Another new day came by, Ken's alarm buzzed in a stubborn loop, vibrating across the nightstand like it was trying to escape its responsibilities. He dragged himself upright with the sluggishness of a man peeling himself out of wet cement, hair pointing in five different directions, eyes half-open.
His apartment wasn't messy, but it had that silent "lived by a tired person" vibe. A few shirts draped over a chair, a stack of takeout containers waiting near the trash, a desk covered in files he swore he going to sort out last week. He rubbed his face and groaned at the sunlight cutting through the curtains like it had a personal vendetta.
The last few weeks blurred together into an exhausting montage of commuting, typing, printing, submitting, nodding politely, and staying just long enough in the office to forget what daylight looked like. Typical corporate cycle. His phone still showed three unread work emails even though it was Saturday. He flipped it over so he didn't have to look at them.
He stretched his back until it cracked like a cheap glow stick, then let himself flop onto the couch. His brain instantly started replaying one of the more "memorable" moments from the past week. He'd finished a project way ahead of the deadline. A rare victory. He even felt proud enough to walk up to his boss like a triumphant RPG character turning in a quest.
His boss skimmed the documents, nodded with approval, and said, "Very nice work, Ken. You're reliable as always." Ken lit up inside. His face softened into a relieved smile. A tiny internal parade started marching.
Then the boss added, "Since you're free now, I'll need you to help with the backlog. I'll send everything to your inbox." Ken's soul visibly left his body for two seconds. His expression morphed into that perfect mix of "I hate my life" and "I saw this coming but hoped I was wrong." His boss, naturally, didn't notice and walked off humming like he hadn't just stabbed a man's weekend in the back.
Ken face-palmed so hard his glasses nearly fell off.
Thinking about it now made his eyebrow twitch.
But it was Saturday afternoon. A rare break. No deadlines, no reports, no boss lurking around corners like a productivity vampire.
He stretched again, stood up, and walked lazily toward the kitchen sink. He splashed his face with cold water, staring at his reflection. He looked… tired. That soft, worn-out kind of tired that never fully goes away.
As he dried his face, a thought quietly drifted into his mind–gentle, unexpected. That small eatery. The warm lighting. The calm atmosphere. The way they moving around the kitchen with that peaceful, practiced rhythm. He hadn't realized until now how much that simple visit had stuck with him. Maybe he could go again. Not for anything special–just for a meal that didn't taste like rushed convenience store food. Something warm. Something made by human hands.
He grabbed his jacket and headed out.
Now the walk was peaceful. The usual weekday crowds were nowhere to be seen. Families strolled around with shopping bags, kids zipped past on scooters, and the air had the soft warmth of early afternoon. Even the sun felt gentler, like it understood people deserved a break.
When Ken finally reached the narrow alleyway where the shop was tucked, he slowed down. The familiar wooden sign hung above the door, slightly tilted, the faint smell of broth drifting out. The warm smell of broth drifted out again. He hesitated a second, then pushed the door.
The bell chimed as he stepped inside.
The elderly woman behind the counter looked up first. Her expression brightened the slightest bit–not in recognition, just the natural warmth of someone who welcomed everyone gently.
"Oh, welcome," she said with a soft smile. "Sit anywhere you like."
Her husband lifted a hand briefly from the stove in greeting before returning to what he was doing.
Ken took a seat at the counter again. The menu hadn't changed much, but this time he wanted something heavier. "Tonkatsu curry… and a rice bowl, please," he said.
The old man nodded without looking away from the pot, already moving with practiced ease.
As Ken waited, he took in the shop more carefully. Wooden shelves filled with hand-painted bowls. A small radio in the corner playing old music. Faded photographs of festivals and smiling customers. A construction worker sat a few seats away, helmet on the table, slurping ramen like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
The shop had an atmosphere that felt like time slowed down inside.
When the tonkatsu curry finally arrived, Ken leaned in–and the smell hit him so hard he forgot about everything else.
He scooped one generous bite, raised it, tasted it...
...and his soul left his body.
His whole upper torso jerked backward as if someone had yanked him by the collar. His eyes widened in pure shock. His chair squeaked loudly. If this were animated, he would've tilted back with sparkles exploding behind him.
"This is illegal," he muttered under his breath. "How is this so good?!"
The old woman chuckled softly, clearly amused but pretending she didn't see his dramatic reaction. The old man smirked behind the steam rising from his pot.
Ken took a few more bites–each one delivering another silent spiritual slap–and then slowed down, letting the flavor settle. The curry was perfect. The tonkatsu stayed crisp despite the sauce. The rice was soft and warm.
He glanced around while eating. The construction worker thanked the couple loudly for their food. Haruo served him with a quiet grunt. Sachiko wiped a table with gentle movements, humming faintly to the radio.
The place felt… comfortable. It felt like the opposite of his office.
Halfway through the curry bowl, Sachiko quietly placed a glass of oolong tea in front of him.
"For you," she said. "On the house. You look tired."
Ken blinked. "Oh–thank you."
The tea was warm, floral, and calming. It settled in his chest like a sigh he didn't know he'd been holding.
Sachiko leaned slightly on the counter. "We didn't get to introduce ourselves last time, did we?"
Ken shook his head.
She smiled warmly. "I'm Sachiko. And that stubborn man behind me is Haruo."
Haruo didn't turn. "I heard that."
"You were supposed to," she replied.
Ken gave a small, polite bow. "I'm Ken. It's… nice to meet you."
Sachiko nodded. "Ken-san. You have kind eyes, even if you look exhausted. Haruo and I used to work very hard too, you know. These days… the body doesn't keep up like it used to." She didn't sound sad–just honest. Like someone who had already made peace with that reality.
"We still enjoy running this place," she continued. "But some days are heavier than others. That's life, I suppose."
Ken didn't know what to say, so he simply listened. Her voice had a softness that made the words settle comfortably in the air.
After a moment, her smile brightened again. "Eat well. It helps."
He nodded, finished the last bite of his meal, and placed the money neatly in the tray. He bowed slightly to both of them.
"Thank you. The food was amazing."
"Come back anytime," Sachiko said kindly.
Haruo gave a small nod. "Take care."
Ken stepped outside. The afternoon sun felt warmer against his skin, the air lighter somehow. The warmth of the shop clung to him even as he walked away.
For the first time in a long while, Saturday didn't feel empty. It felt… comforting.