Jiro moved to a wooden basin near the water pump. "Watch carefully. I will show you once."

  He poured rice from a ceramic jar into the basin. Then he turned the pump handle, filling the basin with cold water until the rice floated.

  The water turned cloudy immediately, a milky white that obscured the grains below.

  "First wash removes the dust and broken fragments." Jiro's hands swirled the rice with gentle, circular motions. “Don’t press, don’t crush. Count thirty rotations.”

  He drained the cloudy water and refilled the basin. This time the water was less opaque, but still murky.

  "Second wash removes more starch." Another thirty rotations, another drain. "The water tells you when the rice is ready."

  The third wash ran almost clear, with just the faintest hint of cloudiness.

  "Now compare." Jiro produced two small bowls. In one, he placed a handful of the triple-washed rice. In the other, rice that had been washed only once with grains still coated with a thin film of starch that made them stick together in clumps.

  He held both bowls toward Clive. "Feel the difference."

  Clive ran his fingers through each sample. The unwashed rice felt slightly sticky with grains adhering to his skin. The properly washed rice felt clean, each grain distinct and separate.

  "Starch is glue," Jiro explained. "It binds grains together, creates paste instead of rice. When you cook with starch still present, you get what you made yesterday."

  He set the bowls aside and moved to his cooking station. A heavy-bottomed pot sat on a wooden stand.

  "Water ratio matters more than anything else. Too little, rice burns. Too much, rice becomes soup." He poured the washed rice into the pot, then added water until it reached exactly one knuckle depth above the grain line. "One-to-one-and-a-quarter ratio. Never more."

  Clive watched the pot boil, listening to the gentle bubbling that started after a few minutes. The sound changed as the water level dropped, becoming softer, more intermittent.

  "When the bubbling stops completely, count to sixty. Then remove from heat but leave the lid on. The rice finishes cooking in its own steam."

  After what felt like twenty minutes, Jiro lifted the lid. Steam billowed out, revealing rice that looked nothing like Clive's previous attempt. Each grain was distinct and fluffy.

  Jiro scooped a small portion into two bowls. "Taste."

  Clive lifted a spoonful. The rice was light on his tongue. No stickiness or mushiness.

  "Now we create shari."

  "Shari?"

  "Seasoned rice. The foundation of all sushi." Jiro transferred the warm rice into a wide wooden basin. "But first, more air."

  With a flat wooden paddle, he began cutting through the rice in swift, diagonal motions.

  "How much air can rice possibly hold?"

  "You will see." Jiro's mouth curved into the smallest suggestion of a smile. "Patience."

  Steam rose from the basin as Jiro continued his cutting motions, cooling the rice while aerating it further. Then he sprinkled rice vinegar over the grains.

  "The vinegar must penetrate and coat each grain," he said, resuming the paddle work. "This is why we create space first."

  The paddle folded the seasoning into the rice without crushing the delicate structure. Each grain glistened separately.

  "Try it now."

  Clive tasted again. The difference was remarkable. The seasoning was spread uniformly without any imbalances.

  "This is shari. This is what makes sushi possible."

  The next week passed in a blur of failed attempts. Every morning, Clive arrived at dawn to find Jiro already at work. Every morning, Clive was relegated to the rice basin.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  On the third day, his paddle work was too aggressive. Steam rose from his basin as he cut through the grains, but when Jiro inspected the result, his face darkened.

  "You destroyed the rice." Jiro lifted a spoonful to show the damage. Half the grains had broken apart, creating the sticky paste they'd worked so hard to avoid.

  Clive dumped the ruined shari and started over.

  On the fifth day, his vinegar distribution was uneven. Some grains shined with seasoning while others remained plain white.

  "Inconsistent." Jiro's finger separated the seasoned from unseasoned. "Every grain must be equal, or the fish will taste the imbalance."

  Another restart.

  [Certainty: Clive… It's been awhile…]

  Yeah. How are you?

  [Certainty: Good. But I was gone for a bit and come back to find you spending days washing rice?]

  I'm learning to cook.

  [Certainty: … Really? Rice washing is your idea of productive use of divine patronage?]

  It's more complex than it looks.

  [Certainty: I'm sure it is. Next you'll tell me there's deep spiritual meaning in folding napkins.]

  There might be.

  [Certainty: Oh, Clive. What am I going to do with you?]

  Clive found himself almost smiling despite his frustration. Even his patron goddess couldn't resist teasing him about his current obsession.

  Trust the process.

