He turned toward the center of the café floor. "Alright," he said to no one in particular. "Let's do the clone again." The ritual had no incantation. No summoning gesture. Just blood and will.
He took a small paring knife from beneath the counter. Its edge was sharp, ceremonial in its simplicity. He drew it across his palm with practiced calm.
The cut opened. Blood welled instantly—deep crimson. And as the first drop hit the wood, the world responded. Light bent.
A circle of magic bloomed across the floor—runes spiraling outward in perfect alignment. Symbols that flickered and pulsed with alien logic.
The blood rose against gravity, swirling in an elegant arc, collecting in midair, congealing—not as gore, but as potential. The pool formed into limbs. Then a torso. Then a face.
Zero watched, silent, as the fluid solidified with gentle pulses—like a body remembering how to be born. Moments later, the figure stood tall. A perfect replica of Zero. Naked, blinking, barefoot.
"Hey again," the clone said, brushing hair from his face.
Zero blinked. "...Hi again."
He tilted his head. "Wait. Are you the same one from yesterday?"
The clone shrugged. "No. But I remember him. Your memories are part of me. Think of me as... yesterday's sequel."
"Creepy," Zero muttered. "But efficient."
The clone grinned. "That's basically our brand."
Zero stepped behind the counter and returned with the Sōma Yukihira card in hand. The edges shimmered faintly, the art styled like a tarot card, elegant and mysterious. The cocky red-haired anime chef winked up at him with playful confidence.
"Time for fusion," Zero said. "Let's see what this does."
The clone nodded. "Alright. What do you want me to do?"
Zero frowned. "Shouldn't you know?"
"I know how I work," the clone said, "because I am you. I'm just a blank slate until you plug something in."
Zero rubbed his chin. "Hmm. Okay then."
Test One: Hand the Card Over
The clone held it. Nothing.
Test Two: Place on Chest
The card just slid off.
Test Three: Slap Gently with Card
The clone glared. "Ow."
"Science," Zero said innocently.
They tried pressing it to the palm. Waving it like a wand. Chanting random shonen anime phrases. Nothing worked.
"...Hold still," Zero said.
He raised the card slowly, positioned it between the clone's horns, and pressed it to the forehead.
The moment it touched skin—It glowed.
The card shimmered, bent inward, and sank into the clone's body like light soaking into cloth.
The clone stumbled back a step, hand to his temple.
Then his form began to shift.
His hair turned red, vibrant and wild. His posture changed, looser and more cocky. His clothes melted into casual modern wear—black t-shirt, fitted jeans, white apron.
His grin widened.
"...Oh," the clone said, voice laced with new inflection. "This is fun."
"Holy shit." That was all Zero could say at first.
His mouth hung slightly open, arms slack at his sides as he stared at the clone—his clone—who now stood in the middle of the café, grinning like he owned the place.
Wild red hair. Relaxed, cocky posture. Clothes that looked like they were snatched from a modern culinary school student. The change wasn't just physical. It was vibe. This wasn't Zero anymore.
It was Sōma Yukihira.
Zero's awe quickly morphed into something more mischievous. His lips curled upward into a mockingly contemplative smirk.
"…You know," he said slowly, squinting as he leaned in, "you got shorter."
Soma blinked. "What?"
"Yeah," Zero said, now circling him, hand on his chin. "Definitely shorter than me. Adorable. Bet you can't even reach the spice rack without a stool. Ehehehehe."
"Hey!" Soma snapped. "You're only taller because your stupid demon horns count toward your height!"
"Ah, denial," Zero said, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "The first symptom of accepting shortness."
Soma looked ready to throw a ladle.
Zero waved him off. "Alright, alright. Moving on. Any changes besides your total makeover and downgrade in height?"
Soma crossed his arms, tapping his foot with dramatic flair. "Yeah, actually. I… know things."
Zero raised a brow. "You mean, like, secrets of the universe?"
"No, I mean—my body knows things. Muscle memory. Like there are techniques I've never learned but… they're just there." He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. "It's like having memories… but not in your head. In your bones."
Zero blinked. "...What the fuck does that mean?"
Soma didn't bother to explain.
He stepped toward the counter, eyes locking on a nearby cutting board. On it rested a chef cleaver and a lonely yellow onion.
"Watch," he said simply.
Zero did.
