Chapter 16: Erina Surrendered
Ren emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray, the steam rising in delicate spirals. On it rested the "heavy flavors" the listless girl had requested: the Green Papaya Salad (Som Tum), the Grilled Meat Roll (Nem Nuong), and a small, elegant porcelain pitcher accompanied by a delicate cup.
He placed the tray down in front of the black-haired girl—Utaha Kasumigaoka.
She stared at the pitcher, her eyebrows knitting together behind her glasses. She sniffed. It wasn't the sharp, stinging scent of alcohol she had demanded earlier. Instead, a sweet, delicate floral perfume wafted up, reminiscent of an autumn garden in full bloom.
"This isn't wine," she accused, though her voice lacked its usual bite. "I told you I wanted to get drunk."
Ren tilted his head, a gentle, knowing smile playing on his lips. "I told you, I don't serve alcohol to students. This is my special Osmanthus Flower Tea, brewed with rock sugar and dried osmanthus flowers for three years. It has the richness of aged wine but zero alcohol content."
"Tea?" Utaha scoffed, crossing her arms. "How is tea supposed to help me forget my… problems?"
"It doesn't help you forget," Ren corrected softly. "It helps you untangle. You want to escape the noise in your head—the deadlines, the expectations, the feeling of hitting a wall. Alcohol just numbs you. This… this clears the fog."
Utaha froze. Deadlines? Expectations? How did he know?
She looked at him, but he had already stepped back. She poured a cup. The liquid was a clear, pale amber. She downed it in one go.
Warmth.
It wasn't the burning heat of spirits, but a gentle, spreading warmth that seemed to hug her insides. The aroma of osmanthus bloomed in her throat, sweet and calming. Her racing heart, anxious about the plummeting rankings of Love Metronome, slowed to a steady rhythm.
"Hmph. Not bad," she muttered, picking up her fork.
She reached for the Green Papaya Salad. The shredded papaya was vibrant green, tossed with cherry tomatoes, long beans, and crushed peanuts in a glistening dressing.
With one bite, a faint coolness entered her mouth, followed immediately by an explosion.
Crunch.
The papaya shreds broke between her teeth with a crisp, satisfying sound that echoed from her oral cavity all the way to her skull. It was loud. It was aggressive.
Then came the flavor. The sharp, high-pitched acidity of lime juice, the deep, funky umami of fish sauce, the sweetness of palm sugar, and finally, the fiery kick of bird's eye chili.
"Oh..."
Utaha's mind, previously occupied by the harsh comments of her editor ("Kasumigaoka-san, this plot is derivative") and the falling sales charts, was instantly consumed by the sensory overload.
The sourness made her mouth water uncontrollably, washing away the bitterness of her creative slump. The chili woke up her tired brain cells.
She ate rapidly, nodding occasionally in silent approval. This... this sharpness. It cuts through the gloom.
It was only halfway through her salad that she remembered the Grilled Meat Roll.
This wasn't a generic sausage. It was Nem Nuong—Vietnamese grilled pork sausage. It glistened with a glaze of caramelized sugar and garlic oil.
Utaha swallowed, picked up her knife, and cut it in the middle.
Sizzle.
A tiny burst of hot steam escaped, releasing a rich meaty aroma mixed with a faint, exotic hint of lemongrass and garlic.
She looked at the cross-section. The center of the meat roll wasn't just a solid block of ground meat; it was textured, filled with tiny pockets of air and juice. She could see bits of wood ear mushrooms and translucent onions integrated perfectly into the pinkish pork.
She sniffed, cut off a small piece, and put it into her mouth.
Instantly, she froze.
No taste?
For a split second, her tongue registered nothing. Utaha frowned, ready to criticize. How can such a fragrant dish be bland?
But just as the frown formed, the flavor exploded.
It didn't hit the tip of the tongue; it bloomed from the back of the throat. The savory depth of the pork, enhanced by the sweetness of the caramelized onions and the earthiness of the mushrooms, dominated her entire mouth.
Utaha eagerly cut another piece. This time, she focused on the texture.
Bounce.
The meat had an astonishing elasticity. It wasn't mushy like cheap hamburger meat; it fought back against her teeth pleasantly. The crispy exterior of the roasted skin contrasted with the supreme chewiness provided by the mushroom dices soaked in meat juice.
Addictive.
Utaha felt that this was what addiction must mean. It was better than finishing a chapter. It was better than a fan letter.
As she was happily eating, Ren returned with a white porcelain pot.
"Hmm. It seems to suit your taste. That's good. Your aura is less 'doomsday' now."
He placed the pot on the table. "And finally, your main course: Red Wine Braised Beef (Boeuf Bourguignon) served with rice. Please enjoy. The alcohol has been completely cooked off, leaving only the richness."
After saying that, Ren was about to leave, but Utaha reached out and grabbed his sleeve gently. Her pale, slender fingers lingered on the fabric.
"Thank you," she said softly, her dark eyes shimmering behind her glasses. "It's... very delicious. I feel like I can actually think again."
