Chapter 185: Magic, Mana's Stunned Expression
After Shopkeeper Ren finished his cryptic announcement regarding the "magic," he turned and walked back into the kitchen. The swinging doors fluttered shut behind him with a soft whoosh, cutting off the view of his straight, confident back.
He didn't say another word to Senzaemon Nakiri or the others. After all, some words did not need to be spoken aloud; the quiet assurance in his posture was promise enough.
Once Lucifer returned to her seat, the color returning to her cheeks, she was clearly fully recovered from her earlier motion sickness. As she sank into her favorite spot, feeling the familiar, perfect softness of the cushions embracing her body, Lucifer understood one fundamental truth that transcended dimensions: no matter where she went in this chaotic human world, home was always better.
Lucifer leaned quietly back in the chair, her silver hair spilling over the headrest. She pulled out her smartphone to distract herself, her fingers scrolling aimlessly through social media feeds, but her mind was firmly made up. If she could help it, she didn't plan on leaving the sanctuary of this restaurant ever again. Even if she had to go out, she would stick to Shopkeeper Ren like a shadow, or perhaps just go out by herself to buy snacks. She absolutely, under no circumstances, would follow Cerberus's travel itinerary ever again!
She couldn't help but shudder as her mind involuntarily replayed the source of her lingering terror. Her memory drifted back to the "Visual Experience Hall"—a polite, deceptive human term for a house of horrors that they had visited earlier.
She remembered the damp, artificial chill of the cave setting, the smell of moldy fabric and machine oil. Then, the sudden, jerking appearance of that thing. It was a disheveled woman, clearly an animatronic prop but terrifyingly realistic in the dim strobe lights. Its skin was pale as peeling paint, with a twisted, unnatural smile that stretched too wide, and glowing red LED eyes that pierced the darkness. The figure wore a blood-stained white robe and was stirring an unknown, bubbling liquid in a cauldron with a wooden stick. The liquid emitted colored steam and made sickening gurgling sounds, echoing in the confined space like the stomach of a beast.
"Hehehehe..."
The recorded cackle had grated against her eardrums. At that moment, facing that grotesque mechanical mockery of witchcraft, the majestic Queen of Hell—the ruler of demons, the punisher of souls—had been unceremoniously scared out of her wits. She had screamed, a high-pitched sound she would deny making until her dying day, and fled toward the exit.
Now, sitting safely in the warm, amber lighting of the restaurant, watching Cerberus happily playing on her phone across the table, Lucifer felt a strange mix of annoyance and relief. Back then, seeing Cerberus charge forward fearlessly, wagging her tails and trying to "bite the ghost" to protect her, Lucifer had never felt the three-headed dog was so cute and reliable.
Human entertainment is truly incomprehensible, Lucifer thought, pouting slightly as she tapped her screen. Why pay money to be terrified?
Unlike Lucifer, who was slowly calming her racing heart, and Cerberus, who was oblivious to everything but the mobile game she was grinding, the humans at the table began to stir. The silence left by Ren's departure was quickly filled with hushed, excited chatter, the tension of the reunion melting into curiosity.
Courage, the Third Class Bookman of the WGO, seemed unable to sit still. She was visibly excited, her eyes constantly darting towards the closed kitchen doors as if trying to see through them with X-ray vision. Her small face was flushed with a rosy hue, and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her uniform.
Gin Dojima, observing her with a knowing, paternal amusement, chuckled low in his throat. The "Living Legend" of Tōtsuki leaned back, his imposing frame relaxed. "Courage-san, you really are very straightforward with your emotions. It is written all over your face. You look like a fan meeting an idol."
Courage was startled, nearly dropping her water glass. She adjusted her glasses hurriedly, her blush deepening. She stammered shyly, avoiding Dojima's gaze. "A-Ah... No, I mean... Mr. Ren is really a very good person... and very confident... and his hands... I mean, his cooking skills are amazing!"
