Five hours.
Time passed quickly, and soon the tavern was preparing to close for the night.
Sonoka, who had just started as the assistant chef, was still full of energy even after such a long shift. She sat at the side of the cooking station, chin in hand, eyes following Zane as he moved.
At the station, Zane was quietly slicing marinated beef into thin, delicate slices.
"Boss Zane," Sonoka asked curiously, "aren't we closed? Why are you still cooking?"
Zane finished his last cut, set the knife aside, and replied calmly, "Aren't you hungry?"
"Ah—!"
Her stomach grumbled in perfect sync, making her cheeks flush.
The tavern's business had been far more demanding than she'd expected. Despite only operating for five hours, she hadn't had a moment to herself. It wasn't until Zane's reminder that she realized just how hungry she was.
…
In China's northwest, life flows at a slower pace. People find time to enjoy food—especially hearty, comforting bowls like beef noodle soup.
There's a legend that beef noodle soup traces back to the Tang Dynasty, though its exact origins are uncertain. What's known is that in 1915, a Hui Muslim man named Ma Baozi popularized the modern version. Poor but resourceful, he cooked hot pot beef noodles at home and sold them on the street. Later, he added broth made from beef and lamb liver—its rich aroma quickly gained a following, and his name spread far and wide.
Zane's version of the dish was no less legendary in its own right.
In less than thirty seconds, he stretched and cooked the noodles with practiced skill. A minute later, he ladled them into bowls, topped them with broth and beef slices, and garnished them with blanched greens, scallions, minced ginger and garlic, a dusting of chili powder, cilantro, and a generous spoonful of his special chili oil.
Steam rose from the bowl, quiet and fragrant, filling the cozy tavern with the scent of comfort.
…
Sonoka picked up her chopsticks.
She delicately lifted a slice of beef—thin, marbled, nearly translucent—and admired its beauty.
The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes widened.
Fresh.
Tender.
Juicy.
Despite being paper-thin, the beef melted like the last frost of spring.
She closed her eyes, letting the umami soak through every fiber of her being. The beef was rich with flavor, its amino acids unlocking wave after wave of savory depth. Her tongue rejoiced with every chew, basking in a symphony of taste.
A simple dish, perhaps—but simplicity can be powerful.
This bowl of beef noodle soup had achieved that rare balance: refined without being showy. With just a few ingredients and skillful technique, it brought her a short but undeniable sense of euphoria.
…
Slurp, slurp.
Once the beef was gone, the noodles beckoned.
Sonoka took a deep breath, then dove in.
The heat from the broth spread warmth through her chest and cheeks. The radish, the beef, the garlic sprouts and cilantro—all mingled in perfect harmony, elevated by a broth layered with complexity. She lost herself in it.
What seemed like a plain bowl at first was anything but.
The broth had depth. She could now pick out the red oil bean paste, dried chili, scallions, ginger, garlic, and medicinal herbs like angelica and astragalus. There were bay leaves, star anise, Sichuan peppercorns, cinnamon, and even nutmeg.
It was a carefully composed symphony of flavors—and she never would've known just how rich and moving a bowl of noodle soup could be if she hadn't tasted it herself.
As she ate, her thoughts drifted.
She thought about Shunkatei—how confident she'd been when she started it, and how things had slowly stagnated. She realized that, just like this bowl of noodles, many things in life shouldn't be judged at a glance.
You had to taste them—to understand the essence behind the surface.
…
The meal ended quietly.
Sonoka sat back, sighing in satisfaction.
"That was amazing… It honestly puts most Japanese ramen to shame," she said dreamily. "Becoming your assistant might've been the best decision I've made."
"Boss, I heard beef noodle soup has something called 'one clear, two white, three green, four red, and five yellow.' What's that mean?"
Zane answered without looking up, "It describes the dish's ideal color composition. Clear for the broth. White for radish. Green for cilantro and garlic sprouts. Red for chili. Yellow for the noodles."
