Chapter 1

Fresh eggs taken from the chicken coop in the morning.

I cracked them against the edge of the metal bowl with a thud, and the yolks and whites plopped into the bowl.

The translucent whites and plump, bright orange yolks danced at the bottom of the bowl. The yolks, which jiggled, and the clear whites, illuminated by the fluorescent light, seemed to be proudly declaring their freshness, making me feel happy.

As I continued to crack eggs with a thud, thud, thud, I noticed that his mouth was half-open as he watched my hands intently, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

--Is this the first time he’s seen someone crack eggs?

Realizing that I had noticed, he seemed to realize what his face looked like and blushed slightly, hurriedly trying to compose himself.

“Do you want to try cracking an egg?”

“N-no, I think it would be a bother…”

Although he declined my offer, I could see a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. He really wanted to do it, didn’t he? His fingers had been fidgeting and couldn’t settle down.

“Do nobles not cook?”

“No, we usually have a dedicated chef in the mansion.”

“I see. So this is your first time, then.”

I smiled and forcefully pushed the bowl of eggs and the whisk into his hands.

“Huh? Huh?” He looked back and forth between the bowl in his hands and me, and I patted his shoulder and made a mixing gesture with my hand, smiling -- I’m sure I looked a bit mischievous at that moment.

“Fresh eggs from this morning, so they won’t mix easily. Mix them carefully! The quality of the final product depends on you.”

His face turned pale, and after staring at the bowl for a moment, he started mixing furiously.

The kitchen became noisy with the sound of the whisk hitting the bowl and the clinking of his metal armor.

I took milk from the refrigerator and measured it with a kitchen scale. I also prepared vanilla beans on a small plate.

I briefly considered adding whipped cream but decided against it. I wanted to keep today’s dish as simple as possible.

I took sugar from the hanging cabinet and divided it into portions for caramel and the main mixture. I carefully measured and separated it using the kitchen scale.

Seeing that the eggs were well mixed, I started adding sugar gradually.

The white granulated sugar was absorbed into the golden eggs. I asked him to hold the bowl at an angle while I mixed it with the whisk.

Meanwhile, I put milk and vanilla beans in a small pot and turned on the gas stove. I heated it on very low heat, making sure not to overheat it. I checked the temperature to ensure it didn’t exceed 60 degrees. If it got too hot, the eggs would curdle when mixed.

Only then did I realize I should have made the caramel first. What a mistake.

Without the caramel sauce, I couldn’t pour the mixture into the molds!

I was very anxious inside, but I didn’t want him to notice, so I acted as if nothing was wrong and prepared a new pot.

I placed it on the adjacent burner and added sugar and a little water. I heated it on a slightly higher setting until it turned a nice color.

“Wow, it smells so sweet and good.”

His cheeks were relaxed, and his honey-colored eyes were delighted as they watched the small pot of caramel sauce.

--Such a beautiful color.

From a Japanese perspective, used to dark eyes and hair, his eyes looked like precious gems, and I was momentarily captivated.

Ah, what a handsome man. How wonderful to be cooking with someone like this.

This sense of getting a good deal, how do I describe it? ...Like having unlimited access to an idol. A feast for the eyes.

I made a mental fist pump and resumed cooking, careful not to burn the caramel while being captivated.

I removed the sugar from the heat when it turned a caramel-like color and placed it on a damp cloth, then carefully added water.

The water sizzled in the pot. I stirred it with a spoon, and the caramel sauce was ready.

I poured it evenly into the prepared custard cups.

Once done, the preparation was complete.

Phew, that was close. A custard without caramel isn’t a custard.

Well, I’m not a professional pastry chef. It’s understandable to make mistakes.

...It’s common to mess up the order.

Now, it was finally time to complete the egg mixture.

I gradually added the warmed milk to the eggs he had been mixing. The mixture turned a beautiful cream color as the milk was added to the yellow eggs.

After confirming that the sugar was fully mixed, I prepared a strainer and a new bowl.

I asked him to pour the egg mixture into the strainer.

He swallowed hard and poured the mixture into the strainer very carefully, then let out a long breath when he was done.

--Did he hold his breath? ...I wouldn’t be mad if a little spilled, you know?

I tried hard not to laugh, keeping my twitching mouth hidden from him.

It reminded me of a boy from my elementary school cooking class.

He had taken his unfamiliar task very seriously. Incidentally, he was my first love. Yes, it was nostalgic.

...My thoughts had wandered.

After straining the egg mixture once, I had him do it two or three more times.

This was necessary to create a smooth batter.

I poured the smooth egg mixture into the custard cups and arranged them in the steamer. I placed the steamer on a pot of boiling water and covered it.

--There, done!

Despite the odd sense of accomplishment, I turned around and saw him smiling contentedly.

“This will take about 15 minutes.”

“Is that it?”

“--Yes. Once it’s steamed, it’s best to chill it in the refrigerator, but it should be ready for tea time today.”

I set the timer and washed the used bowls, whisk, and pot.

Once everything was cleaned, the timer went off.

I carefully opened the steamer, being cautious of the steam. I gently shook the steamer to confirm that the custards were properly set -- the golden, fresh-egg custards were complete.

I put on oven mitts to take out the hot custards.

--Good. No “s” in the name. It seems to have turned out well.

Every time I held a custard, ripples formed on its surface. I like both firm and wobbly custards, but I especially like this level of wobbliness. It should melt smoothly on the tongue.

I sighed involuntarily.

I hadn’t realized I was so tense.

A pleasant sense of fatigue spread through my body.

Looking at the clock -- it was 10:30.

It wouldn’t be too late to start preparing lunch after having tea.

I put the kettle on the stove and turned on the heat.

I took tea leaves from the cabinet and prepared a teapot. I set out two teacups.

He was sitting in a chair, relaxing.

I decided to sit and wait for the water to boil, looking around the familiar, narrow kitchen.

The old, dented stainless steel sink that smelled of the Showa era. The old, creaky sliding door connecting the living room and kitchen. The flickering fluorescent light that needed replacing.

The silver-armored, black-haired, golden-eyed knight in the old, worn-out dining room, watching the wobbly custards with a smile. Outside the window, many soldiers with large spears were patrolling regularly, their brave calls echoing.

The familiar, various trees around the house -- cherry, plum, and persimmon -- and the dilapidated doghouse. Beyond them, the tall, sturdy white wall, and the grand castle visible beyond it.

All of this had become a familiar sight.

...No comments are accepted.

I wouldn’t know how to respond if someone commented.

This is not Japan.

I repeat, not Japan.

Is it a foreign country? No, it’s a different world.

According to my sister, I’ve experienced the popular “other world trip.”

This old Japanese house, my sister, me, and our dog.

We were transported to this different world, house and all -- and for some reason, we’re making custards.