Decora, sitting beside her, nodded repeatedly, her colorful hair accessories jingling with her vigorous agreement. "Right? Right! He's so cool! And did you see how calm he was? Not scared of the Director at all!"
Nakiri Mana, however, was focused on something far more pragmatic. The Bookmaster's sharp intellect, usually reserved for judging the nuances of global cuisine, was now dissecting the business model of this mysterious establishment.
She looked at the cozy, high-quality interior of the restaurant and then at her father. She smiled softly, her voice carrying a trace of logical skepticism. "He is charming, yes. But... logically speaking, Mr. Ren probably doesn't have many customers here, does he? The location is obscure, tucked away in a corner with no signage. How does he make a profit? Is this a hobby shop?"
Joichiro Yukihira, who had made himself comfortable with a cold beer he had brazenly grabbed from the fridge, chugged a large mouthful and let out a satisfied sigh. "Phew... That hits the spot."
He wiped the foam from his lip and grinned, leaning his elbows on the table. "I'm curious about that too, Mana. When I came here before, the quality was insane. If that ramen—the broth rich with collagen, the noodles hand-pulled to perfection—were sold outside in a high-end Ginza establishment, people would happily pay thousands, even tens of thousands of yen for it without blinking. It was a bowl worthy of a Michelin star. But..."
He lowered the beer can, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. "With the shrimp and perilla spring rolls, plus a serving of perfectly fried tempura... the total bill was only eight hundred yen! Eight hundred! I wouldn't dare set prices like that at my own family diner, and I run a neighborhood joint!"
"Eight hundred yen?!"
The exclamation came from Anne, her eyes widening behind her glasses, her jaw dropping slightly. "Is it really that cheap?! That barely covers the cost of utilities, let alone the ingredients and labor!"
Senzaemon Nakiri sat at the head of the table, stroking his white beard. He smiled, looking like a grandfather who had just won a secret bet and was waiting to reveal the winning hand.
"I knew you would be shocked by the price," the Demon King chuckled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "To be honest, I was very shocked at first too. I thought there must be a catch, or perhaps he was using inferior goods. But I have seen the pantry. I have tasted the food. They are indeed all fresh ingredients, and the portions are generous. It's just that... the price is set very low."
Decora swallowed hard, her mind racing to find a logical explanation. "Huh?! They must be ordinary ingredients then. Maybe bulk discounts? Or supermarket surplus? Otherwise, if it's so cheap, he should be running at a massive loss. Bankruptcy would be inevitable within a month!"
Joichiro shrugged. He didn't know the answer. He was a chef who traveled the world, cooking with whatever he found. The economics of a fixed-location restaurant operating on fairy-tale logic were beyond him.
Senzaemon Nakiri looked at everyone staring at him with such eager curiosity. For some reason, he felt a surge of inexplicable pride. It was as if Ren's baffling success and defiance of common sense were a testament to the young man's greatness—a greatness Senzaemon had recognized early on.
"No, no, no~" Senzaemon chuckled, waving his hand dismissively at Decora's suggestion of 'ordinary ingredients'. "You are underestimating this place. You are underestimating him. This kid's restaurant has an inventory that would make the Tōtsuki Resort's warehouses look like a convenience store."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the intensity of a gourmand. "Have you ever seen a grilled pork chop seasoned with genuine Fleur de sel?"
"Fleur de sel?" Anne gasped.
Senzaemon nodded. "The 'Flower of Salt,' hand-harvested from the surface of the salt marshes in Guérande, France. Crystals so fragile they dissolve on the tongue like snowflakes, tasting of violet and the ocean breeze. He uses it like table salt."
He continued, counting off on his fingers, his voice dropping to emphasize the absurdity. "And from what I know, this kid has A5 Wagyu beef stacked in the freezer like it's ground chuck—beef with marbling so intense it looks like pink marble. He has fine vintage wines that belong in auction houses. He uses fresh Matsutake mushrooms, which cost a fortune, just for soup stock. Rare spices from the Silk Road. And top-grade seafood like Bluefin Tuna... not just any tuna, but the Otoro, the fatty belly that melts at body temperature."
