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About Cooking contests, Lucky Ladles and Hard-Boiled Eggs.
Aomine had never cared much about other people’s opinions, considering them as relevant as a drop of water in the ocean. Yet, for the first time, he envied Tetsuya’s ability to go completely unnoticed, wishing he could escape the absurd situation that had unfolded because of him.
The eyes of the entire Generation of Miracles were on him, anything but friendly, and deep down, he felt he couldn’t entirely blame them.
«Did you really have to offend her like that, Aominecchi?»
«Mine-chin, I’m going to destroy you.»
«Aomine-kun, you’re so insensitive.»
Their words still echoed in his head, except for Midorima and Akashi, who had refrained from commenting—though for a brief moment, Seijuurou’s gaze had been crossed by a disturbing glint that promised future repercussions.
“Oh, come on! I just said Satsuki’s cooking sucks!” he told himself, nervously running a hand through his hair. “They’re all hypocrites, that’s what. They think exactly the same as I do but need to demonize me because I said it to her face!”
He wanted to look at them one by one with defiance, but at that moment, Momoi spoke, her high-pitched voice, altered by anger, grating on his ears.
«I’m your manager! I do everything for you, and what did you do to repay me?» she demanded, pacing the room and glaring at them sternly. She paused for a moment but received only silence in return.
«Exactly. Nothing,» she snapped, planting her hands on her hips. «Which is why, from now until the end of the training camp, you will be the ones cooking.»
«Excuse me?»
«You heard me, Akashi-kun,» she replied, exasperated.
The moment that idea had formed in her mind, she had anticipated the others’ protests. She could endure them, if only for the satisfaction of seeing it through.
«Don’t be ridiculous; none of us can cook,» Midorima muttered, adjusting his glasses on his nose.
Momoi flashed him a smile that was anything but reassuring, almost feral. «Well, we’ve just established that I can’t cook either. Now, get to work.»
[…]
The kitchen of the guesthouse where they were staying had two separate cooking stations, perfectly suited to Momoi’s dark plan.
She had dragged them to the kitchen by their ears and ordered them to divide into two groups. After several arguments, the teams were decided: Kuroko, Kise, and Aomine on one side, Akashi, Midorima, and Murasakibara on the other.
«You’ll compete in a cooking contest, and the team that wins will be responsible for preparing meals for the rest of the training camp,» she had simply said before disappearing behind the door, leaving them to their miserable fate.
They stared at each other in silence for several seconds, each lost in the hope that Satsuki would reappear at any moment, laughing at them and announcing it was all a joke. It took them a good five minutes to resign themselves to the fact that, no, Momoi wasn’t joking.
«Oha-Asa predicted this.»
Akashi had to use every drop of self-control not to sigh. «Midorima, don’t–»
«No, it really did: “Unfavorable day for Cancer; to ward off misfortune, carry a ladle, today’s lucky item, and stay away from the color blue,”» he recited from memory. «Do you understand, Akashi? Blue!»
«Pffft...»
Midorima turned toward Kise, who hadn’t managed to stifle a chuckle in time, and shot him a murderous glare.
«Sorry, Midorimacchi,» Ryouta muttered, still trying to contain himself, «Are you seriously saying your lucky item is a... ladle?» he asked, bursting into laughter that none of the others joined, too demoralized by the situation to share in his amusement.
For a moment, Midorima seemed about to say something, but just this once, he decided to let it go and focus on the task at hand.
«None of us are used to this kind of contest,» he muttered, masking his nervousness by adjusting the bandages on his fingers.
Aomine rolled his eyes, utterly convinced he was surrounded by hopeless idiots. «Of course, none of us are prepared for a cooking competition.»
«I don’t think Midorima-kun meant that.»
Daiki shot a questioning look at his shadow.
«Do you want to spend the rest of the camp cooking?»
«No.»
«Then we need to lose.»
From the others’ expressions, it was clear that only Kuroko and Midorima had considered that aspect of the situation.
«The word “lose” doesn’t exist in my vocabulary,» Akashi protested, earning a glare from his vice-captain.
Aomine opened his mouth to speak, probably to assert his inability to be defeated, but at that moment, Momoi entered with the ingredients they were to use. «Less talking, more cooking. You have thirty minutes to prepare either a main course or a side dish,» she said, hitting Daiki over the head with a spatula.
[…]
Needless to say, Daiki didn’t like the idea of losing one bit; it felt entirely unnatural. Victory equaled life, and defeat meant death—what sense did it make to rush headlong toward your own demise?
He felt trapped, like a caged animal that only wanted to live but would inevitably be put down within half an hour because of the two halfwits he had for teammates.
"Maybe it would’ve been better to end up on Akashi and Murasakibara’s team," he thought, letting out a small sigh before turning his attention to the two nuisances he was stuck with.
«Looks like we have the upper hand,» Kise chirped cheerfully, twirling a kitchen knife between his fingers. «I’ve never cooked, Kurokocchi’s cooking is potentially lethal, and the other team has Murasakibaracchi, who can actually cook, and Akashicchi, who… well, we all know Akashicchi’s personality.»
