"Shirou? What's wrong?"
A crisp female voice pulled his thoughts back to reality. Yuna Sekiya, the daughter of the sushi shop owner, was tilting her head, looking at him with concern in her clear eyes.
She was wearing the shop's uniform, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow from the shop's heat.
"It's nothing. I just thought I saw someone I knew."
Shirou withdrew his gaze and continued wiping the knife in his hand, acting as if nothing had happened. His movements regained their steadiness, without a hint of tremor, as if the moment of distraction had never occurred.
Yuna followed his line of sight, but only saw a customer wearing a hat and sunglasses, bundled up tightly.
She was a bit puzzled but didn't ask further. In her heart, this man, who had suddenly appeared at the shop entrance a month ago and conquered her father's picky taste buds with a single bowl of ochazuke, was inherently full of mysteries.
Jusaburo Sekiya, a stubborn old man who had dedicated his life to sushi, had unprecedentedly taken in the mysterious Shirou Emiya.
At first, he only let him do odd jobs, but soon, the old man discovered the terrifying culinary talent within this young man.
Yuna had grown up behind the sushi bar and believed her own sushi-making skills were unrivaled among her peers.
Yet, it only took Shirou one week to master all the basic knife skills and sushi-shaping techniques.
Within a month, the tamagoyaki he made was fluffy and moist, the aroma of the egg and the deliciousness of the dashi perfectly blended, to the point where even her father admitted defeat, calling it "a life-changing tamagoyaki."
From that day on, business at the shop became better and better, with many customers coming from far and wide just to taste the skills of that legendary red-haired handsome man.
Watching Shirou's focused and busy back behind the bar, observing his clean and efficient knife work, and seeing the serious expression he held for every grain of rice and every slice of fish, a strange feeling began to quietly ferment in her heart.
This man, only a few years older than her, was so capable yet always gentle and humble, like a deep pool that one couldn't see through, yet couldn't help but want to get closer to.
On the other side of the bar, Uta also withdrew her gaze. She took off her sunglasses and mask, revealing a plain yet exquisite face.
The fatigue after the concert made her look a bit weary, but her heterochromatic eyes—one red and one blue—were still startlingly bright under the warm lights of the sushi shop.
She had noticed, and he had noticed too.
But both tacitly chose silence. In a public place like this, exposing one's identity as a player was the stupidest thing to do.
"Welcome," Shirou said, placing the wiped yanagiba knife back on the rack, his tone gentle and formulaic.
"What would you like to order?"
Uta looked up, her heterochromatic eyes staring straight at him, a subtle arc forming at the corner of her mouth. As if deliberately testing him, she said in a light, unquestionable tone:
"I'll have everything on your shop's signature menu, from appetizers to the main course."
As her words fell, the small shop went quiet for a moment. All the customers turned their heads to look at this girl who had made such a startling request. Even Yuna, who was pouring tea for a customer nearby, paused.
"Customer, our shop has over a dozen signature dishes—" Yuna kindly reminded her.
"You might not be able to—"
"It's fine, I'm hungry."
Uta waved her hand, her tone light, but her gaze remained fixed on Shirou, carrying a hint of provocation and inquiry.
Shirou's expression didn't change at all. He simply nodded and pulled out a notepad and pen from his waist.
"Very well, please wait a moment."
He showed no surprise or hesitation; his calmness was as if the other party had only ordered a regular tuna sushi. He turned and headed to the prep area, the entire process flowing like water.
Watching his back, Yuna couldn't help but whisper to Uta: "Don't worry, Shirou's cooking is definitely the best in New York!"
Her tone was filled with pride.
Uta smiled noncommittally, propping her chin with one hand, watching with great interest as the red-haired youth began to get busy.
Shirou first took out a whole block of bluefin tuna fatty belly, pink in color and evenly marbled, from the refrigerator.
He didn't start cutting immediately but gently brushed his fingers over the surface of the fish, closing his eyes as if communicating with the ingredient.
This was his habit and an extension of his magecraft—'Trace · Structural Analysis.'
In his perception, the fiber direction of the fish meat, the distribution of fat, and even the trajectory of the fish swimming in the deep sea during its life, all turned into a stream of information flooding his mind.
