Chapter 182: This is Father, Mana is Here
The VIP arrival lounge at Narita International Airport was a masterpiece of modern design, bathed in the soft, sterile glow of recessed lighting and chilled to a precise temperature that usually offered comfort to weary travelers. Yet, for Senzaemon Nakiri, the "Demon King of the Culinary World," this luxurious environment felt like a sauna.
He stood near the exit of the exclusive channel, his imposing figure usually radiating an aura of absolute, unshakeable authority. But today, that aura was flickering. He paced back and forth across the polished marble floor, his traditional zori sandals making a rhythmic, anxious clack-clack-clack sound that echoed slightly in the quiet space.
His hands, usually steady when judging the finest dishes in the world, were clasping and unclasping behind his back, betraying a restlessness that would have shocked the students of Tōtsuki.
"Old man, don't be nervous. So many years have passed; can't you even hold on for this last bit? You're going to wear a hole in the floor."
Ren sat comfortably on a plush, high-backed leather sofa nearby, watching the elder's agitation with a calm, teasing smile playing on his lips. Beside him, Lucifer sat with an elegance that belied her demonic nature. Her earlier motion sickness from the flight had largely faded, thanks to Shopkeeper Ren's treatment—a mysterious mix of pressure points and calming tea that seemed to work as much on the mind as the body. She looked refreshed now, her crimson eyes observing the unfolding human drama with a mixture of boredom and faint amusement.
Senzaemon stopped his pacing abruptly, the hem of his haori swaying with the sudden motion. He turned to Ren, his rugged face flushing slightly with a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness.
"You brat, you're actually lecturing me now!" Senzaemon grumbled, though there was no real heat in his voice. He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of a decade. "But... you're right! I admit it, I was a bit flustered! It's not every day a father prepares to see a daughter he couldn't save."
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure, then turned his sharp gaze to the man standing silently like a statue by the floor-to-ceiling window.
"Gin Dojima, why aren't you saying anything? You're unusually quiet. Usually, you'd be the one telling me to calm down."
Gin Dojima, the Living Legend of Tōtsuki, turned strictly. His muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his expression was one of deep, almost philosophical contemplation. He looked out at the tarmac, where the ground crews were guiding the massive steel birds to their gates.
He waved his hand dismissively without breaking his stoic mask. "What more can I say, Director? I've been discussing and learning so much from this kid Ren on this trip... frankly, I haven't fully digested it all yet. His culinary theories, his approach to ingredients... He really is a fascinating anomaly." Dojima glanced at Ren, a look of complex appraisal in his eyes—a mix of respect and the burning curiosity of a chef encountering a new frontier.
Ren chuckled softly and picked up the porcelain cup of tea from the low table. The steam curled around his face as he blew on it gently. "It's just a state of mind, Dojima-san. Don't overcomplicate it. Cooking is simple; people are complicated."
He took a sip, the warm liquid grounding him, then set the cup down with a soft clink. His eyes shifted slightly towards the display board above the gate. "Ah... speaking of which. The plane has landed."
The soft, melodic chime of the airport announcement speaker confirmed Ren's words a split second later, announcing the arrival of the private charter.
Hearing this, Senzaemon, who had managed to force himself into a semblance of calm for all of ten seconds, stiffened again. His shoulders hiked up, and his breath hitched. The excitement surged back, electric and undeniable, coursing through his veins like adrenaline. For a father, there was no event more earth-shattering, more terrifying, and more joyous than the return of an estranged child. The memories of Mana's departure, the guilt of his own powerlessness, and the hope for a new beginning all clashed within him.
Lucifer glanced up at Ren, leaning her head slightly against his shoulder, seeking his warmth in the air-conditioned room. She watched Senzaemon's jittery behavior—so unlike the terrifying human warlord she had heard about—and whispered to Ren, her voice low and melodic.
"He looks like a sinner waiting for judgment at the gates of Hell. Is family always this... intense for humans?"
Ren smiled faintly, reaching out to adjust the collar of his coat. "Sometimes. The waiting is often the hardest part. It gives the imagination too much time to run wild with worst-case scenarios."
