«Must be nice, being a genius»

«Him, make a mistake? Impossible. It's still an Isshiki»

I hear these and similar comments, but I don't stop, don't react, I keep going in silence.

That's nothing new. I hear same-periods whispers since ever, in my memories.

I learned to make them slid on me, to not give them weight.

Replying wouldn't do: to others I'll always be that, an heirof the prestigious Isshiki house, a genius. Someone born in extremely lucky conditions.

When they come to know my history they don't understand: why in the world should the heir of an house that reveres traditional cuisine betrays that and makes such innovative dishes that they're considered something else, something very poorly related to Japanese cuisine, if they even are at all?

Why does he, of all, skip lessons and pass his days in the fields?

Everyone feels tasked with judging me. Black sheep, they call me.

It's alright.

Am I really a genius? I guess so: it takes a minimum effort for me to manage skills which usually require months of training.

Is that really a luck?

My "genius" wasn't ever appreciated by my family. It didn't matter how much I progressed, how quick I was to learn: there was always something else.

My parents were never satisfied, and neither was I.

Everything I learned didn't make sense, not to me.

I could easily do it, but I didn't see why should I had. Cooking didn't matter to me.

Being a genius makes up expectations, and I lived just to stand up to those expectations.

Until I saw her.

A clumsy girl who tried to improve her skill.

She wasn't good then, not like me. But she had something I lacked, something I didn't even know existed 'til that moment.

She had determination, she didn't cook because it was her duty but because she liked it.

That was the first time I thought cooking might be fun.

Satisfying my never-satisfied parents became less important.

I found my purpose that day.

I would learn the most various culinary skills, making use of every single one of them – the most traditional as well as the most innovative – to make my own dishes.

Just two things mattered: that I had fun making them and that who'd taste would like them.

I wanted to share cooking's pleasures with people who mattered to me.

i still want that.

I'm not a genius, nor the heir from a prestigious house.

I am Isshiki Satoshi, and the reason why I cook is the happy face of the child in my memories.

I am a cook thanks to your smile, Kinokuni Nene.

My dishes' purpose is to make that smile appear again.