  [Certainty: I suppose if anyone would find the perfect way to wash rice, it would be you. Very well. Carry on with your... culinary enlightenment. Just don’t stay too long in your mid-life crisis.]

  On the seventh day, Clive’s efforts came to fruition. The rice looked perfect. Airy, evenly seasoned, each grain distinct. He presented his basin to Jiro.

  When Jiro tasted this batch, he said nothing but gave a subtle nod.

  Clive breathed out slowly. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath.

  "Tomorrow," Jiro said, "we shape nigiri."

  The next morning, Jiro demonstrated the sushi base. His wet hands cupped a portion of shari and went through a series of hand motions. In seconds, he'd formed a perfect oval. Slightly larger than a grape, with gently rounded edges and a flat bottom.

  "How much rice should I use?" Clive asked, studying the neat shape in Jiro's palm.

  "Two hundred forty-seven grains."

  Clive blinked. "You're serious?"

  "Always." Jiro set the nigiri base on his cutting board. "Count them yourself if you doubt me."

  The challenge in Jiro's voice was unmistakable. Clive picked up the rice ball and meticulously separated it grain by grain.

  Two hundred forty-six. Two hundred forty-seven. Exactly

  A sly smile formed on Jiro’s lip as he handed the bucket to Clive. “Your turn.”

  Clive wet his hands and grabbed what looked like the right amount of rice. His fingers fumbled with the grains as he tried to compress them into an oval shape.

  "Wrong," Jiro said before Clive had even finished forming it. "That's three hundred and ten grains."

  "How can you possibly know that by looking?"

  Jiro picked up Clive's attempt and squeezed it gently. The rice compressed further, becoming dense and heavy. "Feel the weight. See the size. After ten thousand pieces, your hands remember what two hundred forty-seven grains should be."

  He handed it back. "Too much rice overwhelms the fish. Too little, and the nigiri falls apart. There is no room for approximation in sushi."

  Another week of failure followed. Clive's hands worked the shari each morning, but consistency eluded him. One piece would be too large, the next too small. Some held together perfectly while others crumbled at the slightest touch.

  On the fourteenth day, Jiro watched him struggle with a particularly stubborn piece of rice that refused to hold its shape.

  "You're guessing," Jiro observed. "Your eyes see, but they don't analyze."

  Clive looked up from his mangled attempt. "What do you mean?"

  "An artist must see details others cannot. You draw, yes? When you sketch a face, do you guess at the proportions?"

  "No, I measure. I observe the relationships between features."

  Jiro nodded. "Then why do you guess with rice?"

  Clive pondered Jiro's words as he stared at the failed rice ball in his palm.

  An artist must see details others cannot.

  There was no way he could match Jiro's decades of experience through repetition alone. If he was to learn sushi, he would need to approach it like he once approached art. He remembered studying portraits in his previous life, using a ruler to measure the distance between a subject's eyes, analyzing the precise angles of jawlines and cheekbones. He'd taken his craft seriously then. Time to do the same now.

  Clive examined Jiro's perfect nigiri sample with his [Artist's Eyes], but this time he pushed deeper than he ever had before. His vision telescoped inward, revealing layers of detail. The rice grains became a landscape of individual forms, each one distinct in shape and positioning.

  [Level up]

  [Artist’s Eyes Upgraded]

  [Fine Resolution enhancement acquired.]

  Visual analysis now extends to microscopic detail.

  Clive looked around as the world sharpened around him. He could trace the weave pattern in Jiro's apron, count the growth rings in the wooden cutting board, and see the crystalline structure of salt granules scattered on the workspace. But more importantly, he could see exactly how Jiro's nigiri worked, the precise spacing between grains that allowed air to flow while maintaining structural integrity.

  Clive wet his hands and reached for the shari. This time, he didn't estimate or approximate. He counted each grain as he gathered exactly two hundred forty-seven pieces of rice. His fingers positioned themselves to match Jiro's technique exactly.

  The nigiri formed cleanly in his palm, each grain visible and distinct yet harmoniously unified.

  Jiro examined the result, turning it slowly in his hands. He pressed it gently, testing the compression, then set it beside his own example for comparison.

  For a long moment, the kitchen was silent except for the distant sounds of the staff preparing lunch.

  "Acceptable technique," Jiro said finally. "Tomorrow, we learn fish. "

  "A gentleman from the west offered me employment once. My master told me not to go. He said the barbarians had no understanding of true craft, that I would waste my skills on those who could not appreciate them. But I decided to go anyway. Why? Because I wanted to see fish from around the world. "

  — From the personal journals of Jiro Saito,

  Head Chef, Thornwald Estate