Lucifer tilted her head, trying to imagine Senzaemon in Ren's place. If Ren were waiting for her after a long separation... would he be this nervous? Would he pace the floor? Or would he just be calmly prepping ingredients in the kitchen, confident she would return to him? The thought of the usually stoic Ren pacing anxiously was amusing enough to make the corners of her lips twitch in a suppressed smile.
Although Nakiri Mana and her entourage were flying via a private charter, the logistics of their arrival were distinct from the commercial crowds. They had chartered the entire plane—a testament to the colossal wealth and influence of the WGO. It was the kind of "evils of rich people" excess that usually made commoners roll their eyes, but in this case, it ensured absolute privacy for the Bookmaster, whose condition left her vulnerable to the public eye.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the long corridor connecting to the jet bridge. They were distinctive—the heavy, confident tread of men mixed with the lighter, sharper click-clack of high heels against the hard floor.
Senzaemon and Gin Dojima straightened up instinctively. Their postures became rigid, their faces smoothing into masks of professional dignity. Ren and Lucifer, however, remained seated. Ren's composure was unshakable; he sat with the relaxed grace of a king in his own court. He knew that even if the situation spiraled, he had Lucifer and Cerberus—the ultimate insurance policies—right beside him. Moreover, regarding the God Tongue... Ren was confident. It was just a tongue, after all. A biological sensor. It could be fixed.
The automatic frosted glass doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
"Gin! Why are you here too?"
A rough, familiar voice boomed through the lounge, shattering the tense silence.
Dojima's face contorted into a grimace that was a complicated blend of annoyance, resignation, and hidden relief. "Damn it! Joichiro, why is it you?"
Joichiro Yukihira stepped out first, carrying a small, battered travel bag thrown carelessly over his shoulder. His wild, reddish hair was as untamed as ever, and his clothes looked like he had slept in them. He grinned, sensing the thick tension in the room and deciding to slice through it with his trademark casualness.
"Hey, hey, hey~ What do you mean by that reaction? Are you disappointed to see me? And here I thought we were best friends!"
"I can't exactly say I'm thrilled," Dojima shot back, crossing his arms, though his shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight of his old rival. "After all, today's protagonist isn't you. Where are Mana and the others? The old man is getting anxious~ Look at him, he's vibrating."
"Cough, cough!" Senzaemon cleared his throat loudly, the sound echoing like a gavel strike, trying desperately to salvage his dignity as the patriarch.
Hearing the cough, both older men chuckled, the tension in the room breaking for a brief, warm second. Joichiro then noticed the young man standing calmly to the side, watching the reunion with polite interest. His eyes widened slightly in recognition and sparkled with curiosity.
"Oho," Joichiro smiled, walking over with a loose, easy gait. "I didn't expect Shopkeeper Ren to come out personally to the airport. I thought you'd be prepping in the kitchen, waiting for us to come to you. But this is good; you can talk to Mana first before the chaos starts."
Ren stood up and nodded politely. "It seemed appropriate given the gravity of the situation. But, Saiba-san... that's not a problem, but where is Miss Nakiri Mana now?"
As soon as he finished speaking, several more footsteps sounded from the corridor. These were different—lighter, more organized, accompanied by the rustle of high-quality fabric.
This time, Senzaemon went completely silent. He forced himself to be calm, grounding his feet to the floor. This is the nature of a father. No matter how many years of longing, no matter how many sleepless nights he spent worrying about her health, he would not show a breakdown in public. He wouldn't heap praise or tears upon her face-to-face. But behind her back? He was the type to boast to the world about his daughter's brilliance until everyone was sick of hearing it.
When he knows you're coming home, he's the most excited person in the house. He worries about the traffic, the weather, the temperature of the tea. He has a thousand speeches prepared in his heart. But at the moment of meeting, all that emotion is compressed into a simple, sturdy sentence.
The group emerged from the shadows of the corridor. Surrounded by her elite Bookmen, Nakiri Mana appeared.
Ren finally met Nakiri Mana.
She was sitting in a wheelchair, pushed by a tall, solemn attendant. However, as they entered the lounge, she signaled for them to stop. With visible effort and assistance, she stood up. Even wearing meticulously applied makeup, the signs of her condition were visible to a sharp eye like Ren's. She looked undernourished, her collarbones prominent, her skin pale and fragile like porcelain that might crack at a touch. There was a haunting, melancholic beauty to her, a shadow of the vibrancy she must have once possessed.
