Silence.
An eerie, weightless stillness hung in the air like fog. The cozy warmth of the tavern turned to reverent stillness as if time itself had come to a halt. The moment the Spirit-Calming Noodles were finished, it was as though something intangible—something sacred—had been stirred.
Gin Dojima and the others sat quietly at their table, the bowls before them empty but their minds swirling. Their eyes held a distant glaze, like dreamers not yet awake.
It was Fuyumi Mizuhara who finally broke the spell.
"This… this bowl of noodles…" she whispered, blinking rapidly. "By the end, I felt completely at peace… like everything troubling me just melted away."
Her tone carried disbelief, reverence, and something else—longing.
None of them had expected this from a humble noodle dish. It was the kind of cuisine that transcended mere taste. A dish of that caliber didn't belong to the realm of students. Even Totsuki's seasoned alumni could only bow their heads in admiration.
And they did.
"Owner," Kojiro Shinomiya finally spoke, his sharp gaze narrowing as he looked toward Zane. "Can I ask you something?"
Zane, ever calm, gave a small nod. "Go ahead. I'll answer what I can."
"That student—Megumi. Her French vegetable terrine during the training camp… did you teach her that?"
"Yes," Zane replied. "She tasted it here once before."
Kojiro's face remained unreadable. His expression betrayed neither surprise nor doubt. But his eyes—his eyes were filled with thought.
"I thought so," he murmured.
To the untrained eye, he appeared collected. But beneath that calm exterior, Kojiro was reflecting deeply.
As a former First Seat of Totsuki's Elite Ten, Kojiro Shinomiya was no stranger to excellence. He could tear apart a dish's technique, structure, and emotion in seconds. He was also infamous for his ruthlessness—an exacting judge with little tolerance for mediocrity.
So why hadn't he expelled Megumi?
The answer lingered on the tip of his mind: Culinary empathy.
He remembered the first time he dined at a French restaurant with his mother—his nervousness, the candlelight, her gentle smile. Megumi's terrine had stirred that long-buried memory. It didn't defeat his palate. It touched his heart.
He sighed, finally understanding. "It wasn't her technique that saved her," he murmured. "It was what she made me feel."
Some chefs had skill. Others had genius. But a rare few could make you remember who you once were.
Such people often carried their own burdens—quirks born of talent, pressure, and loneliness. People like Erina, Senzaemon, Kojiro, Mana, Alice, and Megumi. Even those who hadn't yet visited the tavern—Takumi, Ryo, Subaru—were cut from the same cloth.
Each of them, in some way, was "ill."
And they were all waiting—for someone to save them.
That someone was Zane.
As if sensing this, Kojiro turned to him, his tone heavy with sincerity. "Owner, you're more than just a chef. You're… a healer. A rare genius in the culinary world."
"Oh?" Gin Dojima blinked. "The proud Shinomiya giving such praise?"
He was shocked—and rightly so. Kojiro's standards were legendary. He called most chefs parasites and only acknowledged a select few as equals.
But now, even he bowed his head to Zane.
The night wore on.
Miyoko, as a first-time guest, lingered until the tavern's closing hour, reluctant to leave the warm ambiance and savory memory of the Spirit-Calming Noodles.
Kojiro and the others, who needed to depart early for Totsuki Resort, didn't stay much longer. Yet, despite the short visit, the tavern had left an indelible mark on their hearts.
For Kojiro, especially, it had been a mirror—one that helped him finally see the path he needed to take.
In the quiet aftermath, the smell of fresh food wafted through the kitchen.
Zane had prepared a late-night snack: shumai, made according to the golden ratio. The balance was perfect—meat (8), shrimp (5), vegetables (5), and egg (5). The flavors melded in harmonious contrast, a small parcel of culinary perfection.
Erina took a bite, her eyes lighting up with awe.
"This… it's like fireworks," she said breathlessly. "All the flavors are distinct, yet unified."
A soft smile played at the corners of her lips as she continued eating, her usual aristocratic composure slowly melting into contentment.
Outside, the sky rumbled.
Drip, drip, drip.
Rain began to fall, gently at first, the droplets tapping rhythmically against the windows like whispered poetry. Then, the sky tore open, and a torrential downpour drenched the earth.
"Zane, it's raining," Sonoka said as she stood near the doorway, umbrella in hand. "I'll head back to Shunkatei."
"You've worked hard," Zane said warmly. He quickly packed a few shumai and handed them to her. "Take these with you."
Sonoka accepted them with a small bow. Once, she might've blushed or refused. But things had changed. The distance between them had shrunk with time and trust.
She said nothing more—just turned and disappeared into the rain.
Zane turned to Erina, who was still savoring the shumai.
"What about you?" he asked.
"Huh?" she blinked, caught off-guard. "It's raining… heavily… I, um… I guess I'll stay."
Zane smiled. "I'll get a room ready for you upstairs."
The tavern, though upgraded, still had only three floors. The first floor was for customers. The second remained empty, reserved for future expansion. The third—Zane's private space—held his bedroom and a few guest rooms.
After a quick shower, Zane stretched and prepared to turn in.
But then—
Ding!
"Host has successfully signed in."
"Congratulations! You've obtained the special recipe: 'The Night of the Twenty-Four Bridges.'"
Zane raised a brow.
"Seriously?" he muttered. "That poem by Du Mu… the one about Yangzhou?"
He recalled the dish's origins—a poetic ham-and-tofu creation from martial arts legend. Made by inserting 24 tofu balls into 24 holes in a ham, the dish required elegance, timing, and subtlety.
"Interesting," he said with a grin. "Didn't expect that."
Satisfied, he climbed into bed.
Boom!
A flash of lightning ripped through the sky.
Zane's eyes snapped open.
Outside his door, something stirred.
"Erina?" he called out.
A soft voice replied, trembling. "Y-Yes… It's me."
"What's wrong?"
"I can't sleep. I—I'm a little scared."
There was vulnerability in her voice that caught him off guard.
"The door's open," he said gently. "Come in."
The door creaked.
Like a cautious kitten, Erina poked her head inside. Her eyes were wide, her lips pale. She looked utterly out of place in her nightgown—frightened, human, and endearingly real.
"You're not used to staying here?" Zane asked.
Before she could answer, thunder cracked through the sky like a whip.
"Zane!" she yelped, dashing across the room and diving under his blanket. "Help… I'm really scared!"
Zane blinked.
Erina Nakiri, bearer of the God Tongue, queen of culinary arrogance… was afraid of thunder?
He chuckled softly. "You? Scared of thunder?"
She peeked out from the covers, face burning. "I usually have Hisako with me… but she's not here tonight. I… I didn't want to be alone."
Zane looked at her—really looked.
There was no mask tonight. No pride, no judgment. Just a girl seeking comfort.
"Alright," he whispered. "I'll stay. Just like Hisako would."
"Don't leave me," she murmured, snuggling closer.
Outside, thunder rolled again—but this time, Erina didn't flinch.
She was listening to his heartbeat now, her arms wrapped tightly around him.
Inside this small tavern, on a stormy night, two people found quiet shelter in each other.
And for the first time in a long while…
Erina felt safe.