Chapter Text
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Mizusaki Mai slung the last spatula into the dishwasher and kicked it shut. “Suzuki-san! We’re good to go!” She punched the buttons to start the wash cycle before peeling off her grease-stained apron and balling it up. The apron flew across the kitchen to land in the laundry hamper. Mai gave the kitchen one last look before heading to the tiny office tucked between the washroom and the cleaning closet.
“Suzuki-san?” Mai stuck her head around the doorway. Suzuki Kaito, the owner of the Bamboo Sparrow Bakery and Eatery, was giving his computer screen a thousand yard stare. He didn’t look up until Mai rapped her fingernails on the door frame.
“Oh, Mai-kun. Sorry, I was off in space.” Suzuki smiled absently at her. “Kitchen all cleaned up?”
“Yep. Dishwasher’s running.” Mai worked her hairnet off and stuffed it in her pocket. “Everything should be ready for Shinji-kun at lunch time. Do you need anything else, or can I head out?” She touched her braided bun to ensure it was still stable. Suzuki muttered to himself for a moment, clearly running down a mental checklist.
“No, I think you’re good.” He waved at her, already returning his attention to the computer. “See you tomorrow.”
“Later!” Mai returned the wave jauntily to her oblivious boss before heading through the dining room and out the front door. She gave the door a quick tug to confirm it was locked before heading down the street. Her car was parked in a small lot a few blocks away. She was lucky to start her day so early; parking in Tokyo was always at a premium, but few people were willing to arrive at four o’clock in the morning to secure a spot. The early baker gets the parking spot! She giggled to herself.
She checked her watch and smiled. She still had an extra half hour before she was due at her second job at the Ainu Culture Promotion Centre of Tokyo. It was a beautiful sunny day, and she pulled the pins out of her hair as she slowed her walk, letting the breeze blow the amber curls back over her shoulders. Mai pulled out her phone and snapped a selfie, grinning into the camera and flashing the classic V-sign. With a few quick taps, it was sent to the group chat she kept with her two best friends, Sasuke and Yukimura.
Message from: Princess Mai <3
10:30 AM
Gorgeous day today!
She had answers from both men by the time she reached her car, a battered station wagon that had seen better days.
Message from: NinjaStar
10:43 AM
Looks like you’re having fun. Are we still on for tonight?
Message from: GrumpyWolf
10:45 AM
We’d better be, I’m not wasting my night off sitting at home waiting for Shingen to send me photos of the women in the dining room when he should be running the kitchen.
Mai grinned down at the phone, pausing to dash off an answer before fumbling for her keys.
Message from: Princess Mai <3
10:48 AM
You bet your butts we are. The new season of Cake Wrecks just hit Netflix, and the beer is already in my fridge.
She slid the phone back into her pocket and got into the car, still smiling. The day was looking pretty good.
“ . . . And so, at an Ainu wedding, the betrothal ceremony of sharing a bowl of rice is repeated. Each party eats half, to symbolise the sharing of food and resources that goes on in a marriage.” Mai smiled at the small group of tourists and finished with a slight bow. “Does anyone have any questions?”
“Yes, miss!” A caucasian women waved her hand and spoke in faltering Japanese. “Is it true that Ainu people look like us -- er, white people?”
Mai resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and kept her smile professionally smooth. “To a degree. The Ainu people do not look Japanese, having rounder eyes, and a wider variety of hair colours. But as you can see here,” she gestured at the screen behind her, which showed an Ainu woman undergoing lip tattooing, “Most people would recognise the Ainu as a distinctively Asian ethnicity.” Her smile twitched slightly as she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. “Any other questions?”
Thankfully, no one else appeared to have any, and Mai herded the tour group out the door. They were the last of the day. She locked the door to the Culture Promotion Centre and pulled the blinds closed before slumping against the door in relief.
