The atmosphere in the Dinsional Restaurant had effectively split into two distinct, contrasting hemispheres.
On the left side near the kitchen, the "Totsuki Alliance"—consisting of Erina, Alice, Hisako, Rindou, and Momo—was engaged in a lively, harmonious dinner. Their laughter mingled with the clatter of porcelain spoons and the happy chewing sounds of a certain three-headed demon girl. It was a zone of warmth and culinary bliss.
On the right side near the window, however, a silent, localized low-pressure system was brewing at the table occupied by the Fuji siblings.
Lucifer, who was sipping her Samgyetang with graceful elegance, naturally noticed the heavy tension radiating from Shusuke Fuji and his younger brother, Yuta. Her crimson eyes darted between the smiling older brother (whose smile didn't quite reach his eyes) and the sullen younger brother who refused to look up from the tablecloth.
She glanced at Fuji Yumiko, her eyes filled with an unspoken question: 'Is this normal? Should I prepare a defensive barrier in case they start throwing cutlery?'
Fuji Yumiko caught the look. She offered a weary, apologetic smile, shaking her head slightly as she took a sip of her tea.
"Yumiko, Yumiko, Yumiko! What's wrong?" Cerberus asked, her mouth full of chicken, sensing the sudden shift in her boss's mood. "Is the food gone? Did the demons invade?"
Fuji Yumiko reached out across the aisle and patted the demon girl's hand gently.
"I'm fine, Cerberus-chan. Don't worry about it," Yumiko reassured her, her voice soft but laced with a hint of exhaustion. "Just... family matters. Growing pains, you could say. This kind of friction still needs to be resolved by the two of them themselves. An elder sister can only diate so much before she becos the villain."
At the Fuji table, the conversation between Shusuke Fuji and Yuta Fuji hadn't stopped, but the tone was brittle, like dry twigs snapping underfoot. It wasn't a loud argunt—Fuji Shusuke was too refined for shouting matches—but it was a series of sharp jabs and defensive deflections.
"You shouldn't listen to Mizuki so blindly," Shusuke said, his voice low, keeping the volu down so as not to disturb the other guests. "Ren-san warned you about the injury. If he says your shoulder is at risk, it is not a suggestion. It is a warning."
"I know my own body!" Yuta snapped back, staring intensely at the grain of the wooden table as if trying to burn a hole in it. "Stop treating like a child who needs protection! I went to St. Rudolph to get away from this, Aniki!"
"I am not treating you like a child. I am treating you like a tennis player who is about to destroy his arm for a cheap trick," Shusuke countered, his smile thinning.
Just as the tension threatened to physically snap the chopsticks in Yuta's hand, the wind chi above the entrance rang out, shattering the heavy atmosphere.
Ting-ling.
The wooden door slid open with a soft rumble, letting in the cool night air of the Tokyo streets.
Two figures walked in, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
The first was a young man who seed to suck the oxygen out of the room with his sheer presence. He had sharp, aristocratic features, distinctive gray-purple hair styled perfectly, and a mole under his right eye that sohow added to his haughty charisma. He wore a casual jacket that likely cost more than the annual tuition of a normal student.
He radiated an aura of imnse wealth and absolute, unshakeable confidence.
Behind him lood a silent, towering giant of a boy, whose expression was as stoic as a stone statue.
"Oh? Is this the place?"
The leader scanned the interior of the restaurant, his critical gaze sweeping over the wooden décor, the warm lighting, and the clientele. He nodded slightly, as if granting the establishnt his royal seal of approval.
"Looks pretty decent. Clean, at least. Not quite the Ritz, but it has character."
The arrival caused the room to quiet down for a mont. The sudden influx of "King" energy was palpable.
"Fuji," the newcor said, his voice smooth, baritone, and slightly arrogant as he spotted the brown-haired genius. "You're here after all. I assud a genius of your caliber would be dining at a private French bistro in Ginza, not a hidden gem in the suburbs."
