Written by: SunflowerSaga

~Winning Entry of "Pride Festivals and Japan"~

"Psst, Saki-chan, check out that food stall."

"I'm kind of full," Saki says around a mouthful of candy apple.

"No, I mean check out the guys."

A handsome cook is ladling batter into the fish-shaped molds on his griddle. He reminds Saki of a doomed poet with his wire-rimmed glasses and pale, finely modeled features. Lean and lightly muscled, he wears a dark blue yukata with the graceful air of an aristocrat.

Saki's eyes sparkle: it's as if peonies burst into bloom behind him.

But it's the second young man who makes her heart beat faster. Dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit, he's leaning at a complete diagonal against the cook's back with his arms folded.

He's got blond-streaked hair and a sulky-pretty face, as if he likes to be spoiled. Even though it's twilight, he wears a stylish pair of shades.

Now he lowers them to fix Saki with a flirty gaze.

"Would you like a taiyaki? It's delicious."

His voice melts like the chocolate that the cook is spooning into the pastries. The cook turns, too. Under the glowing festival lanterns, it's as if a story has come to life.

But which story? Titles flash through Saki's fevered brain. Yakuza vs Poet: Passion Under the Lanterns. The Viscount and the Millionaire: A Taisho Romance.

Or maybe a pop star hires a haiku writer to improve his lyrics and sparks fly!

The cook lifts the taiyaki onto a plate and offers it to Saki.

"Sorry! I've got to write this down." Breathless, Saki rushes off with her friend.

The cook gazes sadly after her, holding the cooling pastry.

"That's mine." Toma pushes himself off Rihito's back and reaches for the plate. Rihito holds it out of his reach, glaring down at him.

"Stop scaring off my customers."

"I'm the only reason you HAVE customers. You think that taiyaki sell themselves?"

Rihito picks up a fork and cuts himself a piece, chewing thoughtfully. It's crisp and sweet, but something's not right.

Toma jumps up and grabs the taiyaki from the plate. Rihito wheels on him angrily, but Toma's already holding the pastry teasingly in front of Rihito's mouth.

"Come on, young master. No one eats taiyaki with a fork."

Toma smirks. Rihito's rival for the head of Hayashi Confectionary is a man of the people. If it was up to the company president, Toma would have won the position already.

Yes, Rihito's own grandmother had voted against him. "The strong silent type belongs in ladies' fancies, not the boardroom," she declared.

It was the board that suggested Rihito be given a chance to prove he wasn't hopelessly out of touch with ordinary consumers. Apparently the vice-chair's granddaughter came up with the festival challenge (probably after reading WAY too many manga).

Rihito had until the festival closed at ten p.m. to make and sell as many taiyaki as possible. Toma had already sold his the night before. He hadn't announced his total, but he'd strutted into headquarters with a stack of receipts as thick as his thumb.

Now he meets Toma's eyes over the taiyaki. They're brilliant and mocking, brimming with confidence.

They're so far from the Toma he remembers from childhood. The son of the Hayashi's maid, Toma had snuck into Rihito's cooking lesson with a black eye and a bloody lip. He'd begged him to let him stay and make red bean paste--and escape his father.

Seeing his strength now, Rihito softens. Then he drops down to search under the table. "I thought I brought the Tahitian vanilla. What's the synthetic stuff doing here?"

"It's saving you from going broke. Why the hell are you tweaking the recipe right now?"

Rihito rises and adds a bit of vanilla to the batter, stirring vigorously. Dipping a spoon in, he tastes it, frowns. "Something is missing."

"Your brain, obviously. It's nine forty-five. Are you trying to lose?"

Four customers stroll up as they're talking. Toma stews in the corner while Rihito serves them with deliberate care. Two wander off while he's carefully dusting the first pastry with powdered sugar.

When the customers leave, Toma explodes. "You're not trying to earn a Michelin star here. Just hand over the damn pastries."

Rihito pulls the last taiyaki from the griddle and holds it out to Toma.

"Not to me, you idiot."

Rihito coughs. "The taiyaki you reached for before was chocolate. This one's the curry that you like, and the batter's better." After some thought, he drizzles it with sauce from a squeeze bottle.

Toma stares down at the plate. "That's okonomiyaki sauce."

Rihito nods.

"You brought that just for me, didn't you? Because no one in the right mind puts that on a curry pastry."

Shrug.

Toma snatches the plate from him, his face twisted with fury. "You ARE trying to lose. I told you I don't need your pity. If you can't fight me like a man, than you can just--just--"

"Um, excuse me?"

They turn to see Saki in front of the stall, smiling shyly. "Is it too late to get a pastry?"

Toma brightens. "Too late? Never. In fact, we're now offering two for the price of one!"

"There's just one catch." He leans across the stall counter, making Saki blush furiously. "You need to tell us which one you like better."

He pushes a finger against Rihito's chest. "And YOU are going to give it your all. We're going to end this."

Ten minutes later, Saki stares at the two taiyaki on the plate. They were made with the same batter and cheese filling on identical griddles. How is she supposed to tell the difference?

She turns helplessly to Suit Man.

He winks and points finger-guns at her like an idol. "What we want to know, babe, is can you taste the love."

She's not sure about love, but the poet-cook guy is looking a bit homicidal.

Closing her eyes, she tastes one, chewing slowly. Perfectly crisp and soft pastry gives way to melty-cheesy richness. She sighs in bliss.

