Chapter 8: Dumplings Need Green Chili (Passion)

I wake up, wash my face, and eat some frozen rice with natto.

Then I brush my teeth, do a quick tidy-up around the house, and take out the trash.

After that, I open my closet—not to pull out a suit, but to grab a cheap set of sweatpants from a discount store and change out of my pajamas.

You could argue that sweats and pajamas are basically the same thing, but it’s less about the clothes and more about the act of changing. That shift matters to me.

When you’re unemployed, there’s no set structure to your day.

You can watch movies all day or lie around in bed doing nothing. I actually tried that for about a week. But the longer I lived like that, the more I felt like I’d been cast out of society—and it became impossible to continue.

Now, I wake up like I used to when I was working, take care of my surroundings, and sit at my desk.

That sense of routine is important to me.

With a mechanical pencil I hardly used during my working life, I take notes in a notebook—important points, things I want to remember.

Over and over again, I write, review, erase, and rewrite.

While I’m studying with focused intensity, taking occasional breaks, the doorbell rings.

I don’t remember expecting a delivery today. I glance at the clock—it’s already past noon.

“Ah, crap.”

I rush to open the door, and there stands Serina, clearly displeased.

“Did you forget our plans today, Saki-san?”

“Uh, well… Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m just the second or third choice anyway.”

She turns her head away in mock offense, and I pull out my phone from my pocket. Sure enough, I see several messages from her—asking what kind of gift she should bring, letting me know she’s on her way.

She didn’t need to buy anything or text at all; she could’ve just come over whenever.

So earnest. I shake my head slightly in disbelief.

“I don’t really get what you’re saying, but yeah… My bad.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking I’m a pain, aren’t you? I can see it on your face!”

“I thought it, but I didn’t say it. And hey, I let you in, didn’t I? So what’s there to be mad about?”

“That’s beside the point! I’m upset because you forgot our plans!”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

I let her in and quickly clear away the study materials spread across my desk.

“You were studying?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I study with you sometime?”

“Why?”

The question doesn’t quite make sense. Back in school, studying together made sense—you’d help each other out. But that’s not really the dynamic between me and Serina. I just can’t see the benefit.

“It’s an excuse to come over! Why don’t you get that?!”

“You don’t need an excuse. Come over whenever. I’m not studying that seriously.”

Today, Serina’s a bit odd.

She’s overly defensive, sulky, all over the place emotionally.

“… Is it that time of the month?”

“I will hit you.”

She gives a dazzling smile and disappears into the bathroom.

Back when we were working part-time together, I thought she was more reserved.

But after we started hanging out, I began to see more of her emotions—her smiles, her frustrations.

She speaks her feelings openly now, and honestly, I’m still a little overwhelmed by her intensity.

That time she got drunk and told me she liked me—it wasn’t a lie. Since then, I’ve heard her say it several more times.

Each time, I didn’t know what to say. I just avoided the question, hoping to let the moment pass.

I hate that I can’t be clear. I don’t think Serina’s a bad person. She’s fun, and I enjoy being around her.

But still… I’m afraid of people.

I’m afraid of malice. Even without ill intent, people can barge into your life with careless force, and that scares me.

And besides—Serina’s a woman.

I know some women date other women, but I never thought I’d be one of them.

I turn on the TV and queue up a few random B-movies on a streaming service. When Serina comes back, I let her pick one, and we start watching.

The opening scene is a wild action sequence followed by the title credits.

Then, for some reason, the hero’s wife gets kidnapped and locked in a hotel room.

There’s a glitzy dance scene, followed by a tense police rescue operation.

Then boom—an explosion rocks the hotel, and the hero makes his grand entrance.

“There’s no way he survived that blast. At least a limb or two would be gone, right?”

“Maybe he’s holding himself together with sheer muscle. He keeps flexing like crazy anyway.”

“So muscles make you immortal? I guess I need to start working out.”

Mimicking the hero, Serina raises her arms and strikes a double biceps pose. The name floats into my head—_double biceps_. Sounds way too cool for what it is.

As I watch absentmindedly, Serina’s face turns red from the effort of trying to flex. Finally, a tiny bump forms on her twig-like arm.

“First you need to eat and gain some weight.”

“I think it’s my metabolism. I just can’t seem to put on weight.”

“Well then, let’s start today.”

Right after the hero rescues his wife from the building, I pause the movie and stand up, heading to the fridge to grab some ingredients.

