Chapter 181: The Wanderer Should Return Home
The silence in the Director's office at Totsuki Tea Ceremony and Culinary Academy was usually heavy, weighted by the authority of the man who sat behind the mahogany desk. But today, the air was thick with a different kind of pressure—a restless, vibrating anxiety that seemed to emanate from Senzaemon Nakiri himself.
The "Demon of Food," the Commander-in-Chief who ruled the culinary world with an iron fist and a stoic gaze, was pacing.
He walked from the window to the desk, then back to the window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Every few seconds, his sharp eyes would dart towards the heavy oak doors, his brow furrowed in a mixture of hope and impatience. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked methodically, each second stretching out like an eternity.
Just a single day. That was all it had taken to transform the wise, unshakable elder into someone resembling a nervous father waiting for his daughter's first date—or perhaps a child waiting for Santa Claus. The composure he had maintained for decades was cracking under the weight of anticipation.
Is he coming? Will he truly be able to save her?
Tap, tap, tap.
The rhythmic sound of leather shoes striking the floorboard echoed from the hallway.
Senzaemon froze. His entire being lit up, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out as a surge of joy rushed through him. He spun towards the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. It had to be him. The young shopkeeper who had performed miracles, the one man who could possibly reverse the curse that plagued his family.
The heavy doors creaked open.
"Director! I have returned!"
Senzaemon's expression collapsed instantly. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look of profound, unhidden disdain. It was the look one might give to a waiter who had brought a plate of boiled cabbage instead of a prime steak.
Standing in the doorway was not the silver-haired young chef he had been praying for. It was Gin Dojima.
The Living Legend of Totsuki stood tall, his broad frame filling the doorway. Gin was beaming, practically radiating positive energy. He had spent the entire day crushing official business with the efficiency of a machine, skipping lunch and dinner just to clear his schedule for this specific moment. Adrenaline coursed through his veins; he felt invincible, efficient, and ready to witness history.
He hadn't even called for a driver. He had driven himself from the resort, speeding down the highway with the radio off, his mind focused entirely on the reunion with Joichiro and the salvation of Mana Nakiri. He had expected a hero's welcome.
Instead, he was met with the cold, dead eyes of his mentor.
Gin paused, his smile faltering. He could physically feel the rejection radiating from the old man. He clutched his chest dramatically, his muscular frame trembling with feigned (and perhaps a little real) hurt.
"Director... that expression... it wounds me deeply. Did I do something wrong? I completed the merger files in record time!"
Senzaemon waved his hand dismissively, sitting back down with a heavy sigh. "It is not you, Gin. It is simply... not him."
"Not him?" Gin blinked, then realized. "Ah. You're waiting for—"
Click. Creek.
The door opened again. This time, the footsteps were lighter, accompanied by the chaotic tapping of multiple smaller feet and the soft rustle of fabric.
Senzaemon shot up from his chair, his energy instantly restored. Gin turned his head, his eyes widening in anticipation as he looked to see the "Legendary Shopkeeper" that Joichiro hadn't stopped talking about.
"Sorry we're a bit late," a calm, soothing voice floated into the room. "We had a... small detour."
Ren walked in, looking as casual as ever in his chef's attire. But what drew Gin's immediate attention wasn't just the young man's handsome features—it was the entourage clinging to him.
Or rather, the entity clinging to him.
Lucifer, the CEO of Hell, the Queen of Demons, was currently wrapped around Ren's left arm like a koala. Her usually arrogant and regal face was buried in his sleeve, her body trembling slightly. She looked less like a ruler of the underworld and more like a frightened kitten that had just survived a thunderstorm.
Behind them, the Cerberus triplets bounded in, their dog ears twitching and tails wagging with mischievous energy. They looked suspiciously happy, in stark contrast to their traumatized boss.
"You are... You must be Dojima-san, correct?" Ren smiled politely, dragging the clinging Lucifer forward as he walked. "Old man, we're here. Sorry for the wait."
Gin Dojima stared. He blinked once, then twice. He had tried to imagine the chef Joichiro praised. He expected someone intense, perhaps a bit wild like Joichiro, or stern like Senzaemon.
"I..." Gin found his voice, a surprised smile breaking across his face. "I tried my best to imagine you, Ren-san. But I didn't expect you to be so young. You look at least six years younger than the image I had in my head."
Ren just smiled, gently patting Lucifer's head as she whimpered softly.
Senzaemon cleared his throat loudly, his patience wearing thin. "Gin Dojima! Is this a place for you to make friends and admire youths? We have urgent business! The plane will be landing soon!"
Gin straightened up, his professional mode snapping back into place. "Right! My apologies, Director. The car is waiting downstairs."
Ren chuckled. "Old man, you're too tense. If we go back to the shop right now, it wouldn't even be open yet. We have plenty of time."
