Hollow

Kaito awoke to the sound of birds chirping — or rather, the apartment's outdated AI mimicking bird sounds to simulate "natural ambiance." The sun had yet to rise, but dim blue light filtered through the thin curtains. He groaned, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs off the edge of his fold-out couch.

He groaned again and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. His back cracked like twigs underfoot and he sighed.

Getting old was a pain in the ass.

A glance at the clock told him it was nearly ten.

He had slept like the dead.

Last night was a blur: arguing with Ayaka, trying to keep Grandpa quiet so he wouldn't have another episode... He didn't even remember falling asleep.

The city outside hummed to life: distant mag-lev trains, floating ad-drones droning propaganda for synthetic meat, a police siren wailing three blocks over.

A faint smell of miso soup drifted from the kitchen. Ayaka must've gotten up early again—she always did when she worried.

Kaito swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood with a groan.

Down the hall, he heard soft voices — Grandpa Taro was awake.

Kaito stood up and shuffled into the kitchenette. The fridge hummed pathetically as he opened it: half-empty. A few packets of nutrient paste (flavor: dubious meat), expired soy milk in a cracked carton… and one single real apple wrapped in recycled plastic foil. Ayaka must've picked it up during her shift at Neo-Tokyo General Hospital.

"She's gonna kill me if I eat this," he muttered.

But hunger won over guilt.

He took a loud bite just as Ayaka stepped into view from Taro's room—dressed for work in her navy-blue med-uniform—and froze when she saw him mid-chew.

"That was for Grandpa."

Kaito winced as she crossed her arms, pinning him with her sharp gaze. "I knew it."

He swallowed his mouthful, doing his best to look innocent. "What?"

"You ate the apple."

"Maybe."

"It was for Grandpa, not you."

Kaito held up the half-eaten apple, shrugging. "The old man's asleep. Besides, he won't mind... probably."

He took another bite, crunching obnoxiously.

"Besides, an apple a day keeps a doctor away. This is protection from you."

Ayaka shot him an unimpressed look and snatched the apple away with a speed that would impress any trained fighter.

"You need to take better care of yourself," she scolded, tossing it in a nearby trash bin with a perfect arc. "And eat more than cheap synth-barf. I swear, your arteries are more artificial than your brain at this point."

"I eat real food!"

"Processed protein paste in tube doesn't count, smartass."

Kaito leaned against the counter, crossing his arms sullenly. He hated when she said things like this, treating him like some kid who couldn't look out for himself. Did she forget he was almost two heads taller than her?

"It contains all the necessary vitamins," he grumbled.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure," suddenly, her expression changed. A wide smile took over her face as if she was an angel descending from heaven to save the masses.

"That's why you should eat the miso soup I made!"

Kaito stiffened, already wary of her sudden change in tone. "Soup? You made soup."

"Mhm," she nodded enthusiastically. "It's just like how mom used to make."

This is a trap, Kaito thought, eyeing the pot on the stove with suspicion. His sister was many things, but a good cook was not one of them.

"It's not poisoned is it?" he asked carefully.

"Only if you don't eat it," she said sweetly, pulling out a bowl with exaggerated care.

She ladled the miso soup slowly — too slowly — like a scientist preparing an experiment.

It was thick. Too thick.

And brown. Too brown.

It bubbled slightly at the edges, as if still chemically active.

Kaito leaned in slightly, squinting.

Was that… movement inside?

He blinked hard. "Did your soup just twitch?"

Ayaka frowned at him. "You're imagining things."

Kaito looked at the bowl, then at Ayaka's expectant face. Her eyes sparkled with innocent determination. The same look she had when she insisted he try her "special" curry three years ago.

That dish sent him to the emergency room.

And here they were again.

"I'm not eating that," he said flatly, stepping back. "That's not food. That's a biohazard."

"It is food!" Ayaka snapped, placing the bowl firmly on the counter with a clack. "It has tofu! Seaweed! Miso paste from an authentic vendor!"

"And whatever else you tossed in there," Kaito muttered. "Is that… mold floating on top?"

"It's fermentation!" she shot back, offended. "Adds probiotics!"

He pointed at it cautiously as if speaking to something alive and dangerous:

"That thing blinked."

"KAITO."

She stood straight now — full medical authority mode engaged.

"You will sit."

"You will eat."

"And you will survive it like every other human who's ever eaten their sibling's cooking!"

Kaito groaned deeply and rubbed his face with both hands.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Fine!" he growled finally, slumping onto a stool like a condemned man accepting his fate.

"But if I die, I will haunt you forever."

Ayaka grinned triumphantly, sliding the bowl in front of him and plunking a spoon down.

