Chapter 186: Welcome Home, You're Home
If anyone were to walk into the Restaurant right now, they would surely be questioning their sanity, or at least rubbing their eyes in disbelief.
The scene unfolding within the warm, wood-paneled walls was nothing short of surreal. At the large dining table, an imposing elder, two legendary chefs who were practically deities in the culinary world, and four stunningly beautiful women from the highest echelons of the World Gourmet Organization were engaging in a behavior that could only be described as... undignified.
They were fighting.
And they weren't fighting over a rare ingredient like bluefin tuna or truffles. They were fighting, fork against fork, over a single, rapidly emptying crystal bowl of fruit salad.
"My goodness! How on earth did this kid Shopkeeper Ren learn to cook? Even this simple fruit salad is so delicious?!"
The exclamation came from Gin Dojima. The "Living Legend" of Totsuki, usually the picture of stoic discipline and muscle-bound composure, was currently hunching over his plate like a protective bear. He speared a slice of crisp apple, his eyes widening as he crunched down.
It wasn't just fruit thrown together. The flavors were explosive. The apples had been treated to prevent oxidation, retaining a sharpness that cut through the sweetness. The melons were scooped at the precise moment of peak ripeness, their juices bursting with a honeyed floral note. But the real magic was the dressing—a translucent, silky emulsion that tasted of lemon, a hint of mint, and a secret sweetness that bridged the gap between every ingredient.
"Lanterby! Are you a pig?" Courage hissed, her glasses flashing as she deftly maneuvered her fork to block Lanterby from stealing a grape. "Are you not going to eat dinner later?! Save some room for the main course!"
"You're talking about me!" Lanterby shot back, her mouth full of melon, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster. She swallowed hard and pointed her fork accusingly at her superior. "Look at yourself! Everyone is the same here! You've eaten more strawberries than anyone else!"
Sitting slightly apart from the chaos, Nakiri Mana watched the scene with a complicated expression, her hands gripping the armrests of her wheelchair.
She licked her lips, her throat feeling dry. As she had always said, watching others eat in a Restaurant when you physically cannot is the cruelest form of torture. It is a specific kind of hell reserved for those cursed with the God Tongue. But what was even crueler was being the only one unable to partake in a room full of people losing their minds over something as simple as an appetizer.
Is it really that good? Mana wondered, a pang of jealousy striking her heart. Even Father... look at him.
Senzaemon Nakiri, the "Demon King," had loosened his tie. He was eating with a gusto she hadn't seen in decades. The Nakiri family's reaction to delicious food was notoriously expressive—sometimes leading to the "stripping" phenomenon—but here, it was pure, unadulterated joy. Seeing her father fight Joichiro over a blueberry was a testament to the food's power.
Nakiri Mana swallowed hard. She wasn't sure if Shopkeeper Ren's earlier confidence was arrogance or truth anymore. After all, these capable subordinates of hers—Courage, Decora, Anne—and two impressive seniors were acting this way over a fruit salad?
If the salad was this incredible, what about the main course?
She began to look forward to it. A dangerous, terrified hope started to bloom in her chest.
Slowly, the bowl was scraped clean. The clinking of forks against glass ceased, replaced by the heavy breathing of satisfied diners.
Gin Dojima leaned back, patting his muscular stomach. "I'm truly impressed with this kid. How did he manage to improve fruit salad to be so delicious? It cleansed the palate completely while igniting the appetite."
Anne wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, her movements elegant but her eyes shining. "Mm, if there was any doubt before, there's no reason not to believe Mr. Ren's skill now. He understands ingredients on a molecular level."
Decora played with her empty fork, staring at the ceiling dreamily. "Mm, a very delicious salad. This is the best fruit salad I've ever eaten. The sweetness was... romantic. You too, right, Courage... Courage?"
Decora nudged her colleague.
Courage was startled, jumping slightly in her seat. She had been staring at the closed kitchen door, her cheeks dusted with a faint pink hue. She snapped back to reality, adjusting her glasses hurriedly. "Decora, what did you say? Fruit salad... Oh... Yes. It was... adequate. No, it was the most delicious fruit salad I've ever eaten..."