How many people did that hero kill for his wife, anyway?

From another perspective, isn’t he kind of a terrorist?

Thinking about that, I rinse a cutting board and start chopping vegetables—chives and cabbage—then mash them together with ground meat.

I wrap the filling in dumpling skins, sealing them with water and making delicate folds along the edges.

“Do you have garlic?”

“I do. You want some?”

I hesitate—just chives already stink, and adding garlic would make it worse. But then I remember: I’m not seeing anyone tomorrow. It’ll be fine.

I grab a clove, peel it, and set it on the cutting board.

“Wait. Leave it whole.”

Serina picks up the garlic clove and wraps it into a dumpling along with a bit of filling.

“… Who’s going to eat that one?”

“We’ll play rock-paper-scissors.”

I pretend not to notice her mischievous smile and focus on making normal dumplings.

Soon, I hear plastic rustling beside me, and a strange mix of sweet and spicy scents drifts over.

“What’s that?”

“Marshmallows. They taste great grilled.”

“… Right.”

By the time we run out of filling and skins, the counter is lined with dumplings—way too many for two people.

I ignore the quantity for now and make a mental note of the weird-shaped ones. Then I start cooking them, frying them in a hot pan until golden, flipping them onto a plate, batch after batch, until the table is covered in crispy, golden-brown dumplings.

Though the sun is still bright through the curtains, I set the table for dinner.

“Beer?”

“Lemon chu-hi today.”

I pop open a colorful 350ml can and take a sip. After a moment of hesitation, Serina grabs the same.

We eat carefully—choosing each dumpling with our chopsticks, chewing the good ones slowly, and washing down the weird-tasting ones with alcohol.

Occasionally, Serina makes a face, pinches her nose, or tears up, but she keeps eating.

“Saki-san…”

“Yeah?”

“This one with the green chili—it’s actually kinda good, isn’t it?”

“It was insanely spicy.”

“It’s a passionate vegetable, don’t you think?”

“What am I even supposed to say to that?”

As night falls and I draw the blackout curtains, our plates are completely empty.

“We really ate a lot.”

“We worked hard. Time for muscle training next.”

“Please don’t exercise with garlic breath.”

“Wait, does it really smell?”

She covers her mouth and breathes into her hand.

“Nope, I’m good!”

She wiggles her nose, then breaks into a grin.

Then she leans in, trying to blow her breath into my face.

“Wait—hey—”

I try to stop her, but she grabs my arms instead, pinning them down and pushing me onto the floor.

Suddenly, her face is just inches from mine.

My heart gives a loud, sharp thump.

“… I like you.”

“Thanks. But can you let go of my hands? I want to get up.”

Both my wrists are pinned down by Serina’s hands. I can feel the hardness of the floor beneath me.

If I really wanted, I could break free. She’s nimble, but weak. My muscle mass could easily overpower her.

But I’d rather not have to.

“Serina?”

“Do you really feel nothing when you’re with me?”

“I think it’s fun being with you.”

“Nothing else?”

Her lips are tight. Her brow is furrowed. It’s like she’s holding something back—like the words spilled out despite her trying to contain them.

There’s no way I could pretend I didn’t notice.

I bite my lip.

No matter how hard I search within myself, I can’t find even a fragment of an answer.

“You’re the one who let me in, Saki-san. You can’t act like this wasn’t coming.”

“Assuming what someone’s thinking just based on their actions leads to misunderstandings.”

She tightens her grip on my wrists, and I wince from the pain.

I want to pull away. I hate pain.

But still—I don’t.

“… You’re cruel, you know that?”

“I know.”

“Can I kiss you?”

The suddenness of it catches me off guard.

I blink. I’ve thought about it before, but hearing it aloud, I can’t find the words.

Can I really do that—with a woman?

“Are you… Hesitating?”

As I struggle to answer, she chuckles darkly, teasing.

Her eyes aren’t like usual—they’re burning hot, sharp enough to cut. Like she could kill someone with just a glance.

“… At least let go of my hands.”

Another sharp heartbeat. I steady my voice as best I can.

She lets go without resistance, and I rub my sore wrists.

“Did that hurt? Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Even so, she shows no intention of getting off me. She just smiles down, tilting her head like she’s waiting for me to answer.

She’s not going to let me run away.

“Well, uh…”

What am I afraid of?

It’s not like I hate her. I actually—