Isekai Ryouridou: Chapter 27: Prologue ~With Mother and Father~

Since this is a prologue, guess it’s finally volume 2! Also, short chapter ftw~ (Sorry…not sorry)

Translator: Ai-sama

Editor: iwCJ


For the first time in a long time, I had a dream. 

However, I sleep deeply, so I’m the type of person that tends to forget every single dream I have.

So that dream too, I forgot it as soon as I woke up. 

When I realized that ‘come to think of it, I feel like I had such a dream huh’, it was after everything had settled. 

In my dream, I was a small child who had just entered elementary school. 

My old man was drinking beer, while cheering for his favorite baseball team on TV. 

Mother, was standing in the kitchen and chopping onions or something like that. 

It was like a Showa (TN: 1926–1989) home drama, a common scene. 

My mother died of sudden illness, when I was 7 years old, and because I was around the second grade of elementary school, there weren’t any discrepancies compared to reality. So, I think that it’s probably a dream with events that really happened at its core. 

I who wasn’t very interested in baseball, taking the opportunity during commercials, talked to my old man. 

Nee. Why is it that father can cook better than mother, but mother is the one that’s cooking dinner?”

My family runs a popular diner, but it must have been the weekly closed day. Otherwise, it would be impossible for the entire family to be together at dinner time. 

“Stupid, you一一”, my old man brought his face in close in a hurry. 

“What are you saying so suddenly? What would you do if your mother heard you?”

“That’s why I was talking in a tiny voice. ……Nee, why?”

“Hey you. ……Do you dislike your mother’s cooking, Asuta?”

Uun. I love it”, the six year old me, shook his head. 

Even if I say so myself, I think I was a pretty cute child. 

“But, I like father’s food even more. Father’s, is the most delicious”

If it was now, it’s a line that I would never say. 

And, I’ve lost the person to whom I should say it to. 

“That’s well……I’m a professional chef……my job is to cook delicious food”

My troubled old man said with a complicated face, he’s probably in his mid thirties. 

He was probably feeling ready to take an iron fist as punishment the moment he answered me, but he couldn’t win against a 6 year old child. Just look. 

“For the most part, you’ve been eating my food for meals everyday no? Don’t you think you’d want to have a home cooked meal from your mother once a week?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to eat it. It’s just, I thought it was strange”

On the TV screen, the match had already resumed a while ago. 

“But as expected, that way of thinking is wrong. At home, your mother should cook”


“Why you ask……That’s, because I’m a chef”

With a serious face, my old man said that. 

“Chefs, have the job of cooking for customers. Cooking for family at home, is not a chef’s but a mother’s job”


As the 6 year old me, I couldn’t properly understand those words.

But, the fact that I had a dream like this means, that those words must have left some sort of impression on me. 

One year later my mother died, and wishing that I could keep eating her homemade cooking much much more, I cried.


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