Joichiro Yukihira, that scoundrel of an uncle who never missed a beat, let out a low, teasing laugh. He leaned his chin on his palm, grinning at the flustered officer. "Eh~ Courage-chan, do you have some thoughts? You seem distracted. Perhaps thinking about the chef rather than the food?"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Courage's pale little face immediately turned crimson, resembling the strawberries she had just devoured. She lowered her head, fidgeting with her silverware, but she still whispered, barely audible, "Mr. Ren is indeed... a very excellent man..."
Decora nodded in agreement, her jewelry chiming softly. She glanced over at the other table, where Lucifer and Cerberus were seated. The two demonic entities were surprisingly unresponsive to the salad frenzy. They were casually eating their snacks, scrolling through their phones, and occasionally chuckling.
To them, this was just Tuesday. They knew the real magic was still cooking in the kitchen.
Inside the kitchen, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the noisy dining hall. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic, bubbling sound of a clay pot on the stove.
Ren stood before the fire, his expression focused and serene.
Good food is worth waiting for. This adage is particularly true for Chinese cuisine. With thousands of years of history, the culinary arts of China are like a vast ocean. Countless delicacies remain like stars in the sky; it is impossible to know how many types of dishes truly exist. While history has washed away the dregs, the precious jade that remains is abundant and timeless.
Ren looked at the clay pot in front of him. He reached out and lightly tapped the ceramic lid with his finger, checking the temperature through vibration.
Ting.
Any traditional Chinese banquet often begins with soup or a warm, liquid dish. This serves a dual purpose: to warm the stomach and prepare it for the heavier oils and flavors to come, and to ensure that there isn't an awkward lull where guests are waiting for stir-fried dishes to be cooked one by one.
Ren opened the lid.
Whoosh.
A cloud of white steam rolled out, carrying a gentle, sweet fragrance. It was the scent of soy beans and rice, married together in perfect harmony.
Ren sniffed the aroma, his brows knitting slightly. "Almost..."
He took out a small container from the refrigerator. Inside was an off-white cube—a concentrated essence of solidified soy milk skin and rock sugar that he had prepared days in advance. He dropped it into the bubbling white liquid.
Plop.
As the cube dissolved, a rich, mellow aroma instantly burst forth. It wasn't just sweet; it was deep. It was the smell of comfort.
This dish was specially made for Nakiri Mana.
Ren knew her condition. Her stomach had rejected solid food for too long. If he served her a heavy, oily dish like Twice Cooked Pork or Mapo Tofu immediately, her body would go into shock. She needed something gentle. Something that would coat her stomach lining, soothe the irritated nerves, and reintroduce her system to the joy of eating.
This was the Meiling Porridge.
Made from soy milk, glutinous rice, regular rice, yam, and lily bulbs, it was a dish famous for its elegance and health benefits.
Ren stirred the pot with a wooden ladle. "Porridge has a lifespan," he murmured to himself. "Serve it too early, the rice is hard. Serve it too late, it becomes glue."
He checked the consistency. The rice grains had bloomed, dissolving half into the soy milk, creating a texture that was neither liquid nor solid—a perfect, silky suspension.
"It's time."
Out in the dining hall, the conversation had lulled.
Senzaemon turned to his daughter, his face serious. "Mana, if you choose the second option Ren offered—the long-term treatment—you might have to come here often. Are you prepared for that?"
Nakiri Mana was about to answer, to say that she would do anything to be cured, when she suddenly froze. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Lady Mana?" Anne asked, concerned.
As the Bookmaster and a Special Executive Officer, Mana was incredibly sensitive to food—far more than any normal human. She was the first to catch it. A faint, subtle aroma drifting from the kitchen cracks.
Senzaemon Nakiri was about to ask what was wrong when he, too, froze.
The aroma didn't stay subtle for long. It ambushed them.
It swept over the room in a grand, silent wave. It wasn't the aggressive, spicy punch of the mapo tofu from before, nor the refreshing zest of the salad. This was a sweet, enveloping scent. It smelled like fresh soy milk, like blooming lilies, like the sweetness of yam.
Just smelling this scent made Senzaemon Nakiri and the others feel their muscles relax involuntarily.
Nakiri Mana swallowed, her throat clicking audibly in the silence. She looked at her father in disbelief, her eyes wide and trembling. "Father... I... I feel..."
"Mana, what's wrong? What do you feel?" Senzaemon asked urgently, stepping closer. "Is it nausea? Is the smell too strong?"
Nakiri Mana licked her lips, her gaze unfocused, lost in the scent. "I feel... hungry..."
