Regarding Sonoka's worries, Zane remained silent. Sometimes, too much comfort can feel hollow—better to let silence speak when words can't help.
"Boss Zane, has your tavern gotten busier since the expansion?" Sonoka asked softly, her voice a little slurred from the alcohol, eyes hazy and unfocused.
"It's manageable," Zane replied calmly, sipping his tea. "Just like you—busy, but not so much that I can't sneak a drink."
"…Need an assistant chef?" she asked suddenly, her face flushed as she avoided his gaze.
"Yes. I've been looking to hire someone." Zane didn't hesitate.
"Then… can I work with you?" Sonoka looked up, hope sparkling through her drunken nerves. "At least as your assistant?"
Zane blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected this. Sonoka, the cool and distant owner of the elegant Shunkatei restaurant next door, wanted to join his humble tavern kitchen?
"Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because I admire your cooking. And… Shunkatei hasn't been doing so well lately. I want to learn more—about management, about technique. From you."
Her voice was quiet but firm.
Zane considered her words. Unlike Erina or Rindō, Sonoka was no student with dreams still in formation—she already owned and ran a restaurant. Yet here she was, humbling herself for the chance to stand in his kitchen.
"Is it not possible?" she asked, seeing his silence. "I figured… I'm not good enough. I'd probably just slow you down—"
"You'll still be running Shunkatei during the day. Can you manage both?" Zane asked, interrupting her spiral.
"Yes! I already have two assistant chefs, five waiters, a cashier, and three cleaners. I mostly just oversee the kitchen now," she answered quickly.
Her setup seemed solid. For a 400-square-meter high-end restaurant, the staff size was lean but likely efficient. A Totsuki graduate would expect nothing less.
"Alright," Zane said after a moment. "As long as I don't have to find you a room, I can agree."
"Really? Thank you! I'll do my best," she beamed.
Though just a verbal agreement, this marked a turning point. The tavern had finally gained its first employee after nearly two months of solo operations.
"Don't worry too much about 'doing your best.' Just don't blow up the kitchen," Zane teased, waving it off.
An assistant chef's role varied depending on the cuisine. Here, it meant being ready for anything—from sashimi to hand-pulled noodles to rustic meat stews. Sonoka's adaptability and Totsuki pedigree gave Zane confidence in her potential.
As the night wore on and the drinks ran low, Sonoka finally stood up, bowing with a slight wobble. "Goodnight, Boss Zane," she said before retreating to her room.
[Ding-dong! Congratulations to the host for completing a special task: Hire an employee within a week.]
[Ding-dong! Reward: Special kitchen utensil – the Unbreakable Heavenly North Star Wolf Blade.]
Back in his room, Zane heard the notification and froze.
The Heavenly North Star Wolf Blade was famous for its ultra-low temperature, perfect for preserving fish at peak freshness—especially sea bream. Its greatest flaw had always been that it shattered after a single use. But now, he had the unbreakable version.
He smiled to himself. With fresh bream and this blade, he could now elevate dishes like Frozen Sea Bream Iceberg beyond perfection. If he could just master the Luohan Crystal Slice, Mana would be beyond impressed.
But even without it, he had the tools and the skills to make waves.
The following night, the tavern buzzed with familiar warmth. Regulars blinked in surprise to see Sonoka, Shunkatei's owner, now donning an apron as Zane's assistant.
With sleeves rolled and hands dusted in flour, she carefully measured water and kneaded dough.
"Not bad," Zane said. "You know the traditional three-water method."
"I've used flour a lot in French and Italian dishes. Kneading dough's no problem," Sonoka said with a proud little smile.
After letting the dough rest, she grabbed a two-foot rolling pin and began rolling with smooth, practiced strokes. Her technique wasn't flashy, but it was solid. Soon, she'd created paper-thin dumpling skins with barely any variance in thickness.
"Now try the hot-water starch method. Water above 80 degrees," Zane instructed.
"Two types of dumpling skins?" she asked, curious but obedient.
He watched her as she moved between techniques, flour smudging her cheek. The precision and calm in her movements made it clear: she wasn't here to play.
Meanwhile, Zane cleaned and marinated fresh shrimp, expertly slicing the filling. As the dumplings steamed, Sonoka finally turned to him with a question she'd clearly been holding in.
"Why are the proportions so important when making dumplings?"
"A good question," Zane said, pleased. "The flour should be about 50% of the filling, and the water about 59% of the flour. That keeps the dough soft, pliable, and strong during cooking."
"If you're using two kinds of skins—like now—you need a slight adjustment. Drop the flour to 48% of the filling to account for differing expansion rates."
Sonoka listened closely, nodding in understanding. "So the theory's sound, but personal habits and dumpling size always affect the exact numbers?"
"Exactly," Zane replied, impressed with her insight.
Just then, the steamer let out a sharp hiss.
Zane lifted the lid—and inside, the shrimp dumplings had puffed up beautifully, their skins forming soaring arcs like wings.
"Rising dragons," Sonoka whispered, eyes wide. "I can't believe I helped make these…"
She was transfixed. The "flying dragon" effect was rare and magical—something even Erina had failed to replicate after countless attempts. And yet, here they were.
Zane smiled as Sonoka stared in awe.
The tavern may have been small, but its kitchen now echoed with rising talent, warm laughter, and the unmistakable scent of something extraordinary.