Shinji sat in the dim light of the small infirmary. His crushed finger was wrapped tightly in bandages, but the rhythmic throb of pain refused to subside. On the bed beside him, Vuri lay motionless. His breath was a shallow, ragged whistle; he had lost a dangerous amount of blood and had yet to wake.
Shinji squeezed his good hand into a fist, turning toward Auntie Maya with eyes full of bitter resentment.
"Auntie… why didn't anyone stop them?" his voice trembled. "They just stood there. They just watched."
Maya bowed her head, her gaze heavy with a sense of defeat.
"It's not that they didn't want to help, Shinji. It's that they couldn't. Those men belong to Rascha-Xena. His reach is long, and his shadow is even longer."
"Power?" Shinji spat the word. "Doing something that evil… there has to be a price!"
Maya shook her head slowly. "No, Shinji. In this world, the wicked don't always pay."
Shinji fell silent, looking back at the unconscious Vuri. The weight in his chest felt like lead. "What about Ares? Can we ask Ares for help?"
Maya's answer was like a bucket of ice water. "Ares cannot help us. Besides, even seeing a Grand Commander is a rare honor for people like us, let alone asking one to interfere in a street brawl."
She sighed, her voice dropping to a low, somber tone.
"Rascha-Xena holds immense power here. Some say his influence even eclipses the Great Commander Odin himself. Those thugs you met yesterday? They are just small fish feeding in his wake, using his name to bleed people dry. Vuri was already struggling, yet they kept hounding him until…"
Before she could finish, Vuri bolted upright. Despite the agony visible on his face, he forced himself to stand.
"My shop!" he wheezed.
He took a staggering step forward. Maya quickly grabbed his arm. "What are you doing? You can't go anywhere in this condition!"
Vuri wrenched his arm away with surprising strength. "Let go of me!"
He continued to limp toward the door, ignoring the fresh blood seeping through the bandages on his hip. Maya tried one last time to reason with him. "Just let it go… maybe if you just submit, they'll leave you in peace."
Vuri spun around, his voice a low growl. "What do you know about it?!"
Seeing the old man stumble out, Shinji chased after him. Maya called out from behind, "Shinji! Look after that stubborn old fool!"
"I will!"
Vuri came to a dead stop in front of the eatery. When Shinji caught up, he froze beside him.
"Mr. Vuri… I…"
The shop was a ruin. Tables and chairs were smashed into splinters, the charcoal grill had been overturned, and every scrap of ingredients had been plundered. Even the wooden signboard that had hung proudly above the door now lay face-down in the dirt, cracked in two.
Vuri trembled with a violent, white-hot rage. He reached down and snatched a kitchen knife from the debris, his eyes burning with a terrifying light.
Shinji lunged forward, grabbing the man's arm. "Mr. Vuri! Where are you going?!"
"Where I go is none of your business!" Vuri barked, trying to push past.
"What are you doing?!" Shinji yelled back, refusing to let go. "Going there now is suicide! Nothing more! Instead of throwing your life away… help me fix the shop!"
Vuri stopped. The anger was still there, pulsing in his veins, but his eyes softened with a sudden, deep-seated sorrow.
"Money… supplies… we can replace those," Shinji said, his voice cracking. "But if you die… how do we bring you back?"
The knife slipped from Vuri's fingers, hitting the ground with a dull clack. He stood in silence for several long seconds before letting out a long, heavy sigh.
"Shinji…" Vuri muttered. "Let's go inside."
The two of them—one an old man with a secret past, the other a boy with no memory—began the grueling task of restoring the shop. They righted the fallen tables, braced broken chair legs, and scrubbed the filth from the floors.
As they worked, Shinji broke the silence. "Mr. Vuri… why do you risk your life for this place? Why is it so important?"
Vuri let out a soft, tired chuckle.
"It's a long story, kid. This shop is a family legacy. It's been passed down through more generations than I can't count. Everything—the recipes, the techniques, the way to master the hearth—it was all recorded in a single book."
He paused, a flicker of genuine worry crossing his face.
"I just hope those bastards didn't find that book."
They continued their work in relative silence. Silverware was polished and set, the grill was hammered back into shape, and the kitchen slowly began to resemble a place of business again.
"Before the Demon King invaded,"
Vuri said, his voice dropping into a nostalgic hum,
"I was a chef in the Royal Court. The King himself favored my cooking."
He stiffened for a moment.
"But I was framed by jealous men. I was cast out of the palace, forced to wander like a ghost… until I finally opened this little hole-in-the-wall."
By the time they finished, the shop was orderly once more. The sign was back up, and the grill was ready for fire. But Shinji stood in the center of the room, looking down at his feet, his voice filled with guilt.
"Mr. Vuri…"
"Yeah? What is it, Shinji?"
"I'm so sorry… I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find the recipe book you mentioned."
Vuri stared at Shinji for a few beats. Then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter. It was a loud, boisterous sound that seemed to wash away the bitterness of the morning so far.
"Don't worry about it, Shinji,"
Vuri said, tapping his temple with a calloused finger.
"Every single recipe… it's all in here. After all these years behind the stove, you think I'd just forget?"