He sat back, enjoying their stunned expressions. "All of it. Used for daily meals. Sold for the price of a bento box."
"Salt... Fleur de sel?!"
"Bluefin Tuna... for eight hundred yen?!"
Even Gin Dojima and Joichiro were startled this time. Tōtsuki Resort, the pinnacle of luxury hospitality, used Fleur de sel sparingly. To use it for a simple pork chop was not just extravagant; it was culinary insanity. It was like using gold dust to pave a driveway.
Lanterby, who had been quietly observing the decor, now looked around with a new sense of awe and confusion. She touched the wooden table, wondering if it was made of some priceless ancient timber. "These ingredients... the logistics alone... they must be incredibly expensive. Is he a billionaire playing at being a chef? Is this some sort of tax write-off?"
Senzaemon Nakiri smiled and shook his head. "Of course not. In this kid's restaurant, anything over three thousand yen is considered a 'luxury expenditure.' He operates on a logic that defies economics. He simply wants to feed people good food."
Nakiri Mana frowned, her business sense tingling with alarm. Her logical mind hit a brick wall. "Ah? Father, this is a complete loss. It is mathematically impossible. Mr. Ren is... is he doing this for charity? Or is he burning money for some other purpose?"
"That kid told me before that these things are nothing to him," Senzaemon replied, leaning back comfortably. "And from what I know, he doesn't seem to be short on money either. I don't know exactly what his previous profession was. I only know that... rumors say he used to be a Combatant."
"A Combatant?"
Joichiro Yukihira and Gin Dojima exchanged a sharp, meaningful glance. They were not ordinary people; they existed in a world where cooking ability often correlated with intense physical and mental discipline. But the term "Combatant" implied something else—mercenary work, special forces, or perhaps something even more supernatural given the company he kept (a demon and a three-headed dog).
That kid, Shopkeeper Ren, was a Combatant? Joichiro mused, looking at the kitchen door with renewed interest. Well, looking at how he handles a knife, he certainly has the killer instinct. And his stance... it has no openings.
Lucifer listened quietly to the conversation, a slight, proud smile playing on her lips. She was naturally very happy when someone praised her lover.
Combatant? she thought with amusement. If only they knew. He is the strongest.
She remembered how he had stood against gods and monsters without flinching. If she could, she would even want to drag Tony Stark over here and make the arrogant Iron Man sit down and take notes. See? This is what a real capable man looks like. He doesn't need a suit of armor; he just needs a frying pan and a smile.
Courage and Decora, meanwhile, were looking at Senzaemon Nakiri with stars in their eyes. If that was the case, Shopkeeper Ren checked all the boxes: handsome, a god-tier chef, wealthy enough to ignore costs, and physically strong.
"A perfect man," Courage murmured, her face turning a shade of crimson that rivaled Lucifer's eyes.
At this moment, the two WGO officers turned their gaze to the side. They looked at Lucifer and Cerberus, who were casually lounging and playing on their phones, with eyes full of intense envy. How can they be so lucky to live here? Do they realize what a treasure they have?
Just then, the conversation was cut short.
Everyone smelled a rich, intoxicating aroma drifting from the kitchen. All those present were authorities in the culinary world, veterans of a thousand tastings, so they immediately identified the notes.
"Chocolate," Mana whispered, her nostrils flaring slightly. "Deep, roasted cocoa. Not too sweet, with a hint of bitterness."
"And fruit," Anne added, sniffing the air. "Fresh. Citrus notes. Berries. It smells... vibrant."
While they were processing the scent profile, the kitchen doors swung open. Shopkeeper Ren emerged, pushing a stainless steel dining cart. The wheels glided silently over the wooden floor.
