Chapter 44: When Curry Made Her Cry
1.
Slurp…
Yura scooped a generous spoonful of curry and rice into her mouth.
It was smooth and deep.
A rich sweetness blended with the robust umami of the meat, perfectly balanced by spices.
The curry’s thick, velvety flavor enveloped it all.
“Ah…”
As she swallowed, a sigh escaped her lips.
She couldn’t bear the thought of the lingering taste fading.
Dazed, she lifted her spoon again, instinctively going for another bite.
But a glint of golden brown caught her eye.
The perfectly fried katsu. Seeing it, her hand froze.
Yura carefully picked up a piece of katsu. Curry clung lightly to the crispy coating. Opening her small mouth, she took a bite.
Crunch—
The sharp, satisfying sound rang out as her teeth broke through the coating. Her eyes widened dramatically.
The outside was crisp, the inside juicy. T
he meat retained its succulence, with a hint of curry’s sweetness—a heavenly combination.
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Can you two stop eating and say something???
The donation’s voice snapped Yura back to reality. She’d been utterly entranced.
“S-Sorry… It’s so good, I forgot we’re streaming…”
“Me too. I knew Haryul was good, but this is next-level…”
Yura let out a secret sigh of relief at Noona’s voice. She wasn’t the only one overwhelmed.
“So, Yura-nim, how close is my dish to your mother’s?”
“C-Can I have one more bite? It was so shocking, my memory’s fuzzy…”
“Not just because you want to eat more, right?”
Noahr teased with a mischievous grin.
“T-That’s part of it, but I’m serious…”
“Alright, take another bite.”
“Okay.”
Yura carefully lifted her spoon, scooping curry-soaked rice.
Chew chew—
Even the second bite was unreal. The best dish she’d ever tasted.
The umami brushing her tongue, the lingering spice in her mouth—every flavor and aroma was meticulously calculated, perfectly harmonized.
It was delicious. And strangely familiar.
The taste of those forgotten nights in Korea was right here, perfectly captured.
“Ah…”
Another sigh, but different this time. A faint, forgotten past quietly resurfaced.
Rain echoed in her ears. Her body felt heavy, soaked. A strange chill crept in.
Slurp…
She dipped katsu in curry and took a bite. With a mouthful of rice, that warmth returned.
The curry’s sharp aroma. The towel’s texture. Her drenched hair. Her mother’s gentle hands drying it.
“…My mom’s curry and katsu aren’t this good. Hers is rougher.”
Yura’s voice trembled, small. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“But it’s close… So close to that curry’s taste…”
Her expression was complex—joy, longing, sadness intertwined.
“I miss my mom…”
At her murmur, Noona quietly stood, wrapping Yura in a silent hug.
Unable to hold back, Yura’s tears fell freely.
Sniff…
『Live Viewers: 31,452』
I watched them quietly. Glancing at the viewer count, it had jumped by over 9,000.
‘Pretty successful.’
With results like this, it was bound to draw attention.
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Staged??? How do you recreate a dish from just that description??? No way.
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Yura’s acting is top-notch lol… Studied theater???
With this many viewers, skepticism was inevitable.
‘I wouldn’t believe it myself.’
💸 [Nickname: YuraRa] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Doesn’t seem like acting. I’m a regular of Yura’s—her acting’s obvious. Why would she lie?
Thankfully, not everyone doubted her. Some believed.
“I’ll find a way to prove it later. For now, judge for yourselves.”
I wanted to ignore them all, but leaving it unchecked could drag Yura into accusations of lying.
We’d need objective proof eventually. How, though?
‘Figure it out later.’
Yura’s tears didn’t stop easily.
Only after a while, with Noona’s comfort, did they subside.
Without her, Yura might still be crying.
Sniff… “Sorry…”
“It’s okay to cry. You’re fine.”
Yura hung her head, ears red, twitching awkwardly. She seemed embarrassed now.
“So, to sum up, my katsu curry is close to your mother’s?”
“It’s way tastier. But very close.”
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Tastier but similar??? Makes no sense.
Yura’s ears perked at the donation. Biting her lip, she crossed her arms.
“It’s… hard to explain. It’s definitely tastier, but it feels so similar…”
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Delusion???
Yura jumped from her chair.
“It’s not! It’s really similar! If my mom made it here, it’d taste like this! Just… a bit less refined…”
“Calling it out like that on stream… Such a bad daughter.”
“I can’t lie!”
Yura panicked at Noona’s jab.
“Explaining further won’t help. As I said, believe what you want.”
Continuing would muddle emotions and disrupt the stream. Best to cut it here.
“Let’s wrap up your mother’s dish. Next, your grandma’s?”
“Okay!”
Recreating Grandma’s dish was easier. Just onigiri, after all.
“This is how it’s done. Simple, right?”
I gathered the ingredients from Feast of Memories.
Rice, green onions, bonito flakes, sesame seeds, salt, kelp. And a slightly charred umeboshi.
I mixed them and shaped a triangle, no seaweed—exactly as in the memory.
Placing it on a plate, Yura’s eyes widened.
“It’s just like my memory!”
“Try it.”
At my urging, she eagerly bit into the onigiri. Her eyes grew huge, ears perking then trembling.
“It’s the same! Exactly like Grandma’s! Not better—just the same!”
“…Good to hear.”
Oddly, my pride stung. Should I have made it tastier?
