Na-Isekai Ako
Chapter 41: Stirring Up More Than Just Batter

Chapter 41: Stirring Up More Than Just Batter

Katherine’s mind had been restless all morning. The warmth of the sun spilling through the academy’s windows didn’t seem to reach her thoughts, which had become tangled in a web of uncertainty and unfamiliar emotions. She wandered through the hallways, avoiding the classrooms where the weight of her thoughts seemed to settle heavier with each step. The conversations she’d had with Lord Adolfo still echoed in her mind—the unease, the questions that had yet to be answered.

Finally, she decided it was time for a distraction.

Her eyes lit up as she passed by the academy residence’s kitchen. It was a large space, and she was free to use the kitchen utensils, having already asked permission from the caretaker beforehand. She had spent time here before, trying to make dulce de leche. But today, the kitchen seemed to call to her more urgently—a chance to do something with her hands, something that would occupy her mind—something sweet.

She brought her cooking equipment and headed to the kitchen with the ingredients she had bought from the marketplace yesterday with Adolfo. To be honest, she didn’t want to see him today, so she had skipped classes. When they arrived at the academy the previous day, she had pretended to be okay when they departed, but she thought the young man had noticed and chose to go along with her.

After hours of lingering thoughts, of questions she couldn’t answer, she needed something to ground herself. Something familiar. And what better way than through the comforting, rhythmic motions of cooking?

The scent of caramelized sugar filled the air as Katherine carefully tilted the saucepan, watching the golden liquid coat the bottom of the tin mold. The residence kitchen was usually empty at this time, since most noble ladies preferred to dine out or eat in the academy itself.

She set the caramel aside to cool and started on the custard for the leche flan. Cracking eggs into a bowl, she separated the yolks with ease, the motion practiced and efficient. The rich, golden yolks pooled together as she added condensed milk and evaporated milk, mixing gently to avoid bubbles. The familiar process soothed her—whisk, strain, pour. A simple sequence, something she could control.

As she set the flan to steam, she leaned against the counter, exhaling. Only then did she remember—

Maestro’s letter.

She had received a response earlier that day. It had been short, as always, but kind.

Take care. You were remembered.

And then, a question she hadn’t expected.

Tell me more about the person who reminds you of me.

Katherine bit her lip. She hadn’t replied yet. How could she? She wasn’t even sure how to put it into words. Was it fair to compare? Was it even the same feeling?

Her eyes landed on the small black ballpoint pen resting on the counter—the one she had bought on her first day in Athens. It was sleek, polished, almost like a Parker pen from her old world. She had planned to send it to him as a gift, a little token of appreciation, something practical. Maestro had always favored simple but refined things. She bought one for herself, and one for Maestro. Would he like it?

Shaking the thought away, she moved on to her next task. Yema.

She melted butter in a pan, adding more egg yolks, condensed milk, and a touch of sugar. The mixture thickened as she stirred, slow and steady, until it became a rich golden paste. Once it was cool enough, she rolled the yema into small, bite-sized pieces and wrapped them in delicate squares of parchment paper. The act was almost meditative—shape, wrap, twist. Small and sweet, a perfect contrast to the chaotic thoughts that swirled in her mind.

Still, there was one more treat to make. Mais con yelo.

The simplest of them all, but just as comforting.

She scooped crushed ice into a glass, layering it with sweet corn, sugar, and creamy milk. The coldness seeped through her fingertips, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. A final drizzle of condensed milk, and it was ready.

Katherine sat alone at the kitchen table, the tray of freshly made sweets before her. The leche flan, its caramelized top shimmering under the light, the yema wrapped delicately in paper, and the mais con yelo, chilled and ready to be served. She had crafted them with care, hoping the sweet distraction would ease the weight of her thoughts.

But now, as she took the first bite of leche flan, something inside her stirred—something she wasn’t prepared for. The sweetness, the creaminess, the way the custard melted in her mouth—it was all familiar. It reminded her of the days when she had been at home, sitting around the dinner table with her family, sharing moments of warmth and laughter. The feeling was so visceral, so real, that it caught her off guard. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the taste, but as it lingered, the ache of longing slowly began to spread.

The taste lingered on her tongue, and with it, a wave of homesickness washed over her. She missed it all—her home, her family, the life she once had. It wasn’t just the food or the small comforts of her past; it was the simple, ordinary moments she had taken for granted. The laughter that filled the air, the warmth of her mother’s hugs, the sound of her father’s voice calling her name. All those little things she had never truly appreciated until now.

She picked up a piece of yema, but her fingers trembled. She bit into it, the sweetness filling her senses once more. But this time, it didn’t provide the comfort she had hoped for. Instead, every bite seemed to deepen the ache of homesickness, and her chest tightened with the realization that she could never go back. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be in this strange world, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, unsure of who she was or where she truly belonged.

The tears came slowly at first—just a few, and then a steady stream as her emotions, previously held in check, began to break free. She set the yema down, her hands trembling as she wiped her eyes. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she tried to steady herself, to push the wave of emotion away. But it was no use.