«Hey, Kise, you’re forgetting something.»
«What?»
«The only one who can beat me is me,» Daiki said flatly, as if that explained everything.
That was before a bag of frozen spinach ended up down the back of his shirt, pressing against his bare skin.
«Tetsu!» he growled, not even needing to turn around to know who was responsible.
«Aomine-kun, please focus. We’re supposed to lose.»
In response, Aomine muttered something unintelligible that vaguely resembled, “This isn’t over,” before retreating to a corner, arms crossed. He was ready to swoop in and take over the stove the moment the others let their guard down. He wasn’t about to lose this challenge, even if it meant slaving away in the kitchen for the rest of the training camp.
The other two seemed to pick up on his thoughts, exchanging a knowing glance that silently vowed not to take their eyes off Daiki for even a second. His obsession with winning was a genuine threat to their carefully arranged plans.
«Well, let’s leave the stove to Kurokocchi. The other team couldn’t make anything worse even if they tried their hardest,» Kise said brightly.
Kuroko took several seconds before responding, seemingly debating how to interpret what Kise had just said. It was a blatant insult, but given their desperate situation, Kise’s idiot brain might have genuinely meant it as a compliment. Kuroko must have opted for the latter because he eventually shrugged and picked up a small pot.
«Are boiled eggs a main dish or a side dish?»
Kise’s perpetual smile grew even wider. «That’s the spirit, Kurokocchi! Not even knowing where to start!»
Daiki facepalmed in despair. "We’re off to a great start…"
[…]
On the other side of the kitchen, Akashi was in more or less the same situation as Aomine. His gaze wandered between Murasakibara, who was lazily hovering around the ingredients in search of something to nibble on, and Shintarou, who was trying to push him away with a hint of hysteria in his voice, as if he absurdly believed the other might start cooking in secret.
"But he HAS to cook," thought the captain, crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat, immediately drawing the attention of the other two.
«Very well, we’ll let Murasakibara handle the cooking, after all...»
«Akashi...»
«...he is the most suitable for such a task. We...»
«Akashi...»
«...will assist him to the best of our abilities and...»
«Akashi!»
«Midorima.»
Seijuurou turned his attention to his vice-captain, masking his irritation with more difficulty than he would ever openly admit. He hated being interrupted while speaking, especially when he was presenting a plan of action as he was now. «I was talking; know your place.»
At that point, in Akashi's imagination, Midorima should have fallen silent. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the other interrupted him once more, defying all his expectations.
«Akashi... We. Must. Lose.»
«Are you questioning my orders, Midorima?»
«I'm the vice-captain. My job is also to exercise common sense when the captain seems to lack it,» Shintarou huffed, nervously adjusting his glasses. Opposing Akashi openly wasn’t a wise choice, but if he didn’t use every means at his disposal to achieve his goal, fate might as well decide to turn against him.
Murasakibara half-listened to the ensuing argument, sifting through the ingredients Momoi had brought in search of something that might satisfy his hunger. He resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing appetizing among all that stuff and looked up at his two teammates, who were still bickering.
«Aka-chin, Mido-chin, I’m going to the vending machines to grab something,» he yawned, lazily running a hand through his hair before heading off without waiting for a reply.
[…]
Kise was keeping an eye on Aomine while also contemplating the challenge. Sure, they were leaving everything to Kuroko, but despite what he had said earlier, with the right effort, even the other team could cook something inedible.
"After all, cooking badly is much easier than cooking well," he thought pensively. "Ah! If only there were a way to ensure the others make something edible!"
At that moment, he heard Murasakibara announce he was heading to the vending machines, and an idea struck him.
«Be right back!» he trilled, then followed Murasakibara to the much-coveted—by the latter—machines. He observed him for a moment.
«You know, I’m about to start a photoshoot for an ad campaign,» Ryouta began cheerfully, ignoring the fact that the other didn’t seem to have noticed his presence at all.
He inserted a couple of coins into the machine beside the one Atsushi was attacking and selected a can of coffee. As he retrieved it, he allowed himself a smile, almost a smirk, confident that he already had the other in his grasp without him even realizing it. «Nothing big, just a series of billboards for a well-known confectionery brand. Surely, after the shoot, they’ll give me and the other models lots of their products, but I’m perpetually on a diet and really can’t eat them. It’d be a shame to waste them, don’t you think?» he asked slyly, sipping his coffee, certain he had captured all the attention Atsushi was capable of.
«What do you want in return, Kise-chin?» the other asked, having learned by now that if someone on his team offered him a large quantity of sweets, it was only because they wanted something in return.
«Win this contest.»
«Then I’d have to cook for the entire training camp...»
«Obviously, but then you’d get lots of sweets. And you’d avoid eating things made by me, Aominecchi, and Kurokocchi. You do remember Kurokocchi’s boiled eggs, right? »
For a brief moment, Atsushi paled, then gulped. If possible, Tetsuya’s cooking was even worse than Momoi’s.