Upon hearing his surna, Shusuke Fuji turned his head. His usually closed eyes opened slightly, revealing a flash of ice-blue amusent that cut through his earlier frustration.
"Atobe," Shusuke replied with a calm, polite smile. "You really ca. I thought the King of Hyotei only dined in castles or on private jets."
[Akarin's Note: Atobe Keigo is the captain of the Hyotei Academy tennis team. He is incredibly wealthy, charismatic, and known for his catchphrase regarding his insight ("I can see through your pores!"). Kabaji Munehiro is his loyal, silent teammate who copies moves.]
Atobe Keigo smirked, flipping his hair with a practiced motion that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but looked natural on him.
"I'm very interested in the dishes that you and Tezuka praise so highly! If the Seigaku pillars are obsessed with this place, I must evaluate it myself. Right, Kabaji?"
"Usu!" (Yes!) the giant rumbled, his voice deep and resonant.
Hearing this exchange, Nakiri Erina froze mid-sip of her premium Oolong tea. Her violet eyes widened slightly behind the rim of her cup. She slowly lowered the cup to the saucer with a sharp clink.
She turned her head slowly, her gaze locking onto the flamboyant tennis captain standing in the entryway.
Atobe noticed the intense stare. He turned, and for a mont, two of the most prideful, wealthy, and aristocratic teenagers in all of Japan locked eyes.
It was an unspoken clash of titans. The "King" of Hyotei versus the "Queen" of Totsuki.
An awkward, heavy silence fell over the restaurant. It was like watching two alpha predators eting at a watering hole—neither willing to back down, assessing the threat level.
After a long beat that stretched seconds into minutes, just as Nakiri Alice was about to lean forward and ask sothing chaotic, Erina broke the silence.
She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression shifting into one of mild annoyance and disbelief.
"How does a narcissist like you know about Shopkeeper Ren's restaurant?" Erina asked sharply, her tone dripping with aristocratic disdain. "I assud you would be too busy admiring your own reflection in a spoon to find a place with actual good food."
Pfft.
Kobayashi Rindou choked on her water, hurriedly grabbing a napkin.
Atobe Keigo's mouth twitched. His composed mask cracked slightly.
"Erina! That's enough!" Atobe retorted, stepping fully into the shop. "Can't you talk properly for once?! You sound exactly like that busybody Sonoko Suzuki! Is being abrasive a requirent for heiresses these days?!"
Erina tilted her head, tapping her chin with a manicured finger as if seriously considering his words. Then she shook her head decisively.
"Because if I talk properly with you, Atobe, you'll just get arrogant again. You thrive on polite flattery. This way is more effective. It keeps your inflated ego in check."
The entire restaurant erupted in stifled giggles. Even the usually stoic Lucifer cracked a small, amused smile behind her hand.
Alice leaned over to Erina, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Ne, Erina, do you know this person? Is he... perhaps... your ex-boyfriend?"
"Absolutely not!" Erina denied instantly, looking horrified at the re suggestion. Her face flushed pink. "Alice, don't be ridiculous! When I was little, I t him at a dinner party where Grandpa was eating with a few conglorate owners. The Atobe Financial Group and the Nakiri family have occasional business dealings. We juniors were, of course, stuck at the kids' table. He was insufferable then, and he's insufferable now."
She looked back at Atobe, narrowing her eyes. "The Sonoko you ntioned... you an the heiress of the Suzuki zaibatsu? The one who is obsessed with magic shows?"
Atobe Keigo sighed deeply, rubbing his temple as if he had a headache.
"Yes. That loud woman," he grumbled. "She dragged to a karaoke bar last week because she wanted to 'celebrate youth'. My ears are still ringing from her screaming. Honestly, between you and her, I don't know who is more troubleso."
He decided to stop engaging with Erina. He knew from experience that a verbal spar with the God Tongue was a losing battle—she could dismantle his ego as easily as she dismantled a failed dish.
However, internally, Atobe felt a flash of genuine, begrudging admiration for the shopkeeper.