"I naturally know that," Senzaemon said, though his hands were still trembling slightly as he gathered his coat. "I am a regular customer, after all. But I cannot sit still. We should go to the airport. We will pick up Mana and the others personally, and then proceed to your restaurant. That way, you can... observe her condition."
Ren nodded, his expression relaxed. "Sure. Dojima-san, you don't need to be so nervous either. Your heart rate is visible from here."
Gin laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is it? Well, it's not every day you meet the man who might save the God Tongue. Are you... confident?"
"As long as it involves human senses," Ren said, his voice carrying a quiet, absolute certainty that seemed to lower the temperature in the room, "it is never a difficult matter for me."
The statement was arrogant, yet it lacked any conceit. It was simply a statement of fact, like saying the sun would rise in the east. Senzaemon and Gin felt a weight lift off their shoulders.
"Ren! Ren! Ren!"
The three bodies of Cerberus crowded around him, tugging at his other hand.
"Is that Nakiri Mana sick?" the left Cerberus asked.
"Is she dying?" the middle one chimed in.
"Can we eat her if she dies?" the right one added cheerfully.
"She's not exactly sick," Ren corrected, ignoring the cannibalistic suggestion. "Just some mental blockages. Psychological issues manifesting physically. It's actually quite simple to fix."
"Simple..." Senzaemon murmured, feeling a lump in his throat. For years, he had watched his daughter wither away, unable to eat, unable to find joy. And this young man called it 'simple.'
"Let's go," Ren said, gently prying Lucifer's fingers loose just enough to hold her hand properly. "Lucifer, are you okay? Do you still have psychological trauma?"
Lucifer looked up, her red eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I... I never want to leave you again. That dog... those dogs... they are true demons..."
Ren sighed. He still didn't know exactly where Cerberus had dragged Lucifer during their "exploration" of the campus earlier, but judging by the mud on Cerberus's shoes and the sheer terror in Lucifer's eyes, it had been a wild ride.
"I won't let you go," Ren promised softly.
"Mmm..." Lucifer buried her face back into his shoulder.
The journey to the airport was a study in contrasts.
They took one of the Nakiri family's private limousines, a sleek black beast that glided through the Tokyo streets. Inside, the leather seats were supple, and the air conditioning was set to a perfect, crisp temperature.
Outside the tinted windows, the city was transitioning into evening. The sky was a bruised purple, bleeding into deep indigo as the streetlights flickered to life. Neon signs began to glow, casting streaks of red and blue across the car's interior.
Senzaemon sat stiffly, his hands resting on his knees. Every time the car slowed down for traffic, he would frown.
"Relax, Director," Gin said from the opposite seat, pouring a glass of water from the car's mini-bar. "We are ahead of schedule. The flight is on time."
"I know, Gin," Senzaemon grunted. "But I haven't seen her in years. Not since..." He trailed off.
Ren sat comfortably next to the window, with Lucifer still glued to his side. Cerberus—all three of them—were pressed against the other window, barking at passing cars and pointing excitedly at billboards.
"Look! Look! Food!"
"Human food!"
"Let's get that!"
Ren ignored the chaotic commentary and looked at Senzaemon. "The God Tongue is a double-edged sword, Old man. It allows one to taste the divine, but it also amplifies the flaws. When the world is full of imperfect food, living becomes torture."
"Yes," Senzaemon whispered. "She starved herself. She was hooked up to IV drips because she could not stomach anything. Her body rejected all nourishment."
"It's because she's looking for perfection in the wrong place," Ren said, watching the city blur by. "Cooking isn't just about technique or ingredients. It's about emotion. It's about the connection. If she can't feel that, no amount of Michelin stars will satisfy her."
Gin listened intently, his eyes narrowing. "And you plan to show her that?"
"I don't plan to show her anything," Ren smiled enigmatically. "I'm just going to make her dinner."
Lucifer looked up at Ren, her mood slightly improved by his scent. "Ren's food is the best. Even Hell doesn't have food like this."
"That's high praise," Gin chuckled.
Ren stroked Lucifer's silver hair. "Just stay close to me, Lucifer. No more running off with Cerberus."
"Never," she vowed, glaring at the triplets who were now trying to open the sunroof.
As the car sped onto the highway leading to the airport, the atmosphere shifted from tense anxiety to a quiet, simmering hope. The "Demon of Food" closed his eyes, visualizing the reunion.
Meanwhile, thousands of feet in the air, the atmosphere was chaotic in a very different way.
The private jet bearing the insignia of the WGO—the World Gourmet Organization—cut through the clouds, beginning its descent toward Tokyo. inside the VIP cabin, the air smelled of expensive perfume and nervous energy.
This wasn't just a flight; it was a pilgrimage.
Nakiri Mana sat by the window, her silhouette framed by the golden light of the setting sun. She was beautiful, painfully so, with long silver hair that mirrored her father's and eyes that held a profound, ancient sadness. She looked fragile, her skin pale, her wrists thin.
