Chapter 129: The Swordsman's Feast and the Kunoichi's Sweet Hesitation
The silence of the Dimensional Restaurant was broken only by the rhythmic, visceral sounds of pure, unadulterated gluttony.
Roronoa Zoro was eating. And he was eating with a ferocity that suggested he was trying to conquer the food rather than simply consume it. His chopsticks moved in a blur, a three-sword style technique repurposed for the culinary battlefield. He shoveled white rice, glistening with the rich, dark sauce of the braised pork, into his mouth in massive heaps.
Chomp. Chew. Gulp.
The Braised Pork with Chestnuts—a dish that walked the fine line between rustic comfort and gourmet decadence—was vanishing at an alarming rate. The pork belly had been slow-cooked until the fat was translucent, trembling like gelatin with the slightest movement. It didn't just break apart in the mouth; it melted, coating the tongue in a savory, sweet glaze of soy, ginger, and caramelized sugar.
Zoro didn't pause to analyze the flavor profile. He didn't close his eyes to savor the aftertaste. He simply attacked. A cube of pork, trembling with its own weight, was clamped between his chopsticks and thrown into the abyss. Followed immediately by a golden, perfectly stewed chestnut. The chestnut provided a stark, delightful contrast—powdery, sweet, and firm against the oily richness of the meat.
He grabbed the ceramic flask of sake by his side, tilting his head back. The clear liquid streamed down his throat, washing away the grease with a sharp, alcoholic bite.
"Hah!" Zoro slammed the cup down, his single eye glinting with satisfaction. "More rice!"
Ren, standing behind the counter, didn't even look up from his prep work as he slid a fresh, steaming bowl across the polished wood. Zoro caught it with the reflexes of a master swordsman and resumed his assault.
To an outsider, this might have looked barbaric. But in this warm, wood-paneled sanctuary, removed from the chaos of the Grand Line or the battlefields of the King of Fighters tournament, it was something else entirely. It was honest.
This was the Art of Eating.
There were no white tablecloths here, no complex etiquette regarding which fork to use for the salad. There was only the food, the eater, and the profound connection between the two. When the dish is truly exceptional—when the braised pork carries the warmth of a hearth and the nostalgia of a home one might never have had—manners become secondary. The only true etiquette is to enjoy it with every fiber of your being.
Sitting a few seats away, Mai Shiranui watched the green-haired swordsman with a mixture of horror and fascination.
The famous Kunoichi of the Shiranui clan sat with impeccable posture, her legs crossed elegantly, the slit of her red garb revealing a tantalizing expanse of skin. She held her paper fan loosely in one hand, tapping it rhythmically against her chin.
Gulp.
The sound was involuntary. Mai stiffened, her cheeks flushing a light pink. She had just finished a mission and was undeniably hungry. Watching Zoro devour the glistening pork belly, seeing the juice splash slightly onto the rice, smelling the intoxicating aroma of anise and soy sauce wafting through the air... it was torture.
"Are you regretting not ordering a meat dish?"
A teasing voice broke Mai's concentration. She turned to see Lucifer, the Queen of Hell, resting her chin on her hands, observing her with amused crimson eyes. Lucifer's silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, her suit impeccable as always.
Mai cleared her throat, snapping her fan open to hide the lower half of her face. "Regret? A ninja does not know regret. Although it looks... acceptably prepared, it is late at night. One must maintain one's physique. Heavy oils and fats are the enemy of speed."
She said this with the conviction of a martial artist who had spent years disciplining her body. But her eyes betrayed her. They flickered back to Zoro's bowl, tracking a particularly succulent piece of pork as it made its final journey into the swordsman's mouth.
"Is that so?" Lucifer tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled. "Humans are so troublesome. You have to worry about gaining weight just from eating a little pork?"
"It's not just 'a little pork,' it's a calorie bomb," Mai sighed, lowering her fan slightly. "If I ate like him, I wouldn't be able to fit into my combat gear tomorrow. Agility is everything for the Shiranui style."
Lucifer blinked, processing this. In Hell, gluttony was a sin, but it wasn't a metabolic issue. She glanced at Cerberus, who was currently asleep in a corner of the restaurant, dreaming of steak.
"I see," Lucifer mused, poking her own soft cheek. "For us, physical form is just a manifestation of power. I could eat this entire restaurant and not gain an ounce unless I willed it. It sounds... inconvenient, being human."
Mai felt a twitch of irritation. "Must be nice," she muttered, casting a jealous glance at Lucifer's perfect, slender figure. "Magic metabolism. Unfair."
[Akarin's Note: In the Fatal Fury/KOF lore, Mai is actually quite conscious of her weight despite her voluptuous figure, often listing her weight as "a secret" in official profiles.]
"Phew... Haaah!"
A loud, satisfied exhale drew their attention back to the counter. Zoro had finished.
Six bowls. He had emptied six bowls of rice and three servings of braised pork. He slumped back in his chair, the empty sake flask dangling from his fingers. The fierce aura of a demon swordsman was gone, replaced by the drowsiness of a man in a food coma.
"Not bad," Zoro grunted, half-lidding his eye. "This sake... it's got a kick. Reminds me of the stuff that Hawk-eyed bastard drinks."
He looked ridiculous, sprawled out like that, but there was a strange dignity to it. He had fought his hunger and won.