He could "see" the best angle to cut and could "hear" the moment when the fish was at its most delicious.
The next moment, he opened his eyes, and the yanagiba knife was unsheathed.
With a flash of the blade, a slice of sashimi, uniform in thickness and with edges as smooth as a mirror, was perfectly cut.
He didn't pause, his fingers dancing between the vinegar rice and the sashimi at a dazzling speed. Pressing, shaping, brushing on soy sauce—the entire movement was done in one go, full of rhythm.
In just a few seconds, a piece of premium fatty tuna sushi, radiating an enticing luster, was gently placed on the black slate in front of Uta.
"Please enjoy, bluefin tuna fatty belly."
Next was the second dish, live ark shell. He used a small knife to precisely pry open the shell, took out the still-wriggling meat, and gave it a sharp slap with the back of the knife; the ark shell instantly curled up, its flesh becoming firm and resilient.
After simple preparation, it became a piece of fresh sushi.
"Live ark shell sushi."
Next was the conger eel. He laid the soft, glutinous boiled conger eel over the rice ball, brushed it with a secret sauce, and lightly seared it with a blowtorch; the aroma of the fat was instantly ignited, permeating the air.
"Seared conger eel."
Kuruma prawn, gizzard shad, sea urchin gunkan—one dish after another was continuously created with an elegant and efficient rhythm, presented before Uta.
Shirou's movements didn't look like cooking; it was more like a precise ritual that didn't allow for any mistakes. Every time he cut, every time he shaped, it was accurate to the millimeter.
Uta had started with a scrutinizing gaze, but slowly, she was captivated by his movements.
She looked at the man's focused profile, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead, and the hands that should have been holding a sword, now creating food that could bring happiness to people.
She picked up the first piece of fatty tuna sushi and put it in her mouth.
The fish melted in her mouth, the aroma of top-tier fat instantly exploding in her palate.
Following that was the perfectly balanced sweet and sour taste and temperature of the vinegar rice, the grains distinct, perfectly setting off the deliciousness of the sashimi. The slight punch of wasabi and the savory saltiness of the soy sauce reached a wonderful balance on her tongue.
Delicious.
Not just delicious.
In this taste, there was an indescribable "sense of completeness."
It was as if the chef had condensed the entire "life" of the ingredient, from its birth to being served on the table, into this small piece of sushi, allowing one to taste not just the flavor, but also a story and emotion.
Uta's eyes lit up. She also tasted the seared conger eel; the soft, glutinous texture, the sweet and savory sauce, and the charred aroma ignited by the flame made her narrow her eyes in happiness.
She forgot she had come to test him, and she forgot her identity as a player.
At this moment, she was just a hungry diner, completely conquered by the food in front of her. She ate faster and faster, dish after dish, clearing the plates like a storm.
The surrounding customers and staff were stunned. They watched this slim girl devour, at an astonishing speed, food that would make a strong man feel full, with a pure, satisfied smile on her face.
Yuna was even more wide-mouthed; it was the first time she had seen anyone keep up with Shirou's serving speed.
When the final grand finale dish, the tamagoyaki, was served, Uta had already eaten over a dozen dishes, but she still looked like she wanted more. The golden, cake-like, fluffy tamagoyaki emitted a sweet egg aroma.
She picked up a small piece with her chopsticks and put it in her mouth.
Warm, moist, and soft, the rich egg aroma and the deliciousness of the dashi melted in her mouth, and a gentle warmth rose from her stomach, instantly smoothing out the huge emptiness after the concert and the chill of the late night.
Uta's movements stopped.
She looked up, once again looking at the red-haired youth who was wiping the cooking counter.
Shirou also happened to look up, and their gazes met in the air. This time, there was no testing or wariness of their first meeting.
In Uta's eyes, there was the satisfaction brought by the food and a hint of pure appreciation.
And in Shirou's amber eyes, there was a hint of an imperceptible smile, as if saying: "Are you satisfied with my cooking?"
(PS: That day, we still didn't know how many people watched Shirou jump high. Type-Moon Succubus, truly a man who opens a harem in a yuri anime.)