"A pinch of salt, a sprinkle of chopped scallions… Here comes the fragrant golden fried rice!"
In the kitchen, Hoshino Sora adjusted the heat while flipping the wok vigorously. When the timing was just right, he plated the main dish into a large bowl and carried it to the living room with a cheerful smile.
Ako and Riko looked at the sumptuous dinner laid out in front of them, mouths slightly agape. They had never imagined that their new stepbrother was not only tall and handsome but also this skilled in cooking. They exchanged glances, each seeing a hint of surprise in the other's eyes.
"To celebrate Dad and Mom's remarriage—cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Holding an oversized glass of iced cola, Sora beamed brightly. His father had raised him alone for fifteen years. Now that he had found love again, Sora was genuinely happy for him.
Besides, he was quite familiar with his father's new wife and her two daughters. Ako and Riko were actually his favorite characters during his early youth.
Back then, he had earnestly wished to have two such sisters. Unfortunately, his parents were deeply in love, and there was no way remarriage could bring him two stepsisters who weren't related by blood.
Yes—Sora was a transmigrator.
Cause of death: hit by a dump truck.
Having been given a second chance at life, he paid extra attention to his appearance. He exercised daily, followed a balanced diet, and eventually turned into a handsome guy standing 180 cm tall with top-tier looks.
Academically, he excelled too. With the mindset of an adult doing children's homework, elementary school was a breeze. In middle school, his only deductions came from carelessness—he wasn't a genius, just mature.
Thanks to his looks and grades, Sora was popular in school. He'd also had two girlfriends—both of whom had confessed to him first—though he was a bit dense when it came to romance.
There was Yukinoshita Yukino from Sobu High, who was part of his youth until it ended in regret, and another—Shinomiya Kaguya of the Shinomiya conglomerate—but that one was more like a childhood joke and didn't really count.
He had to admit—being good-looking really opened doors. In his previous life, he had died a virgin. Now, he had a much more colorful youth.
"Bang bang bang—!"
A loud knocking on the door snapped Sora out of his thoughts. Turning his head, he saw two familiar figures at the door, which made him frown.
Nakiri Erina and Nakiri Senzaemon… what were this grandfather and granddaughter doing at his house? Wasn't this world getting a bit too crowded with characters? Or was Japan just too small?
"May I ask who you're looking for?"
Though he asked this, Sora already had a good guess. His father used to be a top-tier chef, once responsible for preparing Japan's national banquet, and now served as a culinary advisor for several elite conglomerates.
Why "several"? Because he was simply too good. His dishes were so incredible they stunned anyone who tried them, earning him the title "Prince of the Culinary World."
However, due to a certain incident, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. At first, the symptoms were mild and he could still cook, but now he no longer cooked at all.
"Is Hoshino Ren home?"
Wearing traditional Japanese attire and wooden sandals, with chiseled silver hair and a majestic beard, Nakiri Senzaemon looked like an imposing figure, though his voice was surprisingly soft.
"Old man! It's been a while."
"About ten years, right? And this must be your son. He's already grown so tall and handsome. Reminds me of myself in my younger days."
With a hint of nostalgia in his voice, Senzaemon stepped into the house, dragging the blonde Erina along. Sora followed and closed the door.
"He's just a useless brat. So what brings you here, old man? You wouldn't visit unless there was something important."
Putting down his chopsticks, Hoshino Ren was clearly puzzled by the visit. After all, Nakiri Senzaemon was the current head of the Japanese culinary world—he shouldn't be here without a good reason.
"Let's talk in private."
After glancing at Sora and the food-laden table, Senzaemon followed Ren into the study.
"Peasant cooking."
Sniffing the aroma in the air, Erina glanced at the dishes and immediately made a judgment. Even a single look was enough—everything on the table was too ordinary.
Huh?
Hearing her words, Sora's face was full of question marks. He had only been learning to cook for a year—was there any need to be this harsh right off the bat?
Yes, at his father's request, Sora had been studying cooking every day after school. Under the tutelage of one of Japan's top chefs, his skills had improved rapidly.
The neighbors all praised his dishes. He used premium ingredients like abalone, lobster, and hairy crab. To call it "peasant cooking"—wasn't that just mocking his skills?
"You're really rude, you know? Who criticizes someone's dinner as soon as they walk into their house?"
Before Sora could say anything, Ako, sitting next to him, jumped in, her tone sharp. Clearly, she wanted to defend her newly acquainted stepbrother.
"I didn't come here as a guest. I was nearby for work and got dragged here by my grandfather."
Erina coldly retorted, unbothered by Ako's criticism. If not for Senzaemon's insistence, she would never have come. She was already in a foul mood.
"This is definitely not 'peasant cooking.' Just try it—it tastes amazing!"
Seeing the situation escalate, Ako quickly picked up a plate of sweet and sour pork and offered it. She genuinely believed in Sora's skills—Erina was judging without even tasting it.
"You want me to let my tongue touch something from the bottom of the culinary world?"
Erina recoiled as the dish neared her, her face showing disgust. Was this guy trying to defile her divine palate?
"Enough, Ako-nee. No need to prove anything. As long as we enjoy it, that's enough. If food brings happiness, then it has already fulfilled its purpose."
Sora wasn't bothered by Erina's clear attempt to start a fight. He knew about her tragic childhood—her personality was largely her father Azami's fault.
Still, even with that excuse, her attitude lacked tact. Definitely someone raised in flattery and excess.
God Tongue or not, acting so smug…
One day, I'll make you stick out your tongue and flash a peace sign with both hands while saying "it's delicious!" with a look of bliss!
"Food's mission is to be delicious. Bad cooking only ruins your mood. Like this table—sure, the ingredients are high-end, but not a single dish is well executed. If the ingredients knew how poorly they were used, they'd be heartbroken!"
A faint blush crept onto Erina's face. She was already starting to regret her earlier comments. Her judgment had been a reflex—professional habit combined with her sour mood.
Still, the words were out, and she didn't plan to take them back. Technically, everything she said was true—the dishes were only good because of the ingredients, not the technique.