"So color matters that much?"
"Of course. A successful bowl balances color, aroma, taste, and texture."
Sonoka tilted her head. "I get that the broth is important, but are the noodles really that big a deal?"
"Most people focus on the broth," Zane admitted, "but the noodles are just as important. Their texture, thickness, and elasticity all depend on the flour's gluten content—ideally over 30%. Stretching technique matters too."
Understanding dawned in Sonoka's eyes.
"So the noodle thickness also affects everything?"
"Exactly," Zane nodded. "There are lots of variations—thin, hair-thin, two-thin, three-thin, wide, leek-leaf. They all have different mouthfeels. What you ate just now were two-thin noodles—about 4mm wide."
Sonoka smiled sheepishly. "Looks like I've still got a long way to go…"
Zane chuckled. "The culinary world keeps evolving. If you don't move forward, you fall behind."
Sonoka nodded in agreement, eyes full of resolve.
…
Late that night.
A deep stillness blanketed the city. The tavern lights were off, and Sonoka headed home.
Though she could've stayed—assistant chefs were allowed to sleep upstairs—her restaurant, Shunkatei, was right next door. There was no need to live with Zane.
At least… not yet.
She returned home quietly, thoughts still full of steaming broth and Zane's warm voice.
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Meanwhile, the dormitory training arc was about to begin.
Students like Megumi, Ikumi, and Alice were busy honing their cooking techniques. Members of the Elite Ten, including Rindo and Erina, had their own responsibilities to handle.
Tonight, no students from Totsuki came by.
But with Sonoka now by his side, Zane's tavern was steadily gaining momentum—one bowl, one step at a time.
…
Elsewhere, in a dorm room at Totsuki Academy.
Under soft lighting, Erina sat cross-legged on her bed, reading a manga.
"Yu… love me…"
"Are they really going to kiss?!"
Erina's fingers stopped flipping pages.
"…What's it like to kiss someone?"
Her face turned red.
Quickly, she slammed the book shut.
"Hisako."
"Yes, Miss?"
"You think he's asleep now? Since the tavern's closed…"
Hisako didn't need to ask who "he" was. She glanced at her screen, stifling a laugh.
"You look like a woman pining for her lover," she teased.
"W-What?! Don't be ridiculous!" Erina scoffed, crossing her arms defensively.
"Besides… I don't have time for that. Graduation isn't far off. If I don't improve fast enough to take the First Seat of the Elite Ten, I won't be qualified to lead Totsuki."
Hisako watched her silently for a moment.
"You've changed, Miss. You're… happier now."
"Because of him?"
"Of course not!" Erina snapped.
But even she couldn't deny it. Zane had affected her. More than she cared to admit.
"…Though," Hisako continued, smirking, "someone did say they'd work part-time at the tavern after training ends."
"Hisako!"
Erina's glare could kill.
Reluctantly, Hisako shut up—but in her heart, she was glad.
Glad that Zane had entered Erina's life.
…
The room quieted.
Erina leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
Though Zane occupied many of her thoughts, there was someone else whose presence lingered even deeper.
Her mother.
Mana Nakiri.
It had been ten years since they'd seen each other.
And even now—despite the anticipation and hope—Mana hadn't visited her.
Just the Headmaster.
Not her.
"…Hisako," Erina whispered, "If I meet my mother… what should I do?"
Hisako was stunned. "I… I think Lady Mana would apologize to you?"
"After all this time… do you think she still sees me as her daughter?"
"Miss… please don't think like that!"
Hisako rushed to her side, grabbing her hand.
She knew all too well how Erina had suffered—growing up without her mother's warmth, enduring Azami's ruthless "education."
Lately, Erina had started to change—becoming brighter, braver.
Maybe because Mana's return gave her hope.
Or maybe… it was because of someone else.
"Don't forget," Hisako said gently, "You still have Zane."
Erina blinked, her expression unreadable.
But deep inside, her heart stirred.
Yes.
She still had him.