The night deepened, casting a gentle quiet over the streets outside the Tavern. Within its warmly lit interior, the final guests lingered, reluctant to break the comforting spell woven by food, drink, and laughter.
For once, Zane made no move to usher out the remaining patrons. He stood quietly behind the counter, wiping down his knives with unhurried ease, his presence as calm and steady as the low hum of ambient jazz playing softly in the background.
Leonora and Alice were still chatting animatedly at their table, their cheeks slightly flushed from drink and joy. The usually poised Alice giggled more than once, teasing her mother, who responded in kind with warm laughter. The easy intimacy between them created a picture of maternal affection so tender that it struck a chord deep in Mana's heart.
She watched them from across the room, her expression unreadable. There was a hint of longing in her eyes—perhaps even regret.
If only the God's Tongue hadn't stolen that future from me, she thought silently. If only Erina and I could laugh like that…
Her gaze lingered on Alice and Leonora for a few more seconds before she looked down at her untouched glass.
"Mana," Leonora's gentle voice interrupted her reverie. "Did you… get a chance to meet Erina?"
Mana blinked, as if shaken from a dream, and looked up.
"Yes," she replied quietly, her voice tinged with something melancholic. "Just earlier. Right here, actually. But… after so many years apart, we're strangers now. Whatever bond we once had—it's gone."
Her eyes glistened faintly in the dim light. There was no bitterness in her tone, only sorrow.
Leonora sighed, reaching out to gently squeeze Mana's hand.
"What's done is done," she said softly. "Sometimes, healing takes more time than we'd like. But I believe Erina will one day understand the pain you carried."
Mana shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"No," she said firmly. "I don't need her to understand. Just seeing how she's grown… That's enough for me."
There was a long pause as she stared into her wine glass, then spoke again.
"I only pray she won't follow the same path I took. I don't want her to bear the weight of the God's Tongue the way I did."
Leonora's expression grew solemn, and she nodded. "Yes. The past must not be repeated. Too many people have suffered already."
Mana slowly exhaled. "What about you? What will you do next?"
Leonora reached for a bottle of chilled plum wine, pouring the fragrant liquid into her glass. She took a sip, the tart sweetness blooming on her tongue, before answering.
"Me? I'll keep building my research institute in Northern Europe. We're working on integrating molecular gastronomy with traditional techniques. It's not a guaranteed success, but… it's a start. The culinary world needs change."
Mana's eyes gleamed with a trace of hope.
"That change might come sooner than you think," she murmured.
Leonora looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I'm no longer chasing the perfect dish," Mana replied. "Zane's cooking… It freed me from that curse. The God's Tongue no longer torments me like it used to. Now, I want to build a platform—a global stage for chefs."
"A stage?" Leonora repeated.
"Yes," Mana nodded. "With the full backing of the WGO, I can create a world-class culinary competition. Let the best chefs shape the future—not through conformity, but through innovation. If we shine a light on those who deserve it, the era will shift."
The air between them thickened with anticipation.
"And… the Midnight Chefs?" Mana added suddenly.
Leonora's brow furrowed. "I've heard rumors, but I've been too buried in research to know the full story."
Mana's tone grew grim.
"In Northern Europe, the Americas, Southeast Asia… the Midnight Chefs have begun to disrupt the culinary balance. They're powerful, relentless, and unbound by rules. Their influence is spreading like wildfire. If we don't respond… the entire world could be thrown into chaos."
Leonora stared at her in disbelief. "Wait… You're not saying you're behind them—?"
Mana fell silent.
A hush fell between them. Then Mana spoke again, her voice distant.
"The tide is rising. Whether you want peace or power, the world won't wait. I only wonder… can people like Erina survive what's coming? Can you guide her through it?"
She glanced at Zane, her expression softening.
"I'm looking forward to seeing what you'll do, Zane."
Ding!
"[Host has successfully checked in. Reward: Special Recipe – Soul Calming Noodles and Dongpo Pork.]"
Zane glanced at the system notification flashing in his vision.
Meanwhile, Leonora and Alice stood and politely excused themselves. It was past closing time, and they didn't want to disturb Zane or Sonoka's rest.
Once the door closed behind them, silence fell upon the Tavern.
Zane stretched with a quiet groan, then turned to his reward.
The mention of Dongpo Pork brought to mind Su Dongpo's famous line:
"Good pork from Huangzhou, cheap as dirt, the rich won't eat it, the poor can't cook it."
He smiled.
Most people confused Dongpo Pork with braised pork, but the difference was distinct.
Dongpo Pork was a labor of love—first braised, then steamed to silky perfection. The fat rendered down, the meat tender and flavorful, every bite melting on the tongue. The glistening mahogany sheen was almost hypnotic.
In contrast, braised pork had a stronger caramelized hue, thanks to sugar browning. It had a more assertive bite, with a firmer outer layer and succulent inner texture.
In Japan, the localized version was kakuni, adapted to suit local palates. The Tavern, Zane mused, might just be the perfect place to introduce his own interpretation of the dish.
And then there were the Soul Calming Noodles.
A dish made from one single noodle.
Yes—just one.
Knead the dough, stretch it to an absurd length, then serve it in a single strand. Simple in theory, but difficult in execution.
Zane chuckled to himself. He remembered the version from Cooking Master Boy, where the dish soothed even the emperor's frayed nerves.
"Incredible," he muttered. "Simple, yet profound. These'll be fun to make."
Feeling a pleasant sense of anticipation, he yawned, washed up, and retreated to his room.
The Tavern finally fell quiet.
The Next Morning
Totsuki Academy – Gymnasium
Under the floodlights of the gym's basketball court, the air throbbed with tension and adrenaline.
Miyoko Hojo stood poised at the three-point line, her eyes laser-focused. The court was a blur of bodies and motion, but in that moment, she was the eye of the storm.
She leapt.
The basketball arced beautifully through the air before falling with a crisp swish into the hoop.
The whistle blew. The crowd erupted.
Miyoko's team had won.
Drenched in sweat, Miyoko was barely off the court when a familiar voice called out.
"Wow," said Terunori Kuga, stepping in front of her, "You really are something. That shot was perfect."
She narrowed her eyes. "You again? What do you want this time?"
Kuga flashed his trademark grin.
"As I said—join the Chinese Cuisine Research Society. This time, I'm serious. I'll make you second-in-command right away."
Miyoko chuckled. "Tempting offer."
Kuga's grin widened. "So you'll—?"
"But with someone like you leading it?" Her tone turned icy. "You're a disgrace to Chinese cuisine."
Kuga blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"You reduce the entire art to spicy dishes. That's not Chinese cuisine—it's a parody. Call it the Spicy Cuisine Club and be honest about it."
Kuga's smile faltered.
"Without me, no one here would even know Chinese cuisine existed," he said stiffly. "It's thanks to me that the Society has grown."
Miyoko crossed her arms.
"And you think quantity matters more than quality?"
In Osaka, she had grown up in the back of a small Chinese restaurant, learning from her father—the head chef. But despite her talent, she was never seen as an equal.
The male-dominated kitchen refused to acknowledge her skill.
So she beat every one of them, including her father.
Now, she was here at Totsuki to prove that women could be masters too.
"Your obsession with heat," she said coldly, "isn't passion. It's limitation. True Chinese cuisine spans thousands of years and hundreds of flavors. If you can't see that, then you're not worth following."
Kuga stared at her, speechless.
The clash between them was more than just culinary—it was ideological.
And for Miyoko Hojo, she had no intention of compromising.