?" "I'm fine." That word again. Kyaru stared hard at Saren's face. Deep shadows under her eyes. Her skin was pale, her lips bloodless. It was clearly the face of someone whose lack of sleep and exhaustion had reached their limit. "You don't look fine to me." "...I really am fine." Saren dumped the contents of the pot into the sink. That was when it happened. On the back of Saren's left hand, a golden pattern floated softly to the surface. A faint light. Geometric shapes. It vanished immediately. But Kyaru had definitely seen it. (That was...) Something stirred deep in Kyaru's chest. (The Memory Guidance sigil...?) Every member of the Gourmet Guild knew of it. In this world—the continent of Astralia—people's "memories" and "feelings" were said to be the source of magical power. The stronger the emotion, the greater the magic's force. Memory Guidance—a high-level technique that converted memories of a specific person into magical energy. Use it too much, and your own memories grew hazy. (You can't be...) Kyaru grabbed Saren's wrist. "You just had a sigil on your hand—" "...You're imagining things." Saren quietly drew her hand back. "Kyaru, shouldn't you be doing your accounting work?" "Hah? Now's not the time for—" "I'm fine, so." With that, Saren turned back to the prep counter. Her back said the conversation was over. Kyaru wanted to say something. But the words wouldn't come. (You really are an idiot.) Kyaru bit her lip and returned to the accounting office. --- Late morning. Kyaru, pressed by the ledger deadline, still had Saren on her mind in some corner of her thoughts. (That sigil was definitely Memory Guidance.) (You're not carving away your own memories to save Yuuki, are you?) Kyaru set her pen on the desk. She couldn't concentrate. She sighed and looked out the window. The sky over the royal capital of Soleil was covered in thin clouds. From the third floor of the Gourmet Guild, situated on the border between the lower town and the merchant district, she could see people walking the cobblestone streets. The sound of carriage wheels, the calls of merchants, the laughter of children. (That idiot Yuuki.) Kyaru cursed inwardly. (Because you collapsed, everyone's falling apart.) But really, she understood. It wasn't anyone's fault that Yuuki had collapsed. It was his nature—too caring, always putting himself last. (I should have noticed sooner, too.) Kyaru closed her eyes. Behind her eyelids, Yuuki's smile floated up. Brown short hair. His bangs slightly sticking up. Bright brown eyes. When he smiled, they narrowed into crescent moons. (I want to see that smile again.) A warmth spread slowly through the center of her chest. (...Maybe I like Yuuki.) The thought took clear shape in her heart. But at the same time, another emotion swirled black. (I can't compete with Saren.) That woman was carving away her own memories for Yuuki's sake. Could I ever do something like that? Kyaru shook her head. --- Afternoon. Kyaru left the accounting office and headed for the kitchen. To ask Saren once more. But Saren wasn't in the kitchen. Instead, a scrap of paper lay on the floor. Kyaru picked it up. A torn fragment of a diary. In meticulous handwriting, it read: "The day Yuuki smiled. We spoke for the first time in three years." Kyaru's fingers trembled. She turned it over. In small letters, it read: "Today, I couldn't speak to him again." Her chest tightened. (For the first time in three years...? Just how much do you—) Kyaru clenched the scrap in her fist. Her heart pounded. (Your diary is in your private room.) (I have to read it.) It was an impulse. The accounting deadline, everything—vanished from her mind. Kyaru ran up the stairs. --- Saren's private room was on the third floor of the Gourmet Guild, one of the staff quarters. Kyaru stopped before the door. (I'm about to sneak into that woman's room.) Her heart was loud. But her feet wouldn't stop. She turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked. With a creak, the door opened. It was a sparse room. A bed, a desk, a bookshelf. That was all. No ornaments. Only a small vase by the window, holding a single white flower. Kyaru approached the bookshelf. Cookbooks lined up neatly. (It's behind these.) Kyaru carefully pulled out the cookbooks one by one. And at the very back of the shelf. When she reached in, her fingertips touched