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The green tea Chitanda brewed for them was settling at the perfect drinking temperature, Ibara was working quietly on her math homework, and the pocket novel resting in Houtarou’s palm was finally at an interesting development in the story.
Such a peaceful thursday afternoon in the Geography Prep Room was bound to be ruined by the arrival of the one and only Satoshi Fukube. Houtarou mentally saluted Chitanda and Ibara for not looking up from their work even as Satoshi threw aside the clubroom door with a loud bang.
Undeterred by his unresponsive audience, Satoshi stepped into the room and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentleman ...” In a single flourish, he tossed four colourful pamphlets onto the clubroom table. “The Kanya Fest is upon us yet again! The student council just got these fresh from the printer’s.”
“That’s right. It’s two weeks away, isn’t it?” Chitanda remarked as she picked up a pamphlet and flipped through its contents. Houtarou anticipated a more animated response, given how she got swept up in the myriad of Kanya Fest activities last year. Instead, she looked a little bit sad.
“The new volume of Hyouka should arrive just in time for it,” Ibara said with a curt nod. “And just to be clear, I double and triple-checked with the printer on the number of copies we ordered this year. Just 50.”
Satoshi gave his girlfriend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “That’s great,” he said, “ We don’t have to fret over selling so many copies. Which means, we can focus on the main attraction!”
Hearing the swell in Satoshi’s voice, Houtarou could tell that his friend was up to something. Knowing the other two members of the Classics Club, they would be swept away by these grand plans without any hesitation. But Houtarou Oreki was not so easily swayed. No, he would resist. He’d go down fighting if he had to.
Houtarou swiftly closed his book, grabbed his bag off the floor and got up to leave.
“Hold up, Houtarou. Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?” Satoshi’s arms flew wide open to block his straight path to the door.
“Where are you rushing off to, anyway?” Ibara snapped.
Houtarou tried to think of a reason that would satisfy Ibara’s cruel heart. But nothing came to mind. He looked over his shoulder to Chitanda. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, waiting to hear what Satoshi was going to share.
I went down fighting , he thought as he sank back into his chair. “Alright. I’ll listen. But I want no part in your plan.”
Satoshi raised an eyebrow. “Who said you were part of the plan?”
Ibara seized the chance to let out a wicked cackle. Even Chitanda had to stifle a small giggle under her hand.
As Houtarou reflected on his own hubris, Satoshi continued. “Chitanda-san, Mayaka—I’m going to sign us up for the WILDFIRE competition again this year and the Classics Club will defend our title as reigning champions with our superb cooking abilities! What do you think?”
Ah. Right. The little trophy sitting over there next to the window was proof that the Classics Club had overcome many hurdles and somehow emerged victorious in one of the annual festival’s most popular events.
“I guess I could… It’s not like I have much going on right now apart from library duties,” Ibara said with a shrug of her shoulders.
Despite this outward display of nonchalance, Houtarou saw the hint of a smile of touching the corners of her mouth. Of course, even from his perch on the fourth floor window back then, he could feel the intoxicating waves of youth and passion the competition summoned forth. Ibara probably enjoyed it more than she was willing to let on.
“What about you, Chitanda-san? You were great last year!”
Houtarou expected his club chairperson to agree whole-heartedly.
Instead, Chitanda looked down at her hands, folded neatly on her lap. “‘Well...”
Hesitation? From Chitanda?
“I was just informed yesterday evening that my family needs to make an important trip to visit some distant relatives that week. I’m afraid I won’t be around for most of the Kanya Fest, including the cooking club’s competition,” Chitanda explained, apologetic.
Satoshi instantly crumpled.
“Fuku-chan?!”
The boy had collapsed onto his hands and knees on the unswept floor. “Mayaka… I know you’re a great cook. And I can cook too. But without Chitanda, how are we supposed to win now? My plan… It’s in shambles...”
“Don’t be dramatic. Your elaborate plan was just to rely on Chitanda to carry the team to a win,” Houtarou said to intervene, propping his chin on one hand. Usually, he could just ignore his friend’s dramatic tendencies, but Satoshi’s current behavior would no doubt make Chitanda feel guilty over something she couldn’t control.
He exchanged glances with Chitanda from across the table. She grinned sheepishly and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to him.
Houtarou felt his cheeks grow warm and quickly lowered his eyes, like the fool that he was.
“Hate to say this, but Oreki’s right,” Ibara admitted. “Don’t be sorry, Chi-chan. It’s not your fault.”
Satoshi gathered himself and sat down with them at the table, in the empty chair next to Chitanda. “Right, I didn’t mean it that way, Chitanda-san. I was just excited to see you cook again and to show off my hoisin fried rice at last. But now we’re missing a third cook.”
