Chapter 46: The Prodigy of Seigaku and the Hell-Level Spice
It was late at night, and the shop was very quiet.
The bustling noise of the shopping district outside had long since faded, replaced by the distant, rhythmic hum of the city sleeping. Inside the Dimensional Restaurant, the warm yellow lights cast long, cozy shadows against the wooden furniture.
There was only the occasional sound of Cerberus chatting in a group chat—her fingers tapping furiously on the screen while she giggled at some meme only a dog-girl would understand—as well as the soft, crisp sound of Ren turning pages.
Ren was seated behind the counter, a thick hardcover book resting in his hands. The steam from a cup of Earl Grey tea curled lazily into the air, blending with the faint scent of old paper.
Lucifer, on the other hand, was seriously looking at her phone, nodding from time to time with the gravity of a monarch reviewing a peace treaty. In reality, she was deep into a Wikipedia rabbit hole about culinary history, a continuation of her earlier shock regarding the sheer volume of Chinese cuisine.
It was already past nine in the evening, and there was still no one in the shop.
Ren looked up from his book, the spine creaking slightly as he closed it. He stretched his neck, hearing a satisfying pop, and let out a contented sigh.
"Hmm... It's certainly been a relaxing evening. The silence is quite nice for a change."
Lucifer, still looking at her phone, raised an eyebrow. Her crimson eyes darted toward him. "You're quite strange, Ren. Why do you hope for fewer customers when you open a shop? Usually, mortals are desperate for patronage to fuel their greed."
Ren leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He inhaled the rich aroma of the black tea on the table in front of him, savoring the bergamot notes.
He smiled, a relaxed expression that softened his usually sharp features. "Because I told you, I don't rely on this shop to make money. I cook because I enjoy it. And when there are no customers, I get to enjoy my own time. It's a win-win."
"A hobbyist's mindset," Lucifer scoffed, though there was no real bite in her tone. She chuckled, scrolling down her screen. Then, she suddenly narrowed her eyes as if she saw something disturbing—or perhaps intriguing.
Ren was startled by the sudden shift in her aura. "What's wrong? Did you see something strange? Another weird human custom?"
Lucifer shook her head, then silently stared at the content on her phone screen, looking exceptionally serious. The glow of the screen illuminated her pale face, making her look every bit the plotting Queen of Hell.
"No... just... mortals have very creative interpretations of mythological hierarchies," she muttered, likely finding a fanfiction about herself.
Although curious, Ren wasn't curious enough to go over and look at Lucifer's expression. Some things were better left unknown, especially when it concerned the internet habits of ancient demons.
Just as Ren was about to finish the rest of his tea and perhaps close up early, the electronic chime above the door rang out.
Ding-dong~
The glass door pushed open, letting in a draft of cool night air. A young man walked in, carrying a large tennis bag over one shoulder. He was wearing a blue and white tracksuit that looked somewhat familiar to sports fans in Tokyo. His honey-brown hair swayed slightly with his movement, and his eyes were closed in a perpetual, gentle smile.
Ren was surprised at first, recognizing the aura of calm talent immediately. He stood up, smoothing his apron.
"Long time no see, Fuji-kun."
Shūsuke Fuji, the "Genius" of Seigaku Academy, adjusted the strap of his bag and smiled, his voice soft and airy.
"Yes. Long time no see, Ren-san. My sister isn't home today—she has a photoshoot late into the night—so I came over for a bite. Yumiko-nee-san was very envious when she found out I was coming here without her."
Ren smiled and shook his head, walking around the counter to pour a glass of water. "Your sister's personality is more like your mother's, always dramatic about food. Are you alone? Usually, you have a trail of rowdy teammates behind you."
Fuji still smiled and nodded, taking a seat at the counter rather than a table. "Just me tonight. Everyone else is resting up for the regionals. Besides, sometimes one craves a solitary meal."
Ren didn't ask any more questions about tennis politics. He simply placed the water in front of the boy and asked, "What would you like to eat? The usual menu is available, or do you have a specific craving?"
Fuji put down his bag, leaning it against the stool. He tapped his chin with a slender finger, thinking for a moment.
"Then… Mapo Tofu and rice, please. I need something to wake up my senses. As for drinks… I really don't know what to order right now. Do you have anything... interesting?"
Ren chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He knew Fuji's palate well. This was a boy who drank Inui Sadaharu's "Penal Tea" and found it delicious.
