Final Account balance: ¥3,873,000
Day 18, September 4, 2015
2:12 a.m.
She decided to reward herself after pulling in more than a million yen.
Before shutting her laptop, she opened the Omakase backend.
She selected a two-person course menu plus a bottle of champagne.
The payment method was a corporate sub-card issued overseas, and the billing name was listed under a company.
The address field was left blank. The phone number was a Singapore line.
It looked like a business dinner booked by a company executive.
But she was the client herself.
9:12 a.m. – same day
Julian had just wrapped up a small watchlist trade.
He sat by the window, sipping cold coffee, sunlight cutting in from the left.
A LINE notification popped up. Sender: Aria.
"Best ramen near Tokyo Station. Want to go?"
He set the cup down and stared at the message for two seconds.
He didn't ask which place, didn't ask what time.
He just typed:
"Sure."
Then he flipped the phone over and sat still for a while.
After that, he got up, washed his face, and opened his closet.
Found a shirt.
Not dressing up exactly.
Just when she said ramen, it usually wasn't actually ramen.
The rain had just stopped. The streets were clean.
6:10 p.m.
Light bounced off the wet asphalt like someone had polished the whole city.
Julian arrived a few minutes early and stood outside a convenience store, zoning out.
Aria emerged from the station. Her trench coat was crisp.
One hand in her pocket, the other holding a half-finished bottle of water.
They made eye contact.
She spoke first.
"Bro. Toss this for me."
"I don't want to carry it inside."
Julian took the bottle without a word. He didn't ask where they were going.
He knew that if he just followed her, they weren't going for ramen.
They exited from the Marunouchi South Gate.
The rain had rinsed everything down.
The pavement glowed gently with reflected lights.
Crowds moved ahead of businessmen in black suits with briefcases.
A few tourists strolled past them, speaking softly in other languages.
Aria didn't use an umbrella.
She looped her arm lightly through Julian's,
and as they walked, they chatted about the market and the weather.
Julian still didn't ask where they were heading.
He just walked beside her.
He knew this road.
They walked along the tree-lined Marunouchi Naka-dori,
both sides flanked by glass buildings so polished they reflected the city like mirrors.
Designer storefronts glowed quietly under warm lights.
then turned onto a quieter, curved street,
stopping in front of a stone-grey building that looked modest from afar but unmistakably high-end up close.
No neon lights.
No line.
No menu at the door.
Just a small plaque that reads: Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Marunouchi
Julian tilted his head toward her and asked softly,
"So… the ramen's on the seventh floor?"
Aria didn't look at him. She simply glanced toward the front desk.
"Yeah," she said. "Michelin-style tonkotsu,"
Julian added,
"I didn't know you were into French food.
If you'd said something, I would've taken you to Quintessence."
He paused for a beat.
"I haven't had French food since I came to Japan. "
Aria glanced at him, said nothing.
He added casually,
"French food's made for two.
Ordering a full course solo just feels off."
She gave him a small smile.
"Well. You've got two people now."
His voice stayed light, unbothered.
No flirtation, no expectation.
Just the easy tone of someone who assumed he'd be the one paying for this meal.
She didn't tell him he wouldn't get the chance.
She had already paid.
He didn't know this dinner was actually her own welcome-back-to-the-system banquet.
Aria stepped through the glass doors first.
The lobby lighting was low, like a first-class lounge at a quiet airport.
The elevator was tucked away at the end of a softly scented hallway—almost too quiet, as if designed not to disturb anyone.
They walked side by side.
Behind them, the door closed automatically, sealing off the city and its noise.
The host was already waiting by the elevator.
No questions.
No confirmation.
Just a single sentence:
"This way, please. Your window seats are ready."
They were led to a table by the window.
When the host said, "Welcome back," it almost sounded like he knew where they had been.
Aria draped her coat over the back of the chair, her movement slow and deliberate.
Julian took two seconds adjusting his seat,
as if calculating the angle of the overhead lighting.
The restaurant was quiet.
Only the sound of glass and porcelain clinking gently.
And the soft pop of a champagne cork.
Two glasses were placed in front of them.
Aria sipped once, then set hers down.
Julian downed his in one go,
like he was trying to confirm something real.
She looked at him.
"You're already drinking before you've even had a bite?"
He set the glass down.
"Aria, come on. I'm just happy. You never invite me to places this fancy.
Last time I saw you, we were holed up in that cheap love hotel. I'm still PTSD from it."
Aria raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, please, Julian. What are you whining about again?
Let's talk about something good for once. We made some money, didn't we?"
Julian shook his head,
his tone so soft it sounded like he was commenting on the weather.
"Alright, alright. As long as you're happy.
If you're good, I'm good."
She didn't respond.
Just stared at him for a second, eyes steady, unreadable.
The waiter stepped in to describe the amuse-bouche.
They both nodded politely, but neither really listened.
Julian looked down at the table,
watching the light hitting the silverware.
Then he asked,
"What have you been doing lately?"