As Satoshi’s last statement dangled in the late afternoon air, the Kamiyama High Classics Club attempted to delay the inevitable. Chitanda was the first to relent and cast her eyes, hopeful and optimistic, over to Houtarou. Houtarou leaned as far back as his chair would allow him to go. After a few seconds Satoshi joined her, practically laying the top half of his body over the table in the process—conveniently forgetting what he’d said earlier about Houtarou not being part of this so-called plan.
Ibara was his last hope. And judging from her furrowed brow and folded arms, she was trying to prevent this from happening as well. Eventually, she could no longer ignore Chitanda and Satoshi staring down Houtarou. With an excruciating slowness, she lifted her gaze to him.
“Are we really considering Oreki?” she said with pure, unrestrained disbelief.
We went down fighting , Houtarou thought.
🥄
“Have you decided what you’d like to cook, Oreki-san?”
Chitanda turned off the tap and dried her hands with a tea towel hanging near the kitchen sink. She was wearing the same orange apron she’d thrown on to make onigiri for them the first time the Classics Club had paid a visit to the Chitanda estate.
Houtarou placed his shoulder bag on the dining table and opened it to show her the ingredients he’d bought at the market that morning. “Vegetarian curry. Just onion, potato, and carrots boiled together with these curry cubes. This brand’s not too expensive and tastes fine.”
Houtarou disliked preparing meat since it took awhile to defrost and cook. In comparison, vegetables were easy enough to slice up. He’d made curry at home before, and it didn’t taste horrible. Tomoe had even helped herself to seconds the last time he tried making some.
Most importantly, cooking curry didn’t seem to require too much effort. Chitanda should be able to teach him more efficient methods for preparing vegetables. The only reason he was here today was because she had insisted on contributing to the cooking contest in some way. Ibara and Satoshi had all but tossed Houtarou like an unwanted ragdoll at her and pleaded, in insufferable unison: “ Make sure he can cook something. ”
As Chitanda gathered her hair back into a bouncy ponytail and studied his grocery offerings, Houtarou shifted nervously in his seat.
“Oreki-san.” Chitanda picked up the box of instant curry and addressed him with a firmness in her voice, like a master talking to a pupil. “You do know you’ll need to make the curry roux from scratch, don’t you?”
Belatedly, Houtarou realised that he was the pupil.
“Don’t they provide the contestants ingredients to cook with?”
“Yes, but from what I remember from last year’s competition, instant mixes weren’t among the ingredients provided. They did have curry powder, but that was just powder.” Trust Chitanda to remember what she’d seen at an event that happened eleven months ago.
Now, his low-effort solution was fast fading away. He had to save it somehow.
“What if we bring our own curry mix, or keep some in the clubroom? We could get Oohinata to throw it down to us from the window.”
Chitanda puffed her cheeks at this blasphemous suggestion. Houtarou faintly remembered a past conversation about getting angry.
“We shouldn’t do that, Oreki-san! Especially not when curry made from scratch tastes the best!”
Unlike Ibara, who got angry at the slightest inconvenience, or Satoshi, who got angry when he didn’t get his way, Chitanda seemed to only get angry over things she cared about. She was taking this cooking contest seriously and she truly believed they could win if they did well enough. Houtarou held no such belief given that he was on the team.
“I don’t know how to make it from scratch,” he said, careful not to sound like he was giving up. “Is it difficult to make?”
Still, after all the time he spent with her, Houtarou found this becoming easier—meeting Chitanda where she was, wondering if he could be the person she thought he was. It was a strange and honest thing to realise in a kitchen that smelled of ginger and spice.
Hearing his question, Chitanda’s cheeks went back to their normal size. She shook her head and looked at him with a delighted expression. “It’s pretty easy, actually. Will you let me show you?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Houtarou said with a cough, nearly stumbling as he got up from the dining table and repositioned himself next to the kitchen counter.
“Right, of course.” Chitanda hid her face as she shuffled to one corner of the room, dug around, and came back with a blue apron for him. “This should fit you.”
As Houtarou tied the apron on, Chitanda set out all the ingredients on the counter. Then, she darted around the kitchen, lowering down into squats and rising up on her toes to open drawers, reach for baskets and grab things from the fridge. Houtarou felt his energy reserves deplete just from witnessing this flurry of movement.
Their final arsenal consisted of Houtarou’s vegetables, a box of curry powder, flour, garlic, honey, bright red peppers, a slab of butter from the fridge, and a brown powder he didn’t recognise.