"Given your taste, I should know exactly what you want to drink. But just Mapo Tofu? That seems a bit simple for you."
Fuji thought seriously for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief, as if deciding on a winning strategy. "Then, Wasabi Sashimi it is. A side order. As for the fish, Ren-san, you can choose whatever you think is best. I trust your judgment implicitly."
Ren nodded, his professional mask sliding into place. "Understood. I'll start with the Sashimi."
He turned and walked into the kitchen.
As the young tennis player looked around the now much larger shop, noting the new decorations and the two strange girls sitting at the corner table, he heard Ren casually call out from the kitchen.
"Hell-level spicy, right?"
[Akarin's Note: The Hell-level spicy in the shop adjusts its spiciness according to the eater's physique and taste. For normal people, it's hospitalization. For Fuji, it's a Tuesday.]
"Mm~" Fuji hummed happily. "Please don't hold back."
"As expected of you," came the reply, followed by the sound of a knife hitting a cutting board.
Lucifer looked up from her phone at the person named Fuji. She sensed a strange energy from him. It wasn't magical power, but a serene intensity that felt... formidable.
A human with eyes closed... how pretentious, she thought, then went back to reading about the history of dumplings.
Fuji looked at Lucifer and Cerberus. His usually narrowed eyes opened slightly—just a slit—revealing a flash of ice-blue. He sensed they weren't ordinary humans, but his polite nature kept him from staring. He continued to smile and look around the shop.
After an unknown amount of time, Ren came out of the kitchen carrying a glass filled with a liquid that swirled with murky shades of light orange and green, along with a large ceramic plate.
The young man's gaze turned to him, or rather, to the tray.
"Hmm. As expected of Ren-san. It looks delicious, I'm really looking forward to it," Fuji said, his tone genuinely excited despite the suspicious color of the drink.
Ren smiled and set the glass down. "You've said that at least ten times already since we met."
"But every time it's the same anticipation. What's this drink?" Fuji asked, lifting the glass to the light.
"A very strange-tasting drink. It's a blend of bitter gourd, pure ginger extract, and a high-concentration citrus reduction. Probably no one but you can drink it without fainting."
Fuji was surprised, then delighted. He picked up the glass and took a sip.
The flavor profile was an assault. The first taste was an intense, earth-shattering bitterness from the gourd, enough to make a normal person gag. Then, his tongue felt a sharp tingling sensation as the ginger kicked in. As soon as he swallowed, a spicy heat rose from his throat, clearing his sinuses instantly.
However, just as the assault seemed overwhelming, the taste quickly disappeared, replaced by a faint, refreshing sweetness from the citrus that cleansed the palate completely.
"Heh..." Fuji exhaled, a satisfied flush on his cheeks. "This is really good. It's so delicious. It has a wonderful rhythm to it."
Ren said with a hint of a helpless smile, wiping his hands on a towel. "Only you can accept this taste. But you came so late and didn't bring Tezuka with you? It seems he has something on tonight."
Fuji nodded, taking another sip of the punishment juice. "Mm, Tezuka is the captain after all. His grandfather caught a fish tonight, so he went home to be a dutiful grandson. He takes his family duties as seriously as his tennis."
Ren nodded, then gestured to the plate. On it was a beautiful slab of premium Bluefin Tuna (Otoro) and a sharkskin grater with a large, fresh wasabi root.
"You can grind the wasabi yourself. I know you prefer the fresh texture. That soy sauce in the saucer is the dashi-infused kind you've always loved. Add wasabi to it as you like. I'm going back to fire up the wok for the tofu."
"Mm~ Thank you."
After Ren left, Fuji looked at the large piece of wasabi in front of him. It was a rhizome of the highest quality, bumpy and green.
He picked it up and began to grind it on the grater in a circular motion. Shhh, shhh, shhh. The sound was therapeutic. The pile of green paste grew rapidly. The amount being ground down looked terrifying to an average diner—enough to clear a room—but for Fuji, it was just a condiment.
"Well, that should be enough for now... Let's try it first."
Fuji picked up his chopsticks. He lifted a slice of the tuna sashimi. It was perfectly white and translucent, marbled with a hint of light crimson fat that promised to melt on the tongue.
He dipped it generously into his hell-level special wasabi soy sauce, coating the fish in the green mixture, then slowly brought it to his mouth.
As the fish slice entered his mouth, the world seemed to stop.
Fuji's eyes immediately opened wide. The brilliant azure irises, usually hidden behind his smile, shone with intensity.
