I was basically good at dealing with children.
Anyone from an orphanage was bound to grow up that way.
What mattered when dealing with children was understanding how they felt.
More precisely, before speaking, you had to think about how the words you said would sound from the child’s perspective.
If you were thinking, “Huh? Isn’t that basic when dealing with adults too?” then you were right. That was basic when dealing with people.
So in truth, the core of dealing with children was this: clearly recognize that the other person was a person, no matter how immature or clumsy they were. That was all.
Everything else was application.
A first-year middle-school student was starting to become an ambiguous age to call a child, but still.
I met the eyes of my future stepsister, Shiori.
Currently, I had come down as soon as I spotted Shiori from the fifth floor.
Thanks to that, Shiori, who was shy around strangers, was slightly flustered, but I could not help it either.
Was I supposed to see a first-year middle-school student who would soon become my stepsister, wave from far away, and send her off? That was not how an adult should respond.
So I quickly caught her before Shiori could run away.
But there was one problem here.
Shiori was far too shy to suddenly act close with her face-to-face.
If I even made a joke, wouldn’t she suffocate to death?
So first.
A greeting.
“It’s been a while, Shiori. Have you been well?”
“…Yes.”
Hmm.
Maybe I should have just waved and let her go.
I regretted that I seemed to have made Shiori uncomfortable for no reason.
But who was I?
Was I not a genius of childcare with over ten years of experience looking after children?
There was a method for situations like this too.
Orphanage Style, Fourth Form.
Opening the Wallet.
“Shiori. Buy yourself something tasty with this.”
“…Yes.”
Maybe because I was a writer, Shiori’s words read like dialogue to me.
At Shiori’s reaction, which felt as though the ellipsis had gotten even longer, I muttered inwardly.
This is bad.
That had just been the technique that worked best when dealing with quiet kids like Shiori. Since it did not work, I felt very stuck.
If she were a boy, I could have shown an overwhelming difference in skill at whatever game he often played and earned his respect…
To be honest, looking after girls was not my specialty.
Usually, even in orphanages, the rule was to look after children of the same gender.
In that case, changing direction and talking about hobbies seemed likely to help.
But hobbies.
Shiori’s hobby was reading, and I could guarantee this.
There was no child in the world who would relax after talking about books with me.
Nothing in the world was impossible, so such a child might exist, but the probability was very low.
That was the moment I was thinking of a clever way to get through the situation.
“…Um.”
Suddenly, Shiori moved her lips.
At the same time, I read Shiori’s concern.
Apparently, the issue of what to call me was bothering her.
Let’s think from Shiori’s perspective. What should she call me?
Mr. Hiiragi? Hiiragi? Touji? Mr. Touji? Big brother? Older brother? Uncle? Bro? Aniki?
There were many ways to call me, but every single one was unbearably awkward.
It was perfectly normal for her to be confused.
But the fact that everything was awkward meant it was the same as saying anything was fine.
So I decided to respect Shiori’s decision.
“Shiori. Call me whatever feels comfortable.”
“…If you speak comfortably to me too, Touji.”
“Okay, Shiori.”
Touji. It was a way of addressing me that reminded me of my orphanage days in my former life.
Speaking casually was not that hard.
Even when speaking casually, I could still choose my words carefully, and with Shiori, that was easy.
If my speaking casually was better from Shiori’s perspective, there was no reason not to do it.
Perhaps because the matter of how to address me had been settled, Shiori relaxed a little and continued speaking.
“…You said you were a professional novelist, Touji.”
“Yeah. I’m a professional novelist.”
“…I also. Um.”
“You write?”
“…Yes.”
After finally bringing out what had been inside her, Shiori’s expression looked much more relieved. It seemed she felt better after saying it.
An aspiring novelist.
I recalled my conversations with Shiori so far, starting from our first meeting.
There were fewer than ten lines, so it was not hard.
Then I said.
“You’ve already found a goal? That’s fast.”
“…So, um.”
“You want me to take a look?”
“…Yes.”
So that was the request after all.
I thought about it for a moment.
Reading a novel itself was not difficult. Even now, I read novels every single day without a break.
However.
Shiori’s request was not simply asking me to read her novel.
When an aspiring writer asked a professional writer to look at their novel, the meaning of “please check whether I have potential” was included.
I imagined several possible forms Shiori’s novel could take.
I also imagined several scenes in which I read them and answered honestly.
None of them, in particular, looked like something that would be okay to do to a first-year middle-school student who would soon become my stepsister.
Well, I did wonder whether I really needed to be honest.
She was still young and had plenty of room to improve, so why bother?
If I assumed that, it was not difficult.
I had become very used to saying nice things over the past nine years.
I slowly opened my mouth.
To answer, “I’ll give you my email address, so send the manuscript there when you get home.”