"Don't forget to cleanse your palate." The poet-cook hands her a paper cup of water. His eyes, though, are on Suit Man. They're not fiercely competitive, though, but ... sad. Gentle.

This is an even better story than her own Billionaire's Pastry Boy!

After drinking some water, she tastes the second taiyaki. This one is sweeter, like caramel, with a crunchy sugar topping that contrasts nicely with the gooey cheese.

She looks up from her plate. "The first one's classic, I guess, but the second one's more creative."

Suit Man beams at her. "I know, right?" Applauding, he turns to the poet-cook, who shakes his head.

"What did you mean when you said the first one was classic?" he asks quietly.

Saki tilts her head, considering. "It's like the taiyaki we used to get on the way home from elementary school. My sister would order cheese and I'd get chocolate, and we'd trade bites. I mean--" she swallows. "She's gone now. But it's nostalgic."

After a moment, Suit Man shakes his head. "You're not going to declare a winner, are you."

"I don't see why we need a winner," the poet-cook mumbles.

"Just tell her why you put brown sugar in there!" Suit Man is unexpectedly furious, but the poet cook just looks puzzled.

"She was eating a candy apple before. I figured she likes caramel, and I happened to have brown sugar, so..."

"You see?" Suit Man jumps up and shakes the poet-cook's shoulders, making his glasses slide down his nose. "You'd want a man like this running a company, right? He totally knows the consumer. You've just got to let him prove it!"

The poet-cook pushes his glasses back up and grabs the Suit Man by the collar. "If you weren't here, she wouldn't have come back at all." He mutters under his breath, "Flirting with every damn person you meet..."

Suit Man bursts into surprised laughter. "I have to reach out to people. I can't hypnotize them with my sexy genius like some people."

The poet-cook releases Suit Man abruptly. "Who are you even talking about?"

"Like you don't know!" Suit Man is red-faced and shouting now. "If you try to give me the presidency out of pity, I will end you. You. Deserve. This. End of story."

He kicks over the now-empty barrel of bottled water, sending it rolling across the stall floor.

The poet-cook turns his face to the sky as if searching for answers. "Has he even looked at himself? There's nothing to pity except for his terrible taste in taiyaki fillings."

Suit Man sets the water barrel upright again. Then he turns to Saki, rolling his eyes. "Oh, boy. It's all over when he starts talking in the third person."

Then he freezes.

Saki is holding up her cell phone, the screen facing them. It's showing a live video call. The vice-chair of Hayashi Confectionary, a square-jawed lady in her sixties, is staring open-mouthed at them.

"Don't mind us," Saki says cheerfully. "You guys are doing great."

She turns the phone toward herself and smiles. "I know what you mean, grandma. I can't decide between them, either."

Rihito squeezes through the bushes, the branches tearing at his yukata. "Is your 'secret fireworks spot' anywhere near civilization?" he calls.

Toma's back is already disappearing ahead of him. "Want me to carry you, princess?" he yells back.

Saki had insisted on staffing the stall and handling clean-up. "You boys go enjoy yourselves," she'd said with twinkling eyes.

Now the bushes give way to a glittering view of the Sumida River. Against the glittering Tokyo skyline, fireworks arrow upward.

Toma had stopped with face turned upward, eyes wide with awe. A green firework bursts overhead in a shower of sparkling light.

Rihito chuckles. He'd been ready to head out and formally apologize to the board. But Toma was like a kid when it came to fireworks.

Toma beckons to him. "Stand right here. This is one hundred percent the best angle." He stepped aside and dragged Rihito to where he'd been standing. "Are you even looking?" Tipping Rihito's chin up, he pointed rather unnecessarily at the sky.

Rihito draws his breath in sharply at the unexpected touch.

"Yesterday's receipts," he says raspily. "I found them under the table. You had everyone come back today to pick up the taiyaki. That counts as my sale--and it's terrible customer service."

"I don't think anyone who ate your taiyaki would agree with that." Toma side-bumps him--then stays in place. Warmth radiated from him, a gentle closeness that makes Rihito's heart ache.

Toma's touchy-feely with everyone. He doesn't mean anything by it.

Rihito's voice sounds tinny in his ears. "The president does a lot of meetings and PR. I know the job usually stays in the family, but honestly--I'd rather develop the actual confections, you know?"

Toma stiffens. "What?"

"I mean, it's obvious you're better with people. Right?"

Toma is staring at him, fireworks forgotten. "I thought you gave it up because of what happened with my dad. Like I'm supporting the family now, so..."

Rihito gave a surprised laugh. "Are you kidding me? You could get a job anywhere. Hayashi would be lucky to have you. I mean, I was afraid we were holding you back."

Toma turns his face to the sky. Maybe it's the fireworks, but Rihito could have sworn he's blushing. "Well, this prodigy has his reasons for staying."

Rihito holds his breath. "Such as?"

"Do you really want to know?" He tips Rihito's chin up again. When Rihito doesn't answer, he snaps, "Say something, dammit. I really hate the strong, silent--"

Rihito presses his lips to his.

"I'm not much of a talker." Then, overcome by embarrassment, he blurts out, "You're missing the fireworks!"

"Nah." Toma grins and leans in. "They're right here."

Back at the stall, Saki watches the fireworks sparkle in the distance. Thinking of those adorable guys, she grins and plans her next story.