The words were spoken softly, but they landed like a bomb.
The room went dead silent.
Hungry?
Nakiri Mana's God Tongue had reached a critical point years ago. She felt nauseous just imagining the taste of food. The world tasted of decay, of storms, of imperfections. Relying solely on intravenous nutrient solutions, she hadn't felt the sensation of hunger—the desire to eat—in a very, very long time.
Hungry meant her body was reacting. Hungry meant her brain was signaling that this specific smell was safe.
"I want... to eat..." Mana whispered.
As the aroma grew stronger, Nakiri Mana's eyes slowly became hazy. She wanted to eat this dish; she could no longer control her appetite. The primal instinct that had been suppressed for years was waking up, roaring for sustenance.
Creak.
The kitchen door swung open.
Ren emerged, pushing a dining cart. The steam rising from the clay pot on the cart trailed behind him like a veil.
Everyone stretched their necks, curious about what Ren had made.
Lucifer, catching a whiff, clapped her hands together with pleasant surprise. "Ah! You made Meiling Porridge again!"
Ren smiled and nodded at the Demon Queen. "Yes. Because it's probably the best choice to gently warm up Miss Nakiri Mana's stomach, which hasn't had solid food in a long time. And there are quite a few ladies here, so this beauty-enhancing dish should be the best option. Old man, you can also have some; soy is good for your health~"
As Ren spoke, he deftly served the porridge into small, porcelain bowls. He placed them in front of everyone with a fluid grace.
Looking at the pristine, fragrant Meiling Porridge before them, the diners were mesmerized. It was a stark white canvas, the rice and soy milk perfectly blended. Scattered on top were bright red goji berries, looking like rubies in snow. It was simple, unpretentious, and devastatingly beautiful.
'Sweet' and 'Elegant' were always the fixed adjectives for Meiling Porridge, and this bowl embodied them perfectly.
Lucifer and Cerberus were not as shocked as the others; they simply picked up their spoons and began to drink it, enjoying the familiar taste. But as Lucifer drank this time, her crimson eyes widened slightly.
"Mmm?" She licked her spoon. "Ren... this is different. It's... richer?"
She realized this batch was exceptionally sweet, and the 'fragrance' in this sweetness was a rich, mellow aroma that lingered on the tongue.
Nakiri Mana didn't hear her. She was staring at the bowl in front of her as if it were the Holy Grail.
She licked her lips, her hands trembling as they hovered over the table. "Shopkeeper Ren... this dish called Meiling Porridge... can I really...?"
Ren stood by the cart, wiping his hands on a towel. He smiled gently. "Miss Nakiri Mana, this bowl of porridge is your appetizer anyway~"
Nakiri Mana felt a sudden, sharp pang in her nose. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
The problem that had tormented her for so many years, the curse that had driven her away from her family and her passion... was the solution really in this simple bowl of porridge?
If I can drink it... I will come back to life... truly come back to life...
She picked up the spoon. It felt heavy, weighing a thousand tons. Her hand trembled violently. All eyes were on her—Senzaemon holding his breath, Gin watching with intensity, her subordinates praying silently.
Mana didn't know why she couldn't bring herself to spoon it. She wanted to eat it so badly, her stomach was cramping with need, but the trauma of the past was a high wall. What if it tastes like gravel? What if I vomit?
Just then, a warm hand placed itself gently on the table near hers.
Ren walked over to Nakiri Mana. He didn't touch her, but his presence was a shield. He leaned down, his voice soft but commanding, cutting through her fear.
"Don't be afraid. You should trust me, and you should trust your sense of smell."
He gestured to the bowl.
"Miss Nakiri Mana, drink this bowl of porridge, and then..." Ren's smile softened into something incredibly kind. "Welcome home~"
Welcome home.
The words shattered the last of her resistance.
Nakiri Mana's whole body trembled. The spoon finally scooped a mouthful of the white, silky liquid. She brought it to her lips, her breath hitching.
She closed her eyes.
Please.
She opened her mouth and took it in.
The room froze. Time seemed to stop.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
She neither swallowed nor spat it out. She remained in that posture, the spoon still near her lips. Senzaemon looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
Then, Nakiri Mana's throat moved.
Gulp.
As the porridge slid down her throat into her stomach, settling there without a hint of rejection, two lines of tears finally, slowly fell from her closed eyes.
She... she could eat.
It was time for her to go home.
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