Straightening, she pulled her phone from her pocket to check the incoming message. I wonder if Yuki’s trying to convince Sasuke to put banana peppers on the pizza again.
The new message wasn’t from the group chat, however.
Message from: Oda Nobunaga
4:47 PM
Call me when you finish work. I have a proposition for you.
Mai eyed the message nervously. She was always somewhat intimidated by Oda’s interest in her. He insisted he was still searching for a way to repay her for saving his life a few years back. Mai kept trying to tell him anyone would have called that ambulance for him, but every time she did, Oda just laughed that arrogant laugh of his and called her his ‘lucky charm’. She sighed, knowing if she didn’t respond he’d just keep at her, and hit the call button.
“Hello, Fireball,” the deep voice greeted her.
“Hello, Oda-san. How are you?” Catching the phone between ear and shoulder, Mai moved to the welcome desk and started tidying the stacks of pamphlets.
“All the better for hearing your voice,” he replied smoothly. “I’m glad you managed to call me so quickly.”
“Well, the last tour group just got out the door, so --”
“Ah, still spreading the message of the Ainu?” Oda chuckled, but Mai thought she heard a rumble of satisfaction under the amusement.
“Of course I am,” she bristled back at him, squaring a stack of donation cards with slightly more force than necessary. “Did you need something, Oda-san?”
“I’m glad you’re still immersed in that aspect of your heritage, Fireball. It’s related to my proposition.”
Mai paused before grabbing the phone again and unkinking her neck. “You don’t say.”
Oda chuckled again, sounding smug. “There’s a new television series under production, a cooking show, and they’re looking for contestants.”
“And . . . ?”
“And I want you to send in an audition tape, of course.” His tone indicated nothing could be more obvious.
Mai shook her head, not really believing her ears. “But, Oda-san -- You know I’m not a chef, right? I mean, I’m just a line cook and baker. I don’t belong on one of those shows.”
The exasperated sigh from the other end of the call made her clench her teeth. “Mai, I know very well that you are overqualified for that ‘eatery’, and the only reason you’re there is because it gives you free afternoons for the cultural centre.” Well, he’s not totally wrong there. She’d been on the elite chef career path when she’d met him. He continued before she could answer. “I also know that you regularly give demonstrations of Ainu cookery for the tourists. You’re already used to cooking for an audience.”
Mai worried at her lower lip for a moment. “But . . . I don’t have the time or equipment to record a proper cooking audition.”
“Don’t worry about that, Fireball. I happen to know the producers are more interested in finding contestants with a passionate philosophy of cookery than checking technical skills. Television is all about personality these days.”
“You mean --?” A footstep behind her caught her attention. The cultural centre’s activities coordinator had entered the atrium. Mai flashed the woman a smile and pointed to the phone at her ear before focusing back on Oda. “You mean, you want me to talk about the stuff I do here?”
“Yes! I’ve heard you when you get all fired up about,” his voice bounced higher in a bad imitation of Mai’s, “‘the importance of preserving traditional Ainu skills and integrating them into the mainstream culture.’” He cleared his throat, resuming his normal register. “So send me a video of you at your fieriest. ”
Mai considered his demand, trying to ignore the rising interest from her colleague. “Well, I could give it a shot, I guess --”
“Excellent. See that you get it to me by the end of the week.” Apparently Oda considered the conversation over, because the call disconnected without so much as a farewell.
Mai stared at her phone for a moment before turning to the activities coordinator, who was completely failing to keep her curiosity hidden.
“What was that about?” the older woman asked.
Mai shrugged in reply. “An . . . acquaintance of mine says he’s found an opportunity for me on a cooking show. He wants me to make an audition tape.”
“It sounds like you were talking about the cooking you do here?”
“Yeah, apparently that gives me a hook or something.”
The coordinator clapped her hands in glee. “You know, we have some recordings of the demonstrations you did last year for the summer festival! I could make copies for you to send in with your tape!”
