The Festival of Flavors still lingered in the city's air like an aftertaste that refused to fade. Every corner of Neo-Lumina buzzed with gossip—about Renji's flawless wagyu, about the mysterious newcomer who cooked "with heart," about the judges who paused longer than expected before giving their verdict.
But in the quiet street where Tanaka's Kitchen sat, the noise felt muffled, as though the little diner lived in a slower rhythm than the rest of the city.
Arin had risen before dawn. The exhaustion of the festival was still heavy in his body, but sleep had been restless—too many thoughts, too many voices replaying the cheers and whispers in his head. When he stepped into the restaurant's kitchen, the familiar scent of wood, steel, and lingering miso grounded him in a way no applause could.
He touched the counter lightly, as if reassuring himself that it was still here. Still his.
"Morning, early bird."
Mika leaned against the doorframe, hair messy, apron tied carelessly over her pajamas. She stifled a yawn, but her eyes carried that sharp brightness that always seemed to cut through Arin's haze.
"You should be resting," she said. "Winners usually take a day off, you know."
Arin smiled faintly. "If I sit still, my mind won't stop spinning. I need to… cook. Just cook."
Mika studied him for a moment before shrugging. "Fine. But at least make breakfast for both of us. I'll consider it your penance."
Arin laughed under his breath and set to work, pulling rice from the pot he'd started earlier, slicing leftover tuna, whisking eggs into a soft, golden omelet. The motions soothed him, the kind of rhythm that no audience could interrupt.
By the time Mika sat at the counter, the plates were ready: simple tuna-and-egg donburi bowls with steaming miso soup on the side.
"You'd think," Mika said between mouthfuls, "after competing in front of the whole city, this would taste bland. But no. It's still unfairly good."
Arin shook his head. "This… this is where it matters most. If I can't make a meal that feels right here, what's the point of cooking for strangers at all?"
Mika grinned. "Spoken like someone who's already half a legend."
Her teasing tone didn't hide the pride in her voice.
---
By noon, Tanaka's Kitchen opened as usual. The streets were livelier than ever—curious new customers drawn in by rumors, loyal regulars wanting to congratulate the young chef they'd watched grow behind the counter.
"Is it true?" a student asked breathlessly as she slid onto a stool. "Did you really beat Renji Saito?"
"I didn't beat anyone," Arin said gently, pouring her tea. "The judges haven't announced anything yet."
"But they will!" another chimed in. "My dorm's been arguing about it all night. Half say the wagyu was untouchable, half say your tuna made them cry just watching the broadcast. Cry!"
Arin flushed, mumbling thanks, but his hands didn't falter as he served steaming bowls of noodles.
Between orders, he noticed something else: the magical spice jar sat on a high shelf, untouched. He'd placed it there after the competition and hadn't dared touch it since. He wasn't sure if he was afraid of overusing it, or of forgetting how to cook without it.
Mika noticed his glance and said quietly, "You don't have to lean on it, you know. People aren't here for magic. They're here for you."
Arin nodded but said nothing. Still, her words planted themselves deep.
---
The afternoon rush brought a mix of familiar faces and strangers.
Mrs. Hanamura, who had eaten at the diner since Arin was a boy, leaned over the counter. "Your mother would have been so proud yesterday. I could almost see her in your hands while you cooked."
Arin froze for half a second before bowing his head. "Thank you… I hope I did her justice."
Later, a young couple came in, their nervous glances betraying that it was their first date. Arin served them quietly, but when the girl's laughter spilled out over a shared bowl of ramen, he felt a strange warmth. His food had given them something to share. That mattered more than applause.
---
By evening, when the last customer left and the lights dimmed, Arin finally sat down at the counter, his apron stained and hair damp with sweat. Mika slid a glass of barley tea in front of him.
"You held up well," she said. "Better than I expected, honestly. Usually after a big event, chefs crash hard. You kept the whole place running today."
"I don't feel steady," Arin admitted. "Every word, every cheer, every doubt—it keeps echoing. And the spice…" He looked at the jar again. "What if people only like my cooking because of it?"
Mika leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "Then stop using it. Or use it less. You said yourself—your soul is in the simple dishes. Yesterday proved it. Don't let a jar decide your worth."
Her words lingered long after she left for the night.
Alone in the quiet restaurant, Arin washed the last pot slowly. The clatter of dishes was the only sound, yet it filled him with peace. For the first time since the festival, he allowed himself to breathe fully.
Tomorrow would bring more challenges—new faces, new rumors, maybe even more rivals. But tonight, Tanaka's Kitchen stood as it always had: a place where food connected hearts.
And Arin realized… that was enough. For now.