𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 ~ 𝓲𝔃𝓾𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓪

katsudon

The pungent smell of raw onions and the earthy odor of other fresh vegetables from her garden wafted through the kitchen as Natsumi fervently chopped them on the cutting board. Little Mina had brought her stepping stool to the edge of the counter so she could peer at what her mother was doing. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she wanted to explore it.

When she had finally climbed to the top, she frowned at the scene before her.

"I don't like onions," she gagged. Her mother paid no mind to the comment and continued chopping away.

"Well, lucky for you, it's not for you." Her mother scoffed. She had finished with the onions, and with a glide of the knife, they had been moved away to the side. "Mina, on your way out, can you hand me some carrots from the fridge?" Her mother called.

"No," Mina nagged. I want to help you cook for Dad!" Natsumi turned around to face her daughter and readjusted her apron. A smile played on her lips as she watched the little girl before her. "You're stubborn, like your father, y'know that."

She pursed her lips and folded her arms, studying her daughter warmly. "Fine," she gave in. I'm still gonna need that carrot, Mina," she warned. Her daughter immediately rushed toward her and held her tightly around the waist.

"Thank you! Thank you! Mommy! I can't wait to help!" Mina said, her face muffled by Natsumi's shirt.

"Alright, alright," Natsumi said, trying to hide the joy in her voice. We have to hurry; your father will be home soon."

---

Onions, carrots, potatoes, boneless chicken thighs, breadcrumbs... Mina thought to herself as she examined the ingredients before her. Katsudon was a dish she had made countless times in the past. Whether it was for her father with the help of her mother, a secret batch for Bakugou, or when Yaomomo got sick, she had plenty of time to practice with this dish. She knew it like she knew her hair, quirk, and skin. It was her defining dish as a cook. Despite all this, she would never get over the distinct, raw smell of onions. Don't even get Mina started on the watery eyes you get while chopping them.

She didn't waste any time getting started. She used the knife to deskin the thighs with relative ease and sliced out any excess fat she saw along the way. When she was done, she admired her handiwork and left the chicken to soak in a lemon wash her mother had shown her how to create. Within a few minutes of starting, she had already thinly chopped the carrots and onions into small, digestible cubes. She gave her potatoes more shape since they were a primary component of the curry.

On the other side of the counter sat the rice cooker. Careful not to let the hot steam touch her skin, she cautiously uncovered the lid to check her rice. She smiled at what she saw, scoped a tiny portion out with the paddle, and threw it in her mouth.

After tasting it, she thought it was still chewy. With a long sigh, she put the lid back on the pot and turned the heat up slightly for the rice.

"Mina!" Someone called. She turned to see Kyoka in the doorway with a sly grin. "Thank you again for agreeing to do all this for me!" She squeezed the horned girl into a tight hug.

"Anytime, Kyoka," Mina gushed. "It's the least I could do for the band! " The two girls pulled apart and found each other's hands. Mina held Kyoka's gently in hers. This is a great occasion! You finally got a gig; I wanted to do something special for you!"

"This means so much," Kyoka started. She pulled her bag to the side and started digging through it. A moment passed, and she pulled out two small yellow tickets. "For you and Tooru. They're front row, by the way," she giggled.