“Really?” Despite herself, Mai was warming up to the whole idea. “You’d let me use that?”
“Of course! If you made it onto a show with Ainu cookery, it would be great publicity for the cultural centre!”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” Mai smiled. “All right, let’s do that then.”
“Wonderful! Just give me a few minutes in the office, I’ll put them on a thumb drive for you!” The coordinator bustled away, leaving Mai in silence.
She pulled up her group chat with Sasuke and Yukimura.
Message from: Princess Mai <3
5:12 PM
Change of plans tonight, guys . . . I need your help with something.
At seven-thirty that evening, Sasuke and Yukimura invaded Mai’s tiny studio apartment. Sasuke was laden with A/V equipment and a garment bag. Yukimura was carrying two pizzas. Mai laughed when she answered the door.
“What’s all this, guys?” She ushered them inside and helped Sasuke free himself from his baggage. He pushed his glasses up his nose and gave her the faint eye-crinkle that was his version of a broad grin.
“You said you wanted help with an audition, so I let Yuki get the ‘zas, while I called in a favour from a friend at the university to borrow some decent recording equipment.”
“And the garment bag?”
“We didn’t know if you still had your whites,” supplied Yuki, pushing past them to put the pizza boxes on the table. “So we brought a set of Sasuke’s, straight from the cleaners. Figured he’d be a closer fit than mine.”
Mai slung one arm around Sasuke’s neck and flapped her other hand at Yuki until he reluctantly let himself be dragged in for a hug. “Thanks, you guys are the best.” She released them, giggling as Yuki made a great show of fixing his hair and shirt.
“Manhandler,” he shot at her, returning to the pizza.
Mai suddenly remembered something. “Wait, you let Yukimura pick up the pizzas?” She eyed the boxes with a horror that was only partially feigned. Sasuke sighed.
“He promised he’d limit the inedible toppings to half a pie.”
“Thank god.” Mai grabbed three beers from the fridge and passed them out before getting into her usual spot in between them on the futon.
Yukimura scowled at both of them as he popped the cap on his bottle. “Wusses. And you call yourselves chefs.”
“I don’t care how adventurous you are, black olives and pineapple do not belong on the same slice of pizza as anchovies and banana pepper,” Mai argued.
Sasuke, accustomed to this bickering, simply ignored them in favour of grabbing a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. Half a beer and two slices later, Mai and Yuki had exhausted the conversational possibilities of pizza toppings, and Sasuke took advantage of the lull.
“So what show is this for?”
Mai shook her head. “I don’t know. All Oda-san told me is that it’s new, and they’re more interested in ‘personality’ than credentials.”
“Oda-san? The Devil King?” Yukimura goggled at her. Mai blinked.
“The what ?”
“That’s what Shingen and Uesugi-san call him. The Devil King of the Sixth Heaven. Even though Toyotomi-san’s running the kitchen these days.”
“Wow.” Mai rolled her eyes. “Because that’s not over-dramatic or anything.”
Sasuke nodded confirmation. “It’s true. They really dislike him for some reason, although I’m not sure Shingen-san’s that serious about it anymore. I know he really got into it with Oda-san back in the day.” He didn’t mention Uesugi Kenshin’s reaction lessening in intensity, for good reason. Mai knew the so-called Dragon-Lady of Echigo didn’t have any settings other than intense, and that knob was permanently cranked to eleven. She’d never met the woman in person, but Yukimura had told stories about Shingen’s business partner. Sasuke, oddly enough, tended to remain silent on the subject of his boss.
“So, what’s your angle for personality?” Sasuke dragged the conversation back on track.
Mai took a sip of her beer as an excuse to organise her thoughts.
“Oda-san suggested I really work the Ainu angle.” Sasuke nodded at her to continue. “I was thinking I could talk about the tradition of respect for the ingredients and sustainability.” She gestured to the pizza, warming to her subject. “More and more we’re eating this prepackaged junk using imported ingredients from halfway around the world, and ignoring the variety offered by our minority cultures right here in Japan.” She leapt to her feet and paced around the small table.
