Sweet Reincarnation

Does God exist?

Many philosophers have been troubled, theologians have taken a leap forward, and scientists have denied the existence.

One sees its appearance in the sun, and another sees its appearance in nature.

Some see the Great Sea Plains as God, while others believe in the existence of transcendents.

And sometimes some people see God again.

Being loved by God is full of talent.

The Son of God.

Being turned to people, sometimes in awe, sometimes subject to envy and jealousy. Genius and greatness are both called, and sometimes frightened beings.

God loved beings are in any world.

In the world of sport, in the world of music, in the world of study.

And even in the world of confectioners.

◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

"Come on, we've got half an hour left. It looks like all countries are hanging on to the final finish."

The announcer's bright voice echoes the venue.

Going all the way out from Japan to Europe, it's the pastry chef world tournament that makes them stand up and live.

Where the last day is left, dozens more.

That determines the pastry chef the best in the world.

"The final adjustment of our Japanese representative is apparently over."

There were men dressed in white at the end of the camera, which was pointed at with the reality.

If it's just a group of men, it doesn't smell too painful.

Ningro, far from that, a place full of sweet smells.

In the workplace given to the representative of Japan, it is the giant candy workmanship that sits.

Sweet objects that exceeded a person's back length had given him an unusual sense of intimidation by being on the workbench.

Delicate and bold.

Produced to the best of skill, the work of art has just enough beauty to bear the name of the world.

In the current score, the Japanese representative is second.

Everyone admits that the score difference from first place is marginal and that we are certain to reverse it with this candy craftsmanship.

However, the faces of the craftsmen who created such a work are still unclear. The face of seriousness itself.

This candy fight is because it is most difficult to move from the workbench to a designated grading location.

If you don't put it in a designated place, you can't score no matter how great the piece is.

If you drop it on the way to moving it, everything you've been piling up will be ruined.

Even the children's feet, the distance you can go if you walk five steps.

Those five steps will be the most important for confectioners all over Japan.

Ten steps. No, even if it takes 10,000 steps, it's not a shame to safely follow that distance.

"Lift it where I counted three. Let's go with caution. One, two, three!!

A slowly lifted chunk of candy with a hanging voice conveys its weight to the handles.

Heavy hand numbness can be the world's best in just a few moments.

For a tense, tense body, its weight is felt even stronger.

Carry it carefully, carefully.

The walk is like a turtle.

Finally, at the designated location, unload the work.

That's the end of the long battle. Yes, it was when everyone thought.

"Oh, I forgot to erase my memories from my past life. Let's go. We don't have time to die."

To the sounded voice, the craftsman doubts his ears.

A plundering, hard to hear voice. But it's badly in my ear, a somewhat clear and strange voice.

A voice that sounds like an analogue radio with bad radio waves in high volume, but is also perceived as ear.

Nothing surprises me more than a shout when I'm nervous.

Ugh, the work slips off my hands.

For those on the spot, I felt time flowing slowly.

A huge chunk falling in front of the craftsman. When it comes to sugar, the mass carried by a few adults collapses. A tall scream heard in the distance.

A sugar blunt instrument that hit an artisan's head. He felt something raw flowing from his head. In fact, his head dyes bright red in no time.

It is blood, to recognize, the smell of iron was sufficient.

I was just used to the sweet smell and it seemed slightly more intense.

The craftsman darkened in front of him. It was my dream, which was supposed to come true in a few moments, that floated in his chest as the running lights ran around.

- You wanted to make the best cake in the world.

And one artisan dies. with that name called the Son of God.

◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

Baby cries echo around.

"Congratulations. He's a healthy boy."

From the midwife, words of celebration are told.

There was a newborn baby in his hand.

A baby held dear and twisted with cloth is given to her mother's chest.

"Right, man? Anise, well done."

Words of labor put on his wife by a broken-faced father.

In the arms of a woman responding to it with a tired look, a baby wrapped in fabric was crying.

"Oh, that's cute. The noticeable nose seems to resemble yours. You're gonna be a beautiful boy."

"Yeah, right. But the color of your eyes is the same as yours. Nice color...... oh?

"Hmm, what's up?

My husband calls out to his wife, who looks strange.

"No, it's like this kid is listening to us..."

"No way. Not even a moment after I was born, there's no way I can understand the words."

"... yeah, right. Right."

Interaction with no such detachment.

The baby stared at the couple's conversation as if they were "listening to a foreign language”.

"You, what shall we do with this child's name?"

"I've made up my mind."

The father gently holds the baby held by the mother with both hands.

Parents and children staring at each other.

"Your name is Pastry. It's Pastry-Mill-Morthern."