In one seamless motion, Soma reached out—right hand snatching the cleaver, left hand grabbing the onion. He peeled, halved, and began slicing with speed so fluid it looked animated. The knife flashed like silver fire, the onion thinned into perfect ribbons.
By the time Zero's eyes could track it, the board was already full of flawless julienned strands, clean and even as machine cuts.
Soma exhaled and placed the cleaver back on the board with a satisfied clink.
"…That's not even my fastest," he added casually.
Zero stood blinking.
Then nodded slowly.
"I guess… you're really a chef."
Soma folded his arms, grinning. "Of course I'm a chef."
Zero stepped behind the café's counter, flicked on the coffee siphon, and started prepping a brew.
He glanced over his shoulder, smirking.
"Yeah, but you're still not on Liu Mao Xing's level."
Soma stopped cold.
"What did you just say?"
"You heard me."
"That child from Cooking Master Boy?"
"Ohhh, now he's 'that child'?"
Soma growled. "I will make you eat your words."
"Please do," Zero said as he measured the beans. "Clone One."
"Don't call me that!" Soma snapped. "My name's Soma. Get it right."
Zero waved a hand over his shoulder. "Sure thing. Show me what you've got, Soma. If you're half as good as you think you are, I might let you take over the kitchen."
"Deal," Soma said, already stalking into the prep area. "But when I blow your mind, I want you to say I'm better than Liu Mao Xing—out loud."
Zero poured water into the siphon and smiled behind the rising steam.
"We'll see."
Soma cracked his knuckles.
"Time to cook."
The kitchen of Café LeBlanc was not large.
It was a narrow room, barely enough space to stretch your arms in either direction without bumping into something—a counter here, a cupboard there. The oven nestled snug beside the chopping station. The spice rack sat humble and quiet in the corner.
But in Soma's hands, the room became a stage.
A symphony hall.
A culinary arena.
Pots clanged like battle drums. The sizzle of oil danced in the air like applause. Soma moved with the confident rhythm of someone who had done this not a thousand times—but forever. His steps were sharp, exact. Every reach was deliberate. He chopped with hypnotic precision, flipping a pan in one hand while tossing seasonings in the other.
Zero watched from behind the café bar, clutching his coffee, eyes wide.
"You're using the whole damn kitchen," he said.
"Correction," Soma called over the bubbling of broth, "I'm commanding it."
"You just flipped a cutting board with your foot."
"And it landed perfectly."
Zero pointed. "That spoon is spinning by itself."
"I seasoned it mid-air."
"Show-off."
Soma grinned without looking back. "I am you, remember?"
Zero laughed, and in the middle of it—he paused.
He blinked.
Something strange tugged at the edge of his chest. Not pain. Not fear. Just… a thread. A warm, quiet attachment. Not just to the clone—but to the act itself. To the movement. The fire. The strange, effortless dance of two pieces of a soul moving in tandem.
Soma, still chopping, glanced over his shoulder.
"You're thinking weird things."
"I'm not."
"You are. I'm you. I can tell."
Zero looked down at his coffee. "It's just strange. Talking to you. Watching you do all this. You're me. But not me."
Soma plated the food with the kind of grace most chefs would kill to fake. He wiped the edges of the dish with a cloth, added a final sprig of something green and fragrant, and slid it onto the countertop in front of Zero.
Steam wafted from the plate.
It looked… perfect.
Golden-brown seared meat, glazed with something sweet and sharp. Soft mashed root vegetables folded into a swirl beside it. A reduction sauce so rich in color it practically shimmered.
Soma wiped his hands on a towel and said, "You're overthinking. I'm you. I get it. But just… enjoy this life, yeah?"
Zero met his gaze.
Then smiled.
"...Yes, chef."
Soma raised a brow. "Oh, now I'm 'chef'?"
"From the smell alone?" Zero leaned in. "It's already a hundred times better than anything I've cooked."
Soma beamed as he moved to clean up. "Damn right."
Zero lifted his fork. The moment it touched the meat, it slid through like silk. He brought the first bite to his mouth, closed his lips around it—
And the world exploded.
Literally.
His clothes shredded off his body in an ethereal blast, as if the taste itself had declared war on fabric. His shirt burst apart, buttons pinging across the café. His trousers split at the seams. His hair whipped back in an invisible wind.
