A few middle-aged salarymen, dressed in cheap suits, couldn't hide the exhaustion etched on their faces. It was nearly 9 p.m., and who knows what kind of day they'd endured to be clocking out this late.
Kawachi Sayoko, unfazed by the sight, responded with her usual crisp cheer and got to work. The salarymen, after tossing out playful comments like, "Sayoko-chan's looking extra cute tonight!" and "What a shame this is the last time we'll taste Sayoko-chan's cooking," lit their cigarettes and started venting to each other about life.
In Japan, salaries are high, but so is the pressure—especially for married middle-aged men. It's not just the high cost of living. Many Japanese women stop working after marriage and kids, with less than 50% of them staying in the workforce post-marriage. For a family of three, the financial burden falls squarely on the man. At the next table, the salarymen downed shochu, griping about their companies, then society, before one slammed his glass down with a loud "Haa!" and declared, "When I get home, I'm making that wife of mine call me Otosan!"
The outburst set the table ablaze with laughter and applause. Behind the counter, Sayoko glanced shyly at Fuyukawa Tetsu, who was munching on yakitori. She couldn't fathom why men these days were getting so weird.
Fuyukawa, oblivious to her thoughts, was just savoring her delicious yakitori.
As the night deepened, the izakaya filled with more customers. The old lady who ran the place was nowhere to be seen, leaving Sayoko to handle the counter alone. She darted between grilling skewers, simmering soup, and tossing salads, but the orders piled up, and some customers started grumbling.
"Um, Tetsu-kun, can the ramen wait a bit? I'll make it once Grandma's back," Sayoko said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with her elbow while flipping yakitori skewers. Ramen was a hassle—kneading dough and pulling noodles was more than she could manage right now.
Fuyukawa shrugged, glancing at the rice cooker behind the counter. "I'll just make it myself. My stomach's about to cave in waiting."
"Eh? Tetsu-kun, you can cook?" Sayoko's big eyes sparkled with surprise as Fuyukawa shed his suit jacket and stepped behind the counter. He grabbed the old lady's apron and grinned. "Don't underestimate me. My cooking's pretty damn good."
" cooking? The legendary kind? Don't blow up the stove, Tetsu-kun!" Sayoko teased.
"...Mrs. Kawachi, you're getting too bold," Fuyukawa shot back.
"Hehe, just kidding—ah! Tetsu-kun!"
After all her teasing, Fuyukawa's patience wore thin. With a playful smirk, he gave her a light smack on the behind, right over her tight skirt.
Smack!
A ripple.
Sayoko froze, shocked, her body tensing. Then, a shiver ran through her, her toes curling as she gripped the counter, her eyes practically glistening with nervous energy.
There were still so many customers out there.
And his hand hadn't moved!
"Still teasing?" Fuyukawa grabbed a tomato from the counter with one hand while the other lingered, rubbing gently.
"Ah!" Sayoko gasped, overwhelmed by the electric sensation.
Biting her lip, her face flushed red, she couldn't muster a single word. Her thighs rubbed together, but just as the sensation started to slide lower, it vanished.
+2000!
Relief washed over her—too many customers for this. As Fuyukawa's mischievous hand retreated, she felt a wave of relaxation, followed by an even stronger pang of disappointment. Then—*smack!*—another hit.
+5000!
"Tetsu-kun…" Sayoko's voice trembled.
Her long, pale legs pressed together, knees forming an X as her eyes widened in shock.
The customers were still there!
"Keep teasing, and you're asking for punishment," Fuyukawa said, voice low.
"…I was wrong. Sayoko knows she was wrong," she mumbled.
"That's more like it." He gave a light pinch before pulling his hand away, grabbing the tomato to rinse it in the sink.
Phew.
Sayoko's gaze lingered on Fuyukawa's handsome profile, the flush in her eyes deepening before slowly fading. A stronger craving flickered in her expression as she smoothed her wrinkled skirt and returned to grilling yakitori. But soon, a sizzling sound and a rich aroma filled the air from the stove behind her.
"That smells amazing!" she exclaimed.
Turning, she saw Fuyukawa expertly tossing a wok, red tomatoes and soft scrambled eggs dancing in the pan over a roaring flame.
"No way, Tetsu-kun's that good at cooking?" Sayoko's eyes widened in disbelief.
In her mind, Fuyukawa was already a stellar professional—capable, considerate, the perfect corporate elite. That alone was impressive. But to top it off, he could cook like this?
It wasn't her fault for being shocked. In Japan, housewives are common, partly due to the failure of past feminist movements and partly because many Japanese men lean into traditional masculinity. Even today, some households expect the wife to greet her husband at the door in nothing but an apron, kneeling in respect.
A man like Fuyukawa—handsome, professionally accomplished, empathetic, and a skilled cook? He was a rare breed, practically a mythical creature.
Major bonus points!
Green numbers practically floated above Sayoko's head as her admiration grew. And she wasn't the only one.
"Is that food?"
"Looks legit! Whoa!"
"Did Grandma hire a chef? I hear those guys are pricey. His salary's gotta be huge, right?"
"No clue. Wait—his black shirt! I saw it at the mall. Zegna, over 90,000 yen!"
"Ninety grand?! You're kidding. Why would someone who can afford luxury like that work in an izakaya?"
"He's a rich Tokyo hunk!"
Fuyukawa's wok-tossing and high flames drew attention, with customers craning their necks and murmuring in awe.
Japan, an island nation, has long been influenced by culture, from ancient systems to cuisine. While stir-fry exists here, it's rarely done with the dramatic, high-heat wok skills Fuyukawa was showing off. Unless you're in a restaurant, this kind of clanging, sizzling spectacle is rare.
At first, it was mostly male customers curious about the -style stir-fry. But when a few delinquent girls from Kabukicho, who'd struck out on finding "clients" and came to eat early, recognized the brand of Fuyukawa's shirt, the atmosphere shifted.