“Ainu cookery is more sustainable, both in terms of raw ingredients -- we were the original nose-to-tail eaters! -- and of food waste after the fact. Do you have any idea how much seafood gets wasted at the end of the day from sushi restaurants?” She stabbed a finger at Sasuke and Yuki to emphasise her words. “Our cuisine is designed to sustain hunters on the move with no refrigeration, and still tastes delicious, as long as your taste buds haven’t curdled after years of dousing everything in soy sauce .” She spat the last words.
“Tell us how you really feel, Mai,” deadpanned Sasuke. He glanced sideways at Yuki. “Get the camera set up. Mai, go put on my whites. You need to say all that again to the camera.”
“What are you going to do?” Yuki didn’t wait for the answer as he headed for the pile of padded bags.
“I’m going to set up a decent backdrop here and fix the lighting.” He glanced at Mai, who was gaping at him. “Chop, chop, Princess! We’re going to make you a cooking star.”
She shut her mouth with a snap, then grabbed the garment bag as Yuki tossed it. “Yes sir, Sarutobi-san!”
Monday, October 7, 2019
The following Monday, Mai stood in front of the Peninsula Hotel, wringing her hands together. Oda’s text message had been very terse, giving her only a time and place; when she’d called him back to request more details, his man Akechi had answered instead. The man made her uncomfortable. Mai was never able to shake the feeling that he was laughing at her.
Not that he’s particularly subtle about it , she thought, checking her watch. The Sixth Heaven, as part of the hotel, didn’t close on Mondays like so many restaurants. At this point, dinner service would be underway. Maybe Akechi would actually be behind the bar instead of lurking in Nobunaga’s office to mock her.
It was only a few minutes before she was knocking on Oda’s office door. It swung silently open, but Mai was greeted by ebony and carnelian instead of ivory and gold. Nobunaga grinned broadly to see her.
“Welcome back, Fireball!” He gathered her into his arms for a hug with no chance of refusal. She pushed against his chest with no success before giving up and letting herself be embraced.
When Nobunaga finally released her, Mai spent a minute readjusting her hair and clothes before meeting his gaze. “Must you do that every time I come here?”
If anything, Nobunaga’s grin got wider. “You won’t let me give you a job, you won’t let me pay for schooling, you won’t let me throw money at that afternoon hobby of yours . . . A man has to show his appreciation for his lucky charm somehow, Mai.”
Mai rolled her eyes. “Oda-san --”
“Nobunaga,” he interrupted firmly.
“ Nobunaga -san. It’s been two years. Knowing that you’re still alive to aggravate and embarrass me in public is all the appreciation I need.” She could feel herself smiling even as she tried to maintain an acerbic tone. “So, why am I here?”
“Ah, yes!” Nobunaga dragged her through the foyer into his inner sanctum. “Sit.” He shoved her gently towards the visitors’ chairs and disappeared outside again, returning with a silver tray. It held two shallow drinking bowls and a flask of sake. He kicked the door closed behind him and set the tray down on the desk before taking his seat. Mai twitched impatiently while he poured, then took the saucer offered to her and obediently clinked it against Nobunaga’s when he gestured for a toast. “Congratulations!” he boomed.
“For what, exactly?” Mai took the obligatory sip and put down the sake.
“For what, she asks.” Nobunaga gave her an exasperated look. “You’ve been accepted. Your audition tape greatly impressed the producers.”
“The producers --? OH!” Mai hastily grabbed her sake and knocked it back to disguise her embarrassment.
“We’ve got one other contestant, a fellow named Mouri. He’s a cocky ass, but that kind of personality makes good television.”
Mai eyed Nobunaga. “Maybe this is a good time to actually tell me how this show is supposed to work, before you have me shackled to the cocky ass.” And really, it takes one to know one, Nobunaga!
