"He really said that to you?"

Grandma Kiyo picked up her cup of tea, taking careful sips.

"Well... why not, then?"

Fumi spat out his tea, choking and spluttering all over his sleeve while Kiyo watched, holding out a handkerchief for him.

Finally, Fumi yelped, "seriously?"

Grandma Kiyo placed her cup of tea on the table, breathing out a soothed sigh. Nothing like a cup of tea after a long day...

"But," Fumi began to wipe down the table, staring at Grandma Kiyo like she'd just swallowed a frog or something, "if I do, I won't be able to work at the bakery... and it's not like I can burden you with all the baking in the early hours again..."

"Nonsense, Fumi, you may call me a Grandma but I'm not that old yet! I'm still in my late forties!"

"There are people who retire around that age, Grandma."

"Well, in a year or two you'll have to head out anyways," she assured him with a smile, "you seem to have little interest in your studies, so there isn't much of a point to stick to the local junior high school... if you truly want to take over the bakery when you're older, you should learn to make them professionally."

-

"And... so she said."

The shrine was quiet. It always was.

Sitting on the steps, feeling the breeze that was as chilly as the evening winds should be-- he breathed in the vaguely ash-scented air and listened to the chime of the shrine bells as the gale rocked them.

"That sounds interesting, doesn't it?" Tamako hung around the offering box--she is not supposed to be sitting on it, Fumi thought grimly, but didn't point it out.

(Oh shrine god, if you must give her a curse, please don't make her cooking worse.)

"Hey, you want to be a-- uh, what was that thing? Patty? Hamburger?"

"Patissier?"

"That, yeah," Tamako hopped off the offering box and settled down beside Fumi on the steps. "There's only so much Dad and Grandma Kiyo can teach you, and there's little you can do now without your sense of taste."

Ah, that was true. He'd even asked Jouichirou to teach him cooking... but Jouichirou could only be in Japan perhaps a few times a year. Fumi would learn too little.

But he was still ten... did he really have to rush this decision?

(Did he even still deserve the liberty of this decision?)

"I don't think I should be saying this, since I almost dropped out of school..." Tamako put a hand on his head, "but I think you should go and learn all you need from the teachers in a proper cooking school."

-

He took a bite of the strawberry shortcake. The gentle sponge, the frothy whipped cream, and the crisp strawberries.

(Disgustingly tasteless.)

He put the plate down.

"Come to think of it, I haven't eaten my own creations in ages," he chuckled to himself miserably.

(Why did he still have a passion for cooking? For baking?)

He could only bake so well now because of his past life's memories and experiences. He himself was only a mediocre, second rate at best.

Did the current Fumi really still love to cook? Isn't he just cooking and baking because he felt obliged to? Because he had the bakery to run? Because he knew the recipes?

Why is Fumi trying to become a Patissier anymore? He can't even taste anything.

(Is this really his dream?)

(Isn't he just living for his past life's dream?)

He whipped the meringue. Poured the custard into moulds and let them set in the fridge. Piped out the macarons and slotted them into the oven.

He ran around here and there, muttering to himself.

"The pudding will be ready in two minutes. The choux will be done in three, but they'll need to heat in the oven for another three minutes. The cookies in the back will be cooled in another thirty seconds, the strawberry confiture in the third pot need to be stirred, then--"

There was so much workload for one child, but perhaps due to his past life's experience, it was easier to work alone. When Tamako came around, the only thing she did was wash the crockery.

Now that Fumi lost his senses, he needed much more concentration to get work done well. If he lost track of which recipe he was doing, he would put in the wrong amount of sugar or set the wrong tart with the wrong toppings.

As time went by, Fumi began to forget tastes.

Was a spoonful of sugar too sweet? Would a pinch of salt work on raspberry tarts, or was that simply for cheesecakes? Did waffles go well with coffee or tea?

He wasn't too sure anymore.

He knew the answers by heart, but in reality he didn't even understand them.

He felt like a robot, simply following instructions without truly discerning why he was doing it in the first place.

(Did he really find this fun anymore?)

"What are you doing?"

"Eeek!"

Tamako wrapped her arms around Fumi's neck, leaning her weight into the smaller boy's frame. Her chin on his forehead, she caught sight of the strawberry shortcake on the table and her eyes shone with interest.

Fumi flushed at how close Tamako suddenly was. It wasn't rare for Tamako to act so intimate with him-- after all, Fumi was like a little brother to her. She would treat him like a stuffed toy any day.

(But especially after he'd gotten his past memories, these moments were getting a little embarrassing. Though, he really doesn't hate it at all.)

"Oh, I love this one! Is there jelly in the sponge?"

Suddenly she was eating the strawberry shortcake. When did she--

"The cream tastes like mangoes! So is this a mango strawberry jelly shortcake?"

"Wait, Nee-chan, don't just take the stuff I'm trying out..."

Fumi could never be too careful with ingredients. What if some things had gone bad? The milk had gone sour, or there was a strange stench that polluted the ingredients? He wouldn't even notice.

So before any other tasting would happen, Fumi always tried the first bite. If nothing happened, he would offer it to someone else to ascertain the taste.

Though, there probably wouldn't be a problem with the ingredients Grandma Kiyo selected, he was still worried...

"It's fine, Fumi! It's delicious," Tamako assured him.

"You call everything I make delicious."

"Exactly!" she beamed, innocent and sweet. She scooped up another forkful and hummed as she swallowed another sugary bite.

One arm around his shoulder, Tamako held the fork of strawberry toward his mouth.

"Here, Fumi! You can have the strawberry."

Fumi stared, surprised. But the strawberry, for anyone and for Tamako as well, was her favourite part of the cake.

Rather than question it, Fumi's face brimmed into a smile, his eyes softening at the care he was given.

He lost his sense of smell. He lost his sense of taste. He was being weird, suddenly cooking all sorts of weird dishes and coming up with strange new cakes one after another.

(And Tamako didn't care at all.)

He leaned in, and in one mouthful, engulfed the strawberry, chewing through the pulpy texture and enjoying it joyously.

"Is it yummy?" Tamako asked him, the smile on her face wide and beautiful.

Fumi looked at her almost dumbly.

(Of course it isn't. I can't taste it. Good ingredients are wasted on me.)

She was expecting an answer. Her smile expected a positive answer. She was enjoying herself-- she wanted Fumi to enjoy himself too.

(Did she sense how depressed Fumi felt? Could she tell? Was he too readable?)

(Was she trying to cheer him up?)

Fumi had lost a lot of things. And now, when the hope of his dream is dangled before him again-- there are too many reasons why he shouldn't take it.

But at that moment, Fumi thought it really didn't matter. Tamako smiled so sweetly at him-- did anything really matter more than this?

(Who cares that he can't taste a thing?)

(I don't need it.)

(He doesn't need to taste things. He already knows how they would taste.)

(She was a world class patissiere, after all.)

He chuckled. Now his worries just seem so stupid. Why was he thinking so hard anyways-- he was only ten years old. He should act like it, shouldn't he?

"It's super yummy!" he grinned.

(Was he really having fun?)

(What a dumb question.)

(With Tamako around, everything was fun.)