"And why'd you suddenly ask me to a place like this?"
Aria shot back without missing a beat.
"Well, what about you?
What've you been doing lately?
Why didn't you ask me out first?"
Julian gave a small shrug.
"How was I supposed to know where you were or what you were up to?
You should've said something. I would've come looking."
The next course arrived.
A warm plate of 48-month-aged Comté gougères, one per person.
Julian picked up his plate. It was hot to the touch.
He leaned in, sniffed the cheese, then took a bite.
He didn't rush. Chewed slowly.
Like he was thinking through something.
Aria barely touched hers.
She just sliced off a corner with her fork,
enough to make it look like she'd had some.
Julian swallowed and said,
"This is legit."
Aria looked at him.
"You talking about me, or the gougère?"
Julian gave her a sideways glance that said You tell me,
then added,
"But the flavor's a little too clean. I mean, it's been aged for 48 months.
Shouldn't there be a bit of a funk?"
She laughed.
"Maybe we should've just ordered some cheesy beef bowls."
The third appetizer came next.
Thick slices of malted sourdough, freshly toasted,
served with cold Brittany butter shaped into little pearls on a stone slab.
Julian didn't move.
He just asked,
"How'd you even get this reservation?
The whole week's been booked solid."
Aria replied softly.
"Omakase. Gold-tier slot."
Julian nodded as he sliced into the butter.
"You look different from the last time I saw you."
Aria cut off a small piece of bread, answered flatly.
"Yeah. I'm no longer who I was two days ago.
Main course: Aichi duck breast with black vinegar and American cherries.
The skin was crisp, the meat thick. The black vinegar sauce spread across the plate like ink in water.
Julian cut a piece, chewed slowly, and didn't speak right away.
Aria glanced at him.
"You're chewing so slowly. Trying to taste something?"
He didn't look up.
"Just… tasting, yeah."
She paused, smiled a little.
"So what's your review?"
Julian finally looked up at her.
"Cooked on the outside, cold in the middle."
She wasn't sure if her taste buds had completely given out these past few days.
Sweet, salty, sour. Everything tasted the same.
If he could still taste sweetness, salt, the acidity of the black vinegar,
Then he wasn't dead yet.
She looked down,
cut off a small piece of duck from her plate.
The flavor was still faint.
She could barely taste it.
But watching him eat,
she suddenly felt that maybe this dinner hadn't been a waste after all.
He was eating.
She was watching.
That alone made the night worth it.
They sat in silence for a few seconds. Neither moved.
Julian set down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, and after a pause, said,
"Can I tell you a little secret? My middle name is David."
Aria wasn't surprised. She smiled, set her cutlery down too, and said softly,
"Nice to meet you, David.
My real name's Lìyà. In Chinese, it's written 莉亚.
'莉Lì' stands for jasmine.
'亚yà' means Asia.
So together it's kind of like… 'Jasmine of Asia.'"
Julian said,
"Lìyà. That's a beautiful name. Then let me tell you my Japanese name too."
She didn't say anything. He continued:
"It's 渡邉 樹立 (Watanabe Juritsu).
It means…to establish. Like a belief. Or a country."
Aria whispered,
"Got it. Then that's our little secret. Juritsu."
They sat quietly for a moment.
Then Aria said, suddenly:
"You know, being able to taste anything at all is already a luxury."
Julian looked at her.
"What are you trying to say?"
She picked up her knife again, cut another piece of duck.
"Everything tastes the same to me now.
Beef, ice cream, wine, it's all one flat note."
Julian slowly sat upright.
He took another bite of duck.
Then said, gently:
"Maybe it's stress.
You've always been too hard on yourself.
Be a little kinder, yeah?"
Aria looked at him, smiled.
"I don't know.
But seeing you eat like this makes it taste better."
Dessert: coconut sorbet with Aichi figs and white miso sauce.
It looked like something from a modern art gallery.
They barely noticed it.
Each scooped a bite, didn't register the temperature.
Two small cups of coffee were served.
The aroma was soft, like freshly washed sheets on a quiet morning.
Aria didn't touch her coffee.
She just stared at it,
as if waiting for it to cool, or maybe waiting for it to say something.
Julian stirred his gently and said:
"Thanks.
I wouldn't be able to eat French food alone."
Aria didn't look up.
She just replied:
"Thanks for coming with me."
The final course came with warm towels and a small box of sweets.
Julian was just about to ask for the check when the host approached with a gentle voice.
"There is no bill. It's already taken care of."
Julian blinked, turned to Aria.
He was about to say something, but she turned and cut him off:
"Now let's go get some real Tokyo ramen."
Julian blinked again.
"You still have room?"
Aria tightened the collar of her trench coat, like closing a trade.
"You don't know how many days I've gone without eating something actually hot."
They stepped out of the restaurant, one after the other.
The city had cooled.
Lights from streetlamps painted ripples on the wet pavement.
They walked into the night,
back into the streets,
into the human hour of dinner.