Summer had ended, and the first year of middle school carried on.
For Shin, school life became mostly monotonous. He could often be found daydreaming during class—his mind drifting toward new dish ideas or strange ingredient combinations. When he wasn't zoning out, he was holed up in the library, frequently seen with a precarious stack of books.
His preferred topics, naturally, were cooking, plants, gardening, mountain trekking, fishing, or anything related to agriculture and culinary arts. He always carried a small, well-worn notebook—filled with a mix of profound insight and hilariously questionable cooking experiments. Some entries were brilliant; others… bizarre.
He continued attending the dojo about three times a month and limited his foraging and river fishing trips to once a month—except during the harsh winter season.
At the orphanage, Shin began mentoring the younger children who showed interest in cooking. He also shared recipes and techniques with Akiha and Sister Amiya, who gradually became the default cooks whenever Shin was unavailable—or on the rare occasions he allowed someone else to take over the kitchen. Life at the orphanage flowed steadily, occasionally dotted with visits from Old Man Shuu or the orphanage director.
School, however, was a different matter.
Shin's long white hair and distant demeanor often drew the wrong kind of attention. His tendency to stay isolated, always surrounded by books yet maintaining only average grades, made him an easy target for ridicule. The added praise he received from teachers for his culinary skills didn't help his case among classmates.
Eventually, a few students decided to press him for lunch money. It was meant to be the usual intimidation.
Instead, they received neatly boxed samples of Shin's untested bizzare dishes—each aesthetically pleasing and unmistakably delicious… but not without quirks.
One caused mild digestive discomfort. Another had a strange tendency to induce hiccups or delayed sneezing fits. A particularly notorious one triggered a wave of uncontrollable stomach growls during class presentations. While the flavors were exceptional, the aftermath was just enough to make the trio of bullies rethink their decision.
They stopped bothering him soon after—not out of respect, but simply because the risk of becoming a walking side effect was too much to handle and they also developed a deep trauma and fear when hearing Shin's cheerful voice directed at them.
Shin, on the other hand, was quietly disappointed. He had lost three dependable voluntary taste testers.
From then on, he remained his usual passive self, but developed a curious interest in observing potential candidates for "involuntary culinary trials." It was a peculiar quirk he developed this year.
Even so, Shin's first year ended without major incident. Peaceful, uneventful—yet unmistakably flavored by his quiet eccentricities.
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The new school term began, and with it came the steady rhythm of student life. For Shin, not much had changed.
He remained passive—still quietly navigating the day-to-day, still drifting through lessons with half a mind on food experiments, and still spending most of his breaks in the library. The only real difference was back at the orphanage: Shin now cooked only three times a week. Akiha and Sister Amiya had become fully capable in the kitchen, with dishes that could easily qualify for a one-star restaurant.
Though their cooking lacked Shin's otherworldly precision, the food still carried faint revitalizing effects. This, everyone agreed, was likely thanks to the ingredients—hand-grown in the orphanage's backyard garden, which Shin personally maintained.
One afternoon, while heading back to the library after a restroom break, Shin came across a familiar scene near the hallway junction.
Three students—instantly familiar in posture and aura—were cornering another boy near the lockers. Shin recognized the trio immediately: his former "voluntary testers" of culinary experimentation.
He had never bothered to learn their real names. And still hadn't. For convenience, he simply referred to them as Ichigo, Nigo, and Sango. Remembering anything more felt like wasted effort. He also never used honorifics—given their "bond," such formality felt unnecessary.
As he turned the corner and saw them again, Shin tilted his head slightly—mildly nostalgic. But what caught his attention wasn't just the trio—it was the boy they were pestering.
About Shin's height, with short black hair and a modest build, the student gave off an aura of complete normalcy. He wasn't resisting—just nervously trying to gather the scattered books at his feet.
From the edge of the hallway, Shin caught a voice sneering.
"Oi, Nagumo. What's with this stack of isekai crap?"
That name—and the topic—caught Shin's attention.
He approached.
"Yo, Ichigo. Nigo. Sango."
The three flinched.
That voice. That casual tone. That disarmingly cheerful greeting Shin rarely used.
Their bodies tensed before they even turned.
When they did, and saw Shin walking toward them—head tilted, that unreadable gaze, and a wide, innocent smile—
They froze.