On the cart sat a collection of dishes that looked more like art than food. There was a plate featuring a delicate chocolate crepe, folded with geometric precision. Next to it was a bowl filled with small, purple, spherical treats that released a gentle steam. And finally, a large crystal bowl containing a vibrant, glistening fruit salad.
Ren navigated the cart to the table with practiced ease. He placed the chocolate crepe in front of Lucifer. The dark chocolate batter contrasted beautifully with the white whipped cream and strawberries peeking out from the folds.
"For the Queen," Ren said softly.
Lucifer beamed, her earlier trauma forgotten instantly. "Ren is the best!"
Next, he placed the bowl of purple balls in front of Cerberus. "Purple sweet potato balls. Chewy on the inside, crispy on the outside."
"Yay! Balls!" Cerberus cheered, dropping her phone.
Then, Ren turned to the guests. He served small crystal bowls of the fruit salad to Senzaemon, Dojima, Joichiro, and the WGO officers. The fruit glistened with a light honey-lime glaze, looking incredibly refreshing.
"You might have to wait a bit longer for the main course," Ren explained with a polite smile. "So please, have something to eat first to cleanse the palate. Of course, this is just an ordinary salad. It's nothing groundbreaking."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the woman in the wheelchair. "However, no matter how delicious it is... Miss Nakiri Mana, I am afraid this is not something you can eat. Your tongue would reject the complexity of the raw fruit acids."
Hearing this, Nakiri Mana's shoulders slumped slightly. She nodded, a resigned look in her eyes. "I understand. Fruit salad is just fruit salad. No matter how delicious it looks, to me, it is just another form of torment."
She looked at the bowl in front of her father. The scent of the fresh strawberries and melon wafted towards her. To anyone else, it was perfume. To her, it was a warning signal. Her "God Tongue" was already reacting, sending phantom signals of nausea just from the smell. She clenched her hands in her lap, preparing to watch the others eat, a familiar pang of jealousy and isolation rising in her chest.
However, before Nakiri Mana could fully sink into her disappointment, a shadow fell over her table space.
She looked up to see Shopkeeper Ren placing a plate in front of her.
It was empty.
Pristine, white, and completely empty.
Nakiri Mana blinked. She looked at the empty porcelain, then up at Shopkeeper Ren with a puzzled expression. "Mr. Ren? This is...?"
Ren met her gaze, his expression calm and matter-of-fact. He didn't look like he was mocking her.
"Although you can't eat anything yet," Ren said, his voice carrying a strange, confident weight, "you can keep this for now. Think of it as a reservation."
He placed a linen napkin beside the empty plate.
"You can eat when the main dishes arrive," he continued. "After the dishes arrive, you will take just one bite. And after that bite... you will be able to eat normally. Everything. Even this fruit salad."
He gestured to the empty plate. "I don't recommend putting anything on it just yet. Because I'm going to perform a magic trick with this plate later."
"Magic?"
The word tumbled out of everyone's mouths simultaneously.
"Magic?" Lanterby repeated, bewildered.
"Magic?" Senzaemon echoed, his bushy eyebrows shooting up.
The exclamation rang out in a staggered chorus of disbelief. It wasn't just a question; it was a collective expression of utter confusion shared by the eight culinary experts in the room. They looked at each other, then back at Ren, wondering if he had finally cracked under the pressure. Curing the God Tongue with magic? Was he going to pull a rabbit out of the salad?
Shopkeeper Ren just smiled, a mysterious glint in his eyes that suggested he knew the punchline to a joke they hadn't heard yet.
"Good things always require waiting," Ren said cryptically. "And magic is the same. Miss Nakiri Mana, please hold onto this plate for me for now. Treat it as the most important ingredient."
He bowed slightly to the group. "Then, please enjoy yourselves with the appetizers."
Ren turned to leave, but paused as he passed the three-headed girl who was already shoveling food into her mouths with zero table manners.
"Cerberus, those are purple sweet potato balls, not vacuum cleaners. Don't eat too fast, be careful not to choke~"
"Oh! Mmph-gulph!"
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