Beside her, Lanterby, Courage, and Decora stood guard—beautiful, distinct, and radiating the unique, intimidating aura of the WGO elite.
Mana's gaze swept the room, bypassing Joichiro and Dojima, and locked directly onto Senzaemon Nakiri.
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Although Senzaemon hadn't seen his daughter in years, there was no dramatic run-and-hug scene found in soap operas. He simply looked at her, his eyes softening imperceptibly, holding a world of unsaid apologies.
"You're back!" he said softly, his voice gruff but undeniably warm.
Nakiri Mana's body trembled slightly upon hearing his voice. The familiar timber of it seemed to shake something loose inside her frozen heart. She smiled, a small, fragile thing that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Mm!"
"You've lost a lot of weight," Senzaemon noted immediately, his brow furrowing with paternal concern as he scanned her frail frame. "You'll have to eat more tonight."
"Mm!"
"Also," Senzaemon gestured broadly towards the young man standing quietly nearby, diverting the emotional intensity, "this is Ren, the young man who can solve your God Tongue problem."
Senzaemon said nothing more after that. He stepped back, allowing the focus to shift entirely. Nakiri Mana turned her gaze to Ren, this figure who had been described to her as a savior, a culinary wizard, a mystery.
Mana was visibly surprised. The reports had mentioned his skill, but not his presence. Ren was incredibly young. And, she had to admit, incredibly handsome. He stood with a relaxed grace that was rare for chefs, who usually carried the nervous energy of their trade or the arrogance of their station.
This fact was not lost on her subordinates. Courage and Decora, the two single women among the Bookmen, found their eyes practically glued to Ren. His handsome face, his outstanding height, and the gentle, confident smile playing on his lips made him magnetically attractive. To these women, who spent their days dealing with arrogant, older chefs or bureaucratic officials, Ren was a breath of fresh air.
Nakiri Mana regained her composure, her WGO training kicking in. She offered a friendly, professional smile. "I didn't expect Mr. Ren to be so young, and so handsome too. Truly accomplished at such a young age."
Ren smiled back, his tone gentle and disarming. "Miss Nakiri Mana also looks as beautiful as a twenty-year-old. Though, if you recover, the effect should be even better~ Vitality is the best cosmetic, after all."
Mana was stunned by the compliment, a faint, rare flush coloring her pale cheeks. She looked at him with a mix of desperate hope and ingrained skepticism. "Mr. Ren, my God Tongue's condition is... it is a bit too bad right now. I cannot tolerate solid food without immense suffering. Can it still... Huh?"
Before Nakiri Mana could finish her sentence of doubt, she saw Ren move.
He didn't ask for permission. He didn't hesitate. He walked over, closing the distance between them in two smooth strides. He bent down slightly to meet her eye level, invading her personal space with a clinical yet intimate confidence.
"Miss Nakiri Mana," he commanded softly, "open your mouth."
"Ah? Oh..."
Caught off guard by his sudden proximity and the authority in his voice, Mana instinctively obeyed. She had placed all her hopes on him, after all. She parted her lips slightly, her eyes widening.
Ren didn't use a medical tool. He reached into the snack bag held by Cerberus—ignoring the little girl's quiet, pouty protest of "Hey! That's mine!"—and took out a box of Pocky biscuits. He pulled out a single chocolate-coated stick.
With a swift, precise motion, he inserted the Pocky into her mouth and gently poked the center of her tongue.
Snap.
The biscuit broke slightly against the muscle.
The room went silent. The Bookmen tensed, their hands twitching as if ready to intervene at this apparent rudeness to their leader.
Nakiri Mana blinked. She waited for the wave of nausea, the impulsive rejection, the sensation of "gravel" that usually accompanied food. But... nothing happened. She didn't feel the taste, but she didn't feel the revulsion either. It was... neutral.
Ren withdrew the biscuit and smiled, examining her expression. "Did you have any reaction just now?"
Mana shook her head slowly, her eyes wide with confusion and a dawning realization. "I... didn't taste anything. But I could feel my tongue being poked by a biscuit. It wasn't painful. It was just... touch."
Ren straightened up, tossing the broken Pocky into his own mouth and crunching it loudly. "Excellent. I thought it was already very serious, perhaps nerve necrosis or total sensory rejection. But if it's just to this extent? It's very easy to solve. Your tongue isn't dead; it's just sleeping."