The loneliness she had tried to ignore, the disconnection from everything she once knew, now felt suffocating. She wasn’t supposed to miss her old world, her old life, this much. She had tried to focus on the present, on the new relationships she was building, on the purpose she had in this world. But the absence of home was always there, like a shadow lurking just out of sight, only now it felt too heavy to ignore.

Katherine let out a quiet sob, and the weight of her emotions finally broke through. Her breath hitched, then stuttered, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to force the tears back. The silence in the room felt thick, pressing in on her chest, making each breath a struggle. She stood up from the table, her legs unsteady as she moved to the small window overlooking the academy grounds. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the academy, but it felt distant—so far removed from the warmth she yearned for. She placed a hand on the cool glass, her body trembling as she stared at the world outside, feeling more isolated than ever.

Her chest tightened again, the loneliness and homesickness swelling up in her throat. The tears came harder now, as if once they started, they could no longer be stopped. She wiped her face quickly, hoping no one would see her like this. Her heart pounded, and she felt utterly lost in her own grief.

The sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen door made her freeze. She quickly wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself, but it was no use. She wasn’t ready to face anyone—not like this.

The door creaked open slowly. At first, Katherine thought it might be one of the staff. But when she looked up, she was met with Princess Laura’s gentle eyes. The princess didn’t carry the regal composure Katherine had come to expect from her. Instead, there was something softer in her gaze—a hint of concern and something almost shy. Laura paused at the threshold, her eyes flicking over Katherine before she stepped inside without a word.

Katherine’s heart skipped a beat. She quickly turned away, embarrassed, wiping her face hastily with the sleeve of her dress. "I—I’m fine," she stammered, her voice trembling. "Just... just a little overwhelmed." Her breath caught on the last word, but she forced herself to speak it, hoping it would mask the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

Laura stood still for a moment, taking in the sight of Katherine at the window, her shoulders trembling, her entire posture vulnerable. Without hesitation, she moved toward the table and sat down beside her, her presence warm and comforting, like a quiet anchor in the storm of Katherine’s emotions.

Laura glanced at the sweets Katherine had made—carefully crafted, yet sitting untouched—and reached for a piece of yema, popping it into her mouth without any fanfare. Her expression softened as she chewed, and she looked at Katherine with an understanding that cut through the tension in the room. "Made these yourself?" she asked, her voice gentle but not forced. "They look like something you would make at home."

Katherine nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. "I... I was trying to distract myself," she muttered. "But I didn’t expect... to miss it so much."

Laura didn’t rush to fill the space with words. Instead, she met Katherine’s eyes, letting the silence hang between them. "It’s hard to adjust to a new place, isn’t it?" she said softly, her tone steady, but with a quiet weight that showed she truly understood the struggle.

Katherine’s chest tightened at Laura’s words. It wasn’t just a change of place—it was everything. This world, these people, this new life. It all felt like a foreign fabric she couldn’t quite stitch herself into. She hesitated, unsure if she could explain it to Laura—the deep ache inside her, the overwhelming sense of displacement. But something in Laura’s calmness urged her to speak.

"Yeah," Katherine whispered, her voice barely audible. "It’s hard. I thought I could handle it, but... sometimes it feels like I’m in over my head."

For a long moment, Laura simply looked at her, her eyes soft, not pitying, but full of empathy. She picked up another piece of yema and held it out to Katherine with an open, unspoken invitation to share the comfort. "I think we all feel that way, at times," she said, her voice a quiet reassurance. "No one really fits in right away. But eventually, you get there. It takes time."

Katherine felt a lump form in her throat, the familiar ache growing sharper. Her eyes stung, and despite her best efforts, the tears welled up again. This time, she didn’t try to stop them. She let them fall, feeling the weight of them on her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with each breath.

Laura’s hand rested lightly on the table between them, a silent gesture of support. Her presence was steady, unhurried, like a quiet river beside Katherine’s turbulent emotions. There was no rush, no attempt to make Katherine feel better right away. Just the soft, silent understanding that sometimes, all you needed was someone there.

Katherine sniffled, wiping her face once more, though the tears still came. "I don’t know how to be okay," she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. "I don’t know if I ever will."

Laura’s eyes were filled with a quiet kindness. "It’s okay not to be okay," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "I’m here. I’m always around."

Katherine couldn’t help but smile at that, the smallest of smiles, but it was enough. She wasn’t completely okay, not by any means, but with Laura’s presence beside her, the world didn’t seem quite as heavy. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone in this after all.

"Thanks," Katherine whispered, her voice steadier now, the flood of emotions beginning to recede, if only for a moment. "For being here. Really."

Laura smiled softly, her hand still resting near Katherine’s, offering a silent but powerful reassurance. "Anytime," she said simply, her words carrying the weight of a promise that, for the first time since coming to this world, didn’t feel so impossible to believe.

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