He chuckled, but put down his bowl. “Fair enough. Now, you’re young, so you might not be familiar with Iron Chef?” He glanced at her for confirmation before continuing. “Originally, the Iron Chef competition pitted one of a stable of champions against challengers. Once a week, a new chef would enter and select his opponent.”
“Yes, I do remember how it worked, Nobunaga-san.”
“Well, now that would be boring. Challengers choosing their opponents, then disappearing at the end of the episode never to be seen again? Pah. There’s no saga there.” Nobunaga rose to his feet and stood to stare out the window. “The producers are aware that the modern audience craves drama, continuity, a character arc.”
Mai crossed her arms and stared at him, waiting. He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked.
“That’s where you and Mouri come in, Fireball. You’ll be returning week after week, facing off against every Iron Chef in turn, and each other. You’ll maintain a running tally, with the winner chosen at the end.”
“And what do we win, at the end?”
“The accolades of a grateful culinary world?” Nobunaga swung around to collect his sake for another sip. “The producers are offering seed money for a restaurant startup.” His ruby gaze bore into her momentarily. “No strings attached.”
“Hmm.” Mai hid her face behind the empty sake bowl to hide her excitement. “And who are we going up against?”
Nobunaga grinned again. “Oh, only the greatest and best available.”
“That’s -- vague. Do the greatest and best have names, or have you not suckered them into this yet?”
“You wound me.” He set down his bowl and opened a desk drawer. “Four Iron Chefs.” He scattered a handful of photographs in front of her. Four people stared back. She recognised Toyotomi Hideyoshi immediately, his sandy hair and light brown eyes warm even in the flat glossy photo. The other three were strangers to her; a woman with icy-blonde asymmetrical bangs and heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one green, whose mouth was set in an uncompromising line; a man in his sixties with a relaxed grin and auburn hair streaked with grey; a man of Mai’s own age with an eyepatch and one sapphire blue eye. Her gaze lingered on the last one before meeting Nobunaga’s again.
“I recognise Hideyoshi-san, of course, but who are the other three?”
“Uesugi Kenshin, and Takeda Shingen.” He tapped the blonde woman and the red-headed man. “Kenshin is the Chef of Echigo, specialising in French haute cuisine . Shingen used to run Kai. He was known as the greatest Korean barbeque chef in Japan.”
Mai blinked slowly, feeling her mouth start to dry up. “And this one?” She tapped the photo of the man with the eyepatch. Nobunaga’s lips curled in a smirk.
“Date Masamune. Owner and Chef of Oshu. Traditional Japanese cuisine. Calls himself the One-Eyed Dragon.” He glanced up at Mai. “You’ve probably heard me mention him before.”
Once or twice. A conversation. Nobunaga had told her a lot of stories about Date Masamune, starting with his apprenticeship in the Sixth Heaven, his creative cooking, his inventiveness, and his tendency to drive Hideyoshi to despair with pranks. She knew Nobunaga considered him a protege in ways Hideyoshi could only ever hope to achieve.
Nobunaga had never mentioned how attractive he was. Mai swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in her throat. “How is Tokyo this small?” she croaked.
“What do you mean?”
“Your right-hand man,” she pointed to Hideyoshi’s picture, “Your successor,” Masamune. “And the bosses of my two best friends, who I happen to know are each completely terrifying?” She swallowed again. “They call Uesugi-san the Goddess of Cookery! The Dragon-Lady of Echigo!” By they, she meant Yukimura. Sasuke only ever spoke of his Chef with the profoundest respect. Which was odd, considering he was just as likely to rib on Shingen as Yukimura was. “And I hear Takeda-san doesn’t actually cook, he just flirts the food into submission!”
Nobunaga gave her a startled look, then burst into laughter. “Is my Fireball afraid?”
“Are you crazy? I hear Uesugi-san throws knives at people who waste food in her kitchen. I’m not setting foot on a stage with her.”
