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Osamu based his decision of being a chef on his love for food; and because as a chef he would make and taste hundreds of delicious dishes.
He started making his own (and his brother’s) lunch when they were on high school. After graduation he got a part time job at a nearby izakaya in order to learn from an experienced chef. At first he would only clean the place and wash the dishes; and after several months, the chef started teaching Osamu the basics of cooking. From sharpening a knife to the many uses of mirin and rice vinegar. It was difficult and it was dangerous, the growing number of cuts and burns in his hands were a sign of the hardships of being an apprentice.
But after a year of trying and learning, when his boss finally let him serve a dish to a couple of clients at the izakaya; as the customers were praising the softness of the rice and the nice flavor of the tuna; Osamu just knew that he would work harder to be a chef and provide delicious food to others. That night when he arrived home, he hugged his mother and cried on her shoulder, telling her that he’d found his call and that finally all the sacrifice, pain, and disappointment of leaving volleyball finally made sense.
His brother and two of his best friends were pursuing a career in professional volleyball, a path maybe he should had followed too and sometimes it was hard for him. He felt unsure of his choice and there were always people telling him “Hey, you used to play better than your brother” or “Aren’t you jealous of Atsumu?” and “You could be on the National team, training for the Olympics”. Yes, Osamu had spent countless of nights thinking about that, about the ifs and buts of choosing a different life, his own life. But every morning, as the sun rose and he was already at the market choosing the best fish, he realized a pan in his hand felt way better than the best tosses from Atsumu; that he loved the smell of garlic and onion more than the nostalgic smell of salonpas.
“I’m proud of you” said Atsumu, making Osamu stop stirring the broth he was making. Atsumu was sitting on a stool, watching his brother while he was making him dinner in the empty izakaya.
“Proud of what?” replied Osamu, frowning. He set the broth aside and threw some beef, onions and turnips on a hot pan.
“Of you… of what you do.” Osamu snorted at his brother's words and continued preparing their dinner, serving the beef donburi on the counter and bringing a couple of beers from the fridge.
“You’re an Olympic athlete Tsumu… And I’m… well, I’m not even a chef; I’m just an apprentice. There’s nothing to being proud of in washing dishes and gutting fish all day long.”
Atsumu tsked, but before answering, he took a bite of the donburi, enjoying it.
“I’m not stupid, Samu… It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve told everyone I am. I will fight to be the best player in the country, in the world. But I know my time as a pro athlete is limited. I’ll have to retire, sooner or later”
Osamu wanted to protest, but Atsumu stole a piece of beef from his bowl just to mess with him.
“Hey! You have your own bowl!”
“Anyways… I’m proud of you because you choose what you loved instead of what people told you to do… myself included. When you told me you were dropping volleyball… I was so mad at you… I thought you’d be wasting your talent”
“Maybe I am” sighed Osamu. “Maybe as a player I’d be as famous as you, we could be playing together or against each other…”
“That’s my point, Samu. You could play volleyball at the same level as me with the proper training… But…” he took another piece of beef from his brother’s bowl. “Never in a million years could I cook as well as you…” he smiled at his twin and pulled something out from his duffel bag.
“What’s that?”
“”That” is for you… You’re welcome…” said Atsumu, and despite his disinterested smile, he was blushing slightly.
Over his counter was a knife case. Osamu touched it; it was made of leather, soft and durable, with the kanji for “Miya” engraved in the front. It had space for several knives and tools, and a special pouch for a notepad. It was beautiful.
“Tsumu… These are fucking expensive…”
“I know. You better use it when you travel to other cities to learn from the best chefs in the country.” Atsumu tried to hide his smile behind the beer can.
“You idiot!” before Atsumu could react, Osamu had pushed the bowls and the case to the side of the counter so he could reach for his brother and hug him tightly.
“Hey! We’re gonna fall!” yelped Atsumu, letting go of the beer can so he could hold his brother, who was crying on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Tsumu; thankyouthankyou…” sobbed Osamu.
“Hey… We promised we were going to conquer the World, right? You and I, we’re going to be the best”
“You’ll see… I’ll open my own restaurant and show everybody I’m the best fucking chef in Osaka…” said Osamu, still hiding his face on his brother’s shoulder.
“Yeah… And I’ll be there, at the opening. So you better make your best dish for me, Samu”