Ren paused. He looked at her hand, then at her face. He smiled warmly, a smile that didn't mock her vulnerability. "Thank you for the compliment~ Enjoy. Writing requires fuel, after all."
Utaha's eyes widened. He definitely knows.
With that, Ren turned and walked towards the counter where Lucifer was waiting.
Lucifer watched him with a knowing, amused smile until he sat down opposite her. Then she rested her chin on her hand and glanced at the main table, where Nakiri Erina was currently slumped over, almost melting into a puddle of bliss.
Ren understood and followed her gaze. Sure enough, Erina was already lost in a culinary paradise, her face flushed, her eyes glazed over. She looked less like a queen and more like a devotee who had seen the light.
Senzaemon Nakiri, meanwhile, would occasionally glance at his granddaughter and show a mischievous smile while buttoning up his spare shirt. What a good, wicked national grandfather~
Ren chuckled softly. "This is a normal reaction for high-level dishes. If I'm not mistaken, that blonde girl has a Super Sense of Taste—probably the God Tongue—that can visualize the flavors of food. The old man is really quite wicked. Bringing her here without warning... This kind of sensory overload is like throwing a novice swimmer into the deep ocean."
Lucifer smiled, sipping her fish soup. "The curse should be gone now, right~ You finally sat down."
"Eat up~" Ren gestured to the clay pot of Suan Cai Yu.
This time, Lucifer picked up her chopsticks. She had already been conquered by just one sip of the fish soup earlier. She knew that if she returned to Hell now without finishing this, she would go crazy thinking about it for eternity.
She picked up a piece of white fish fillet. It was tender, almost falling apart. She put it in her mouth.
Spicy. Sour. Savory.
The soup had cooled slightly, but it still couldn't diminish its deliciousness. The pickled greens provided a crunchy contrast to the soft fish.
Lucifer narrowed her eyes in pleasure. She swallowed and then said to Ren, trying to make conversation, "By the way, I finished the novel you told me to read on the phone~"
"Finished it?" Ren raised an eyebrow, surprised. "That fast? There are fifty chapters."
"Mm. I read fast. It's that light novel called 'Love Metronome'."
Clang.
Upon hearing this title, the black-haired girl—Utaha Kasumigaoka—who was immersed in the taste of her beef stew at the window seat, immediately froze. Her fork hit the edge of the bowl.
She stiffened. Her heart began to pound against her ribs.
She discreetly glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide. They are talking about my book? Real readers? Here?
Ren smiled, calmly eating his dish, seemingly unaware of the author's presence mere meters away. "Oh? How was it?"
Lucifer ate a piece of the pork belly Ren had added to her soup, then shivered at the spice. Her face was slightly red, but she continued her critique.
"Hmm… well, to be honest, as you said, the writing is average," Lucifer critiqued ruthlessly, her tone that of a bored queen. "The character development isn't distinct enough yet. The protagonist is indecisive. And the plot is too straightforward. The pacing drags in the middle volume. The key is that this plot is a bit… cliché. Does anyone really read plots like this anymore…?"
Crack.
Utaha felt something shatter inside her. She lowered her head, staring into her beef stew. Her expression became utterly dejected. A dark cloud formed over her head.
Even a random customer thinks it's bad... My editor was right. It's trash. I should just quit.
Ren looked at Lucifer and smiled. He noticed the girl's reaction in his peripheral vision—he had known who she was the moment she walked in with that specific uniform and headband.
Lucifer continued, softly, wiping her mouth, "But..."
Utaha's ears perked up.
"But... you can see between the lines that the author went from not caring about this work to being unwilling to give up," Lucifer mused, tapping her chin. "The passion in the later chapters is palpable. It feels like the author is screaming 'I want to write this!' That part... isn't bad. It has soul. It's a pity it stopped updating recently."
The girl looked at the two of them in disbelief. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. Soul?
Ren smiled and said loud enough for her to hear, "Right. I've been following it all along. It has potential to be a masterpiece if the author just pushes through this slump. It's a shame I don't know the author's address, otherwise I'd definitely send a razor blade—I mean, a fan letter—to encourage them to update~"
Lucifer smiled, not expecting Ren to have such a whimsical side. "You'd threaten them into writing? How demonic. Maybe I should hire you in Hell."
"Whatever works."
Utaha took off her glasses. Her beautiful large, dark red eyes were now slightly misted with tears.
Someone is reading. Someone is waiting. Someone sees the soul in it.
She took a sip of her Osmanthus Tea. A fresh, sweet taste surged forth, and it was as if the flavors of all the dishes she had eaten before were sublimated into pure inspiration. The blockage in her mind crumbled.
After a long while, the girl opened her eyes. Her gaze was no longer scattered or depressed. It was filled with a burning determination.
I will write. I will update tonight. Even if only two people read it.
Meanwhile, at the main table.
Finally, with Hisako's support, Erina sat up. Her golden hair was completely soaked with sweat, sticking to her neck. Her clothes were also damp, as if she had just taken a hot bath or run a marathon.