"Bon appetite."

Kaito eyed the soup like it was a pile of radioactive waste. He picked up the spoon grudgingly and took a deep breath. "Why can't you be normal and make me a damn sandwich or something?"

She scoffed playfully, slapping his arm. "Because I care about your nutrition, dummy. Sandwiches are empty carbs with no nutritional value. You need something with substance."

Kaito shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Death has substance."

"Stop being dramatic and eat."

He braced himself and shoveled a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

The taste was... interesting.

There was miso paste, definitely — he could taste that — and the tofu chunks were soft and mushy. But there were also these weird, slimy lumps that slithered around his tongue like jellyfish. And the whole thing had a bitter aftertaste that tasted vaguely plastic-y.

He swallowed hard, trying to hide his wince.

"So… uh," he said, trying to sound casual. "How long did you cook this for?"

"Oh, about thirty minutes," she said sweetly. "Why?"

Kaito stared at her in horror, slowly setting the spoon back into the bowl.

"Thirty minutes?" he repeated incredulously. "You boiled soup for *thirty minutes?*"

"Well yeah," Ayaka nodded, like this was normal. "Had to let the seaweed soften enough to be edible."

"Did you... add anything else in besides the seaweed and miso sauce?" he asked cautiously, praying she didn't say 'fermenting fungus' or something equally terrifying.

She tilted her head at this, genuinely confused.

"Of course I did!" she replied. "I put some dried shiitake mushrooms, bonito flakes, and a bit of dashi."

Kaito stared at her, utterly baffled. This didn't make sense. Those were all normal, edible things. Why the hell did the finished product look like radioactive sludge?

"How…" he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "How did you cook a soup with normal ingredients and turn it into... into this?"

He gestured at the bowl.

Ayaka looked personally offended now, hands on her hips. "Excuse you, this soup is gourmet. Not everyone has the fine taste to understand real cuisine."

"I understand real cuisine," he shot back, feeling his irritation rise. "But I also understand the laws of physics and science, and I'm fairly certain this isn't supposed to move and blink at me."

"You're hallucinating, don't tell me all those implants you have been getting are making you go into a mind-crash."

Kaito rolled his eyes. "It's not my implants, it's your cooking! Even Grandpa Taro wouldn't eat this if he was starving!"

Before Ayaka could respond, a croaky voice came from down the hall.

"Who won't eat what if I'm starving?"

They both turned.

Taro stood in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a worn-out robe, leaning on his cane. His white hair was wild and uncombed, sticking up like static cotton but his eyes were sharp as ever beneath bushy brows.

Kaito opened his mouth to answer—

But then Taro's gaze landed on the soup bowl.

And for the first time in month's… their grandfather smiled.

"...Is that miso?" he asked softly. "Just like Haruka used to make."

Kaito almost dropped the spoon. This was the first time he'd seen Taro smile in months. Even his voice had a spark of life in it again.

"Uh... yeah," Kaito said slowly. "Ayaka made it… especially for you."

Taro crossed the room surprisingly fast for someone his age, pulling out a chair and lowering himself into it. He reached out a wrinkled hand towards the bowl.

"Give me some."

Kaito and Ayaka exchanged a surprised glance. This reaction was… unexpected. Usually, their grandfather barely grunted a thank you when they brought him food. But now he was actually asking for it?

"Are you sure you—" Kaito started, but Ayaka gave him a sharp look and shoved the bowl forwards, handing Taro a spoon.

Taro dipped the spoon into the bowl, scooping up the thick brown liquid. For a moment, the room was silent as he brought the spoon to his mouth and sipped the soup.

Then…

His eyes widened.

A second spoonful.

And a third.

"By the ancestors…" Taro whispered, looking almost reverential. "This is... this is just like your mother's."

Ayaka's face lit up, eyes going damp.

Kaito stared, dumbfounded.

This. Was. Impossible.

His sister's 'food' was terrible. He'd seen her burn soup before. How in the hell did she manage to pull off an authentic miso so good it sent their grandpa into memory lane?

It didn't make sense.

But seeing the joy on Taro's face… well, he couldn't say anything now.

The old man took another spoonful, savoring it like a gourmand.

"Haruka would be proud," he murmured quietly, eyes still distant.

Kaito watched for a moment, feeling an odd mix of guilt, confusion, and… something else. Watching his grandfather enjoying something that his sister made was more than a surprise. It was something he'd never seen before.

Finally, he glanced at Ayaka. She was watching Taro with a soft smile, hands tucked into her sleeves. She looked… happy. Genuinely happy.

She caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

Kaito opened his mouth, then closed it again. How to even begin explaining how utterly bizarre this situation was?

"...Nothing."

Kaito shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just... never thought I'd see the day where Grandpa actually enjoyed your cooking."

Ayaka threw him a light punch on the arm. "Shut up. Maybe you're just not cultured enough to appreciate it."

"Or maybe my taste buds aren't broken yet," he muttered, rubbing his arm.

Before she could retort, Taro piped up again. "Stop bickering, you two."

Kaito immediately went silent, a reflexive response from years of being scolded as a kid. Even Ayaka shut up, although she still shot Kaito a glare.

Taro took another spoonful of soup, savoring it slowly. "Don't spoil the moment with your arguing."

"Sorry, Grandpa," they both mumbled in unison, feeling like children again.

Taro nodded, satisfied. "Good."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of spoon scraping against bowl as Taro finished his soup. When he was done, he set the spoon gently into the empty bowl with a soft clack.

Kaito watched him, still half-expecting a snide comment or a joke about food poisoning. But there was nothing. Only a quiet, satisfied sigh.

"That was good." Taro leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the cane.

Kaito glanced at the empty bowl, then at Ayaka. She was practically glowing, watching their grandpa with stars in her eyes.

He sighed, his annoyance replaced with a reluctant admiration. She'd pulled it off. Her soup had actually pleased someone besides herself. Maybe… maybe he had been a bit harsh on her cooking skills. He was about to say as much when Taro spoke again.

"Now, Ayaka, dear."

He gently set his cane down beside him and gave her a tender smile.

"I know this is going to be hard for you to hear," he said softly. "But the truth needs to be spoken."

Ayaka blinked, confused. "What is it?"

Kaito sat up straighter instinctively—something in Taro's tone had changed.

A pause.

Then—

"Your soup tastes like dirty mop water."

"GRANDPAAAA!!!"

Kaito burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The words had been almost poetic, delivered so calmly but so brutally straight.

Ayaka looked like she'd been slapped. Her mouth hung open, speechless. She had expected a compliment, maybe even praise but definitely not this. She stared at their grandfather, completely flabbergasted.

"W... but... you said it tasted just like Mom's!"

Taro shrugged, unrepentant. "And it *does* taste just like your mother's."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"She also made mop water soup."

Ayaka let out a high-pitched shriek and threw a napkin at his face. Kaito was now wheezing with laughter, half-choking on his own spit as he watched the scene unfold.

"Grandpa! How can you say that about Mom?!" she wailed.

He simply smiled serenely and sipped from an old thermos of tea he'd brought in — clearly already prepared to avoid eating anything else Ayaka might offer him today.

"She had her strengths," Taro mused thoughtfully. "Cooking wasn't one of them."

Ayaka stood up, hands on her hips. "And you choose to tell me this now? I've been making food for you all year! You've been eating my food this entire time and you didn't say anything?!"

Taro tilted his head slightly, unfazed. "I thought it was a phase," he said matter-of-factly. "Like your emo haircut in high school or that time you tried to become a professional cosplayer."

Ayaka's jaw dropped further—if possible—as she turned red with fury. Kaito, meanwhile, had gone silent mid-laugh and was now watching the scene unfold like someone witnessing an explosion at safe distance.

"Y-You liked my cosplay!" she sputtered defensively.

"Not particularly," Taro admitted calmly as he took another slow sip of tea before adding:

"But I paid for your convention fees anyway."

Silence fell again — heavier than before.

Then—

"GRANDPA!!" She screeched louder this time and stomped her foot hard enough to make dust jump off the floorboards.

Kaito lost it completely, slapping the counter with a loud thwack as he doubled over in laughter. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh man," he wheezed between breaths. "I can't believe—this is—I'm gonna pass out!"

Taro simply sat there, expression serene like some wise old sage who'd survived decades of nonsense and wasn't about to start sweating now.

Ayaka stood frozen — fists clenched, face burning red — torn between throwing another napkin or screaming into a pillow.

Finally… she deflated slightly with an exasperated groan.

"You know what? Fine!" She threw her hands up dramatically before pointing accusingly at Taro.

"Next time you get soup? It's going straight down your IV tube!"

And then she stormed off toward her bedroom muttering under breath: "Unbelievable... that man survived WWIII but can't appreciate good cooking..."

The door slammed shut behind her hard enough to rattle pictures on wall.

Silence returned once more... save for Kaito still snickering like idiot into his sleeve while trying regain composure before bursting out laughing again whenever thought back entire scene from beginning till end:

From grandpa's casual insult...

To Ayaka's dramatic exit...

To fact that none this would've happened if not for stupid soup first place!