Chapter 82: It's Common Knowledge That Bad Cooking Can Explode Your Clothes.
....
Shinobu kept her hand over Kihara's mouth with the casual authority of someone managing a minor administrative detail, and turned her attention to the four girls with an expression of leisurely curiosity.
"Interesting. If thou lot are not his new companions in the romantic sense — why does it matter so much to thee whether he stays in Bud Town?"
"Because we're not the kind of people who forget a debt." Tokishikko crossed her arms.
"We've watched everything Boss has put into training us. We came today specifically to pay him back — bought ingredients, planned to cook him a proper meal. That's it. No ulterior motive required."
"Senpai is also the only Ace Guardian this town has." Hanabata's voice carried its usual composed weight. "If he leaves, Bud Town loses its primary defense entirely. His presence here isn't just personal — it matters to everyone in this settlement."
"Fair enough." Shinobu's gaze drifted, unhurried, down to their uniforms. "Though I remain curious about the wardrobe choice."
Tokishikko's composure developed a small crack. "...Well. Boys like JK uniforms. It's a general principle. I thought it would be a nice gesture, so I asked everyone to wear theirs."
She gestured at Maidena. "And before anyone raises concerns — Maidena is a genuine, currently-enrolled high school student. There is no false advertising occurring."
Shinobu's mouth curved. "In that case — kitchen is through there. Go prove thyselves." A beat. "And do make the most of the opportunity."
The kitchen was warm, well-lit, and organized with the quiet tidiness of someone who actually used it.
The four of them stood in it for approximately three seconds before the problem became apparent.
Three of them could not cook.
This was not a minor gap in skill — it was a foundational absence. Tokishikko, Maidena, and Hanabata had navigated their entire lives to this point without once having meaningful cause to operate a stovetop, and their collective kitchen experience could be generously described as theoretical.
Tokishikko was already turning toward Hitamuki with the expression of someone about to make a reasonable proposal.
Shinobu's voice drifted in from the living room, light as smoke: "Kihara mentioned he's hoping to taste each of your cooking specifically. Best not to delegate~"
Tokishikko closed her mouth.
The three of them looked at each other.
"Every woman has latent cooking ability," Hanabata said, with the careful conviction of someone building an argument on foundations she wasn't entirely sure about.
"It simply needs the right moment to awaken."
"I've watched cooking programs," Maidena said. "Several. This shouldn't be complicated."
"I believe in both of you," Tokishikko said, in a tone that suggested she was being generous with the definition of belief.
They rolled up their sleeves.
Hitamuki, meanwhile, had quietly opened the refrigerator and was taking stock with significantly more practical intent. The entryway incident — in which she had, under Shinobu's enthusiastic direction, provided assistance of a nature she was still processing — had left her with a strong conviction that Kihara needed something restorative.
Her eyes landed on it: a North Sea Bear yukibin, leftover from a previous hunt, sitting in the back of the freezer.
Braised yukibin. That would do it.
A warm, spreading flush crept up from her chest as she thought about it — something Shinobu had pressed on her earlier, still making its way through her system. She pressed her thighs together briefly, exhaled twice, and firmly redirected her attention to the cutting board.
Focus. Cooking. That's the task.
In other areas of the kitchen and its immediate surroundings, things were also happening.
Maidena had located a step stool, climbed it, positioned herself at the stovetop, and was now conducting a careful comparison between her phone screen and the contents of her shopping bag.
"Salt... soy sauce..." She held up a bottle. The liquid inside was a dark amber, similar in shade to soy sauce. "I appear to have purchased vinegar by mistake. They're essentially the same color, though. The flavor profiles probably overlap." She tipped the entire bottle in. "Adjusted."
On the surface of the broth, a faint pattern was forming — vaguely humanoid, vaguely distressed, like something in the pot had opinions about what was being done to it.
Through the kitchen window: Tokishikko had relocated outside. She was crouched over a makeshift grill constructed from wire mesh and three bricks, wearing a welding visor she had apparently produced from somewhere, supervising a cut of beef that was currently enveloped in a column of flame and rotating slowly within it.
Further out: Hanabata was using her war hammer on a mochi mortar, methodically working red mochi dough with the focused efficiency of someone who had found a task that matched their natural instrument. Two of the Nokinsu household maids were crouched beside her, adding fillings at intervals with expressions of professional composure under extraordinary circumstances.
Hitamuki looked up from her braising pot, surveyed the full scene, and quietly gripped the counter for support.