“Garam masala,” Chitanda chirped when she noticed him looking at the unknown powder. “My father likes curry too, so I always have some of this handy.”
And so, under Chitanda’s watchful eye, Houtarou set forth on his journey to culinary mediocrity. Curry roux wasn’t too difficult to make after all. It just required a lot of stirring. Chitanda demonstrated the right speed to do this, and Houtarou was able to get the hang of it quick enough that Chitanda didn’t need to hold his hand to show him.
Damn it , he should stop staying up with his sister to watch those Korean dramas.
Next, Chitanda shared the special ingredients she would add to the curry, namely: soy sauce, ketchup and a dash of black pepper. “Just enough for you to taste the difference, but not too much that it overpowers the curry,” she said, sounding very sagely.
The final product was a convincing pot of Japanese curry. The aroma that wafted from it was both fragrant and comforting, the sort of sensation only home-cooked food could achieve.
“You did it, Oreki-san!” Chitanda applauded softly, looking very proud of him. Houtarou tried not to let the embarrassment get the most of him, and it was easy once he observed one very important fact.
“It took us too long to make.”
They looked up to the kitchen clock, which was in the shape of a sun. Roughly half an hour had passed since they started. He only had 20 minutes during the actual competition to make a dish.
“That’s alright. I’m sure you’ll get better at this. 20 minutes should be just enough time for you to get the vegetables cooked and the curry roux done. You just need to practice a few more times.” Chitanda pumped her fists with encouragement.
“How do you propose I do that? I don’t think I can come by next weekend to practice. I wouldn’t want to intrude again. And I can’t cook curry for myself to eat everyday this week. That’d be too much.” Houtarou dipped a spoon into the pot and waited for the curry to cool before doing a taste-test.
The warm flavour blossomed in his mouth. It did taste better than instant curry.
“Do you want to see how it tastes?” Using a clean spoon, Houtarou offered her the curry to try. He knew he was far from being an accomplished cook, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear what Chitanda thought, would it?
“How do we help you practice…” Chitanda stood beside him, continuing to think hard about what he’d said. She turned to face him at the exact moment Houtarou realised he was holding a spoonful of curry out for her.
That she could just lean over and take a bite if she wanted to.
The spoon in his hand began to shake.
“Oh!” Chitanda reached out and grabbed his hand to keep it steady. This would have had the opposite effect if not for the fact that she immediately chomped down on the spoon before the curry could spill.
“It tastes fine,” she concluded, unaware of how adorable she’d looked just a few moments ago, still holding onto his hand. She was more focused on rating the curry than the fact that they were standing much closer now. Houtarou concerned himself with holding onto the accursed spoon and rationalising that there was no way Chitanda could hear his heart pounding rapidly in his ears.
“You need more practice, Oreki-san. I wish I could taste...” Her words trailed off as their eyes met. Houtarou saw his reflection trapped in her eyes, flustered and frozen. What did Chitanda see in his? Could she see pink cheeks, a small mouth slightly agape? The reflection of a girl who didn’t quite understand how much of an effect she had over one Houtarou Oreki?
“Ah! I’ve got it!” Chitanda spun around in one frantic motion, her ponytail whipping behind her and ruthlessly slapping Houtarou across the face.
“Ouch.”
“Hm? Did you say something?”
Houtarou soothed his cheek and hoped that the smile in his voice wasn’t too obvious. “Nothing.”
🥄
Ibara glared at the bento sitting innocently before her. “Is this seriously happening?”
Beside her, Satoshi cradled his own bento above his head, as if presenting it to the gods. “Let today be remembered in history as the day Houtarou Oreki woke up early and prepared a home-cooked bento for school.” As if to mock him, a ray of noontime sun streamed in through the clubroom window and struck the bento at a very precise angle.
Houtarou did not want to deign the couple with a reply. He grunted in their general direction from behind the book he was reading. He was thankful that Oohinata hadn’t stuck around these bad influences. She was the first to arrive and grab her share, only to dash off to eat with her classmates. “I’ll text you my thoughts!” she’d said cheerfully.
Chitanda had instructed him to practice cooking at home and to bring the curry in for the Classics Club to taste test in the week leading up to the Kanya Fest. This morning, he’d managed to prepare everything save for the rice within 25 minutes. He’d wasted a bit of time checking the notes Chitanda had scribbled down for him when he was unsure of what to add next.
Ibara carefully removed the lunchbox cover and examined its contents with an arched eyebrow. “Curry and white rice.”
No one else on earth could sound so critical in so few words.
“Nice choice! So you’ll go second then? Mayaka will go first and make sure the rice is cooked. I’ll go last and wow the judges with my fried rice!” Satoshi said as he brandished his pink chopsticks and began to dig into his lunch.
