Chapter 4: Ability Four: Cooking Omurice

"So that's why Ishida-san ended up saving me that night?"

Ayase mumbled as she kept herself busy rummaging in the kitchen.

"Yup, it was eventful, but just a coincidence."

I told her that I was in that alley to seek shelter from the rain.

It's not like I could just tell her directly that I got rejected by Takamine-san that night and tried to kill myself.

I preferred this atmosphere free from tension, and I wasn't going to give that up just because of some stupid thing I had done.

Besides, talking about Takamine-san with Ayase feels inappropriate since she's a girl herself, after all. She's enjoying her moment, so I'll let it be.

"...How old are you anyways? Do you attend school?"

Ayase stopped what she was doing and looked at me curiously, whisk in hand.

She doesn't look too old or too young either. If I were to describe it—she looked like someone right at my age, a highschooler.

I pursed my lips as I lowered the newspaper in my hand, just enough to carefully stare at her.

Beneath her white apron, she already changed to the clothes I bought, and everything was a good fit.

That off-shoulder white long sleeve...damn. I picked it on purpose to match my taste, but I didn’t expect it to suit her perfectly.

And just by seeing the contours of her body, especially that thing I just saw earlier—how am I supposed to say this—underboobs?

Well, I should really stop using bosom size to determine someone's age.

"What's it got to do with anything, Ishida-san? Are you concerned that you dragged someone underaged into your home?"

"Nothing," I said with a shrug. "It just occurred to me that we didn't know each other's age yet."

Ayase nodded.

I don't recall asking her when we first met, so now would be a great opportunity.

"I'm 17. And I never attended school." she softly admitted.

I sighed. The situation would've turned flimsy if she was a little younger. But not experiencing formal education and being this skilled? That’s the result of survival.

"Same age. And your birthday is?"

"December 24."

"November 7."

"So that will make me call you Onii-chan or something?"

I spewed the pocky stick in my mouth out, nearly choking on it due to the unexpectedness of such an answer.

"We're not even relatives to begin with, so shut it."

Honestly, I prefer her to address me as "Ishida-san" or at least "Ishida" without the honorifics. I don't think that is something to be changed anytime soon.

The pan fizzed and the pots started to boil. Soon after, the delicious scent of udon and egg covered the kitchen.

I kept nibbling on a pocky stick while reading the newspaper headlines.

Maybe one would be thinking, at times this modern, I don't have a smartphone? Well I have, I just don't feel the need to use it much. After all, there are only three contacts—Akio-san, Akito and Saori, which I only talk to at times of emergencies.

I just prefer to sleep all day in my free time, so a smartphone seems trivial.

When Ayase finally served the dishes, she slowly mumbled, “I hope you'll like what I cooked tonight.”

At the table sat a small white plate and the yellow mound of scrambled egg with a smiley drawing of ketchup. Beside it was another steaming noodle dish with shrimp, chicken and carrots as toppings.

The nabeyaki udon looked delicious, but the meal next to it...

“Omurice?” I repeated to myself.

I immediately stood up in surprise and my eyes hovered the masterpiece. A simple dish, maybe, but one I had failed to perfect despite years of training in the kitchen.

“How?!” I exclaimed, the memories of my failed attempts to make one reeling over.

I turned to Ayase, who was standing beside me, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

She hesitated, her eyes glued to the floor. “I…learned. After my parents…” Her voice trailed off, but she swallowed and continued, “I had to take care of myself. Cooking was one of the first things I taught myself.”

"You're an orphan too...?"

She nodded softly. “It wasn’t just for me. Back at the orphanage, we all had to blend in. I’d watch the caretakers cook and try to copy them. It was trial and error at first, but…I guess it worked out.”

Now I understand why she's been outside, forced to face the cruel experience of survival at such a young age.

But still…I can't believe it. How could any of these people treat her like that?

I looked back at the omurice, my chest tightening. The essence was there—she was more independent and capable. I taught myself through vengeance and anger, she taught herself through necessity.

“I’ve been cooking for years." I mumbled, still staring at the dish like it held all the secrets of the universe. "I’ve mastered tempura, chawanmushi, and every damned local cuisine. But omurice? It always fell apart, or burned, or looked…well, sad.”

Ayase let out a small laugh, the sound shy but warm. “Maybe you were overthinking it. In cooking omurice, how you whisk the egg is the important part. Sometimes, you can mix toughness with practiced care. There will be times that the fried egg will be hard on the outside, but inside, they are still soft. Also, butter adds kindness to the egg—it helps it glide towards the destination...a plate...without breaking."

How she narrated her instructions moved me, and I felt my chest swell slightly with realizations.

Maybe some people are stuck in their own places, building up walls and hard facade but inside, they are still soft and kind. And then there will be a time that a person will appear, kind and strong, that will help them up...and bring them to a better place.

“...Ayase, may I ask you something else?” I said, looking up and locking our eyes.

She blinked, seemingly surprised by the request. “Yeah?”

