I was Thrown into an Unfamiliar Manga

After we finished the environmental cleanup activity in the forest, we immediately moved on to preparing dinner.
Unlike at home, where there’s a gas stove or induction cooktop, at a campsite we had to build the fire ourselves.

So each class was given a bundle of dry firewood and one axe.
Some boys, wanting to impress the girls, jumped at the chance to chop firewood. Unfortunately, splitting logs isn’t something you can do with just motivation.
More than strength, it required technique—and more than technique, it required knack.

In that sense, I—
—chose to split the wood by hand instead of using an axe.
Crack!

Placing the log across my knee and gripping both ends with my hands, I pulled them apart as if I were breaking an apple. The log split cleanly along the grain with a satisfying sound.
After splitting not just our group’s logs but even some from other groups, I packed the firewood neatly into the makeshift brick hearth.
To be honest, dry firewood alone is good enough to catch fire, but if you add straw, it’s even better.

I lit it with a lighter I had brought from home, transferred the flame using newspaper, and even lit other groups’ hearths for them.
Once the minimal prep for cooking was complete, we divided up the tasks.
The group leader of Group D pushed up her glasses and asked,

“Who’s going to cook the rice?”
Yaguchi raised her hand first.
“I’ve cooked rice in a pot at home a few times. It’s my first time doing it over a fire, but I think it’ll go okay.”

It’s always best to have someone experienced in these situations.
The lack of precise heat control was a concern, but it was still better than having a complete novice.
A moment later, Sakamoto also raised his hand.

“Ah, I’ll help Maiya cook. I’m not good at cooking, but I can help with simple stuff.”
With that, the childhood friend pair took on rice duty.
“Then, what about the cooking?”
As soon as that question was asked, Sasha, Rika, and I all raised our hands at the same time.

“As I said before, I’ll make beef stroganoff.”
“I’ll make omurice!”
I lifted the wok and ladle I had taken out of the tent earlier and said,

“I’m already set.”
Usually, what students make at Forest Training School is curry or barbecue.
But since our group had such distinct personalities, none of us wanted to make curry.

Honestly, I could have gone with curry too, but if I was going to cook anyway, I wanted to make something I was really good at—even if it was a bit of a stretch.
“Alright. Then the three of you will cook.”
Listening from the side, Satoru tilted his head and asked,

“Then what about me and the class rep?”
The class rep pushed up her glasses again and replied as if it were obvious.
“You’re the negotiator.”

“Negotiator? What do you mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. You’re in charge of negotiating food swaps with other groups—like their curry for our dishes. With your silver tongue, Momochi, it should be easy.”
“Hmph. The class rep understands how great I am, after all.”

Whether Satoru was basking in the compliment or not, the class rep clapped her hands and looked around at us.
“Alright, let’s get started. If we don’t move now, we won’t finish before sunset.”
As I followed her instruction, I had a feeling I understood why she hadn’t assigned herself a specific role until the end.

The class rep’s job was to oversee all six of us.
She had the widest perspective among us, so if someone looked like they might mess up, she’d step in and point it out.
Thinking of it that way, it felt like having a powerful ally by my side. So I decided to focus on fulfilling the role I was given.

***
The method for making Chinese rice bowls, often called “zhonghua bibimbap,” is really simple.
Chop up prepared napa cabbage, green onion, carrots, onions, and button mushrooms.

Then oil a wok, and when it’s hot enough, stir-fry one geun (about 600 grams) of pork shoulder.
The key at this stage is to spread the meat wide so it doesn’t stick. Once the meat is cooked, add green onion, pepper, and salt for basic seasoning.
When the green onion’s aroma has masked the meat’s smell, throw all the pre-cut vegetables and shrimp into the wok.

Now it becomes a race against time.
“Satoru!”
As planned, Satoru—waiting by the hearth—tossed firewood under the wok the moment he got my signal, then fanned hard to raise the flames.

While he did that, I stir-fried skillfully just like I did in the kitchen back home, giving the meat and vegetables a smoky, flame-seared flavor.
If you cook it too long, moisture comes out of the vegetables and ruins their crunch. So it’s important to cook quickly on high heat.
After that, I added chili powder and sugar for a reddish tint, and finally thickened the sauce with dissolved starch water to give it that sticky consistency perfect for rice bowls.

It would’ve tasted even better with oyster sauce or MSG, but this was already plenty good, so I skipped those.
After transferring the finished sauce to another bowl, I re-oiled the wok and started frying eggs in batches for each person, almost deep-frying them.
By the time I finished my dish, the others were wrapping up their cooking too.

Unable to resist until we ate together, Satoru snuck a taste ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) of the rice bowl sauce with his chopsticks. His eyes widened, and he gave me a thumbs-up.
“美味 (Delicious)!”
For the cook, that was as good as a five-star review. Smiling happily, I carried the sauce and the fried eggs to the final battleground.

***
The judge for today’s cooking battle was the leader of Group D and, somehow, the person most likely to give a fair assessment—the class rep.
Sasha, Rika, and I exchanged nervous looks.

I didn’t know why, but my palms were sweating like crazy.
Sasha was the first to confidently present her dish.
It was a brown-colored sauce, poured over white rice like curry.

Beef stroganoff.
A representative Russian dish, famous for having a fancy-sounding name despite its simple cooking method.
Of course, with simple dishes, the flavor can vary wildly depending on who makes it—so it’s easy to cook but hard to make truly delicious.

Sasha’s beef stroganoff had a dark brown color, likely made with a brown roux base.
The main ingredients—beef, onions, and button mushrooms—were stir-fried in a pan, then mixed with butter and flour to make a roux, after which broth and sour cream were added to adjust the thickness.
Seasoned only with salt and pepper, it could taste bland to someone trying it for the first time.

Clack.
Sasha set the plate down in front of the class rep and said with a confident smile,
“This is a dish passed down from my mother. They say in Japan, the way to win a man’s heart is through his stomach, right?”

Showing off her unexpectedly deep knowledge, she offered her food to the rep.
The class rep nodded, then scooped up a big spoonful of beef stroganoff and rice.
Chew, chew—

She took her time to judge. Her cautious movements and slightly trembling eyebrows made her look like a top-tier food critic.
Gulp.
After swallowing, the rep finally spoke.

“The tender sour cream and rich flavor of the beef carry a hidden tang… is that the acidity of white wine?”
Sasha folded her arms and nodded.
“A secret I learned from my mother. If you add white wine while searing thinly sliced beef at the start, it adds fragrance and acidity, and removes the gamey smell.”

Hearing her explanation, the rep took another bite of beef stroganoff.
Then, placing her spoon down, she gave her evaluation.
“It’s good, but a bit bland. It feels slightly under-seasoned for eating with rice. I’m guessing you’ve never made this dish as a rice topping before, have you?”

Sasha lowered her head and answered with a quiet voice.
“The recipe I learned didn’t take that into account.”
“I thought so. But don’t feel bad—it’s still delicious on its own. And there’s no guarantee the other two dishes will be better.”

Sasha stepped back, looking slightly dissatisfied but understanding.
Next up was Rika.
“Fufu, my omurice won’t be so easy to beat! I had hellish training from my mom!”

“Really? I’m looking forward to it.”
After trying her omurice, the class rep said it was so undercooked that a chick might pop out any second and ask, ‘Then why did you kill me?’—a brutal critique.
Rika stepped back sniffing and nearly in tears, and at last, it was my turn.

With a tense expression, I set down the plate in front of the class rep.
“This is the Chinese rice bowl you mentioned, Kim?”
I nodded and urged her to try it.

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and picked up her spoon.
“Then, I’ll dig in.”