She had no particular claim to culinary mastery. But she knew what food was supposed to look like at various stages of preparation, and none of what she was seeing corresponded to anything in that framework. The beef appeared to be becoming something geological. The broth was developing what could only be described as a face. The mochi production was the most normal of the three operations, which said everything.
"Awuuu..." she murmured softly, to no one. "I hope Shinobu-san will consider... the effort... as partial credit."
The dishes arrived at the table.
Kihara looked at them.
Three of the five plates were emitting a dark, faintly luminous vapor — the specific visual signature of mana that had been disturbed by something it fundamentally disagreed with.
Tokishikko, Maidena, and Hanabata found various reasons to examine the middle distance rather than make eye contact.
"Just to confirm," Kihara said. "The goal was to feed me. Not to end me."
"Boss, that is genuinely hurtful." Tokishikko placed a hand over her chest. "These are lovingly crafted dishes. Painstakingly prepared. To suggest—"
"Try a bite first."
"...Ah."
A beat.
The three of them exchanged a look. Then, with the collective resolve of people approaching something that needed to be faced, they picked up their utensils and sampled their own work.
"—Nn!!"
"—Yah!!"
"—Guh!!"
Three sounds. Three distinct registers of wrongness.
The mana detonated outward from all three simultaneously.
Tokishikko was on the floor, color gone from her face, staring at the ceiling with the philosophical emptiness of someone who had been fundamentally revised. She had stopped caring that the remnants of her outfit were providing coverage that was more conceptual than practical. "It was... bad enough to cause mana overflow... where did my latent cooking talent go..."
Kihara pressed his fingers to his forehead and, with the practiced motion of a man who had done this many times, produced three cloaks from his dimensional pouch and distributed them over the relevant individuals.
"None of you are allowed in the kitchen anymore."
"Kahkahkah~!!" Shinobu rose from her seat, thoroughly delighted, waving one hand. "Exploding one's clothes through sheer force of terrible food — this is artistry of a different kind entirely. I approve of all four of thee." She stretched. "Very well. Kihara stays in Bud Town. I'll send someone to keep an eye on things periodically. Until we meet again~!"
"Wait—"
She walked into the kitchen.
From the kitchen, a beat later, emerged a small golden-haired girl — features carrying a clear family resemblance to the woman who had just walked in, but compressed into approximately half the height and ten percent of the intimidating aura.
She hadn't finished looking suitably mysterious before Kihara walked over and ruffled her hair.
"Don't let her fool you. We don't have a daughter together. This is what she actually looks like."
Shinobu's small fist connected with his shoulder repeatedly. "Rude. Thou absolute — I was building an atmosphere—"
"I'd rather not spend the next month explaining a fictional family situation."
Kihara moved to clear the three blackened dishes from the table.
Tokishikko's hand shot out.
"Boss. Our contribution may have been a catastrophic failure." She pointed. "But there's still one dish left. Try Hitamuki's before you throw everything out."
"The braised yukibin." He looked at the dish in question — properly colored, properly plated, smelling like something that had been made by someone who understood what cooking was for. "You think it's going to be the same as yours?"
"I'm saying — maybe prove me wrong and admit your cynicism was premature."
He sat back down.
He ate the braised yukibin.
All of it.
When he set down his chopsticks, the change was subtle but visible — a faint warmth in his complexion that hadn't been there before, color that sat slightly higher in his cheeks than usual.
Tokishikko stared at this for a long moment. Then she lowered her forehead silently toward the table. "...I lost to Hitamuki.
Coordination-disaster Hitamuki. In cooking."
Hitamuki's ears and tail were at maximum deployment. She was vibrating very slightly.
Maidena, who had been sitting quietly with the bone-white remnants of her serving in front of her, was running through what she could recall about North Sea Bears — anatomy, habitat, regional variations — with a small, focused frown of someone trying to answer a question they hadn't quite formed yet.
"The yukibin," she said finally. "What part of the bear is that, exactly?"
The room went still.
Everyone looked at Maidena.
Then everyone looked at the plate.
Then everyone looked at Kihara.
Tokishikko leaned over and cupped her hand around Maidena's ear.
Two seconds of whispered information.
Maidena's face — already fair — completed its journey to white, made a brief stop at red, and then settled somewhere that transcended both.
Her finger extended toward the plate. Toward the pale, carefully cleaned bones arranged on it.
Her voice, when it came, had the quality of someone who had walked into a room and discovered something they could never un-discover:
"That was a North Sea Bear's LITTLE ✦✦?!?!"
The shriek cleared the rooftop and kept going.
Somewhere in the kitchen, Shinobu — back in her child form, perched on the counter eating leftover rice — began laughing so hard she nearly fell off.
....
Thank you for reading.