“Kenshin has her quirks, it’s true, but she’s quite capable of being professional.” Only Nobunaga would consider casual murder attempts a quirk. “And her expertise is equalled by none in her chosen cuisine. Besides,” Nobunaga chuckled, “Shingen has gotten pretty good at reining her in when it matters.” He sat down in his executive chair, the huge black leather back giving him the appearance of a demon on his throne. “So, what about it, Mai?” His gaze was direct and unavoidable. “Don’t you think you’re up to the challenge?”
Mai bristled at him. “I am not afraid.” She pushed out of her seat and paced around the office. “I’ve heard too many tales of what these people are capable of to be comfortable with this! I’ve been listening to you babble about Masamune-san for two years straight!” She whirled to point at him as a few pieces fell into place. “There are no ‘producers’, are there? It’s just you.”
Nobunaga blinked slowly, then leaned back in his chair with a smile. “I knew you were too clever to fool for long.”
“This is a pretty elaborate plan to get me to accept the reward I’ve been turning down for two years.” She narrowed her eyes, then grabbed her purse and started to stomp towards the door.
“Now, now, Mai. This is a real show, a real plan, and there’s no guarantee you’ll win.”
Mai paused, hand on the doorknob. Nobunaga continued, seeing that he still had a chance to win her over.
“ Yes , I asked you to compete because I will never be finished repaying you. But I respect your refusal to accept handouts. This is a legitimate competition. Mouri will give it his all, and I’ve heard he fights dirty.” Nobunaga rose to his feet and came up behind her. “If you win this, it will be entirely on your own merits. Your own passion and skill.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “I wouldn’t recommend this to you if I didn’t think you could win, but I assure you I am pulling no strings to make that happen.”
Mai craned her neck to give him a sidelong glance. “And if I do win, the seed money isn’t a loan?”
He shook his head. “Yours, free and clear, to manage as you see fit. No repayment, no oversight. You can turn around and pour it all into that tiny bakery you’re withering in right now if you like, though it would break my heart to see you do so.”
Mai lowered her head, staring at her hand on the doorknob. He’s right about the bakery, that’s never been a challenge or a good fit for me. But I’d never qualify for a business loan on my own. A prize though, with no interest or need for repayment? That could finally make it possible to bring her cooking and culture to the masses.
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob, then went slack and her hand fell to her side.
“Fine. Fine! You win. I’ll do it.” She felt him squeeze her shoulders briefly before letting her go.
“Excellent! And with my lucky charm competing, the show is sure to be a success.” Nobunaga returned to his desk and poured more sake for both of them. “I’ll drink to that.” He drained the bowl and held hers out. “Drink up, then we’ll go down the hall and say hello to Hideyoshi and Mitsunari. They’d be crushed if you visited without stopping by.”
Mai sighed, shaking her head, then took the bowl and drank. “You’re a menace, you know that? A lawsuit waiting to happen.” She set the bowl down on the desk, taking a petty satisfaction in avoiding the tray. Maybe it’ll leave a ring. “Let’s go visit the poor bastards who answer to the Devil-King.”
Mai flopped onto her futon and looked around her tiny apartment. Her mind raced with lists of preparations to make for the show, but she was so tired and keyed up it wouldn’t settle on anything to make sensible plans for. She stared at the blank ceiling for a few minutes, then let her eyes flutter shut.
Her cellphone rang. She dug it out of the pocket of her skirt and answered the call.
“Mai-hime!” Her father’s voice was warm and cheerful.
“Hi Daddy.”
“How has your week been?”
Mai hesitated. “Oh, you know, the usual. The bakery is busy, the cultural centre is busy.” She considered telling him about the show, but chickened out. “How’s Mom?” She pushed herself upright.
“She’s good, she’s right here waiting to say hello.”
“Okay, put her on.”
