"Not bad..." Shin whispered under his breath, returning to his usual blank stare. Around him, children chattered, staff whispered, and teachers lamented a missed opportunity.
The kindergarten lunchroom buzzed. Even the pickiest of eaters had finished their curry down to the last grain of rice. Some children leaned back in their chairs, clutching full stomachs. Others still had wide eyes of amazement, mouths idly murmuring about how good the food was.
"Who cooked today?" one assistant teacher asked.
"I think it was just a few of the kids with the usual kitchen team," another replied, equally stunned.
"No special ingredients were added," said the head cook during a quiet exchange with the teacher. "Everything was standard... except…"
"Except?"
"There was one boy. Quiet. Focused. Impressive for a five-year-old. He followed instructions precisely. Never hesitated with the knife."
Their eyes turned toward Shin, who now sat at his desk, eyes vacant and face devoid of the joy he'd shown earlier.
Shizuku, seated in the corner with Kaori and Kouki, nibbled at what little remained on her plate.
"That was... different," Kouki mumbled.
"Yeah," Kaori added, "I usually don't like curry. But this..."
Shizuku stayed quiet, her eyes lingering on Shin. A small crease formed on her brow as she tilted her head in confusion. Just moments ago, that same boy was practically glowing with life. Now, he was back to his eerily distant self.
"Shizuku, what's wrong?" Kaori asked.
"Hmm? Nothing," she answered, brushing off the curiosity.
Later that day, parents arrived to collect their children. Some were met with demands for curry at dinner. Others were bombarded with endless chatter about how today's lunch was the "best ever."
Meanwhile, Shin quietly followed the other orphans and their manager back to the orphanage.
The moment he stepped inside, his eyes turned toward the kitchen door. Something stirred within him. He sought out the manager and Akiha, the orphanage cook.
"I want to help with dinner," he said. "Let me cook."
Akiha blinked, then chuckled softly. "You already help plenty, Shin. But cooking with knives is dangerous, especially for someone your age."
"I can handle it."
The manager sighed. "You're only five. We appreciate the help, but cooking's not a game."
"I'll be careful."
Akiha and the manager exchanged looks. Eventually, Akiha relented with a sigh. "Fine. You can help peel and chop under supervision. That's it."
Shin gave a rare, satisfied smile and dashed to wash his hands.
In the kitchen, Akiha was joined by Haru and Amaya, two middle schoolers and senior orphans. Both were already accustomed to Shin's presence in the kitchen, but today something felt different.
"He's more... excited than usual," Haru noted.
"Isn't he too young to use a knife?" Amaya whispered nervously.
"The manager approved it," Akiha replied. "Just guide him. Watch for accidents."
When they began prepping, Akiha opened the pantry and blinked in surprise.
"Huh. We've got more ingredients than usual," she said, chuckling. "Guess the budget's finally bouncing back a bit. We can make something heartier tonight. Let's go with Nikujaga—meat and potato stew."
As Haru and Amaya sliced onions and prepared other vegetables, they glanced over at Shin—and were stunned. He'd already finished peeling the carrots and potatoes and was cutting them with swift, precise movements.
"Wait, he's done already?" Haru muttered.
Akiha looked over and paused mid-motion. "...That fast?"
Shin approached her with gleaming eyes. "What's next?"
Akiha felt her heart twist. The flavor improvements lately... was it not her doing after all?
"Help with the meat," she said gently.
With teamwork and efficiency, the four prepared dinner. Shin moved with a focus beyond his years, occasionally adjusting spice quantities when no one was looking.
Dinner time arrived. Sixteen people sat around the table: the orphanage manager, five younger children, four of Shin's age, four older kids, and the two middle schoolers still in the kitchen.
The moment the kitchen door opened, a rich, savory aroma swept through the dining hall.
Everyone froze.
The cook and two assistants entered with satisfied grins, carrying the food.
Shin and two older orphans helped place everything onto the table. Excitement buzzed through the room, but the manager cleared her throat. "Manners. Wait until everyone's ready."
Even she was fighting the urge to sneak a bite.
Once all the plates were filled, the manager bowed slightly. "Let's give thanks."
"Itadakimasu!" everyone chorused.
Silence fell as spoons and chopsticks rose.
The first bites were met with stillness—then a flurry of motion as mouths worked and dishes clattered.
At the end of the table, Shin ate quietly, eyes closed.
"Today's Dinner is not bad either," he murmured.
Around him, not a single word was spoken, only the sound of satisfied eating filled the orphanage walls.