[ let's be real, the cake probably tastes like his good intentions, if it could metamorphose into something vaguely edible: filmy with granulated sugar, bloated with leavened yeast. basically, it's not fit for anyone's consumption, and attempting as much would only earn them a one-way trip to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped.

but maybe he should get a consolation prize for tenacity, dug up to his elbows in flour, a smear of cake batter congealing beneath his right eye while he disposes of the cracked eggshells, frowning in compunction while vietnam clears off the rest of the runny gunk and does damage control on his self-esteem. ]

You did? ... I should've been lighter with it, though. Or maybe used a fork? Although I ended up dropping it in a pot of boiling water last time ...

[ hanging his head, he peers at the printed instructions, scared to pick it up and hold it out to the light lest it combust into flame. it was a reasonable precautionary measure when it came to makoto's (lack of) prowess at making food that wouldn't give people ulcers. ]

I'm sorry for wasting the supplies, Vietnam-san. A lot of people have tried to help me cook in the past, but I'm no good at it. I shouldn't have overestimated myself with a recipe like this.

[ it's a cake, not rocket science, but the point still stands. ]