He stretched his arms over his head, looking completely unbothered by the monumental task ahead. "Now, it's time to go to the shop; it's almost time for me to open~ And I hate being late for dinner service."
Hearing Ren's casual, confident diagnosis, a massive wave of relief washed over Nakiri Mana and her team. At this point, they had no choice but to believe him. His demeanor suggested that to him, this legendary curse—which had plagued the Nakiri line for generations—was no more difficult than boiling an egg.
The group began to move toward the exit, the atmosphere significantly lighter than when they arrived.
Ren, Lucifer, and Cerberus walked at the very back of the procession. Ahead of them, Courage and Decora kept stealing glances backward, whispering giggles shared between them as they looked at Ren, their professional masks slipping in the face of such a charismatic figure.
They reached the waiting convoy of vehicles. The WGO had arranged for high-end transport, a fleet of black limousines gleaming under the airport lights. Ren found himself sharing the second car not just with his own companions, but with the two curious Bookmen who insisted on "escorting" him.
As they settled into the plush leather seats of the limousine, the interior smelled of expensive cologne and conditioned air. The ambient lighting was a soft, soothing blue. The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the traffic leaving the airport, heading towards the heart of Tokyo.
Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of luxury and awkward curiosity.
Courage, sitting across from Ren, fidgeted slightly. She adjusted her glasses, the lenses reflecting the passing streetlights. She couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer. She smoothed her skirt and spoke up, her voice tight with professional courtesy but laced with personal intrigue. "Mr. Ren, I am Courage, a First Executive Officer under Lady Mana. I must admit... your methods are unorthodox."
Ren looked at her, his expression relaxed as he leaned back against the seat, one arm draped casually over the backrest. He smiled and nodded. "Hmm, it seems WGO is a place that produces many beautiful women~ Unorthodox is just another word for effective, Courage-san."
It was a casual remark, delivered with a charm that felt effortless. Courage blushed deeply, looking away towards the window, while Decora stifled a squeal of delight next to her, covering her mouth with a hand adorned with colorful rings.
Lucifer, observing this interaction, narrowed her crimson eyes. She felt a prickle of possessiveness. She looked at the somewhat happy women, then silently but firmly hugged Ren's arm with both of hers, staking her claim. She buried her face slightly into his shoulder, her horns gently grazing the fabric of his coat, staring at the WGO officers with a look that clearly said, 'Mine.'
Ren felt the pressure on his arm and the soft warmth of the Demon Queen. He chuckled, unbothered by the silent turf war happening in his backseat. He turned his attention to Lucifer, reaching out with his free hand to pinch her soft cheek affectionately.
"What do you want to eat later?" he asked softly, ignoring the stunned looks of the WGO officers at this domestic display between a human and a demon.
Lucifer blinked, her jealousy momentarily forgotten at the mention of food. Her eyes softened. She thought for a moment, tapping her chin. "Chocolate biscuits... and maybe something sweet. Like pancakes."
"No problem," Ren replied, his voice promising satisfaction. He then looked at the other side of the seat. "Cerberus, how about you?"
Cerberus, who had been pressing her nose against the tinted window, watching the neon lights of Tokyo blur past like shooting stars, turned around instantly. Her three pairs of ears twitched with excitement, and her tails wagged against the leather seat.
"Lord... Everything Ren makes is delicious! I want meat! Lots of meat!"
Ren smiled, closing his eyes as the car sped down the highway, the hum of the engine vibrating gently beneath them, carrying them toward the restaurant where the real magic would begin.
"Well said~"
[Akarin's Note: "Decora" is a Japanese fashion style characterized by bright colors and an excessive amount of accessories.]
[Akarin Note:
Your Support Keeps This Story Alive!
If you're enjoying this novel, your support means the world to me. Simple actions like leaving a review, power stone, comment, or sharing the story let me know you're out there. It's the greatest motivation for me to keep updating until the very end and ensures this project continues.
For those who wish to support me more directly, you can join my Patreon at [patreon.com/AkarinTL]. As a thank-you, you'll receive access to 50 advanced chapters.
I hope I am still worthy of your support. My life truly depends on this... haha, I know I'm so shameless.]