Erina, panting heavily, looked at the finished dish in front of her. The plate was licked clean.
After a long moment, she exhaled a shaky breath. "Haa..."
Senzaemon Nakiri had already finished eating and was waiting patiently for Erina to return to reality. Seeing Erina eat the last slice of Bluefin Tuna Sashimi with a look of reverence, Senzaemon Nakiri smiled.
Mission accomplished.
At this moment, Erina looked at Ren.
She saw him playing on his phone and eating his dish—common Sauerkraut Fish—without changing his expression, chatting casually with the white-haired beauty.
She no longer looked down on this man. The arrogance was gone, stripped away by the Fleur de Sel and the perfect Wagyu. All she felt was awe and a terrifying amount of respect.
Erina was arrogant, that was true. But she was also a perfectionist. In the face of such a vast difference in skill, Erina would not act as she usually did.
This principle is like someone with five million yen in savings envying someone with ten million. They would express dissatisfaction, compete, and try to surpass them.
But they would never have such thoughts about someone with fifty billion. The gap is too wide. It ceases to be a competition and becomes a fact of nature.
All she could feel was admiration and worship. The reason is simple: because this was someone she could never catch up to, even if all the luck of her entire life burst forth. He operated in a different dimension.
Senzaemon Nakiri smiled and said, "Are you convinced, Erina?"
Erina didn't speak immediately. She gritted her teeth and looked away, her cheeks pink.
"I..." she started. She wanted to deny it. But her tongue wouldn't let her lie.
She would no longer disrespect Ren, but she still couldn't accept such a brilliant chef wasting his skills in this dark alley. This was a loss for the entire culinary world! It was a crime against gastronomy!
Senzaemon Nakiri laughed loudly. "Ren! Come here a moment!"
Ren walked over, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Ren! You've accomplished something many people can't~ To convince my granddaughter, the possessor of the God Tongue, that's truly as hard as ascending to heaven! Hahahahaha!"
Ren smiled. He reached up and tidied a strand of silver hair that had fallen by his ear.
"Is that so?" he said nonchalantly. "Then that's truly my honor. Though, I didn't expect to meet a customer with a Super Sense of Taste tonight."
Erina was stunned. She looked up sharply, her violet eyes wide. "How... had I mentioned having the God Tongue?"
Ren saw Erina's confusion and said with a gentle smile, "Be confident. You didn't say it. I don't know who you are, really. The reason I know you have a Super Sense of Taste is simple."
He pointed to her empty plates.
"Because any dish in my hands can reach this level of flavor for a normal person. But your state just now—the sweating, the trance, the physical reaction—there's no other explanation besides a Super Sense of Taste amplifying the experience a hundredfold~ Normal people just say 'yummy'. You looked like you were having a revelation."
Erina sighed. She slumped in her chair. She was completely seen through.
At this point, Erina stood up directly. She bowed slightly—a huge gesture for her, the Queen of Totsuki.
"Mr. Ren! First, please forgive my previous rudeness and arrogance. I was blind."
She raised her head, her eyes burning with intensity.
"Then, I have a request. Please enter the professional culinary world! Come to Totsuki! Your skills and these top-tier dishes are a loss to the culinary world hiding here! You could be the greatest chef of our generation! I can arrange everything!"
Ren paused. He looked at her earnest face.
Then he smiled, a bit sadly. "Someone in another field has said that too. 'You should fight in the Kengan matches,' she said. But I won't leave."
"Why?!" Erina demanded, stepping forward.
"Don't ask why. Because cooking, to me, isn't about showing off or pursuing the ultimate deliciousness for critics. It's about the first two points: eating until you're full and eating happily."
He gestured to the empty restaurant, which felt warm and inviting.
"Deliciousness is an added bonus after that~"
He looked her in the eye.
"As long as I have ingredients, I can make anything. But different people need different things. Here, eating happily and being satisfied is always the first priority. Then comes the deliciousness you pursue. And finally... the quality of the ingredients. That is, what you call 'rare ingredients' or 'luxury'. Because that thing is the most useless part of cooking."
Erina's eyes widened suddenly. She felt like she had been slapped.
She had just heard something completely contrary to her entire culinary philosophy! Ingredients are the most useless?!
Meanwhile, in a dark dojo in another part of the city.
A long-haired girl with purple hair, wearing a traditional hakama, punched a wooden stake.
Crack!
The solid wood shattered under her fist.
She paused, wiping sweat from her forehead, her chest heaving slightly.
Achoo!
She sneezed delicately. Her face immediately flushed as she rubbed her small nose.
"Is Ren thinking of me?" she murmured, a dreamy, almost obsessive smile appearing on her usually stoic face. "Hehehehe~ I should go visit him soon. I need to 'eat'..."
[Akarin's Note: The girl writing the novel is Utaha Kasumigaoka from Saekano: How to Raise a Boring Girlfriend. The purple-haired girl is Saeko Busujima from Highschool of the Dead.]
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