'Ren... this man is terrifying,' Atobe thought, glancing towards the kitchen. 'He has tad Erina Nakiri AND seemingly deals with Sonoko Suzuki on a regular basis? What kind of charisma stat does this man possess? Is he a sorcerer?'
At this mont, Ren poked his head out from the kitchen pass-through. He was wiping his hands on a clean white towel, looking completely unfazed by the gathering of elites in his dining room.
He looked at the new arrivals and smiled warmly.
"It's you! The tennis player from the street tennis court. I rember you. Your na is Atobe, right?"
"Yes!" Atobe straightened his jacket, regaining his composure. "I didn't expect you to actually run a restaurant. I thought you were a rcenary chef or perhaps a retired special agent given your reflexes."
Ren chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Is it strange that I run a restaurant? Cooking is my life; tennis is just one of my hobbies to stay fit. You're not here tonight just to confirm my employnt status, are you? What would you like to eat?"
Atobe looked around for a nu, scanning the walls and the counter. He found nothing but art and calligraphy.
"No nu?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No nu," Ren confird, leaning against the counter. "Anything you want to eat, if we have the ingredients here, I can make it. That is the policy of the Dinsional Restaurant. We serve what the heart desires."
Atobe's eyes lit up. A challenge. He liked challenges.
"A bold claim," Atobe mused. "Very well. An interesting shop deserves an interesting order. I won't go easy on you just because we played a match."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his mind cycling through the finest als he had eaten in Paris and London.
"I'll order a Chateaubriand steak, dium-rare—and do not overcook it by even a second. Yorkshire pudding on the side, crisp on the outside, soft inside. A cream of wild mushroom soup, preferably with truffles if you have them. A glass of your finest non-alcoholic champagne to cleanse the palate. And for dessert, a matcha opera cake will be fine."
It was a classic, high-end Western order, designed to test the fundantals of a chef: at temperature control, baking skills, soup consistency, and pastry layering.
Ren nodded, his smile unwavering. He didn't even blink at the complexity.
"Very refined taste. No wonder you run in the sa circles as Sonoko and Erina. Consider it done. And this gentleman is Kabaji, right? So, Mr. Kabaji, what would you like to eat?"
The giant blinked slowly. "Hawaiian beef pizza... and a large beef bowl... extra ginger..."
"Usu!" (Understood!) Ren laughed. "A man of hearty appetite who knows what he likes. I like it."
Ren then turned his gaze to the table near the window where Yumiko was still diating.
"Yumiko, your dishes are almost ready~ Please return to your seat. It's best eaten hot."
Fuji Yumiko nodded, excused herself from the Totsuki group with a polite bow, and walked back to her brothers. Her return acted as a buffer; the arguing, which had quieted down significantly after Atobe's dramatic entrance, now fell completely silent.
"Why aren't you two talking anymore?" Yumiko asked softly, sitting down between them.
Shusuke Fuji and Fuji Yuta exchanged glances but said nothing. The air between them was still thick with unspoken frustration. Just as Shusuke opened his mouth to restart the lecture about the arm injury, a gentle voice interrupted him.
"Yumiko, don't worry too much. Both of them are trustworthy n. Perhaps Yuta needs a reminder, but he is smart enough to listen to his body~"
Ren arrived at their table. He wasn't holding plates. Instead, he was carrying a portable butane stove.
Clack.
He placed the stove in the center of the wooden table with a solid thud.
Fuji Yumiko sighed, looking up at him with grateful eyes. "Ren... you always appear at the perfect mont. Hmm, by the way, why did you put a stove here? Is it for barbecue? Are we grilling at tonight?"
Ren smiled. He reached out and pinched Yumiko's soft cheek playfully—a gesture of familiarity that made Yuta's eyes widen.
"Of course not," Ren teased gently. "If the three of you just stared at at slowly grilling on a barbecue, the silence would be deafening. You'd just watch the fat drip and brood. The atmosphere would be too awkward. You need sothing active. Sothing communal. Sothing that forces interaction."
