The day started too quietly.
Usually, by the time the lantern above the door was lit, at least one or two early customers would already be waiting, eager for a warm bowl to start their day. But this morning, Tanaka's Kitchen stood still, the seats empty, the chatter of the street muted. Arin busied himself at the counter, chopping scallions more carefully than usual, as if precision could erase the weight pressing on his chest.
Mika leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "It's never this dead."
Tanaka, seated near the register with his teacup, didn't answer immediately. He swirled the liquid, watching the way the steam curled upward before setting it down. "Silence before a storm," he murmured.
Mika scowled. "Don't start sounding like some prophet, old man. We've had enough weirdness already."
Still, she glanced toward the window, where shadows of passersby flitted across the glass. They paused, glanced in, whispered, and then moved on.
Arin's knife slowed. He heard the faint murmur from outside — "…that's the place…" "…the one with the strange spice…" "…better not risk it…"
The words slid under the door like cold air.
---
By late morning, the first customers came. Two women, middle-aged, clutching baskets from the market. They sat stiffly, casting quick looks at the shelves and corners of the restaurant, as though searching for something out of place.
Arin served them rice bowls with grilled mackerel and pickled vegetables. The aroma filled the air, gentle and honest, yet the women bent toward each other, whispering all the same.
"Doesn't look spoiled…"
"Still… you heard what they say."
Mika's hand twitched on the tray she carried. Arin shot her a quiet look, a reminder. Let the food speak.
When the women finally ate, their chopsticks moved quickly, steadily. Yet their faces never fully softened. When they left, they set their coins on the table with almost military neatness, their eyes avoiding Arin's.
The silence they left behind was heavier than their presence.
---
By afternoon, a trickle of regulars came through. Some smiled, trying to act as though nothing had changed. Others sat quieter than usual, casting nervous glances toward the door. It wasn't much, but it kept the kitchen moving, the rhythm of knives and sizzling pans grounding Arin's focus.
Then the bell over the door rang, sharper than usual.
A man entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a cloak of muted gray that brushed against polished boots. His hair was cropped neatly, his expression unreadable. He carried no weapon, but the way he held himself made the room straighten.
Tanaka's gaze sharpened instantly. Mika froze mid-step.
The man withdrew a small insignia from his pocket, holding it between two fingers. The silver emblem of the Culinary Guild caught the lantern light.
"I am here for an inspection," he said. His voice was calm, deep, and cut through the room like a blade through silk.
---
The customers stiffened. Whispers darted between tables.
"An inspection? Here?"
"Must be because of the rumors…"
Arin stepped forward, wiping his hands on his apron, and bowed slightly. "Welcome to Tanaka's Kitchen. Please, inspect as you need."
The inspector's eyes moved across the room, noting every detail — the polished counter, the stacked bowls, the simmering pot on the stove. His gaze lingered on Arin for a beat too long before he turned.
"Cleanliness first," he said.
Mika guided him to the back, showing the storage shelves. His eyes flicked across the rows of jars, the carefully wrapped bundles of dried herbs, the baskets holding what few vegetables they had. He picked up a jar, turned it, and set it down with deliberate slowness.
"Your supplies seem… thin."
Arin's jaw tightened. "We've had difficulty sourcing lately. Not by choice."
The inspector hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and moved on.
---
When he returned to the front, he asked for a sample dish. "The guild must confirm both safety and quality. Rumors spread quickly in this city. Better to taste the truth myself."
Every customer leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the exchange. The air felt brittle, as if one wrong movement could shatter it.
Arin nodded once. "Please wait."
He retreated to the counter, setting out fish, broth, and rice. His hands shook at first, the knife slipping against the cutting board, but he forced his breath steady.
This was no different than any other meal. One dish, one chance.
The broth simmered gently, carrying the comfort of miso and ginger. The fish grilled over open flame, its skin crisping to a golden sheen. He sprinkled herbs with care, finishing with a simple garnish. No tricks. No risks. Just honest food.
He placed the bowl before the inspector with both hands. "Miso-glazed fish with rice and pickled radish. Please."
---
The inspector lifted the chopsticks. He tasted in silence, chewing slowly, eyes betraying nothing. The room held its breath. Even the street outside seemed to quiet.
He ate another bite. Then another.
Finally, he set the chopsticks down with meticulous precision.
"Balanced," he said. His tone gave away nothing. "Ingredients modest, but used well."
Relief fluttered in Arin's chest, but it was crushed a second later.
"However," the inspector continued, his gaze steady, "rumors rarely arise without reason. The guild takes such matters seriously. I will… consider what I have observed today."
He rose, tucking the insignia back into his cloak. "Until then, keep your house in order."
And with that, he left.
---
The silence in his wake was suffocating.
Mika slammed her tray down on the counter. "What does that even mean? 'Consider'? He didn't find anything wrong!"
Tanaka sipped his tea slowly, eyes thoughtful. "Uncertainty is a weapon. He doesn't need to condemn us outright. His silence alone feeds the whispers."
Arin leaned against the counter, his shoulders heavy. The inspector's calm face replayed in his mind, unreadable as stone. He had tasted the food, acknowledged its balance, yet left them in limbo.
The customers slowly trickled out, their expressions mixed — some worried, some quietly supportive, most unreadable.
As the door closed for the last time that evening, Mika muttered, "Feels like we're being crushed piece by piece."
Arin didn't answer. He looked at his hands, still faintly trembling, and forced them into fists.
The inspector's shadow lingered in the room long after he had gone.