Chop chop chop… chop chop chop…

In a room of a tower apartment at dusk, the steady sound of a kitchen knife echoed.

In the spacious living room, there was only one figure.

I, Akutsu Jō, faced the kitchen’s island counter and did nothing but chop root vegetables.

Burdock root, carrot, lotus root, taro.

Tonight’s menu was Chikuzen-ni.

Flashy Chinese food was fine too but when I wanted to calm my mind, nothing beat this kind of plain yet time-consuming Japanese home cooking.

Karen and Hibiki, maybe because my lecture this morning had hit them, headed to work with faces like zombies.

A long time since I’d had this—complete silence and solitude.

But my heart wasn’t calm.

‘…When did I start talking like that?’

As I soaked the sasagaki-cut burdock in water, I suddenly looked back on myself from this morning.

“Don’t mess with me!!”, “That’s what third-raters do!” and “I like pros!”

…My manner was way too rough.

Like some stubborn Showa-era old man or some guy from ‘that line of work.’

Originally, I was just a lowly cafeteria worker in charge of staff meals.

My first-person pronoun was ‘I’ as in watashi or boku.

Even my tone should’ve been low and polite, using phrases like ‘…desu ne’ and ‘…desu yo.’

But look at me now.

Now my first-person is ‘ore.’

My sentence endings are ‘da ze’ and ‘ja nee.’

I’ve been completely invaded by the role of the villain Akutsu Jō that I played in the film Requiem of Iron and Blood.

‘…Did I get too deep into character-building?’

Even after filming ended, I kept maintaining this persona the whole time.

Without even realizing it.

‘No matter what, this is way too far from who I really am… Should I change back?’

I set the knife down and cleared my throat.

In an empty kitchen, I began an experiment to awaken the ‘gentle staff-meal guy’ I used to be.

“…Ah, ah.”

I adjusted my throat.

Not that low, threatening bass, but a slightly higher, softer voice.

“…Welcome home. Dinner’s ready.”

Silence.

The cooing voice was swallowed by the empty living room.

“…Is my food tasty? Ufufu.”

A chill ran down my spine.

I looked at my reflection in the window glass.

192 centimeters tall, over 100 kilograms—a huge man.

Slicked-back hair, sharp eyes.

A trained body.

And that man was laughing ‘ufufu’ while standing with his knees turned inward.

“…That’s a call-the-cops situation.”

I returned to a blank face.

It didn’t suit me to an absurd degree.

No, it wasn’t just that it didn’t suit me.

In this world, men were ‘weak beings who should be protected.’

If I walked outside with the same humble attitude I used to have, what would happen?

Without a doubt, women like carnivorous beasts would look down on me and suck me dry to the bone marrow.

“…Armor, huh.”

This rough way of speaking and this attitude might be the best ‘bluff’ and ‘armor’ I had to protect my own dignity in this abnormal world.

Thinking that made me feel a little sad.

Beep.

At the same time the rice cooker chimed to announce it was done, I heard the sound of the front door smart lock unlocking.

“…I’m hoooome…”

“…I’m going to die… I’m so tired I’m going to die…”

The living room door opened and Karen and Hibiki came stumbling in like they were collapsing.

They kicked off their high heels, tossed their bags aside and dove straight onto the sofa.

Both of them looked like their souls had slipped out through their mouths.

After doing several days’ worth of work in one day, it was no surprise.

“…”

I turned off the heat under the pot.

For a moment, the words ‘Good work. That was hard, wasn’t it’ almost rose to my throat.

But… what the two exhausted women wanted right now wasn’t a ‘pet’ that would comfort them gently.

It was a ‘pillar’ that stood firm and accepted everything.

I tightened my core and spoke in my usual low voice.

“…You’re late. Food’s ready.”

A brusque line.

But the instant they heard it, the two on the sofa twitched in response.

“…It’s Jō’s voice…”

“…It smells so good. Soy sauce and dashi…”

They slowly sat up and aimed loose, sloppy smiles at me.

“I’m huuungry…”

“Jō, food…”

Seeing those faces, I gave a wry smile.

Maybe it didn’t matter how I talked.

Making good food and waiting for hungry people.

As long as I didn’t forget that, I was still me.

“Tonight it’s Chikuzen-ni. Go wash your faces. I’ll dish it up in a second.”

“Yes…”

I lifted the lid of the pot.

Whoosh, white steam rose and the earthy scent of root vegetables and the sweet-salty aroma of soy sauce filled the kitchen.

It was the smell of a home that soothed warriors returning from the battlefield.