“Maaaaaai!” Itsuko’s voice was shrill. Mai winced a little.
“Hi Mom. How are you?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. What about you? Did you see any friends this week?”
“Just the usual evening with Sasuke and Yukimura.” Mai grinned, knowing what was coming.
“Tch, when are you going to pick one of those boys to settle down with?
“ Mom .” The exasperation was rote by now.
“Well, you’re thirty now, Mai, you’re not getting any younger.” Itsuko was a strong supporter of the ‘Christmas Cake’ theory.
“Believe me, even if I was looking for someone to date, it wouldn’t be Sasuke or Yukimura.” Perish the thought.
“But you spend so much time with them!”
“We’re just friends! Besides, Yukimura is an unromantic grouch.” And I could never be happy with someone who dresses a pizza like that !
“But that Sasuke-kun is so clever, and polite! I’m sure he’d take good care of you.”
Mai rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Sasuke is in love with his boss, Mom.” She hadn’t been, until that moment in Nobunaga’s office, realising Sasuke never spoke ill of the woman who ran his life, but the more she considered the idea, the more positive she became.
“Oh, that’s no good. Oh! Here’s your father again.”
“Ignore her, Mai-hime. You keep working on what you love. I’m proud of you for staying at the cultural centre.” Oh, right in centre mass. There was really no way of continuing to avoid sharing her news.
“Oh, yeah . . . about that.” Mai hesitated long enough that her father prompted her.
“What?”
“Well, it’s not certain of course, but an opportunity has come up.” Come on, Mai, could you be any more evasive?
“What kind of opportunity?” Otohiko patiently pried for more information.
Mai took a deep breath. “Well, it’s a cooking show. A competition. And the producer wants me to showcase our cultural cuisine.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, he’s been very supportive of me over the last few years. He’s another successful chef.”
“ Is he single --? ”
“Quiet, woman!”
“Oh god, Mom,” Mai hid her eyes with one hand, despite there being no one in the room to see her embarrassment. “I could never date Oda-san. He’s way too old for me!”
“ Men only improve with age! ” Itsuko’s voice dopplered into the background of the call.
“I’m going to the other room now! All right, sorry, tell me more about this competition.”
Mai explained to her father how Oda was planning to restart Iron Chef, celebrity chefs and all. He laughed to hear of how her audition tape had been scripted by Sasuke deliberately goading her into a rant.
“Well, that’s promising. And what’s the prize?”
“Seed money to launch a restaurant. Free and clear. No loan.”
“Oh my.”
“So, if I win, I could leave the bakery and start a restaurant with our food. But it would mean leaving the cultural centre, at least for a while. I wouldn’t be able to do both.” She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for Otohiko’s disappointment.
“Mai-hime, of course you would leave the cultural centre for that!” Her father sounded baffled. Mai’s eyes flew open again.
“You wouldn’t be mad?”
“How could I be mad? I tried hard to share our heritage with you and it brings joy to my heart that you want to share it with others, but I never wanted you to ignore your own dreams to do that.”
“Oh . . . daddy . . . “
“Besides, the best way to keep our way of life alive is to live it. The cultural centre is important and does good work, but it’s a museum. You going out and cooking every day, feeding people in real life, is far more important.” His voice was firm.
“Oh!” The room got a little hazy as she felt herself tearing up.
“No matter what you do, I’m proud of you, Mai. Just keep working hard at what’s important to you.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Oops, I have to go, your mother’s coming back. I love you, Mai. And remember: you’re too good for Yukimura-kun or Sasuke-kun!”
“I love you too. And I’ll be sure to tell them that if either of them ever lose their sanity enough to make a move.” Laughing, Mai hung up the call and flopped back on the futon again. This time, she felt calm and light, all her whirling anxiety gently brought back down to earth by her father’s reassurance.
This time, lists and plans lined up in her mind in orderly ranks. Mai rolled over and rummaged in her purse for a notepad and pen.