💸 [Nickname: Anonymous] donated
🪙 30,000G!
💬 Well, it’s just onigiri…
Skepticism followed, but milder. It was a simple dish, and we’d been through this already.
“So good!”
“Yura, can I try one?”
“Go ahead!”
Noona, curious, picked up an onigiri. Biting into it, her body shivered.
“This… taste…”
“So good, right!?”
Yura’s sparkling eyes met Noona’s awkward smile.
“Y-Yeah… tasty…!”
“I’ll let you have it, Noahr! One’s enough for me!”
“T-Thanks…”
Noona forced a smile, holding the onigiri. She shot me a pleading look, but I turned away.
‘Not my thing…’
The umeboshi’s sour-salty punch was too much for me. But Yura was so happy, no need to say it.
“So, we’ve recreated your mother’s and grandma’s dishes. Satisfied?”
“Totally!”
Yura beamed. Noona chewed the onigiri glumly, making me chuckle.
“Why’re you laughing?”
“Nothing. Since we’re done, we’ll wrap up. Thanks for watching.”
“Thank you!”
I bowed, and Yura waved energetically.
『Stream Ended.』
As the stream ended, Yura collapsed onto the floor.
“Haa, haa… Thought I’d die…”
I crouched to her eye level.
“You okay?”
She nodded, breathing heavily.
“I-I’m fine… Just… tension’s gone. I was so worried I’d mess up…”
“You did great.”
“R-Really?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled, gently patting her head. Yura closed her eyes, smiling with relief.
“Good…”
“Let’s rest a bit… then cook again.”
“C-Cook again?”
Her eyes widened, ears twitching in surprise.
“Yeah. You said you wanted to serve your grandma’s food to your mom. Just one onigiri won’t do, right?”
“True… But I didn’t mention other dishes. How’d you know?”
I grinned, raising a corner of my mouth.
“That’s a secret. Just trust me, okay?”
“O-Okay…!”
Yura swallowed hard.
Poke poke—
Someone jabbed my side. Turning, I saw Noona glaring, still chewing, onigiri in hand.
“Noahr! Is it good?”
Yura’s innocent question got only an awkward smile from Noona.
“Let’s start cooking.”
Fearing I’d be stuck with the onigiri, I quickly pulled Yura up and headed to the kitchen, ignoring Noona’s sharp stare.
‘…Sorry, Noona.’
It’s too much for me too.
—
2.
A warm afternoon, sunlight filtering through the window. An elderly woman lay quietly on an old sofa.
Her limbs hung limply, dark shadows under her eyes. Her face bore the weight of years.
“Mm…”
Some time passed. Her nose twitched at a faint aroma.
“This smell…”
Her eyes opened slowly, a dazed look crossing her face.
She rose, walking down the hall, steps sluggish, as if still half in a dream.
Reaching the kitchen, she froze at the sight on the table.
Rich brown simmered lotus root. Golden grilled fish. Steaming miso soup. A bowl of snowy, warm rice.
Familiar.
So familiar it felt unreal. Memories she thought had faded came vividly to life.
“…Mom?”
A whisper like a breath, afraid a louder voice would make the scene vanish like a mirage.
This was the meal her mother used to prepare with care.
The tender, warm dish she always served her children.
Once tiresome from repetition, now unattainable.
“Mom!”
A voice from ahead made her look up.
“…Nagi?”
Seeing that familiar face, she was stunned. It was unmistakably her daughter.
Nagi ran and hugged her. Startled, she held her breath, then gently wrapped her arms around her.
“How… did you get here?”
“I wanted to cook for you!”
“You cooked?”
The woman’s eyes drifted to the table.
“You made all this?”
“Yup!”
Nagi grinned brightly. The woman was delighted but bewildered.
“…How? You could barely cook. How did you make this?”
“I practiced hard! Met a benefactor in Korea!”
“Benefactor?”
“Yup! Details are a secret. That’s not the point! Food’s ready, so sit!”
Nagi pulled her hand, and she sat without resistance.
“Wait a sec!”
Nagi darted to the counter, her busy movements oddly reminiscent of someone.
“Done!”
She returned, carefully placing an onigiri next to the miso soup.
“This…”
Seeing the onigiri, memories flooded back. A wistful smile touched her lips.
“Eat, Mom!”
“…Alright.”
She reached for the lotus root, but her hand trembled and paused.
Would it be better not to eat?
The smell was close, but what if the taste was different? Could she handle the disappointment?
‘I don’t want to hurt her…’
Nagi was tender-hearted. She presented this dish with such eager anticipation.
Showing disappointment would surely wound her.
That wasn’t what a parent should do.
“Mom.”
Nagi said nothing more, just gripped her hand tightly. The small, firm warmth reached her.
With that gentle pressure, she opened her mouth. She carefully tasted the lotus root.
Chew—
“Ah…”
As the soy’s saltiness spread, she inhaled softly.
“…How is it?”
Nagi asked cautiously, face tense.
“M-Mom, are you crying? Is it bad?”
Tears slid down her cheeks. Nagi, startled, fumbled for a handkerchief.
“No. It’s delicious. Too delicious…”
“Don’t cry, Mom…”
Nagi hugged her. The woman gently stroked her daughter’s head.
Long-buried longing surged within her.
If her mother were alive to taste her granddaughter’s cooking, what would she have said?
‘Mom…’
It was an afternoon where she missed her mother dearly.