He slammed a hand on the table, eyes wide, pupils dilated.
"FUCKING HELL!"
Soma nearly dropped a saucepan.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"
"I—" Zero gasped, fork still hovering. "It was so good I felt like I ascended! I think I saw the Ethereal Court of Seven Stars! They waved at me!"
Soma looked at his hands, horrified. "I need to tone down my skill…"
Zero, naked and uncaring, scooped another bite. "No. Absolutely not. But we do need clothes that can survive flavor-blasts."
"We can't have customers disrobing at the table," Soma muttered.
Zero groaned as he chewed. "Oh god it's nostalgic. It tastes like… like our grandma's cooking."
Soma blinked. "We don't have a grandma."
"Exactly," Zero said, eyes misty. "That's why I'm crying."
Soma stared. Then laughed. Zero cried and ate and wept and chewed and moaned and devoured. It was chaos. It was perfect. It was Café LeBlanc.
…
Zero licked the last streak of sauce from the edge of the ceramic plate, eyes half-lidded in reverent bliss. He set the plate down with care, like placing a holy relic on an altar.
Soma raised a brow from across the kitchen island. "Okay, that's enough worship. Get upstairs and put on some damn clothes."
Zero stood slowly, still a little lightheaded from culinary enlightenment. "Yeah. Thanks for the meal, Soma."
Soma grinned proudly. "You're welcome."
As Zero turned and wandered toward the stairs—completely naked, without an ounce of shame—Soma watched him disappear up the steps.
"Better than that Liu Mao Xing boy, am I right?" he called out smugly.
From above came a muffled, "Yeah, yeah... I eat my own words."
Soma chuckled, flicking a damp towel over his shoulder like a proper kitchen king.
Ding!
The café bell jingled, and the front door creaked open.
Soma turned. Standing at the threshold was Linda, the old dwarf woman from the locksmith shop next door. She wore a deep burgundy shawl and carried a small wicker basket of keys.
"Oh my," she said, glancing around. "I don't think I've seen you before."
Soma smiled smoothly. "Good morning. Welcome in! I just arrived this morning. I work with my brother, Zero."
Linda blinked. "Brother?"
Soma's smile froze for half a second. Right. Zero was an demon. Soma, in this form, looked fully human.
"Well," Soma said quickly, scratching his cheek, "I mean—like brothers. You know, with everything we've been through, it just… feels that way."
He let out an awkward chuckle. "Bit of a found-family thing."
Linda smiled politely, clearly too kind to press further. Then—Footsteps. Zero descended the stairs briskly, towel in hand, hair loose and falling past his shoulders. "Soma, did you see my hair ti—" He stopped mid-sentence. Saw Linda.
Paused.
Smiled casually. "…Linda! Good to see you. What brings you here?"
She tilted her head, amused. "Good afternoon, dear. What brings me? Just checking in. It's already past noon, and your café still had the 'closed' sign up. Thought something might've happened."
Zero stepped off the stairs, tossing the towel behind the counter and choosing not to tie his hair. "Ah—thanks for checking on me. Really. I was just making sure everything's ready before we open proper. A little test run."
Linda nodded. "Well, I won't impose on you and your brother while you're preparing."
Zero blinked. "...Brother?"
Soma flashed a bright smile behind Linda's back and mouthed, Just roll with it.
Zero cleared his throat. "Right. My brother. He's… uh. Very enthusiastic about cooking."
"I can see that," Linda said, eyeing the impeccably cleaned counter. "Everything smells wonderful in here."
Soma stepped forward with a friendly wave. "Ma'am, if you can, come by tomorrow morning. We'll be doing a breakfast menu. First proper opening."
Linda's face brightened. "Oh? I do love a warm breakfast."
She turned to the door. "Alright then. I'll look forward to it."
Ding.
The bell rang as she stepped out and gently closed the door behind her.
Silence returned.
Zero glanced sideways at Soma. "My brother?"
Soma grinned, smug and proud. "Saved your PR, didn't I?"
Zero rolled his eyes. "She's going to tell the entire block you're my long-lost blood sibling."
"Better than saying I'm your magical blood clone from another dimension."
Zero sighed. "Touché."
Soma stretched, popping his knuckles. "So… breakfast menu?"
Zero cracked a grin. "Yeah. Let's make it count."
**A/N**
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**A/N**