My childhood friend got me drunk and did it with me. I think it felt really good, so I continued being with her as well. ...Yandere? what is that? - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The taste of her cooking

[Natsume’s POV]

The scent drifting from the kitchen is… divine. A rich, savory aroma fills the air, interwoven with hints of garlic, soy sauce, and something lightly sweet. My stomach growls in response. This is unexpected.

Miyuki is not a cook. That much I’ve always known. But tonight, everything about the way she moves in the kitchen is confident, precise. Her sleeves are rolled up, her hair tied back, and for once, she looks like she actually belongs here—like she’s in complete control of the culinary battlefield. Pots sizzle, a spoon clinks against a bowl, and the steady rhythm of chopping fills the space between us.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say, leaning against the counter, watching her work.

She flicks a glance at me, smirking. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Natsume.”

I swallow, unsure if that was meant to be a warning or a tease.

She plates the food with surprising finesse, sliding the dish toward me with an expectant look. A steaming bowl of what appears to be a perfectly balanced stir-fry sits before me—golden vegetables, glistening meat, and fluffy rice topped with a perfectly cooked egg. It looks… incredible.

“Go on,” Miyuki says, propping her chin on her palm. “Try it.”

I pick up my chopsticks, my doubts momentarily silenced by the flawless presentation. If she had told me she secretly trained under a Michelin-starred chef, I would have believed her. I take a bite.

Regret is immediate.

My mind struggles to process what’s happening. At first, the texture seems normal, but then a horrifying sequence of sensations unfolds. It’s as if my tongue is experiencing every flavor known to mankind—except none of them belong together. There’s an unbearable saltiness, followed by an unholy bitterness, then an inexplicable sweetness that makes my teeth ache. And beneath it all, an aftertaste so metallic, I wonder if I’ve just licked the inside of a rusted pipe.

My throat tightens. My stomach revolts. My vision tilts.

Then, darkness.

I wake up to a sharp slap on my cheek. My head is pounding, my stomach feels like it’s been cursed, and there’s a faint ringing in my ears.

“Natsume,” Miyuki’s voice calls from above me, and I blink up at her, dazed. She’s kneeling beside me, her face unreadable. “What the hell?”

I groan, trying to sit up. “Did I die?”

“No, you passed out. What kind of weak constitution do you have?”

“Miyuki,” I say hoarsely, gripping her wrist like a man who has seen the edge of the afterlife, “what did you put in that food?”

She huffs. “Nothing weird. Eggs, soy sauce, some spices, a little experimental seasoning—”

“What seasoning?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “A few things I found in the back of the pantry. It was a whitish bottle, and smelled like rice, so I thought it would taste good too, right?”

I stare at her.

“Can you bring me that?”

“I already threw it away, don’t worry, you’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely! I still feel dizzy” I mutter, rubbing my temple. “Next time, let’s just order a takeout.”

She scoffs. “Absolutely not. I refuse to let this defeat me. I’ll just have to try again.”

Panic surges through me.

“Wait, wait, let’s not be hasty,” I say, sitting up properly. “There’s no need for a round two. You’ve already proven yourself. I mean, the fact that your cooking is powerful enough to knock a man out? That’s a skill in itself.”

She raises a brow. “Are you trying to flatter me so I won’t cook again?”

“Is it working?”

She smirks. “Not a chance.”

I groan, letting my head fall down.

I’m doomed.

Miyuki pats my head with a laugh, fingers threading through my hair with a tenderness that contradicts the fact that she might have nearly sent me to the hospital.

“You’ll live, Natsume,” she says, amusement clear in her voice. “And this time, I’ll make sure it’s even better.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. But,

“This time?”

“Yes!”

“I’m scared.”

After which, she places the dish before me with a confident flourish. It looks… amazing. A beautiful curry, vibrant and rich, its aroma warm and inviting. There’s no way—no way—this can be as bad as the last time. With cautious hope, I take a bite.

My eyes widen.

It’s good.

“It’s really good!”

No, not just good—this is incredible. The balance of spices, the tenderness of the meat, the silky texture of the sauce—it’s all perfect. My taste buds sing praises I never thought possible in Miyuki’s kitchen. I look up at her, stunned.

She crosses her arms, looking smug. “Well?”

I swallow. “Miyuki… this is—”

Before I can finish my sentence, she’s already placing another plate in front of me. “Here, try this one too.”

I hesitate, but after that divine curry,

—————I let my guard down. The new dish is something baked, golden and flaky, topped with what looks like cheese. It smells good—at least, from a distance. I take a bite.

I should have known.

Horror floods my senses as the flavors clash violently in my mouth. It tastes like someone tried to make a dessert out of fish and regret. A slow, cold dread creeps up my spine as the edges of my vision blur.

Not again.

Miyuki’s face is the last thing I see before the world fades to black.