Houtarou tried to be discreet as he peeked over his paperback to see their reactions to the bento he’d put together (and that Tomoe had chortled at when she caught him up early in the kitchen).
Satoshi was smiling from ear to ear, not bothering to hide his first impressions. “Houtarou! I’ve never eaten anything you’ve cooked and I can confidently say this is the best thing you’ve ever cooked! Don’t ask me how. I just know it. There’s a good amount of heat and the potato and onions melt in your mouth.” He scooped up another portion to eat and winced as he bit on something hard. “Your rice, on the other hand… I guess Chitanda didn’t teach you how to prepare fluffy rice, huh?”
“Nope,” Houtarou conceded. At least Satoshi seemed satisfied with what he’d made, and not in that callous way he used to be, giving compliments just for the sake of it. He seemed genuinely impressed.
Was this how people felt when they went out of their way to make things for friends? Houtarou tugged on his bangs and tried not to linger too much on how that made him feel.
On the other hand, Ibara had remained uncharacteristically quiet thus far. Houtarou watched as she ate spoon after spoon of curry.
“I’ll take it as a Pass?” he worked up the courage to ask.
Ibara glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Chi-chan did a good job training you,” was all she was willing to say. Houtarou accepted this generous statement with a humble bow of his head.
“Where is Chitanda-san anyway? And how about her share?” Satoshi scanned the clubroom in search of a third bento.
“It’s her turn for clean-up duty during lunch today. She asked me to bring a sample for her to try tomorrow instead,” Houtarou explained. He returned his attention to his book, only to realise he’d forgotten which part of the page he’d stopped at.
“Ah, I see.” Satoshi nodded. “Yeah, maybe cooking it once more will help you get the timing just right. And, Houtarou, when you cook for Chitanda tomorrow, you need to remember to add this very important ingredient.”
“Soy sauce?” Houtarou asked, surprised that Satoshi had noticed he’d forgotten to add it. His guard was completely down.
Satoshi grinned an annoying little grin as he formed a wonky heart shape with his hands.
“Why, it’s love .”
At this, Ibara doubled over in a fit of uncontrollable laughter, half-choking on her rice in the process. Satoshi had to clap his hand against her back a few times to make sure she was alright. Houtarou did not budge from his seat to help.
“Fuku-chan! You nearly killed me!” she shouted as soon as she was able get the food down her throat.
“Sorry~ Mayaka,” Satoshi sang out, not one tiny bit apologetic.
“I’m being serious!”
For once, Houtarou wished that this terrible duo would get into an argument. A big, ugly one. Destroy Kamiyama High in the process if that was necessary. The energy required to deal with the aftermath of an Ibara-Satoshi clash would be the lesser evil. He would never expend the effort to explain why his face was now burning red.
🥄
🥄
🥄
Summer was over, wasn’t it? Why was it still so hot?
Houtarou was standing in the middle of the school field and he was sweating. The stands surrounding him were overflowing with students who would soon bear witness to the annual WILDFIRE competition. Behind him stood a familiar building, and at the fourth floor window, he spotted Oohinata waving down at them.
Houtarou fell back onto one of the plastic chairs provided to their team and tried to run through the list of things he had to do when it was his turn. Add honey, soy sauce, a dash of black pepper. How long was he supposed to stir the roux again? It was too different, standing here now with the makeshift kitchen looming in front of him. Observing from the sidelines in the Geog Prep Room was now a distant dream.
“Oreki. You having second thoughts?” Ibara sat down beside him. Satoshi had convinced her to cosplay again this year, for the extra attention. She was wearing a bandana, a long red pinafore and had a yellow scarf tied around her neck. Apparently it was a character from an old manga called Magic Circle Guru Guru . “Not that I can blame you. But I won’t apologise for dragging you into this since you agreed to it. Since you’re here now, you can’t afford to slack off. It’ll be over before you know it.”
Her attempt at encouraging him was just that—an attempt. Before he could think of a comeback, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Ibara’s hand. Tentative and sincere.
“Welcome everyone to this year’s edition of WILDFIRE! I can see that everyone is excited for us to get started, but first, allow me to introduce our brave contestants!” The voice of the cooking club’s vice president rang out around the field, through the loudspeakers.
“Houtarou! Let’s do our best and make Chitanda-san proud!” Satoshi flashed him a thumbs up as he hopped over to the empty chair on Houtarou’s right. “It doesn’t matter if we win. But hey, if we do, wouldn’t that be even more impressive?”
“What’s impressive is Oreki standing here in this field,” Ibara scoffed, though it was with far less bite than usual.
