Somewhere between the pockets of time when Mizuki pauses and Hinata waits, turning his sweat-stained face to exchange a tired look, it soon feels as if their work is way beyond them and even before they come to terms with it, they are only a few steps away from completion.
The oil in the pot sizzles for a few seconds longer as Hinata lifts the vegetable tempura from it, bubbles surfacing and then bursting against the surface.
Mizuki kneads the rice with a cherry blossom paste, serving it into a black, palm-sized bowl. Hinata rolls the tempura out on a tissue to make sure the oil that covers the crust is absorbed. "It looks good, doesn't it," Hinata says yearningly, seemingly captivated by his own cooking.
