Chapter Text
Tap Tap Tap
The dull sound from the knife in your hands clacked against the wooden board as it rang from one ear, and out the other. Unperturbed and silent, there was nothing in your mind as you gazingly stared at the sharp blade as it cut through the sunsettias.
God. This was so boring.
Why were you even here again?
Tap Tap Tap Tap Tap
You started to cut through the flesh of the orange fruit faster, wanting to make this boring activity go by quickly and have some fun while at it. Still, your mind was still preoccupied with menial things, and so you started to put your whole arm into it. The sound went from dull to quick and sharp movements that echoed throughout the kitchen.
TapTapTapTapTapTap-
Slice
“Agh!”
You instantly dropped your knife and watched as a small trickle of blood poured onto the sliced sunsettias. The boredom of tranquility was now replaced with pain and shame as the other culinary students looked over their shoulders to see what was going on. Mutters and whispers filled the kitchen as some students walked over to help, until a man scolded them and held them back to focus on their assignment.
He then directed his annoyed gaze at you and walked over. Instead of helping you out, he decided to give you an earful.
“(Y/N)! How many times do I have to tell you to stop zoning out!? Get your mind out the gutter, and focus. We can’t keep having you wasting ingredients.” He said with a sneer as he looked at the blood on the cutting board. “And clean up that disgusting mess yourself.”
Despite the man being in his late 60s, he sure doesn’t miss to give you a scolding every day that was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Still, that doesn’t mean the chef could just insult you like that.
“That was my bad sir.” You said as you looked down at your finger, trying to make yourself seem embarrassed and weak about the situation.
Titling your head up, a smile was already plastered onto the chef's face as if he had some victory.
Now is the perfect time to wipe off that grin.
“However I really think you should be wearing your chef’s hat, sir. The lights from your shining head obscured my vision!” You said with a feigned surprise. “So much so that I managed to cut myself.”
You wiped off that cocky smile off the chef in an instant. Now, you wore that smile.
“Are you seriously calling me bald!?” The chef roared. “The audacity for you to speak up against me like this!”
“I’m not the only one here who thinks that.” You said as you glanced at the snickering students.
“Besides, it’s something that you shouldn’t be embarrassed about - afterall, everyone here thinks that your coming of age is funny.”
“You-” The chef grabbed your arm harshly. “Come into my office, now. I will let your father hear about this.”
Before you could protest, a voice cutted through the atmosphere.
“Do we have a problem here?”
You turned your head to a young man who stood there, crossing his arms. He was dressed in a professional black attire, with a white tie to follow from his chest. His indigo hair and eyes suited the complexion of his fashion.
This guy wasn’t in a culinary uniform. Neither was he someone that you recognized. Just who is this guy?
The chef immediately let go of your arm and bowed, “My apologies. It’s just that this girl here has been foolish on the way she handles cutlery, and downplays that fact.”
The young man turned his focus onto you, and briefly looked at your finger. “Even if that is the case, you should be helping her get aid, not scolding her.” He then rummaged through his pockets and took out a handkerchief.
“Thanks.” You replied as you took the handkerchief.
The chef was baffled. “But why–”
“In order to make great dishes, the cook has to be in excellent health.” The young man replied with a small smile. “Not to mention sanitary reasons.”
The chef scorned under his breath, swallowing his pride. “Of-of course. May I ask you why you are here, Scaramouche?” The chef asked, trying to change the subject.
Ah, so that is his name. You thought to yourself as you pressed firmly onto the cut with the handkerchief.
“I just had a job interview. Not that I already needed one, of course.” Scaramouche replied. “Given my status, I should have already been a chef here.”
“That’s quite hilarious!” The chef said as he forced out a laugh. “Either way, you will be the greatest chef that this restaurant has to offer.”
“Don’t forget to add the greatest culinary teacher as well.”
The chef paused and looked at Scaramouche with shock. Baffled, even. “...but er I- there is already one here. Isn’t that supposed to be me? I’m already in the middle of teaching a lesson right now actually…”
A condescending smile played against his lips.“That’s why I came here to inform you that you are officially out of the kitchen. I am the one taking your role now.”
“But–”
“Goodbye.”
The chef - or rather the man who had just lost his title, sulked as he walked out of the kitchen. Knowing him, you knew that he had to bite down on his tongue to not lash out at Scaramouche. Heck, you were even surprised that he didn’t. Whoever this “Scaramouche” was, he certainly must be an important figure to the culinary industry itself.
Well, either way, you were glad that the previous chef was forced out of the kitchen. Serves him right.
Scaramouche gave a small chuckle, as if he was very pleased with himself. He then turned to you, and glanced at your finger.
“How’s your wound doing?”