I gulped, steeling my resolve.

Then slowly, I breathed out. "Teach me...not just to cook omurice...but to be a better person."

My breath hitched.

I wasn't supposed to say that.

Was I?

What is this feeling?

No, I can't be dependent.

I can do everything myself. That's what I am living for all this time.

"Forget it...what am I even saying?" I retorted.

"...Okay."

I picked up the fork, the weight of the moment settling over me. It felt strange, sitting here with someone who had so much less than I did yet had managed to create something I couldn’t.

If I eat this, maybe I’m accepting more than just her cooking.

I cut into the omurice, the egg yielding easily to the fork. Lifting a piece to my mouth, I hesitated for just a second before taking the bite.

The flavors hit me instantly. The soft, buttery egg. The sweet-savory rice. It was simple but perfect. Comforting.

“This is…” I started, swallowing the bite. “Really good.”

Ayase’s cheeks flushed, and she looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I-it’s nothing special, Ishida-san.”

“No, it is,” I said firmly, taking another bite. “You nailed it. Seriously. This is way better than anything I’ve ever made.”

She blinked, her mouth opening slightly in surprise. “You…mean that?”

“Absolutely.” I answered, separating the egg into two sections. “Here, have one for yourself.”

We sat and ate in silence, and I never knew that it is quite uplifting to have someone by your side. Apparently, I never knew that this comfort would come from a stranger like Ayase.

As she ate, she found herself talking, sharing her own shares of culinary failures and triumphs. How she mistook salt for sugar, how she almost burnt herself while deglazing steaks—I found myself at the right position to feel comfortable around her, and I can finally say that I have gotten over Takamine-san’s rejection through her tricky but genuine company.

For the first time, a genuine smile spread across my face. She remarked that it made me look younger, like the weight of the world had lifted just a little.

“You’ve really been through a lot.” I paused, tone thoughtful. “But you kept going. That’s…inspiring.”

She paused, setting down the fork. “For my own dreams. Someday, I want to be a social worker. I want to help and take care of people that need me.” pressing her palms toward her chest. “How about you, Ishida-san? What keeps you going?”

Her words hung in the air, my gaze steady at my fork buried in the tender meat.

“For my par—” but my tongue hitched.

Memories didn’t just return—they crashed through me like broken glass, slicing open wounds I thought I’d buried

The blinding headlights, the cold rain, the damp concrete I crawled on, the deafening car alarms, the shattering crunch of glass and metal. My chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

My hands balled up to fists under the table, edge of my nails digging to my palm. I tried to push it down, to keep my face steady, but it crumbled under its weight.

The accident, the hopelessness in their faces, how helpless I am years after them, the androids—my anguish, my rage, my wrath…it boiled fresh.

Ayase, noticing my silence, leaned forward and voiced out lightly, “Uhm—are you alright? Ishida-san?”

She tried to reach out but I jerked away.

“This conversation is over.” I snapped, dismissive and sharp. “You’re going home tomorrow.”

I rose from the chair so quickly it scraped against the floor, the noise jarring.

Ayase flinched, her hands instinctively gripping the edge of the table. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she argued, her voice trembling and plaintive. “I just thought—”

“If you don’t have a home to run, then I’ll look for one.”

My feet carried me to my room, each step feeling heavier than the last. By the time I reached the door, my heart was pounding, and my vision blurred at the edges.

I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, my fist still in tremors. The muffled sound of Ayase’s voice went through the barrier. She said more and more, but I could only catch bits of what she said.

She knocked constantly, begging me to let her in.

Her words hit something deep inside, stirring a pang of guilt I didn’t want to face. But I couldn’t let it distract me—not from what I had to do.

I threw myself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the shadows of the past loomed larger. My mind replayed it all—again and again. The accident. The sentinel staring blankly at the wreckage. My parents’ faces in their final moments. I let my hands loosen their grip and my heart rate slow down a bit, trying to calm my emotions. But they just won’t stop. The feeling isn’t gone yet. They’re here, ingrained beneath me.

I hated what happened to me and my family.

I hated those Sentinels.

They are still my nemeses.

The resentment is erupting, clawing at my chest. It was the one constant, the one thing that kept me going. Mercy, kindness—they were distractions. Ayase was a distraction.

Her voice still lingered in the quiet, soft and sincere. “I’m here for you, Ishida-san. If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. I'm really sorry for asking you that.”

I stared up at the ceiling, not sure if I wanted to go back to the dinner and sit beside Ayase or if I wanted to stay far, far away.

I didn’t want to think about her, about the way she slipped so easily into my life, like she belonged there.

I saved her, brought her here—so why couldn’t I just push her away?

I pulled the blanket over my head, muttering a curse under my breath. Whatever was happening inside me, I had to ignore it. The only thing that mattered was the mission—making those machines pay for everything they’d taken from me.

But even as I buried myself in the dark, her voice refused to leave.

The omurice and her lessons, it started to taste bitter.