I was at ho, staring at my fridge with an expression usually reserved for lottery winners. I was going to save so much money if I ate like a monster during this golden opportunity. Before closing the fridge, I whispered an apology to Genta in advance.
Lightning chakra circulation was becoming absurd in terms of how much food my body needed to maintain this constant state. At this point, it was almost entirely running on instinct. The amount of lightning chakra pumping through my system had reached a level high enough that I could probably develop my first Stormdrive tool. But that would co later.
Right now, it was food ti.
I showed up well before the two hours had passed, waiting near the restaurant. It wasn’t hard to find, thanks to Genta’s crystal-clear instructions and the sll alone, which I could’ve tracked from a mile away. This part of the village was far too rich for soone like , so I had never been here before. I could tell the people walking around were wealthy just by the way they looked at in my default orphan uniform #2. But I ignored their stares. They weren’t nearly as aggressive as the ones I got from rchants when I try and haggle for everything.
I heard Genta first. He’d arrived shortly after . A true gentleman, clearly didn’t want his guests waiting.
He gave a weird look.
“What is it?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He coughed into his hand and said in a timid voice, “It’s just... not like you to be early to anything.”
A tick mark pulsed on my forehead. I couldn’t exactly say I ca early because I was excited about the free food.
Before I could say anything back, Shizuru and Sena ca into view, walking together toward us. The mont they saw , they exchanged matching expressions. Sowhere between disbelief and amusent.
“Wow, Noa,” Sena said imdiately. “It’s really not like you to arrive….”
“Yeah, I know. I’m early,” I interrupted flatly.
Shizuru chuckled under her breath. She already knew why I was here early, but thankfully didn’t say a word. That didn’t stop from shooting her a warning glares, just in case she got any ideas.
“Shall we?” Genta asked, stepping forward like we weren’t about to waltz into a place that looked allergic to poor people.
I tilted my head back to read the sign. Yunohana Smokehouse. The na was carved into smooth, dark cedar in flowing silver script, polished to a level of arrogance that could be seen from a block away. Even the paper lanterns outside the entrance had a smug glow to them, they practically whispered, you’re not rich enough to breathe here.
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A sharply dressed host stood at the entrance, posture so perfect it made my spine ache. His uniform was pitch black, clean to the thread, with a deep plum sash tied at the waist. The restaurant’s na was embroidered neatly into the edge of his sleeve.
“Good evening,” he greeted. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Genta Senju,” Genta answered smoothly.
“And Sena Yamanaka,” Sena added casually, flashing a smile and catching Genta slightly off guard.
That was all it took. The man’s eyes flicked once between them before his posture sohow beca even more respectful. He gave a slight bow, then gestured for us to follow, arms open like he was escorting nobility through the gates of heaven.
“Right this way.”
He kept sneaking looks at , then at Sena and Genta. I could practically hear his internal monologue “Is this scruffy little rat bothering you two?” I ignored him. So did they.
We stepped through the entrance and into a different world. The floor was made of deep brown hardwood, so polished it reflected the golden lantern light above like rippling water. Each lantern was frad in intricately carved wood with stylized cloud designs, casting a soft amber glow. The ceiling arched slightly, not too high, just enough to breathe. The air slled like soy-glazed at, warm charcoal, and sothing sweet and slow-cooked that made my stomach growl on reflex.
That earned another sideways glance from the host.
The dining space was traditional. Low wooden tables sat atop wide tatami-matted sections, each one partitioned by thin rails or sliding paper dividers for privacy. There were no chairs, just thick floor cushions, square and embroidered in crimson and gold. Everything was arranged with such quiet precision it felt like one loud breath could throw the balance off.
So people were already seated. So wore formal flak jackets. Others had elegant silk robes and subtle clan emblems. Conversations were quiet. Polite. Steam drifted lazily from platters too perfect to touch. No one was rushing. No one raised their voice. They ate like they had all the ti in the world.
Of course, I noticed the glances. A few patrons looked in our direction, their eyes pausing on my outfit for a mont too long. But no one said anything. No one sneered. Compared to the sharp elbows and loud curses of the marketplace, this was practically a warm welco. Their judgnt was refined. Quiet. Painless.
Sena leaned close and whispered, “You’re standing out.”
I leaned back and said, “Perfect. Let them stare. I’m about to eat more than their monthly mission pay.”
She rolled her eyes. Shizuru stifled a laugh. Genta gave a sideways look that said he was rethinking the size of his wallet.
The host guided us to a slightly elevated corner table. It sat atop a raised platform, isolated just enough for privacy without feeling cut off. The table itself was a smooth, dark walnut with a soft sheen, low to the ground and surrounded by four deep red cushions embroidered with golden thread. The center of the table held a delicate vase filled with pink flowers arranged too perfectly to be casual. Decorative. Unnecessary. Annoyingly impressive.
I dropped onto my cushion with the grace of a man returning from war.
The nus were already in place, slim rectangular plaques made of lacquered black wood. Each one was smooth to the touch and inked in gold. No prices, of course. Because why bother? Prices were for people who needed to think before ordering. Which is why the absence of them offended deeply. It was a personal insult to soone like , who compared costs like it was a sport. I couldn’t walk through a food stall without scanning for discounts. It was more instinctual than my chakra circulation at this point.
I looked down at the nu, stomach growling.
I didn’t belong here. And I was going to eat like I don’t.
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