Chapter Sixty-Three: What Is the Most Difficult Dish?

The little Charmander, wrapped in gauze, gazed at Heath with those large eyes fraught with inexplicable emotions. Heath was no expert in reading expressions; he couldn’t decipher what lay behind Charmander’s gaze.

Yet Heath sensed keenly that the little dragon was hesitating, and he happened to know a bit about the reason for its hesitation. So he leaned in close to Charmander’s ear.

“The Hydra… No, rest assured, I’m not your previous trainer. I don’t have any twisted hobbies that would make you suffer,” Heath whispered softly. Charmander looked at him in surprise.

Then the little dragon slowly nodded, and Joey Snow gave a relieved smile. She led Heath through a series of formalities, and the treatment fees were waived. As soon as Charmander recovered, Heath would be able to take it home.

“From now on, we’ll be partners, Charmander.” Heath looked at the little dragon with joy. If Joey Snow hadn’t warned him not to touch Charmander yet, Heath would have liked to rub its head.

“Sigh, another unlucky soul fooled by you,” Zorua sighed, his tone full of sympathy for Charmander.

Heath couldn’t help but laugh as he rubbed Zorua’s face, soft and pleasant to the touch. This little fellow—though Heath was a chef, he treated Pokémon quite well.

Leaving the Pokémon Center, Heath drove his food truck back to the dormitory. He didn’t work nights; after all, he had to keep fit and learn basic knowledge under Maple Junsha’s supervision.

Heath considered trying to host guests in the evening in the future. He’d found a barbecue grill in his food truck—perfect for late-night snacks. Barbecue was an ideal choice. However, while grilling was simple in theory, making it truly delicious was not so easy. Looking at the cabinets in his food truck, Heath decided to prepare some things in advance the next day.

When Heath returned to the dorm, he happened to find Sister Maple lying on the sofa, watching her phone, apparently on a video call. Upon seeing him enter, she quickly put away her phone and wiped the corner of her eye.

“Sister Maple, good evening! Would you like something to eat?” Heath put down his things, holding Zorua as he looked at Junsha Maple and asked.

“I was wondering why you were gone so long—you spent all that time at Joey Snow’s place, huh?” Junsha Maple smiled at Heath. Heath noticed her reddened eyes but said nothing.

“Yes, I ran into a little situation. Now I have a third Pokémon.” He proudly rubbed his nose, making Junsha Maple laugh.

“You have three Pokémon now? Congratulations on acquiring three bottomless pits for your money!” Junsha Maple teased, her eyes crinkling with amusement. Heath felt a bit conflicted.

Junsha Maple had a point. The most expensive part of Pokémon was raising them. The difference in strength between two Pokémon of the same species could be vast, depending on how well they were raised. Even without considering the cost of nurturing three Pokémon, just feeding them every day was a considerable expense. Fortunately, Heath could cook, which helped reduce this burden.

Looking at Maple Junsha, so chatty and relaxed, Heath’s mood grew complicated. Maybe it was because she always seemed so assertive and tough, making him forget one thing.

Maple Junsha was only twenty-four years old.

At twenty-four, Heath remembered he had just graduated, suffering the harsh lessons of society, starting his career, and worrying daily for his future and livelihood.

But at twenty-four, Maple Junsha was already the leader of Evergreen City’s squad, though she always hid her softer side.

In the end, Heath decided to make hot pot for dinner. When in doubt, eat hot pot—that was Heath and Maple Junsha’s routine, since she was quite indifferent to food.

Heath believed that as long as it filled her stomach, Maple Junsha would be happy.

“Farfetch’d, what do you think of this hot pot?” Heath asked, dipping beef while chatting with Farfetch’d, who was munching on lotus root slices.

“Farfetch’d thinks the hot pot is delicious, but it’s a bit too spicy and gives him a stomachache,” Zorua calmly gnawed at the beef in front of him. Heath had sliced it just right; the meat was chewy and flavorful.

But seeing that no tasks had been triggered, Heath felt a headache coming on. He hoped Farfetch’d’s next task would be simpler, not another high-difficulty challenge.

“Heath, is Farfetch’d really learning?” Maple Junsha looked curiously at Farfetch’d. When she first heard the duck intended to learn cooking, Maple Junsha hadn’t believed it.

But after seeing Farfetch’d demonstrate his knife skills, she was amazed. She’d heard of people training Pokémon for battles, for companionship, or as friends.

She’d also heard of people using Pokémon for mischief, profit, or even abuse. But teaching a Pokémon to cook? That was unheard of.

Especially since this was Farfetch’d—a Pokémon born with its own seasoning!

“Yes, Farfetch’d is learning quite well. He can already make roast duck. The taste is average,” Heath replied calmly.

Farfetch’d puffed up his chest proudly, holding his leek as if he were attending a general’s commissioning ceremony.

“So, Heath, what do you think is the hardest dish to make? Can Farfetch’d learn it?” Maple Junsha smiled at Farfetch’d, then asked with curiosity.

Heath paused. The hardest dish… That was a tough question. There were many difficult dishes in the world, but the hardest must be perfectly recreating the taste of one’s mother’s cooking—a feat bordering on the mystical.

A mother’s flavors are endlessly refined and beautified in memory. People seek not the taste itself, but the person who cooked it. If, by chance, they tasted something similar, some older folks might even shed tears.

But if judged purely by technical difficulty…

“There are many hard dishes, but I think one called ‘Three No Stick’ is quite troublesome,” Heath shrugged. He’d made it once and never wanted to make it again.

[Step Four of the Pokémon Chef: Teach Farfetch’d to make ‘Three No Stick’ independently and you’ll receive a special reward.]

Heath froze, turning to look at Farfetch’d, who wore a face full of confidence.