When I Helped Out At My Classy Classmate's Family Home, They Started Going All Out To Close In On Me From Every Angle. - Chapter 9: The Nail That Sticks Out Gets Hammered, But If It Sticks Out Too Much, It's Recognized—2

The Nail That Sticks Out Gets Hammered, But If It Sticks Out Too Much, It’s Recognized—2

May 5th. The third day of Golden Week.

“Starting today, you’re joining the kitchen staff.”

“…What?”

The words from Gen-san left me stunned as I was just about to start my work. I couldn’t help but question if I’d misheard him.

“Me? Joining the kitchen staff?”

“You’re making a pretty clueless face there. I explained it beforehand, didn’t I? ‘The job description may change depending on aptitude.’”

“I understand that and have accepted it. That’s not the issue here.”

Still bewildered, I furrowed my brows and asked,

“I’m just a part-timer, you know? I haven’t undergone any training. Are you sure it’s okay for me to be involved in cooking?”

In the world of chefs, there are several ranks:

• • “Oimawashi”: The apprenticeship phase, where one handles prep work, cleaning, and other miscellaneous tasks.

• • “Araiba”: Responsible for preparing seafood and other raw ingredients.

• • “Hassunba”: Handles plating for dishes like appetizers and hors d’oeuvres.

• • “Yakikata”: Specializes in grilling and frying dishes.

• • “Mushiba”: Focuses on steamed dishes.

• • “Nikata”: Prepares stews, soups, broths, and sauces.

• • “Mukouita”: Responsible for sashimi preparation.

• • “Niban”: The sous chef, second in command in the kitchen.

• • “Itacho (Head Chef)”: The head chef, overseeing the entire kitchen.

A novice chef starts as an Oimawashi. Once they master the tasks assigned at this level, they gradually move up the ranks, step by step, learning each skill along the way until they finally aim to become the Itacho, the pinnacle of the craft.

Chef training is grueling. It typically takes a year to master the responsibilities of one level before advancing to the next. Becoming a fully-fledged chef demands time and relentless effort.

Yet here I was, having worked at Hanamori for less than a week, with no training whatsoever. The idea of someone like me participating in cooking felt utterly absurd.

That’s precisely why I couldn’t believe Gen-san’s words. It shook me to my core.

“Training is certainly important. You can’t entrust cooking to someone with half-baked skills,” he said.

“But,” he added with a sly grin,

“Being too rigid about traditions isn’t good either. Sometimes, you need to keep an open mind. For instance, when you come across something far beyond an unpolished gem—something already refined, gleaming, and dazzling like a diamond—that’s when it’s especially important to reconsider the rules.”

It was painfully clear what—or rather, who—Gen-san’s metaphor referred to.

As I stood there, holding my breath, he spoke directly to me.

“Tetsu. You’re better than menial tasks.”

A surge of overwhelming joy coursed through me, almost to the point of trembling. This must be what people mean by being moved to tears.

And how could I not be? To receive such high praise from Gen-san, the pinnacle of chefs—it was impossible to contain the elation welling up inside me.

I was ecstatic, my earlier confusion and nervousness instantly swept away. I wanted to nod eagerly and accept Gen-san’s words without hesitation.

But at the last moment, I stopped myself. A concern I couldn’t ignore held me back.

Would the senior staff allow me to join their ranks in the kitchen?

The senior chefs had earned their positions through years of dedication and hard work. Their journey had undoubtedly been grueling.

And yet, here I was—a mere part-timer—attempting to stand alongside them. It was hard to imagine them being okay with that.

They’d never accept it, right? In fact, they might be boiling with rage on the inside.

Nervously, I glanced at the senior chefs, trying to gauge their reactions.

To my surprise, not a single one of them voiced an objection or directed any complaints my way.

“There’s no need to worry about their opinions,” Gen-san said with a chuckle, noticing my bewilderment.

“I’ve already cleared it with them. Not one of them has any issue with you joining the kitchen.”

“You’ve cleared it with them? When did you do that?”

“When you made the staff meal,” he replied.

His words brought the memory rushing back.

—So, what do you think? Does anyone have any objections to ‘that matter’?

The question Gen-san had posed to the senior staff yesterday. The “matter” he referred to was, of course, adding me to the kitchen team.

No one had objected to his question then. In other words, as Gen-san had just said, the senior staff had no issue with me joining the kitchen.

With that assurance, there was nothing left to worry about. I could simply follow my heart and accept Gen-san’s offer.

Resolving myself, I turned to Gen-san and bowed deeply.

“Underst—”

“Hold it right there!!”

The shout, almost like a roar, stopped me in my tracks.

Startled, I turned toward the source of the voice. A senior chef, likely in his early twenties, stood there with his brows furrowed in anger.

This was the same senior—the rough-looking one—who had glared at me yesterday when Gen-san brought up the topic.

“What’s the matter, Hide?” Gen-san asked, his voice calm.

“I can’t accept this after all!”

Hide’s sharp words prompted Gen-san to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

“Yesterday, you didn’t voice any objections,” Gen-san pointed out.

“I held back then. Because it was you saying it, Gen-san.”

“But,” Hide continued, his face flushed with emotion,

“I just can’t accept it! We take pride in our work as chefs! We dedicate our lives to this craft! And now, you’re telling us to let some random rookie, someone we know nothing about, join the kitchen? That’s outrageous!”

Hide’s fiery declaration was met with a few nods of agreement from other senior chefs—likely the ones who had reluctantly agreed yesterday.

I knew it. There’s bound to be discontent. It’s only natural.

A bead of cold sweat rolled down my temple.

Hide’s sharp gaze pierced through me.

“We can’t just spoil him! He’s not allowed to get ahead of himself!”

The intensity in Hide’s gaze, filled with what seemed like hatred, sent a shiver through me.

This is bad… How am I supposed to resolve this mess?

Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, my mind raced for solutions.

Meanwhile, Gen-san, seemingly unfazed, appeared to have anticipated such a scenario.

“Well, Hide’s opinion isn’t without merit,” Gen-san said calmly. “It’s natural for there to be some dissatisfaction.”

Running his hand over his stubbly jawline, Gen-san smirked.

“In that case, let’s settle this with a little trial of skill.”

“A trial of skill?” Hide asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“Yeah,” Gen-san affirmed with a nod.

“You and Tetsu will have a cooking showdown. If Tetsu can demonstrate skills good enough to match yours, then you’ll have no choice but to acknowledge him, right?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Hide said, baring his teeth in a feral grin. “Not that there’s even a one-in-a-million chance of that happening, though.”

“If Hide wins, the idea of adding Tetsu to the kitchen team is off the table,” Gen-san continued. “But if Tetsu wins, there’ll be no more objections. How about that? Does that sound fair to everyone?”

The seniors who had sided with Hide nodded in unison. No one seemed to have any complaints.

“Alright, then! It’s decided!”

Gen-san clapped his hands together loudly.

“That’s the end of this discussion for now. We’ve got work to do.”

Prompted by Gen-san, the seniors started preparing for the lunch shift.

Meanwhile, I stood frozen in place, utterly dumbfounded by the whirlwind of events.

Wait, what just happened?! Now I have to face Hide in a cooking showdown? I didn’t even get to say a single word about this! I’ve been completely sidelined!

Clutching my head in disbelief, I watched as Hide shot me another glare.

“I’m going to crush you. Get ready.”

“P-Please go easy on me,” I stammered.