[Yakitate! Japan / Hikaru no Go] Ficlet: Happy As a Pan
For
ai_ling, who graciously translated parts of a fic into Mandarin for me. You rock. This fic was probably not what you were looking for when you requested Isumi-fic OR bread-fic, but that's what happens when you mention Yakitate! Japan with anything else in the same paragraph.
Happy As a Pan
Isumi had failed the pro exam. Isumi had FAILED the pro exam. He was sitting on a bench in the park, in the rain, his head hung low, so he could comtemplate how he had FAILED the pro exam yet again. With a capital "F." "F" as in "Fuck I Failed Again."
"The world is a dark and lonely place, isn't it?" asked a smooth, gently-accented voice to his left.
Isumi raised his head and beheld the most blond-haired, blue-eyed man he'd ever seen.
"I'm Brad Kid," said the most blond-haired, blue-eyed man Isumi had ever seen. Oh god, a foreigner. Time to quietly freak out.
"Uh, hello," Isumi replied.
"You look like you could use a hand. Solar Hands, to be precise."
"...I'm sorry?"
Mr. Kid sat down on the bench and, to Isumi's horror, wormed his fingers around Isumi's.
"They aren't quite Solar, but they're very warm. The hands of a bread artisan."
"Actually, they're the hands of a go player." But as Isumi said the words, he could feel himself getting depressed all over again. It almost made him forget how seriously creeped out he was. He wished Mr. Kid would let go of his hands.
"You ever heard the expression, 'happy as a pan?'" Mr. Kid went on blithely. "We say it in America because we like bread so much. Get it? Bread equals pan equals Japan? Ha ha ha."
"Ha ha ha?"
"You've got a great sense of humour. Have you ever thought about becoming a baker?"
Isumi could honestly say he never had.
Mr. Kid (finally) let go of Isumi's hands. He wiggled his fingers in a manner that would have been highly disturbing on anyone else, but was merely freakishly, life-scarringly disturbing on this guy. "Look here, kiddo. I've got Goddess Hands--one step up from Solar Hands. Hands of a Goddess, right here. But let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Hands of a Goddess?" repeated Isumi, heart thumping wildly. Surely he didn't mean...the Hand of God? One step down, perhaps?
"I know what you're thinking. And I can get you exactly what you want." Mr. Kid winked one jolly blue eye.
Isumi leaned forward just a little, despite himself. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"Well," said Mr. Kid, but Isumi was distracted by whatever he was about to say by a lanky half-naked guy with an afro who ran by waving his hands in the air and screaming something about his pan not panning out.
"I'm only HALF-BAKED!!" confirmed afro-boy before disappearing into the bushes.
"...and if you follow this training program religiously," Mr. Kid went on, "you'll have Solar Hands in a month. Like that guy you just saw. May cause nausea heartburn indigestion upset stomach diarrhea internal bleeding appendicitis seizures blindness pregnancy schizophrenia cancer flesh-eating diseases and baldness, I guarantee it."
"Baldness?" Isumi blinked a few times, not sure if he had seen or heard right. "But that guy had an afro."
"Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts."
Isumi looked down gloomily at his decidedly Polar Hands. Even passing the pro exam wasn't worth having an afro or being bald. And how the hell was that "training program" supposed to help him play go? Come to think of it, how were warm hands supposed to help him either? He was very confused. And that was a feeling he was used to. Yes, he was on solid ground again.
"You know," said Isumi firmly, "I feel a lot better about myself now. I think I can train for the pro exam on my own. Thank you, sir."
Mr. Kid's smile didn't change at all. "Glad to be of service, kiddo."
After they said goodbye Isumi immediately ran away to become a clown in the circus but was rejected on account of his inability to speak fluent Estonian while doing a triple back flip, after which he flew to China and finally passed the fucking pro exam.
-The End-
ai_ling, who graciously translated parts of a fic into Mandarin for me. You rock. This fic was probably not what you were looking for when you requested Isumi-fic OR bread-fic, but that's what happens when you mention Yakitate! Japan with anything else in the same paragraph.
Happy As a Pan
Isumi had failed the pro exam. Isumi had FAILED the pro exam. He was sitting on a bench in the park, in the rain, his head hung low, so he could comtemplate how he had FAILED the pro exam yet again. With a capital "F." "F" as in "Fuck I Failed Again."
"The world is a dark and lonely place, isn't it?" asked a smooth, gently-accented voice to his left.
Isumi raised his head and beheld the most blond-haired, blue-eyed man he'd ever seen.
"I'm Brad Kid," said the most blond-haired, blue-eyed man Isumi had ever seen. Oh god, a foreigner. Time to quietly freak out.
"Uh, hello," Isumi replied.
"You look like you could use a hand. Solar Hands, to be precise."
"...I'm sorry?"
Mr. Kid sat down on the bench and, to Isumi's horror, wormed his fingers around Isumi's.
"They aren't quite Solar, but they're very warm. The hands of a bread artisan."
"Actually, they're the hands of a go player." But as Isumi said the words, he could feel himself getting depressed all over again. It almost made him forget how seriously creeped out he was. He wished Mr. Kid would let go of his hands.
"You ever heard the expression, 'happy as a pan?'" Mr. Kid went on blithely. "We say it in America because we like bread so much. Get it? Bread equals pan equals Japan? Ha ha ha."
"Ha ha ha?"
"You've got a great sense of humour. Have you ever thought about becoming a baker?"
Isumi could honestly say he never had.
Mr. Kid (finally) let go of Isumi's hands. He wiggled his fingers in a manner that would have been highly disturbing on anyone else, but was merely freakishly, life-scarringly disturbing on this guy. "Look here, kiddo. I've got Goddess Hands--one step up from Solar Hands. Hands of a Goddess, right here. But let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Hands of a Goddess?" repeated Isumi, heart thumping wildly. Surely he didn't mean...the Hand of God? One step down, perhaps?
"I know what you're thinking. And I can get you exactly what you want." Mr. Kid winked one jolly blue eye.
Isumi leaned forward just a little, despite himself. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"
"Well," said Mr. Kid, but Isumi was distracted by whatever he was about to say by a lanky half-naked guy with an afro who ran by waving his hands in the air and screaming something about his pan not panning out.
"I'm only HALF-BAKED!!" confirmed afro-boy before disappearing into the bushes.
"...and if you follow this training program religiously," Mr. Kid went on, "you'll have Solar Hands in a month. Like that guy you just saw. May cause nausea heartburn indigestion upset stomach diarrhea internal bleeding appendicitis seizures blindness pregnancy schizophrenia cancer flesh-eating diseases and baldness, I guarantee it."
"Baldness?" Isumi blinked a few times, not sure if he had seen or heard right. "But that guy had an afro."
"Yeah, we'll see how long that lasts."
Isumi looked down gloomily at his decidedly Polar Hands. Even passing the pro exam wasn't worth having an afro or being bald. And how the hell was that "training program" supposed to help him play go? Come to think of it, how were warm hands supposed to help him either? He was very confused. And that was a feeling he was used to. Yes, he was on solid ground again.
"You know," said Isumi firmly, "I feel a lot better about myself now. I think I can train for the pro exam on my own. Thank you, sir."
Mr. Kid's smile didn't change at all. "Glad to be of service, kiddo."
After they said goodbye Isumi immediately ran away to become a clown in the circus but was rejected on account of his inability to speak fluent Estonian while doing a triple back flip, after which he flew to China and finally passed the fucking pro exam.
-The End-