Fuji Yumiko didn't struggle or pull away. She just watched Ren with affectionate eyes until he let go, then she rubbed her cheek, feigning annoyance but smiling.
"Sister really can't do anything about Brother Ren," Shusuke comnted, his smile becoming genuine for the first ti that evening. "He reads us too well."
"I don't deny that," Yumiko laughed. "Ah, Ren is back."
This ti, Ren returned from the kitchen carrying a relatively flat, wide black iron pot covered with a heavy wooden lid.
Even before he set it down, everyone at the table—and even the nearby tables—could hear the sound.
Gurgle... Pop... Sizzle...
It was the sound of thick liquid boiling, of bubbles bursting against the iron walls of the pot. It was a heavy, rhythmic sound that spoke of richness and heat.
After placing the pot on the stove and igniting the fla to keep it bubbling, Ren smiled and said, "Yumiko, Shusuke, Yuta, aren't you going to guess what it is? You're making feel unaccomplished if you don't play along~"
Fuji Yumiko smiled and gently patted Ren's arm. "Alright, stop joking. We're all hungry~ The suspense is killing us. Just show us."
Shusuke sniffed the air. His nose twitched. "This sound... the viscosity of the bubbles... and this sll leaking from the rim... is it hot pot?"
"Bingo~"
Ren reached out and gripped the handle of the wooden lid.
"Get ready."
He lifted it.
Whoosh!
A burst of white steam billowed out, spiraling upwards like a released spirit. It instantly filled the imdiate area with a dense, intoxicating cloud.
It wasn't just steam; it was a physical wave of aroma that hit them like a punch.
It was sweet. It was spicy. It was savory.
It slled of gochujang (Korean red chili paste), fernted kimchi, the earthy scent of mushrooms, the savory depth of fish cakes, and the rich, fatty aroma of lting cheese.
The sll of so dishes might be generic or subtle, but Hot Pot is not. Every hot pot has its own unique soul, its own olfactory signature that screams its identity.
Those wisps of unique aroma let you know exactly what you are eating with just one sniff, allowing your brain to anticipate the surprise and satisfaction before the food even touches your tongue. It triggers the salivary glands instantly.
Shusuke Fuji's blue eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. Fuji Yuta swallowed audibly, his earlier anger and embarrassnt forgotten in the face of primal, teenage hunger.
Only when sitting in front of a bubbling hot pot do you truly understand how tempting this dish is. It appeals to sothing deep in the human DNA—the desire to gather around a fire and share food from a single vessel.
Ren waved his hand to disperse the lingering steam, revealing the hot pot's true appearance in high definition.
It was a Budae Jjigae (Army Stew) inspired Tteokbokki Hot Pot.
The broth was a vibrant, deep orange-red, bubbling fiercely. Inside, cylindrical rice cakes (tteok) bobbed like little white submarines. There were slices of premium spam, smoked sausages curled into flower shapes, flat fish cakes, and a block of instant ran noodles that was just beginning to soften and absorb the rich soup.
Buried beneath were mountains of napa cabbage, enoki mushrooms, and green onions.
And crowning it all was a generous, decadent layer of mozzarella and cheddar cheese, slowly lting into the spicy red broth, creating strings of gooey perfection that coated the noodles.
Gurgle... gurgle...
The soup thickened as it boiled. The bubbles popped rhythmically, releasing tiny bursts of spicy aroma.
When these sounds began, everyone at the table knew.
This hot pot... had co alive.
"This is a variation of Rabokki (Ran Tteokbokki) with Army Stew elents," Ren explained, his voice warm. "It's spicy enough to make you sweat out the stress, warm enough to relax your muscles, and communal enough that you have to fight for the best pieces. Perfect for siblings who need to bond, right?"
Yumiko looked at the pot, seeing the cheese bubbling over the red sauce. She looked at Yuta, who was staring at the sausages with intense focus. She looked at Shusuke, who was already reaching for the ladle.
"Yes," she whispered, a true smile gracing her lips. "Perfect."
[Akarin Note:
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