She stared at the clouds, her reflection in the glass looking like a ghost. I'm back, she thought. After all this time running away... I'm finally coming back.
But around her, the WGO's elite Bookmen were far less contemplative.
"Argh! This is impossible!"
Lanterby, a petite girl with a massive hat and a child-like demeanor, threw her hands up in frustration. She was curled up in a plush leather armchair, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper. She held a small notebook in her hand, sketching furiously.
Scratch, scratch, scratch.
"Lanterby, you little brat!" Courage snapped from across the aisle. She was holding a compact mirror, carefully applying a layer of mascara. "Stop making that noise! You've flipped through that notebook at least twenty times in the last hour! What are you even writing?"
Lanterby puffed out her cheeks, looking distressed. "I'm going to Ren-san's shop! The legendary shop! But I still don't know what to order! You might not believe it, but I haven't even decided on a main dish! Or a drink! Or dessert! What if I order the wrong thing and miss out on the greatest flavor of my life?"
"It's an omakase style, isn't it? Or at least he recommends things," Decora sighed from the seat next to Courage. The fashion-forward Bookman was currently adjusting her accessories, ensuring her "Decora" style was vibrant but tasteful. "I was like you earlier. I made a list of ten thousand things I wanted to eat. But now? I've given up. I'll just go with my first instinct. Otherwise, I'll have a mental breakdown before I even pick up a fork."
Lanterby groaned, burying her face in the notebook. "But what if my instinct is wrong?!"
Decora shook her head, then turned to look at Courage. She smirked. "Speaking of mental breakdowns... look at you two. Courage, you've reapplied that lipstick three times. And Decora, you've adjusted that hairclip five times."
Courage blushed, snapping her compact shut. "Shut up! We are about to meet a chef who supposedly surpasses the level of the WGO's understanding. We have to look presentable! We represent the organization!"
"Is that the only reason?" Lanterby peeked over her notebook, grinning mischievously. "Or is it because Uncle Joichiro said Ren-san is a handsome young man? Are the lonely older sisters hoping for a spark?"
"We are not lonely!" Courage and Decora shouted in unison.
"We are career women!" Courage added defensively.
"Rich, beautiful, and independent!" Decora emphasized.
"And single," Lanterby finished mercilessly.
The two older women glared at the child, their faces flushing red. Lanterby just stuck out her tongue. How could a kid understand the struggles of high-status women in the culinary world? Finding a man who wasn't intimidated by their status or their palate was nearly impossible. If this Ren was as good as Joichiro said... well, a girl could dream.
Sitting at the front of the cabin, Joichiro Yukihira chuckled. He pushed up his sleep mask, revealing his sharp, amused eyes.
"Lanterby, don't tease them," Joichiro said, his voice raspy from sleep. "You don't understand the desperate plight of those who can't find a boyfriend."
"Joichiro-senpai!" Courage whined. "Not you too!"
Joichiro laughed, stretching his arms. He looked over his shoulder at the woman sitting silently by the window. His expression softened.
"Mana," he called out gently.
Nakiri Mana didn't turn immediately. She was watching the Japanese coastline emerge from beneath the cloud layer. The lights of the cities looked like scattered jewels on velvet.
"I'm back," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.
Joichiro pushed his mask down around his neck and smiled warmly. "Yeah. Welcome back."
For Mana, this wasn't just a return to a location. It was a return to the source of her pain and potentially, her salvation. The familiar landscape brought back memories of a childhood before the despair set in—memories of her father, of the Nakiri mansion, of the taste of food that didn't taste like ash and decay.
"Do you really think..." Mana began, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you really think he can satisfy me? The despair... the storm inside my tongue... it has never stopped screaming."
Joichiro stood up and walked over to her. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He just looked at her with the confidence of a man who had seen a miracle.
"I don't think, Mana," Joichiro said. "I know. That restaurant... it's not a place that follows the rules of our world. When you take that first bite, you'll understand. The storm will stop."
Mana looked at him, searching for any sign of doubt. She found none.
The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final approach into Tokyo. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to the upright position."
Lanterby scrambled to shove her notebook into her bag. Courage and Decora quickly did a final check of their makeup before buckling up.
The birds that had flown far from the nest, driven by ambition or fear, were circling back. The wanderer, exhausted by the endless search for a flavor that didn't exist in the mortal realm, was finally coming home.
As the wheels touched the tarmac with a screech and a shudder, Mana closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I'm home, Father. Erina.
And somewhere in the city, a young chef was heating up a wok, preparing to welcome a guest from another world—or in this case, a guest from the pinnacle of this one.
[Akarin's Note: For those unfamiliar, Nakiri Mana is Erina's mother and the possessor of the true "God Tongue," which causes her immense physical suffering when eating imperfect food.]
[Akarin's Note: Lanterby, Courage, and Decora are Bookmen from the WGO (World Gourmet Organization), first introduced in the BLUE arc of Food Wars.]
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