Impact.
The sharp, sinus-clearing vapor of the fresh wasabi shot straight up his nose, hitting the brain with a refreshing jolt. It wasn't the harsh burn of tube wasabi; it was a clean, floral heat.
Then came the fish. The tuna was incredibly cold and fatty. It yielded instantly to the pressure of his tongue, the rich oils coating his mouth and neutralizing the sharpness of the horseradish.
"Oh? It's tuna! The texture is really amazing, and why does it have such a wonderful taste?"
Ren's voice drifted from the kitchen, over the roar of a gas burner. "I knew you'd exclaim about this. When I sliced this sashimi, I used a knife soaked in iced spiced water. Then I gave the meat a quick massage to relax the fibers, and squeezed a little lemon juice into the grain. Don't worry about the portion; there are only two small slices to start your appetite."
Fuji nodded, though Ren couldn't see him. He began to eat the remaining sashimi in front of him uncontrollably.
He had never imagined that sashimi could be so delicious.
The extremely chewy texture of the tuna, the subtle flavors of various spices from the secret spiced water that lingered in the background, a hint of refreshing lemon juice that cut the fat... all complemented by fresh wasabi and the umami-rich soy sauce.
Every bite was like a perfectly balanced massage for his taste buds. This feeling gradually revitalized Fuji's spirit, completely awakening his appetite after his grueling evening practice.
"Phew... So delicious."
Sashimi, by nature, isn't a large portion. Because it was so delicious, Fuji had no intention of stopping until the plate was clean. He continued to satisfy his stomach and taste buds, and it was quickly all gone.
Just as Fuji was about to take another sip of his ginger-bitter drink to cleanse his palate, a new aroma invaded the shop.
It was aggressive. It was violent. It was beautiful.
A very eye-watering yet fragrant aroma wafted out from the kitchen. It smelled of fried chili oil, fermented broad beans, and the distinct, floral metallic scent of Sichuan peppercorns.
Saliva couldn't help but well up in Fuji's mouth. Nothing stimulates saliva production more than the promise of sourness and extreme spiciness. Sometimes, just thinking about it makes your mouth water as if you've eaten a very sour bayberry.
Ren walked out, carrying a black clay pot that was sizzling loudly. The contents were a vibrant, angry red, bubbling like magma. Green onions and garlic shoots were scattered on top like emeralds on a bed of rubies.
When Ren placed the pot in front of him, he saw Fuji's wide-open eyes and smiled.
"It seems to have satisfied your anticipation, otherwise you wouldn't have bothered to open your eyes. Careful, the pot is heated to 200 degrees."
Fuji chuckled twice, a low sound of pure delight. He looked at the bright red, seemingly hellishly spicy and hot Mapo Tofu in front of him. The steam rising from it carried a visible spice cloud.
"It looks like a challenge," Fuji murmured.
He swallowed, picked up a ceramic spoon, and scooped out a piece of tofu. The cube was coated in the thick, oily red sauce, minced beef clinging to it. It trembled slightly, threatening to fall apart.
He blew on it a few times—fuu, fuu—then opened his mouth and ate it.
"Mmm! Phew... Phew... Phew~"
The first sensation as the tofu entered his mouth was heat—thermal heat that threatened to scald the tongue. It was followed immediately by the tender, silken smoothness of the tofu itself, which practically dissolved.
Then, the flavor bomb detonated.
When he bit down, the spiciness ("La") and the numbing sensation ("Ma") fully erupted.
The Doubanjiang provided a deep, fermented savory base. The chili oil coated every corner of his mouth in fire. And the peppercorns... they created a vibrating, buzzing sensation that blurred the line between pain and pleasure.
Coupled with the fact that tofu is a very easy food to cook, at such a high temperature, the internal heat of the tofu also dissipated rapidly in the mouth, spreading the spice even faster.
Leveraging the advantage of taste buds already dominated by spiciness and numbness, the heat mercilessly destroyed the last trace of touch in his mouth besides taste.
"Ha..." Fuji breathed out a cloud of hot air, his forehead glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.
Only the three flavors of numbness, spiciness, and fragrance remained. They brought an unprecedented stimulating sensation to his tongue, as if he were playing a tie-break match in the middle of summer, adrenaline pumping through his veins. It felt like eating a spicy hotpot on a tropical beach under a blazing sun.
Although hot and stimulating, he couldn't resist the joy of savoring the deliciousness...
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