All the Heroines are my Ex-girlfriends

Chapter 6: Mastering Cooking, Yet Kasumigaoka Utaha Feels Sad

Her eyes lingered on the large package.

Kasumigaoka Utaha felt a surge of curiosity: "What did he buy?"

But almost immediately, she dismissed the thought.

"What he buys has nothing to do with me."

With that in mind, Kasumigaoka Utaha quickened her pace to get her water.

Meanwhile, Yukima Azuma wasn't in a hurry. He slowly set the package aside.

He had no intention of opening it right away.

Instead, he pulled out a pair of white slippers from the shopping bag and placed them neatly on the shoe rack by the door.

Kasumigaoka Utaha noticed this scene.

Her fingers tightened around her insulated tumbler.

"Why is he doing these things now? What's the point?"

After filling her tumbler, Kasumigaoka Utaha turned quickly toward the stairs.

At that moment, Yukima Azuma unexpectedly called out to her.

"Kasumigaoka-senpai."

"What is it?"

Kasumigaoka Utaha turned back to look at Yukima Azuma, her elegant eyebrows deliberately furrowed.

Her expression clearly said, "Don't talk to me."

Yukima Azuma didn't seem to mind.

Or rather, he understood her well enough not to let such small gestures affect him.

That was simply who she was.

Like a hedgehog, she would prick those who approached her before deciding whether to interact.

"Would you like to have lunch, Kasumigaoka-senpai? I can make some for you—free of charge."

Yukima Azuma's tone was casual.

Kasumigaoka Utaha stared at him for a moment, her gaze icy.

Then she turned away and continued up the stairs.

"Not interested," came her cold voice from above.

.....

Back in her room, Kasumigaoka Utaha sat by the bed, her eyebrows now furrowed in earnest.

"Since when did he learn to cook? He didn't know a thing before—he used to rely on me to make egg-fried rice just to get by."

Memories of the past began to resurface.

Yukima Azuma, living alone in Tokyo, surviving on nutrient-poor convenience store meals or simply ordering takeout.

After they started dating, Kasumigaoka Utaha would occasionally visit his rented apartment to cook him simple dishes.

About three times a week.

Although Kasumigaoka Utaha wasn't a culinary expert or the epitome of a "perfect Japanese woman," she had consistently scored well in cooking classes and was proficient in preparing basic dishes.

Whenever Yukima Azuma ate her egg-fried rice, curry, or grilled mackerel, he would often lift his head, staring intently at Kasumigaoka Utaha without blinking, his mouth full of food.

His eyes, as if speaking on their own, radiated admiration and silent praise.

Now, thinking about that same boy, who had just casually asked if she wanted him to "whip up" a portion for her, Kasumigaoka Utaha couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation.

After all, what she heard was simply a casual offer.

Perhaps it was her "ex-boyfriend lens" distorting things.

.....

The morning passed quickly.

Kasumigaoka Utaha had just finished tidying her room and arranging her belongings in the corners.

Even though Yukima Azuma had clearly done a thorough cleaning beforehand, some dust inevitably kicked up after her efforts.

She opened her window and door, planning to let the dust settle before cleaning again.

But as soon as she opened her door, she heard noises from downstairs—the rhythmic thud-thud of a knife on a cutting board and the sizzle-sizzle of a pan on the stove.

From the sound alone, she could sense how skilled the cook had become.

And then, almost immediately, the rich aroma of food wafted into her room, carried by the air.

Japanese cuisine typically focuses on stews or raw dishes.

The smell of stir-fried food, however, offered a tantalizing richness, its enticing aroma a stark contrast to the subtler scents of traditional Japanese fare.

"Grrrr…"

Her stomach growled audibly, betraying her hunger.

It couldn't be helped—she had been busy all morning.

Hearing the activity downstairs and smelling the aroma floating upward only soured her mood further.

Because cooking was a skill Yukima Azuma had picked up after they parted ways.

And this fact gnawed at Kasumigaoka Utaha, stirring a storm of thoughts.

She wondered for whom he was cooking now, for whom he had learned to cook.

Did he ever cut his fingers while learning, needing to wrap them in bandages?

Did he ever place a carefully prepared dish in front of someone else, while nervously hiding his bandaged hands behind his back?

"Bang!"

The door slammed shut.

Kasumigaoka Utaha angrily opened her suitcase and took out a pineapple pastry she had prepared earlier.

It was one of her favorite snacks.

She had specifically brought it for lunch on her moving day.

But now, as she bit into it, she found it utterly tasteless.

.....

Yukima Azuma set the food on the table, having prepared a single portion.

He knew Kasumigaoka Utaha all too well.

In a situation like this, no matter how hungry she might be, her pride would never allow her to come downstairs to eat with him.

Making two portions would have been a waste.

After finishing his meal, Yukima Azuma returned to his room. He took out a seven-inch board—it was a shogi board.

With a club meeting scheduled for Saturday, he decided to hone his skills with some shogi puzzle books.

The afternoon passed quickly.

As usual, Yukima Azuma cooked dinner for himself.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Kasumigaoka Utaha typed furiously away at her manuscript. Occasionally, she glanced at the clock.

Noticing it was well past dinnertime, she began tapping her foot impatiently.

"Not even a word about dinner."

Even though she would have refused the offer had he asked, the fact that he didn't even ask irked her for no reason.

"Guess I'll have to order takeout," she muttered to herself and resumed typing.

What she forgot, however, was that once she got into the rhythm of writing, she would completely lose track of time.

By the time she finished a small section and paused, she glanced at the clock again.

It was already past 1 a.m.

As she emerged from her focused state, the gnawing sensation of hunger hit her with full force.

Her stomach began to grumble audibly, making her curl up on her bed with a sigh.

At 1 a.m. in Japan, ordering takeout was almost impossible.

And she had only bought one pineapple pastry.

"Am I seriously going to have to starve until morning?"

The thought sent a pang through her stomach.

She reluctantly got up, deciding to head downstairs to check the fridge for any ingredients.

"No other choice. I'll just have to endure tonight and buy fresh groceries tomorrow morning to stock the fridge."