something hard. She pulled it out. —There it was. A leather-bound diary. Kyaru caught her breath. Her hands shook. (Am I going to read it? Am I really going to read it?) She asked herself. But the answer was already decided. Kyaru opened the diary. --- The first page. A date from three years ago. "Yuuki was practicing with a knife at the bakery's subcontract kitchen. He cut his finger. It was bleeding. I wrapped my handkerchief around his finger. Yuuki smiled and said thank you. My heart pounded." Kyaru turned the page. "Yuuki was talking with someone else. He looked happy. My chest hurt." "Yuuki said the soup I made was delicious. I almost cried." "Yuuki called my name. Just that alone made the whole day shine." "Yuuki was laughing with Kyaru. I couldn't say anything." Kyaru's hand stopped. Her own name had appeared. (You even wrote about me...) Her chest ached. She turned the page. "Yuuki didn't notice me again today. But that's all right. As long as Yuuki is smiling, that's all right." "Yuuki collapsed. It's my fault. I should have noticed sooner." "I want to save Yuuki. Even if my memories disappear, that's all right." Kyaru closed the diary. Tears were spilling over. (What is this?) (You've been watching only Yuuki for three years?) (Putting yourself last, all this time?) Kyaru wiped her tears roughly. (My feelings for Yuuki don't even come close to yours.) A sense of defeat. But more than that, an irrepressible feeling toward Saren swirled in her chest. (Why would you go that far?) Kyaru put the diary back in its place. She lined the cookbooks back up, one by one. And quietly left the room. Her hands were shaking. --- Evening. From the kitchen came a loud clatter. Kyaru bolted from the accounting office. She ran down the corridor. At the kitchen entrance, her feet stopped. Saren lay collapsed on the floor. "Saren!" Kyaru rushed to her. She lifted Saren's body into her arms. "Saren, snap out of it!" Saren's eyes were open. But they weren't focusing. Her amber eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling. On the back of her left hand, the golden sigil glowed strongly. Far more clearly than before. "Saren!" Kyaru shook Saren's shoulders. Saren's lips moved faintly. "...You..." Her voice was barely audible. "...Who are you?" Kyaru's heart froze. "Hah?" Her voice trembled. "What are you saying? I'm Kyaru!" Kyaru was shouting. "I'm Kyaru! Your rival! I've been watching you for three years!" Saren's eyes looked at Kyaru. But they reflected nothing. "...Kyaru...?" She repeated. But there was no certainty. "Yes! Kyaru! Your rival!" Kyaru gripped Saren's hand. Cold. Cold as ice. "Please, remember!" Tears spilled over. "If you disappear, who's going to support Yuuki?!" Saren simply stared at Kyaru with vacant eyes. Her lips moved again. "...Yuuki...?" She called his name. But there was no emotion in that voice. --- "Saren-sama!" A voice made her turn. Kokkoro, the head server, came running into the kitchen still in her serving uniform. Her pale pink medium-length hair was tied in two at the sides of her ears, white ribbons swaying. Her large pale green eyes took in the collapsed Saren and Kyaru gripping her hand, and filled with tears in an instant. "Saren-sama, what has happened to you?!" Kokkoro knelt on Saren's other side. "I don't know. She collapsed suddenly. And then she asked who I was..." Her voice wouldn't come out properly. "Saren-sama, it's Kokkoro. Do you recognize me?" Kokkoro peered into Saren's face. Saren looked at Kokkoro. But again, her eyes wouldn't focus. "...Kokkoro...?" "Yes, it's Kokkoro." Kokkoro's voice was gentle and quiet. "It's all right. Let's get you to rest." Kokkoro gently supported Saren's body. Kyaru supported her from the other side. Together, they carried Saren to the infirmary. --- That night. Kyaru stood in the corridor before the infirmary, one hand against the wall. Saren slept in the infirmary bed. She wasn't a doctor, so she didn't know the details. But Kokkoro had contacted Mirabel Clinic. A nurse would come in the morning. (You really are an idiot.) Kyaru repeated the same words over and over in her mind. (You even forgot my name.) (You'd go that f

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Episode 3

Name: The Shadow Chef: Seven Days Cal and Pecorine Never Knew
Author: Novelia

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