“True, true,” Satoshi agreed, trying to act serious.
Houtarou could only sigh. And with that sigh, he felt his shoulders relax and his mind clear.
“... Last but not least, our defending champions: Team Classic Lit Club!”
Ibara and Satoshi grabbed onto Houtarou from both sides and pulled him up onto his feet.
As the three of them raised their interlocked hands for the cheering crowd, Houtarou remembered exactly how long he needed to stir the roux.
🥄
Houtarou was not reading in the clubroom today. His novel was tucked away in his pocket, dog-eared on the page he’d left on. His hands were glued to his knees as he waited for the final verdict on the curry he made that morning.
At the other end of the table, his culinary teacher was chewing thoughtfully, refraining from speaking. After three or four bites, Chitanda was ready to present her assessment.
“It’s better,” she said, which Houtarou could tell was a polite way of saying, you still need to improve .
When Chitanda noticed his lack of reaction, she tried to salvage her words. “I can tell you’ve been practicing, Oreki-san. I’m sure the judges won’t have anything bad to say about it. For someone who doesn’t cook often, it’s a really good effort.”
“I’m sure they’d enjoy eating your cooking more,” Houtarou commented. Tough luck, but the universe had other plans it seemed.
Chitanda did not respond to him at first. Instead, she looked down at the bento Houtarou had assembled. It was such a simple meal compared to what she could surely produce from her experience. Curry in one compartment, and a bed of rice next to it. Tomoe had helped him with the rice cooker this morning and so the rice had come out a little bit better than yesterday’s.
“Perhaps. Although, I do enjoy having the chance to eat your cooking.” She returned her gaze to him. “Oreki-san, do you know that I’ve always wanted to make a home-cooked bento for you? How did it wind up that you’d make one for me first?” Chitanda said with a laugh.
Chitanda… always wanted to make him a bento? Houtarou’s face scrunched up.
“Oh?” Chitanda caught his expression. It took her a moment to realise what she had just said. As soon as she did, her cheeks grew flushed. “I mean, I mean… Forget what I said, Oreki-san. It was a silly joke.”
But Houtarou remembered. He remembered the countryside air being more cold than warm. The cherry blossoms, irreversibly rose-coloured. Eru Chitanda, who showed him the difficult position she found herself in and the unspoken beauty of the land she would cross bridges and walk for hours upon. How he was too afraid to speak. How it made him a hypocrite for threatening to punch Satoshi on a sad Valentine’s Day.
How a soft whisper in his heart hoped that one day, when the spring had come, maybe things could be different.
Now, it was almost fall.
He knew he wanted to change. He was changing. He had changed. He’d made curry for his friends. He’d gotten up early to cook imperfect rice. A small part of him looked forward to hearing what people thought about the food he’d put in effort to make.
“After the Kanya Fest...” He tried to form a complete sentence.
Chitanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”
“After the Kanya Fest. I’d… I’d like that,” Houtarou mumbled in the tiniest voice. She probably couldn’t hear him.
But Chitanda, with her inexplicably sharp ears, heard. The smile that spread across her face was one that was unfamiliar to Houtarou. In the safety of the Geog Prep Room, Chitanda never shied away from expressing her deepest thoughts, from wearing her heart on her sleeve like there was no conceivable way for her to contain the greatness of her feelings.
Now, it was almost as if she didn’t want him to see how happy she was.
“Yes. Yes! Of course, Oreki-san! I’ll make it. To thank you for being my stand-in. No—um, for allowing me to teach you. For bearing with my requests to cook. For—for everything.” She caught her breath, hand fluttering over her chest as she arrived at her answer.
“For everything,” she repeated, liking the sound of it. “Yes, that’s it!”
Houtarou had no right to turn this offer down, not after he’d been the one to request it in a moment of recklessness. He wanted to blame it on the weather, and looked out the window to see a peaceful afternoon sky, not a cloud out of place. He was alone with the girl he liked and he had no more excuses.
“Thank you, Chitanda.”
There was nothing else he could say. There was nothing else he meant more.
Chitanda shook her head. “There’s no need to thank me. I look forward to it!” She paused before taking a deep breath and adding, “And if you win, I’ll add in something extra special!”
For once, it was Houtarou’s turn to be curious.
“What is it?”
Chitanda had gone back to eating his curry rice bento, her face hidden behind the dark curtain of her hair. And when her eyes finally rose to meet his, she used her handkerchief to wipe the corner of her mouth, raised a finger to her lips and said: “It’s a secret.”
Houtarou Oreki held no belief that they would win.
Still, he wanted to try.