Mai watched him, and despite her earlier resolve, her stomach gave a traitorous growl. It was loud enough that even Ren, busy plating the next dish, paused for a micro-second.
Lucifer chuckled softly. "It seems your stomach disagrees with your ninja philosophy, Miss Shiranui."
Mai's face turned the color of her outfit. "That was... merely my chi circulating! Ignore it!"
Lucifer smiled, turning her gaze toward Ren. Watching his back as he moved around the kitchen was her favorite pastime. The way his shoulders moved when he whisked, the focus in his posture—it was mesmerizing.
I wonder, Lucifer thought, a sudden pang of inadequacy hitting her. Ren always makes these incredible things for us. Pancakes, crepes, roasts... and what do I do? I just sit here and eat.
She remembered the way Kobayashi Rindou had confidently stepped into the kitchen during her visit, wielding a knife with a predator's grace. Rindou could stand beside Ren. She could help him.
I can't even fry an egg without summoning hellfire, Lucifer admitted to herself, pouting slightly. Maybe I should go to that school... what was it? Totsuki? If I learned to cook, maybe Ren would... rely on me more.
The thought of Ren praising her cooking, patting her head, and depending on her for a meal made Lucifer's heart skip a beat. She resolved to look into it. The CEO of Hell didn't do things halfway. If she was going to cook, she would conquer the culinary world just to make a bento for one man.
"Hmm... This aroma..." Mai suddenly sat up straighter, her nose twitching.
The heavy, savory scent of the pork had faded, replaced by something lighter. Something earthy, sweet, and incredibly nostalgic.
"It's the scent of adzuki beans... and freshly steamed glutinous rice," Mai whispered, her eyes lighting up. "Botamochi!"
Her composure cracked. The cool, detached Kunoichi vanished, replaced by a girl eagerly awaiting her favorite treat.
Waiting in a restaurant is a unique form of torture. Seeing other people satisfied while you remain empty creates a vacuum of longing. But the moment—the exact second—you realize your turn has come, that torture transforms into pure, unadulterated dopamine.
Ren turned around, pushing a wooden dining cart. The wheels hummed softly against the floorboards.
"Bingo," Ren said, his voice warm and steady. "You have a sharp nose, Miss Shiranui. It seems you really do love Botamochi."
Mai didn't answer. She couldn't. Her eyes were glued to the objects on the cart.
There was a white jade-like ceramic pot, simple and elegant. Next to it sat a small, intricately woven green bamboo basket. Steam curled lazily from the basket, carrying the sweet perfume of the dessert.
Ren stopped the cart in front of her. With practiced grace, he transferred the items to the table.
"I apologize for the wait," Ren said softly. "The red bean paste required a little extra time to reach the right consistency."
He opened the bamboo basket.
Inside sat three perfect Botamochi. They were not the rough, rustic rice cakes one might buy at a roadside stall. These were jewels. The glutinous rice balls were coated in a layer of coarse-ground red bean paste that glistened under the warm lights. The texture of the beans looked velvety, promising a sweetness that was deep but not cloying.
"Beautiful," Mai breathed.
But Ren wasn't finished. He reached for the ceramic pot and placed a clear glass sake cup in front of her.
"And to pair with it," Ren announced.
He tilted the pot, and a liquid the color of liquid amber poured into the glass. It wasn't clear sake. It was thicker, richer. Two perfect, emerald-green plums tumbled out with the liquid, bobbing gently in the glass.
"Umeshu?" Mai asked, surprised. "I thought..."
"Plum wine pairs better with the sweetness of the bean paste than dry sake," Ren explained, his eyes twinkling. "The acidity cuts through the sugar, cleansing the palate for the next bite. But... it's not quite finished."
Ren reached into the cart one last time and produced a tiny, crystal vial filled with a transparent liquid. He held it up to the light.
"Now for the final touch. Watch closely, Miss Shiranui. This is magic, not ninjutsu."
Mai leaned in, her eyes wide. Even Zoro, who was half-asleep, cracked an eye open to watch.
Ren uncorked the vial. He carefully let a single drop—just one—fall into the amber plum wine. Then, with a pair of wooden tweezers, he placed a single, preserved salted cherry blossom on top of the liquid.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The moment the cherry blossom touched the surface, the petals unfurled as if blooming in fast motion. And then, the smell hit them.
It wasn't just the smell of plums anymore. A fresh, floral breeze swept across the table. It smelled like a Japanese garden in early April. It smelled like rain on stone, like blooming sakura, like the very essence of spring captured in a glass.
"Hmm~" Mai closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The aroma alone made her feel lightheaded, drunk on the atmosphere before she had even taken a sip.
"Completed," Ren said, wiping his hands on a towel and smiling gently. "Botamochi with a side of Spring. Please enjoy."
Mai Shiranui stared at the set before her. The dark, sweet richness of the rice cakes. The bright, floral elegance of the wine. It was a masterpiece of contrast.
She picked up the glass, the scent wafting up to embrace her. It was elegant. It was refreshing. It was exactly what she needed.
"Thank you for the food," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation.
She took a sip.
The flavor exploded—tart plum, sweet sugar, the salty kick of the cherry blossom, and the floral aftertaste that lingered on her tongue. Her shoulders dropped. The tension of the mission, the hunger, the jealousy of Zoro's meal—it all evaporated.
She picked up a chopstick and cut into the soft Botamochi.
Tonight, the diet could wait.
[Akarin Note:
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