«Mido-chin will never let me near the stove.»
Kise moved closer to him conspiratorially. «Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of distracting him»
[…]
Midorima was anxious. Not because he had wasted ten of the precious thirty minutes they had to convince Akashi he had changed his mind and now wanted to win at all costs, only to then explain that the perfect recipe required balsamic vinegar. Getting Akashi to accompany him to find it and then locking him in the pantry had been relatively simple, even though he knew it was essentially signing his own death warrant.
He wasn’t even nervous about the fact that his direct competitor was Kuroko, a formidable opponent who already seemed to have victory—or perhaps it was better to say "defeat"?—in his grasp.
No, he was nervous because, despite Murasakibara having returned a few minutes ago with his massive arms full of sweets and chips, Kise was still out somewhere, scheming who-knows-what.
He sighed and touched along the work surface to his right, where he had placed his lucky ladle.
“Which is now gone,” he thought, with the most falsely serene calm in the world, continuing to search the counter.
«Midorimacchiiii,» he heard Kise sing, dragging out the last "i" in his last name in an incredibly irritating way—though not as irritating as the theft of his lucky item, considering that when he turned to face Ryouta, he saw him waving the ladle as if it were a war trophy.
Deciding not to lose his temper, he tried a civil approach. He extended a hand toward him. «Give it back,» he simply said, figuring he could kill Kise later if he refused.
«Come and get it» the other replied, then ran off, laughing like the idiot he was.
“It’s a trap,” he told himself, unable to stop himself from chasing the aforementioned idiot. “It’s obviously a trap... but that’s my lucky item!”
[…]
«Tetsu, are you sure about what you’re doing?»
«I think so.»
Aomine sighed; he strongly doubted that Kuroko knew what he was doing, given that the smell wafting from the pan and pot he was using was indescribably acrid, making him think that instead of boiling eggs and cooking spinach, Kuroko was frying old socks. He cautiously approached and felt like dying.
«T-Tetsu, don’t you think those spinach are done? And by done, I mean they’ve been ready for at least ten minutes...»
«No, they’re not cooked enough yet.»
«Let me get this straight, by ‘cooked enough,’ do you mean burnt to a crisp? And the eggs are out of water; they’re turning black!»
«Aomine-kun, just two more minutes.»
«The contest ends in two minutes!»
«Oh, really?»
Finally, Tetsuya turned off the burners, placing what had once been spinach onto a plate. He clumsily peeled the eggs, indifferent to the fact that even the whites had turned an unsettling yellowish color, and haphazardly sliced them before dumping them atop the charred spinach.
Daiki sighed dejectedly, noting that from the other side of the kitchen came a far more inviting aroma of pork. He had just started considering that if he could distract both Tetsuya and Murasakibara, he might be able to switch the plates, but at that moment, Momoi entered, dashing all his hopes.
The girl was followed by Kise and Midorima, the former sporting a prominent black eye, the latter clutching his ladle protectively, looking as though he might seriously kill anyone who dared come near it again. Akashi closed the strange procession, watching his vice-captain as if seriously evaluating where to strike to cause him the most pain before killing him.
«Did Midorima punch you?» Aomine asked as Kise approached him and Kuroko, his tone as casual as if he were merely asking about the weather.
«Yes!» Kise lied, beginning to whine about how mean Shintarou had been to him, knowing full well that pretending he had been punched would be far less embarrassing than admitting the truth about what had happened.
All eyes turned to Midorima, too busy clutching his lucky item to bother getting truly angry at the accusation.
«The idiot tripped while running and hit his face on my ladle,» he explained curtly. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.
Seijuurou momentarily set aside his murderous plans and approached Murasakibara.
«Caramelized pork in honey and soy sauce against… something unclassifiable. You know, Murasakibara, perhaps you should be the vice-captain.»
«Make me vice-captain, and I’ll crush you,» Murasakibara clarified, ending that brief exchange as he brought his dish to Satsuki.
Momoi tasted both dishes, looking on the verge of choking when she reached the spinach and boiled eggs, plunging Aomine into utter despair and making Akashi smile with satisfaction.
«Well?» the latter asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
«Well...» the girl began hesitantly. «Obviously, the team led by cold-hearted Dai-chan won!»
«WHAT?!»
«Momocchi, you can’t...!»
«Momo-chin, I’ll destr—» Murasakibara didn’t finish his sentence as Aomine shoved a loaf of bread into his mouth, silencing him.
«Some people just don’t know how to lose, huh?»
«Lose? Oh no, Aomine. You’ll spend the training camp cooking, and we won’t. Who really lost? I’ll admit, it was my plan all along.»
«Sure, Akashi, sure...»
«Did you say something?»
Aomine wanted to tell him how pathetic it was to claim he had lost on purpose when moments ago he was desperate to win, but he noticed the captain holding the knife Murasakibara had used to cut the meat. For once, he decided that staying silent might be the wisest choice.
“Pointless... Akashi always wins anyway.”