As everyone chatted excitedly, each group's cooking gradually neared completion. A variety of mouthwatering aromas filled the Home Economics classroom, making people salivate whether they wanted to or not.
The students in Yukio's class mostly made homestyle dishes—common fare like tempura or tonkatsu. Someone even cooked up a big pot of miso soup.
Meanwhile, Ichinose's class produced an "eight immortals crossing the sea" sort of spectacle. Thanks to their skill honed during the Workplace Special Exam, their cooking was of a remarkably high level. Street-food style snacks and delicacies abounded.
"Hey, Yukio-kun. Try my cooking—see if I've lost my touch," Ichinose said, seeking him out first and placing a plate of freshly fried meat patties in front of him.
They were fried to a perfect golden color, still releasing waves of heat from the fryer, tempting anyone's taste buds. Yukio, unreserved, gripped them a bit awkwardly with chopsticks and took a bite.
"Tastes really good." He offered his honest praise. Yet for some reason, compared to the fried meat patties he'd had last time—when they'd cooled a little on the journey from the Food Court to the hotel—these ones lacked a certain aroma. It was odd; logically, ones fresh out of the fryer should taste better, but he found himself missing that faint comfort of the older batch.
Ichinose didn't notice that detail. Watching Yukio eat with gusto made her heart flutter with joy. The delight practically lit up her face. "We made a ton of good stuff," she noted. "Feel free to try anything!"
Then she headed back to help her classmates, either praising what they'd made or giving a few tips to those less confident in the kitchen. Just seeing how everyone responded to her, one could tell Ichinose's influence in her class was built up over a long time.
Yukio didn't remain seated either. Ishizaki, Ryuuen, and the others were already roaming around, sampling anything that looked tasty. Sitting alone wouldn't be much fun, so he went to see what else might be worth trying. Of course, his first destination: the cooking station shared by Shiina and Ibuki, curious what they'd managed to make.
At present, both Shiina and Ibuki had donned plain white aprons. On Shiina it looked especially domestic, bringing out a wifely aura, while on Ibuki, it looked more like martial-arts attire than cooking gear—probably just her personal vibe. Yukio made no comment, merely stepping over to see the dishes they'd prepared.
Shiina's were brand-new summer cuisine – braised pork belly and mapo tofu, which were apparently quite famous in Japan for their spicy, summery heat. Ibuki's dish, however, was a bit awkward. Yes, she's the one who made that giant pot of miso soup mentioned before.
Right now, Ibuki couldn't quite believe her eyes, seeing Shiina's impressive, complex dishes. "Hiyori, how in the world did you learn to make stuff like that? It looks really hard."
Shiina handed Yukio a pair of chopsticks before politely chuckling at Ibuki, "Because Yukio said he missed the home cooking of his hometown, I just tried learning from the internet. Then he said it wasn't authentic enough, so I gradually improved until I got it right."
Ibuki glanced from Shiina's food to her own pot of miso soup, expression visibly souring. "You shouldn't spoil that guy so much. His ego's gonna shoot through the roof."
Yukio ignored Ibuki's remark, focusing on the brightly colored, glossy mapo tofu in front of him, that taste of home he'd been craving. After all, in Japan, mapo tofu was so famous that all kinds of weird variations existed because many there couldn't handle strong spice. The strangest were fruit-based versions—strawberry mapo tofu, watermelon mapo tofu. He'd never understood what possessed some twisted geniuses to combine fruit with mapo.
Mentally grumbling about Japan's bizarre food modifications, Yukio tried Shiina's dish, discovering it to be reminiscent of a real taste of home. He raised a thumbs-up while still clutching chopsticks. "This is exactly the taste I know!"
Shiina's bright eyes narrowed in a blissful smile, her eyebrows curving into lovely crescent moons. Ibuki felt a twinge of envy. Glancing at her own cooking for a comparison, she couldn't help a bit of frustration. Still, she refused to give in, scooping up a bowl of miso soup. "It… it's really spicy, right? Here, have some soup."
Yukio accepted, downing half the bowl in one go. The flavor was simple—a classic miso base with kombu. Not too distinctive, but definitely not bad. Seeing Ibuki's hopeful, slightly anxious look, he answered kindly, sparing her feelings, "It's fine. I just prefer pork-bone miso soup."
"Huh? That's not all that different, is it?" Ibuki asked, first relieved her cooking was edible enough. Indeed, she'd grown up training in her family dojo, with her mother handling the main cooking, and Ibuki typically doing the miso soup. She had more than enough experience for that.
Her face finally lit up with a genuine smile, her usual prickliness evaporating.
Shiina, however, flushed pink and quietly slid her fingertip to Yukio's waist, giving him a sneaky two-finger jab as if to tell him: Stop talking. Ibuki didn't know what pork-bone miso signified, but Shiina, who had some personal experience with that sort of "taste," sure did. Darn it, why bring that up here?!
Ibuki, for her part, was clueless, and simply brightened. "Oh, so you like pork-bone style? I'll just make it for you next time, then."
With her worries eased, feeling her miso soup had won Yukio's approval, Ibuki relaxed a lot, grabbing her own chopsticks to sample a bit of mapo tofu. She hadn't forgotten about Shiina's or Ichinose's… size. Before, she might not have cared, but now she did—she needed to learn what they ate daily. Taking a big bite or two, however, her face went from white to red, covering her throat as if breathing fire. "Water—help!"
Shiina had a glass of ice water ready, while Yukio's hearty laughter echoed in the background. It made this New Year's party seem especially lively.
Amid such a happy atmosphere, they ate and chatted to their hearts' content. Once sufficiently full, they gathered around to play games. With so many people, a pass-the-parcel style was ideal: once the music stopped, whoever ended up holding the parcel had to come to the center and do a performance. If they got bored of that, they'd turn off the lights, light candles, and take turns telling horror stories—that could be fun in its own way.
They played well into the night, eventually getting hungry again. So why not keep the stoves lit, keep cooking, and prepare a midnight snack?
Finally, as the clock struck midnight—signaling the old year passing and the new year's arrival—everyone wore satisfied grins, shouting together, "Happy New Year!"
No matter how they might spend subsequent years—once grown up, with stable incomes, traveling over the holidays or celebrating with loved ones or family feasts—they would never forget this special night. The busiest, most vibrant New Year's of their youth would remain forever in their memories.
Time always passes the same way. In adolescence, one year can feel so long, stretching on endlessly. But as an adult in the working world, you blink and a year is gone. Only then do you realize that those sweet, romantic days of youth have slipped away, never to return…