And Shiori poured out her words faster than I could.
“…You said last time that the author of <Crows of the Tropical Night> was good at drawing readers in. It did draw me in, but I wondered why you specifically said that, so I read it again… Um… When I reread it, I could see the lacking parts, but while I was reading it the first time, I couldn’t see them because I was so drawn in. It was like.”
“Like what?”
“It felt like I had been brainwashed, so it felt strange…”
Hmm.
I changed my mind.
“Shiori.”
“…Yes?”
“Can you give me Yuna’s number? I want to ask whether I can treat you to meatballs.”
***
Swedish meatballs were one of Sweden’s representative home dishes.
Their origin itself was based on a recipe brought from Turkey in the early eighteenth century, but was the side that survived not the real one?
Honestly, the original köfte was tasty, but compared to Swedish meatballs, it lacked something special.
On a good day, it was right to eat Swedish meatballs, which had evolved through variation.
So at this point, I will introduce the recipe for Swedish meatballs.
First, prepare ground pork and ground beef, then mix them well with finely chopped sautéed onions. The onions had to be sautéed very thoroughly. Otherwise, they would split later.
To this, bread crumbs, egg, salt, and pepper were essential, while allspice and nutmeg were added according to taste.
For reference, I was the type to add them all.
Once everything was added like this, you just had to knead it well and make the mixture.
“Touji.”
Once the mixture was finished, what came next? Meatballs were round, weren’t they? So the process of taking a little of the mixture and shaping it into balls had to happen.
Once they were shaped into balls, they were cooked in a pan. Only the outside, just enough to set the shape.
“Touji.”
Then the inside would remain uncooked, so from here, I had to make the sauce the meatballs would be dropped into and cooked in.
In the pan where I had cooked the meatballs, I added butter and flour to make a roux, then added fresh cream and mustard sauce to that—
“Touji.”
“Speak.”
“Who is that kid?”
I looked in the direction Riku was cautiously pointing.
Shiori was sitting quietly at the kitchen table.
She was fiddling with her smartphone, and this place seemed extremely awkward for her.
Endure it, Shiori. This is all experience that will become your flesh and blood.
I calmly explained to Riku.
“That’s Mochizuki Shiori. She’ll become my younger sister soon.”
“Why did you have her sit there quietly without introducing her? I was startled when I tried to go to the bathroom.”
“You looked too busy, Riku. I was going to introduce her while we ate.”
“I see. But Touji.”
Riku lowered his voice. He seemed to be careful so Shiori would not hear.
Riku said.
“Why did you bring her here?”
“She asked me to look at her novel. She’s an aspiring novelist.”
“Really? Then wouldn’t it be better to look at the novel first? Since you’re neglecting her and cooking, Mochizuki looks awkward.”
“If I look at the novel first, Shiori will lose her appetite. I’m going to feed her first.”
“What are you planning to do?”
Nothing special.
Shiori was serious, so I would be serious too.
Of course, I would take into account the fact that Shiori was still a first-year middle-school student.
But even taking that into account, it was inevitable that she would lose her appetite.
It could not be helped.
“Just make sure she doesn’t lose her appetite.”
“That’s hard.”
“Seriously, Touji, you’re like an onion. The more layers I peel, the more something comes out. Anyway, Mochizuki looked slightly upset, so that was why?”
“Oh, no. That isn’t it.”
Shiori being slightly upset clearly had nothing to do with her novel.
It was for another reason.
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“We agreed I would speak casually, but I went back to polite speech, so she’s slightly sulking.”
“That really is like you, Touji.”
Perhaps his understanding of me had increased, because Riku shook his head.
Then he asked.
“Is the reason you only use polite speech because it’s comfortable for you?”
“Something like that.”
“It is unusual. There’s maybe one person like that in an entire school. At least there wasn’t anyone like that in our middle school. Besides you, Touji.”
In Korea, someone who used polite speech with classmates? Forget one person per school. Even if you searched the whole country, I felt like you would not find one, but Japan was different.
Cultural differences were fascinating to this extent.
I answered normally.
“I took the slot.”
“Do you keep using polite speech even after you get close? I thought you’d speak casually once we got closer. Ah, I’m just saying what I expected, okay? If you prefer polite speech, then staying that way is—”
“Of course I speak casually to my friend Riku. What are you talking about?”
“You really are impossible to pin down, Touji.”
Leaving the impressed Riku behind, I dropped the meatball mixture into the finished sauce.
Now, once it simmered over low heat, the dish would be complete.
I set the timer to thirty minutes and turned around.
Then I spoke.
“Riku. What do you think? Want to play a board game?”
“Touji. Be honest. You think this situation is awkward too, don’t you?”
“I have console games too. Pick.”