1. O'Tama and Fumi-pon
"O'Tama, it's an emergency!"
The blonde stood right up from her spot, cigarette tucked between her teeth as she whirled toward the intruder.
"What's going on?" she demanded, a hand already on her baseball bat. Did the gal gang from the next school over barge onto the wrong turf again? She thought she'd taught them enough of a lesson last time around...
"It's Fumi-pon again! They got'im!"
"What?!"
-
-
"So... you caused a fight at the underpass by the river and got yourself arrested?"
Uncle Yukihira was definitely furious. His arms folded, his brows furrowed, his lips pursed like a lecture was already at his lips.
This wasn't the first time he had to bail his daughter out of jail, it's old news.
The problem this time was...
"s'Not my fault! They nabbed Fumi, what was I supposed to do, let 'em take him?" she argued right back, still on her knees but not at all apologetic.
Wildly, she gestured at the boy on the chair, who in his seven year old glory was wrapped in bandages and plasters all over.
"Just look at'im! He's black n' blue cause he's too wimpy to fight back!"
"Uh, I'm okay... it doesn't hurt."
"Don't act tough, of course it does!"
The girl scrambled up to brush his bangs out of the way, revealing a line of bandages around his head. There was even a wound around his temple that had bled pretty badly.
"I said I was fine..."
-
Yukihira Tamako, better known as O'Tama, was the most infamous delinquent in Sumire Shopping District.
Kiyofumi, or as many call him, Fumi, was just a young orphan living on the streets until Tamako found him and got the shopping district involved. He was then deposited safely in a foster home that was a bakery only a little Grandmother lived.
It went without saying that Tamako and Kiyofumi were only half a step from being real siblings. Perhaps in a slightly different situation, that would have been exactly what occurred.
As involved in gang fights as she was, delinquents from the next prefecture often kidnapped Fumi, simply to settle grudges with underhanded methods.
(After all, Fumi, like all family, was Tamako's only weakness.)
You could say that Fumi had gotten used to it already.
-
At this point, Uncle Yukihira had gotten off his chair and his yells could be heard through closed doors, "in the first place, Kiyofumi was only nabbed because you gave them a grudge to avenge! This all happened because of you, not because of them! Why can't you start realizing that your actions have consequences!"
The silence that engulfed thereafter was deafening.
Fumi stared at the scene, swallowing nervously. The quarrels in the Yukihira household were common news, in fact, it was almost a daily occurrence, with how much older Tamako was becoming.
However, this was probably the first time they had Fumi in the center of their argument. Maybe that had an effect.
"Enough. Get out of my house and don't come back until you've understood what exactly you did wrong today!"
The doors slammed.
-
"Uhm, I'm kinda sorry," he said.
Tamako held his hand as they walked toward the boy's home.
Fumi had bandages all over him. A nasty scratch on him arm from being dragged too hastily through tree branches. A scrape on his knee from falling. A bruise on his face when that girl slapped him. He had hit the concrete, so he was also nursing a very minor concussion.
It was all okay, though. He'd be healed in a few weeks.
The blonde clicked her tongue, rubbing a frustrated hand through her hair as a toothpick snapped between her teeth. She spat it out and sighed.
"It ain't your fault, Fumi," she grumbled a little reluctantly, "those bitches were bloody cowards, that's all there was to it."
Tamako turned to the child.
"My dad might seriously disown me if this keeps up," she snickered, full of humour, "but all that matters is that you're alright, Fumi! If the gals bully you again, be sure to call on me, okay?"
And something, something inside of him, began turning like a gear.
The sun had set across the shopping district, a burning amber glaze spilled across the gravel.
Right then and there, her silhouette in the dusk was the most breathtaking scene Fumi had ever seen.
Tamako's hair spurred like the golden mane of a lion. Her roots, a faded brown, bloomed across the top of her head. She was almost never without that smile of hers, gentle and kind, yet fiercer, stronger, than any man.
If he could, he would ask for her hand in marriage. He would jump in front of a car for her. He would protect her with his life, because Tamako was just that important.
Oh, like a buffoon, he just realizes, like an idiot--
Tamako was most probably his first love. A childhood puppy crush on the hot older sister down the street. It was so typical and so cliche that he was too embarrassed to admit it.
Because even he knew that Tamako saw her as nothing more than a brat.
Was this the world's most hopeless love story?
Maybe that was fine, too.
-
-
"You're making cookies? With all those injuries?"
Tamako greeted him in the morning with a bedraggled mess of hair. Wearing only a loose shirt that probably belonged to Grandma, she hung over the kitchen counter.
Fumi had his apron on and a cookie cutter in his hand. He had just put down the rolling pin when Tamako emerged from upstairs.
He flushed madly.
"Wear something!" he barked at her, throwing the spare apron in her general direction.
"Hey hey, don't throw things, you're getting flour everywhere."
-
"Nee-chan, the first batch of cookies are done. Could you help me take them out? Gloves are in the usual spot. Put the next round in right away, and bake them immediately."
"Aye, sir," she responded. Doing just as told, she set the piping hot tray on the kitchen counter before sliding in the next tray. "The breads in that other oven are almost done, do I take those out too?"
Fumi's hands moved quickly.
With movements too quick to follow, he parted bread dough into equal parts, stuffed them with the fillings, and set them in line with the tray.