As Shin got closer, the color drained from their faces.
His tone never wavered.
"What's this? Don't tell me you haven't had lunch yet. Is that why you're acting like this again?"
Flashbacks. The meals. The side effects. The strange sensations. The unspeakable stomach incidents.
They turned pale and bolted without a word.
Shin, still smiling, watched their backs vanish down the corridor.
He exhaled lightly and muttered—
"…Why so cold of them~."
Only then did Shin's expression return to its usual calm neutrality—like a switch had quietly flipped off.
He crouched down and picked up one of the light novels scattered on the floor. His eyes scanned the covers, briefly lingering on the titles—most of which featured words like "other world," "summoning," or "isekai." The artwork was colorful, and some titles were comically long.
Shin, who usually read cookbooks, agricultural manuals, or classic literature, had never paid much attention to what Japan called "subculture novels." Still, these strangely specific and chaotic titles sparked a flicker of curiosity in him.
Interesting.
He dusted the book off and held it out.
The boy looked up—wide-eyed, stunned, still trying to process what had just happened.
And so, Takagi Shin and Nagumo Hajime met for the very first time.
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Hajime was stunned by the past few moments. The bullies had vanished the instant that white-haired boy approached—as if fleeing from a ghost. Just as quickly, the boy's unsettlingly cheerful demeanor shifted into a calm, unreadable blankness, like someone flipping off a switch.
Shin stood silently beside him, holding out the light novel he'd picked up.
"...Th-thank you," Hajime managed, still dazed.
"You dropped it," Shin said with a small nod.
A moment of silence hung between them, broken only by the distant chatter of students in the hallway. Hajime took the book slowly, still trying to process what had just happened.
"You're... Takagi-kun, right?" he asked cautiously.
Shin tilted his head, as if trying to recall if he had ever introduced himself. "...Yeah."
"You really scared those guys off," Hajime added, unsure whether to be impressed or concerned. "Did... did you know them?"
Shin blinked. "Hmm? Ichigo, Nigo, Sango? Well, they used to be my volunteers. I'm still wondering why they stopped showing up during lunch for taste-testing my new prototype dishes."
"...Huh?"
Hajime blinked again, realizing those definitely weren't their real names. Shin had addressed them like batches of experimental test subjects.
"...I—I see," he replied awkwardly.
Another pause followed.
Shin gaze drifted to the stack of light novels Hajime had dropped. He crouched slightly, eyes scanning the titles.
"You like isekai stories?" Shin asked.
"Yeah," Hajime replied, perking up a little.
"A lot."
"I don't really read these," Shin admitted, picking one up.
"But... endless ingredients, strange creatures... might be interesting to cook with. Could expand my repertoire."
Hajime stared, stunned at that perspective.
"...You mean, like, eating dragons and stuff?"
Shin nodded, dead serious.
"I wonder if they taste like chicken. I read somewhere reptiles often do."
Hajime paused—then let out a short laugh. Genuine. Confused. Amused.
"...You're weird."
"...I get that a lot," Shin replied plainly.
After a moment, Hajime opened his mouth to say something, but Shin beat him to it.
"Do you have more of these? Or maybe titles that focus on creatures or cooking?"
Hajime blinked, then smiled. For some reason, that simple question made him feel oddly happy.
"Yeah... I've got a few. Want to read them together during breaks in the library?"
Shin nodded without hesitation. With the two heading to the library.
Shin suddenly paused mid-step, his expression still calm—but with a slight furrow of thought.
"Ah… I forgot to ask something important."
Hajime tilted his head.
"Huh? What is it?"
Shin looked at him blankly.
"What's your name?"
There was a short beat of silence. Hajime blinked.
"Wait… we're in the same class, aren't we?"
Hajime let out a dry laugh.
"It's Hajime. Nagumo Hajime."
Shin nodded, completely unfazed.
"Got it. Then I'll just call you Hajime-san."
Hajime chuckled, a little amused.
"Uh, sure?"
Shin returned the gesture politely.
"I'm Takagi Shin. You can just call me Shin if you want."
And just like that, the beginning of an odd friendship was formed—between the isekai daydreamer and the culinary enigma who wondered how monsters might taste sautéed in miso.