The night after the noble's visit felt heavier than it should have. Tanaka's Kitchen had closed hours ago, yet Arin still lingered in the kitchen, wiping down the counter that was already spotless. The lanterns above gave off a dim glow, shadows stretching across the empty tables.
His thoughts replayed the noble's words over and over, sharp as the snap of a knife: "Perhaps the whispers exaggerated."
Arin clenched the cloth tighter. He knew not everyone would love his food, but something about the way that man had dismissed it — dismissed him — cut deeper than a bad review. It wasn't about taste. It was about pride.
He set the cloth down with a sigh. The broth pot on the back stove bubbled gently, filling the silence with a faint, comforting rhythm. He had left it simmering, almost out of habit, though there was no customer waiting for it.
The door creaked, and Mika slipped inside, carrying a lantern. Her hair was loose, a little messy from the long day, and she leaned against the doorframe with a grin.
"You're still here? It's way past closing."
Arin rubbed the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd clean up."
She raised a brow. "Clean? You're polishing the same counter for the third time. What's really bothering you?"
Arin hesitated, then muttered, "That noble earlier… the way he looked at the food, like it wasn't even worth chewing. I know I shouldn't care, but—"
"But you do," Mika finished gently. She crossed the room and plopped herself onto a stool. "Arin, you can't cook for people like him. Some folks don't want to be touched by food. They just want to measure it, rank it, put a price tag on it. That's their problem, not yours."
Arin frowned. "Easy to say. Harder to believe when his words keep echoing in my head."
She smirked. "Then drown the echo. Feed it soup."
Arin blinked. "What?"
"Soup," she repeated, eyes twinkling. "Whenever I feel down, I eat something warm. Makes the world less cold. You've got a whole pot simmering back there, don't you?"
Arin let out a reluctant chuckle. "You came here for food, didn't you?"
"Obviously." She rested her chin in her hands. "Why else sneak into a closed restaurant at midnight?"
Before Arin could reply, the back door opened again. Master Tanaka shuffled in, carrying a small basket. His sleeves were rolled up, and his hair looked even more unruly than usual. He stopped when he saw the two of them.
"Ah, so the children are awake too," he said dryly. "Good. I was about to scold myself for being the only insomniac."
Mika grinned. "Perfect timing. Arin's making us soup."
"Is he now?" Tanaka set the basket on the counter, revealing a handful of fresh scallions and an egg or two. "Then I'll contribute. Midnight meals should be shared."
Arin sighed, though warmth crept into his chest. He turned back to the stove, ladling broth into three bowls. The steam rose, carrying the rich scent of pork and ginger. He cracked in the eggs, stirring gently until they formed soft ribbons. A sprinkle of scallions finished the dish.
It was simple. No magic spice, no dazzling presentation. Just a bowl of warmth.
He placed the bowls on the counter, and the three of them gathered around. Mika wasted no time, blowing on a spoonful before slurping it loudly.
"Mmm," she sighed. "See? Soup makes everything better."
Tanaka tasted his slowly, eyes closing as if savoring the comfort. "Not bad, boy. Not bad at all. Better than cleaning tables all night."
Arin finally sat down with his own bowl. The first sip loosened something tight inside him. The warmth spread through his chest, quieting the noble's voice that had haunted him all evening.
For a while, they ate in silence, broken only by the clink of spoons and the soft simmering from the stove.
Then Mika said, "You know, when I was little, I thought nobles were like characters in stories. Grand, wise, elegant. Turns out, most of them are just cranky people with better clothes."
Tanaka snorted, nearly choking on his soup. "Ha! Elegant, you say? Most nobles wouldn't know elegance if it slapped them with a ladle."
Arin laughed despite himself. The image of a noble being smacked with a ladle was too ridiculous.
"See?" Mika pointed at him with her spoon. "Laughter tastes better than bitterness."
Arin shook his head but smiled. "You two are impossible."
"Impossible keeps us alive," Tanaka said, raising his bowl like a toast.
They clinked their bowls together, broth sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Mika giggled, Tanaka grinned, and for the first time that day, Arin felt the knot in his chest unwind.
The noble's words were still there, somewhere in the back of his mind, but they no longer weighed so heavily. Here, at this table, with soup and laughter, he remembered why he cooked in the first place.
Not for glory. Not for status. But for moments like this — warm, fleeting, human.
The night stretched on, and the three of them lingered at the table, trading small stories and teasing each other between sips of broth.
Outside, the world and its challenges waited. But inside Tanaka's Kitchen, for just a little while, everything was light.