"Next batch is done!" he called out, "after you exchange them, there are croissants in the fourth oven. Lower the heat in the fifth oven to thirty five degrees, don't forget to double back to the first oven for the cookies."
"Woah woah woah hold up!" Tamako shot over, "I agreed to do the heavy lifting, but can't you slow it down for li'l old me?"
"We won't make it in time for opening!" he pointed at her fiercely, "you have long arms, so make use of 'em!"
"What a slave driver!"
-
He moved on to the counter, to the batches that had been sitting on the table for nearly an hour. Peeling the baked goods off the cooking sheet, he set them into plates, trays, baskets-- then carefully set them onto the displays.
His movements were small and careful, quick but not clumsy.
He was too small to reach too much of everything, so there were boxes set up everywhere for him to gain that extra height.
There were injuries on his arm this time, so Tamako had been in charge of setting in everything that was higher than he could naturally reach.
Tamako was not at all trusted with the delicate pastries, which were understandable.
Fumi held every confection like it was the most precious thing on earth. He would look at them as if they were children, setting each of them down, barely touching them with his bare hands.
There would not be a crease in its form, nor a smear in the cream.
That was simply how much he loved what he did-- he adored presentation, he admired the beauty of things. He paid attention to the littlest of details in order to make the best cakes.
Tamako watched the boy from day one, and he knew just how much the details meant to him.
She couldn't help but stare at it, endeared.
-
"Fumi-pon, r'ya seriously okay?"
"Oh just look, they've messed him up!"
"What what, what did I miss? Why does Fumi-pon look like he gone pick fights with a truck?"
"Butakko again, of course, she's the only bitch low 'nough to hurt our baby."
In any other place, any other establishment, a group of female delinquents would be terrifying. Much more so if they were mutually fawning over the seven year old shopkeeper
All of them had altered uniforms one way or another. One of them was tanned like a ganguro. All of them didn't have the sense to leave their weapons outside!!
Fumi seriously just thought they were all utter pains in the ass.
"I'm not a baby anymore," he pouted, brushing off a hand that was patting him on the head. "And it doesn't hurt anymore... don't poke me!"
"Aww, Fumi-pon is getting rebellious now."
"You guys are the last people I ever want to hear that from!"
It was like having a lot of gossipy aunts around you in a family reunion. Fumi was only seven years old, but he acted a little more mature than an average seven year old...
"And you used to be so cute too... you would waddle after O'Tama crying 'Mama-oneechan!', ohhh I miss my Fumi-pon!"
"Stop calling me a baby already!"
Blushing bright red and patted on the head like a puppy, Fumi shoved them all out the door, near tears.
"Hey, Fumi, call me Mama-oneechan again!"
"That was! Tha- that was, just, because! You know! I couldn't pronounce it right!"
"Pleeeeeaase?"
"Shut up! If you're not buying bread, get out!"
-
Grandma Kiyo and Kiyofumi. Some say that Fumi was put there because their names were similar. Others say that Grandma Kiyo needed an extra hand to take over her bakery, and she was growing too old to handle the workload each day, so Fumi was deposited there as a freebie worker.
The real reason? Well, probably because Fumi was too obedient of a child to require care and attention, too independent a boy to fit into a household of other children.
He picked up the art and science of baking much too quickly, and it immediately became a passion he dreamed to pursue.
It made perfect sense that he wanted to grow up in this same line of business.
-
"Uncle Yukihira, could you teach me how to cook?"
"Huh?"
Fumi leaned over the counter with raw interest in his eyes.
Uncle Yukihira looked over his stove, disbelieving. Pouring the fried rice onto a place and handing it off for Tamako to serve, he turned back to the child.
"You sure?" he asked, "last time I tried teaching anyone anything, we added that monstrosity of a Special to the menu."
"Hey shitty geezer, you're not supposed to badmouth me when I'm right in front of you."
Fumi laughed at their interaction.
They had made up as quickly as every time before it, and now things in Restaurant Yukihira were just as usual. Fumi sat on the counter, Grandma Kiyo beside him as they enjoyed their meal.
"Nee-chan is really bad at cooking, so I thought maybe, if I got better at cooking, I could help out some days!" Fumi told them, "the bakery closes in the afternoon, so in the evenings I can come and help... I mean, Nee-chan always helps me set up in the mornings, and, and, Grandma hurt her legs last week, so I thought I could, y'know, make dinner at home some day so she doesn't have to walk over here."
The entire restaurant was quiet.
He turned around, realizing the inherent silence. Was it something he said?
"Uh," he looked away, "okay, maybe not..."
Then all hell broke loose.
"Fumi-pon is such a good kid!" someone sobbed. (Wait, what?)
"It's okay, Fumi-pon, if this old man doesn't want to teach you, I can!" another held his hands close, as if they were precious. She pointed offensively at Uncle Yukihira, who snapped something back in response.
"You can work at my bento house! If you stay here for too long O'Tama will become a bad influence on you!"
"You can always come to my house for dinner!"
"If you come to the grocery store I'll definitely give you a discount!"
-
Fawned with attention from all over, pampered by adults and teenagers alike.
That was the life of Eda Kiyofumi, seven years old. His days were full of love and blessing, good food and baked goods.
There were mishaps here and there, but his life was peaceful.
Until that day.
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