The Beautiful Kuudere Woman Who Always Reads Books While Standing Next to Me at the Laundromat Turns Out to Be the Vice President of One of Our Clients
After leaving the interior shop, I decided to go to a nearby retro coffee shop to refresh my mood.
The well-used wooden tables, the pleasant jazz background music, and the aromatic smell of coffee. Unlike the overly sophisticated, non-everyday space I had just left, the nostalgic atmosphere slowly cooled down my emotions, which had been heightened by my expensive purchase. Well, I didn’t spend a single yen, though.
When I opened the menu, there were photos of colorful parfaits. I had come for lunch, but this was fine too.
“Tsukishima san, 1,500 yen for a parfait suddenly feels cheap.”
“Fufu…your sense of money is broken. In times like this, sweets are the best remedy. Sugar debugs your brain.”
Tsukishima san said that and pointed to the “Seasonal Fruit and Mille-feuille Parfait” without hesitation. I hesitated a little and ordered the “Matcha and Warabi Mochi Japanese-Style Parfait,” which felt a bit more calming.
Soon, two beautifully crafted parfaits were brought to our table.
My matcha parfait had a serene appearance, like a Japanese garden, with deep green, white, and black honey brown colors intertwined.
On the other hand, Tsukishima san’s fruit parfait had a vibrant, almost modern art-like appearance, with colorful fruits like strawberries, kiwis, oranges, and blueberries layered with cream and pastry dough.
“Wow…that’s amazing.”
I muttered in admiration. Tsukishima san made a “hmm” sound and peered into the container from both sides, observing the layers.
As I watched her, I picked up my spoon and was about to dig into my parfait when Tsukishima san stopped me.
“Wait, Minato san. Are you going to start from the top?”
“Eh? Isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?”
“You’re so sweet, Minato san.”
“Well…it’s a parfait, right?”
“A parfait is a meticulously constructed system made up of multiple layers. From the top, there’s a fruit layer, a cream layer, a pie crust layer, an ice cream layer…each module has a clear role and is arranged accordingly. To mindlessly break it down from the top is the same as turning beautiful code into spaghetti.”
“Spaghetti…makes me want to eat pasta.”
“Fufu…you’re eating too much.”
“By the way, do you have a different method, Tsukishima san?”
“Hmm. Insert the spoon vertically and deeply. This allows you to scoop up all the layers at once and integrate them in your mouth. Only then can you experience the original flavor architecture as designed. It’s like a geological survey.”
Geological survey… This person seems to be unable to rest until they redefine every phenomenon with their own logic.
“I see……well, from another perspective, a parfait could be considered a story. By eating it from top to bottom, you can enjoy the changing flavors. Beginning, development, turning point, conclusion. The first bite and the last bite should have completely different aftertastes, not unlike the aftertaste of a story. How about interpreting that as the essence of a parfait?”
When I countered that, Tsukishima san nodded slightly in agreement, saying, “Your interpretation makes sense, Minato san. A sequential user experience…”
“Well, but with your method, all that’s left at the end is the cornflakes used to bulk it up. The punchline is always the cornflakes.”
Tsukishima san smiled and pointed to the cornflakes at the bottom of the parfait. Grr…
“This…this isn’t just for bulk; it’s supporting the world.”
“Then it’s like the turtle at the bottom of the Earth.”
“Exactly. There’s also an elephant.”
Without imposing our preferences on each other, we began eating our respective parfaits in our own styles. My matcha parfait featured a perfect harmony of bitter matcha ice cream, chewy warabi mochi, and elegantly sweet red bean paste. Delicious.
However, my gaze had unconsciously been drawn to Tsukishima san’s parfait next to me. The sparkling fruits and crispy pie crust she scooped up with her spoon seemed to radiate a vibrant and festive atmosphere that my matcha parfait lacked.
“Hey, Tsukishima san. This might sound weird, but.”
“What?”
“Why does the other person’s order always look more delicious than your own when you’re in a situation like this?”
At my words, Tsukishima san paused for a moment, still holding the spoon to her mouth.
“Yeah…that’s a classic cognitive bias. It’s what’s known as the ‘grass is greener on the other side’ phenomenon. We unconsciously idealize the future we didn’t choose. It’s a glitch in the human brain.”
“A glitch, huh. I see…”
“Exactly. Right now, Minato san is simulating the taste of my parfait in your head. But the results of that simulation are overly positive, influenced by the regret of not choosing it, regardless of the actual taste. So if you actually ate it, you’d probably think, ‘Hmm, it’s not as good as I thought.’ In other words, the ‘deliciousness’ you’re feeling right now is an illusion.”
She cut through my emotions with perfect logic. She might be right. But…
I suddenly realized something.
Even as Tsukishima san was laying out her perfect logic, her gaze kept being drawn to the wobbly warabi mochi and shiratama dumplings on top of my matcha parfait, over and over again.
Her spoon’s movements were slowing down slightly.
She took a bite of her own parfait, then glanced at mine.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again.
She fidgeted with the glass of cold water on the table for no reason.
…She was fidgeting.
Tsukishima san was clearly fidgeting in front of my matcha parfait.
The adorable contradiction between her perfect logic and her uncontrollable instinctive desire. I found the scene so endearing that I couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection.
I didn’t point out her contradiction in a rude manner. I simply watched in silence as she confronted the glitch in her own heart.
A few seconds, or perhaps a few dozen seconds. After a strange silence, like waiting for a heavy program to finish processing.
Tsukishima san raised her face as if she had made up her mind. Her cheeks were slightly red.
“…Hey, Minato san.”
She said in a small, almost inaudible voice.
“…Let’s exchange a bite.”
The moment I heard those words, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Haha…go ahead.”
I answered as gently as possible and moved the container toward Tsukishima san, who then asked, “Can you feed me?”
Tsukishima san demonstrated by carefully scooping up a spoonful of her own parfait. However, she only scooped the top layer.
“Minato san, start from the top.”
Tsukishima-san said this and fed me several layers one by one.
In return, I scooped up the matcha parfait all the way down to the cornflake layer like a geological survey, trying to include as many flavors as possible, and brought it to Tsukishima san’s mouth.
However, because I was inexperienced, the cornflakes spilled from the spoon and fell onto Tsukishima san’s clothes.
“Ah…I-I’m sorry !”
“It’s okay. Just wash it at the laundromat.”
Tsukishima san said that without changing her expression.
“No matter what we do, we’ll end up there anyway…”
“Hmm. Yeah. These cornflakes will lead us to that place.”
Tsukishima san said that, picked up the cornflakes on her clothes, and licked them off before putting them in her mouth.
Maigetsu