“It’s beginning to stop bleeding.” You replied as you stopped applying pressure. The handkerchief was now bloodied up, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that such a pretty thing was messed up. Turning the handkerchief over, you read the small golden logo that was embellished into the soft, pure fabric.
You almost gagged at the brand.
“Why are you acting like that?” Scaramouche said as he eyed you, concerned.
“This is from Louvere!? Just how much did this cost!?”
“...about 300 dollars.”
“300 dollars!!?” You exclaimed. “I-I will somehow repay you and-”
“No need for that. In fact, you can keep it.” Scaramouche replied nonchalantly as if he had all the money in the world. “That has little importance to me.”
Damn. Just how rich is this guy?
“Now with that out of the way, how did you manage to cut yourself that deep?” Scaramouche said as he observed the bloodied up sunsettias that were resting on the cutting board.
You squint your eyes as you try to remember. “Ah right. I simply just zoned out cause I was bored.”
“Bored?” Scaramouche repeated, his eyes laced with interest. “Do you find cooking class a nuisance or is it just the task of cutting up things menial to you?”
“Both.” You said with a shrug. “I’m only taking this class because my father wants me to follow his prestige.”
“Ahhh, now I know who you are.” Scaramouche said as he finally recognized you. “Never thought I would get to teach the CEO’s daughter of this place. (Y/N), you should really be careful with how you handle knives.”
Oh so he already knows me. At least that saves introductions.
“Besides,” Scaramouche continued as his eyes lingered around the entire kitchen, “I think you might enjoy this class now that I am here.”
You snorted. “Heh. Goodluck with that.”
“Are you challenging me?”
“I’m just saying that cooking is not my passion. I’m more of an eater.”
“In that case, I will make a dish to your heart.” Scaramouche said as he wore a condescending smile, “You will be so amazed at my culinary skills that you will have a passionate curiosity to know the secrets behind it.”
“If you really think great food can make me love cooking, think again.” You replied with a confident manner.
“It seems that I know of you, but you don’t know me. Haven’t you heard of my culinary feats?” Scaramouche said in a disbelief tone. He thought that you, the next successor of the most popular and luxurious restaurant in Fontaine known as the La Boulangerie, would know him.
What he didn’t know though, is that you had no interest in taking your father’s business.
“Does that matter?” You said, pushing his pride away. “That will be up for me to judge.”
“Then I suppose you have accepted my offer.” Scaramouche said as he walked over to your cutting board.
Without another moment of hesitation, he started to clean the bloody mess off. However you didn’t really like the idea of someone else cleaning up the mess you made.
“That really isn’t necessary, I can do it-”
“You cleaning up and possibly having your wound reopen again? What a dumb suggestion.”
“Oh forgive me for having manners.” You sarcastically said.
Scaramouche didn’t even bother to look up at you as he continued to wipe down the blood off the board. “Forgive me for having the courtesy to help one of my future students out.”
This guy…
You scoffed. “Stop acting so coy.”
“Stop acting so rude.”
“I am not rude!” You shouted out.
“But you sure are loud.” Scaramouche said as he finally settled his eyes onto you. It was at that moment when you noticed that he wore a red eyeliner underneath his eyes, which actually complimented his purple pupils. It shined back at you, almost if it were to be made out of glass itself.
Does this guy wear contacts or something?
With the silent atmosphere, the same confident smile returned onto Scaramouches face. He must have thought that you had run out of snarky remarks to make against him. He briefly stopped wiping to make an announcement to the entire class.
“Due to (Y/N) request, be sure to arrive early next time if you guys want to try out a dish personally made by me. If there are no questions, class is dismissed.”
Request my ass, you wanted to serve me a dish.
Either way, you joined your classmates as they headed out of the kitchen. The guy may have an absurd level of ego, however you couldn’t deny that he was caring. Before stepping out of the threshold, you glanced back and saw Scaramouche with his back turned, still cleaning the area.
You thought that perhaps, there can be a chance that cooking is your passion after all. With a small smile, you closed the kitchen door behind yourself.
With the kitchen being stranded, Scaramouche walked around and took note of the ingredients that were still laying around. There were cartons of milk laying around, with a bowl of eggs in one corner of the counter and butter resting beside it. Sugar and flour on the other hand, was in the cupboards, tucked away.
“Hmph, seems like I can make the sunsettia cake right now.” He said to himself as he started to prepare his workspace.
Still, he needed the main ingredient : sunsettias. Except, the only ones in the kitchen are tainted with blood.
Scaramouche stared at the fresh sunsettias that you had not cutted up long ago, and picked them up. The pearls of red crimson were now dissolved into the sweet flesh of the sunsettia, making the original peach color turn into a faint pink. It was oddly pretty.
…and it oddly curated his curiosity.
A small smile etched onto his lips. He didn’t mind the blood. He didn’t mind it at all.
It was the perfect ingredient.