The bell rang once, clean, bright, and deceptively gentle. Then it rang again and again. Like the world itself had decided the morning quiet was over.
Ludwig exhaled through his nose and rolled his shoulders once before stepping behind the counter as the first wave of lunch guests filtered in. Chairs scraped, boots thudded, voices layered over each other in that familiar way that never quite turned into chaos.
Vilera moved like she'd been built for this, gliding from table to table with a cloth and a tray, smiling politely even when someone stared too long at her. Zhark was already intercepting the lost ones in the entrance, directing them toward seats with an ease that suggested he'd done it a hundred times.
Meanwhile, the bright demoness in the dining hall finally gave up on fixing the chair and instead leaned on it like she had won.
Though, It immediately collapsed again.
"...You know what?" Ludwig heard her murmuring as she stared at the pieces. "It's abstract furniture now."
Ludwig chuckled. It was really her to reach that conclusion. It was as if her world was entirely made up of sunshine and rainbows.
The door opened once more. And after the restaurant whispered to him, the boy entered. His shoulders were relaxed, and his eyes were calm, a perfect example of composure.
With steady steps, he walked closer to the bar before offering Ludwig a nod. "Chef."
Ludwig looked up to the guy and smiled. "Quite surprised to see you here when Ryouma is also here."
Carme moved his sight towards the dining hall. Without even looking at his eyes, Ludwig knew where his eyes landed.
"The boss has told us he will be here with the Jamils today for lunch." Carme spoke. "But of course, I can't let him work when he's with them, you know?"
Ludwig looked at the guy with interest as he said so. In the tone he used earlier, there's not only calm delivery but also respect. He knew it's not for Ryouma, since the tone he used whenever he talked about Ryouma was half exasperation, half respect. So, the only logical conclusion was because of what he called 'The Jamils.'
They'd taken one of the normal four-seat tables. Seat often used by regulars, and friends. Yet the room had still rearranged itself around them.
It wasn't obvious at first. The lunch rush kept its usual noise. But the flow of bodies subtly avoided that table as if there were an invisible rope barrier. Guests chose seats one table farther. Even the curious ones who usually looked into other people's meals pretended to find the windows extremely interesting.
Only his staff walked close enough to the table. Well, they were trained and knew whatever happened here would be easy to solve as long as he was here.
However, what intrigued Ludwig the most was the guards rather than the two that sat with Ryouma.
They didn't stand behind the chairs like hired muscles trying to look impressive. They spread out in a loose ring, one near the aisle that led toward the kitchen, one positioned to see both the entrance and the Jamils' table. Another one drifting close enough to intervene without ever seeming like he was 'guarding.' It was disciplined, practiced, and—most importantly—designed to keep the protected party from being approached too suddenly.
Then Ludwig looked at the two men themselves.
The blond man sat like he'd been taught that a chair was his by right, not by payment. Relaxed shoulders, controlled movements, eyes sweeping the room once and then stopping, as if memorizing exits was routine, not paranoia.
The grey-haired elder sat with a straighter spine and quieter authority. He didn't fidget, didn't glance around in wonder, didn't 'tourist' at the windows. His attention was selective: the staff's routes, the spacing of tables, the way the restaurant's atmosphere pressed down on tension without anyone speaking.
Carme's earlier respect clicked into place in Ludwig's mind.
That table wasn't 'a rich household going out for lunch.' It was a table that came with protocol, even when nobody said the word. The only sensible conclusion was high-ranked nobility. Possibly the kind that represented the local peak of authority, not just wealth.
"Didn't know Ryouma was a noble." Ludwig chuckled. Of course it was nothing but bait to fish for information. Afterall, he knew Ryouma's full name. There's no Jamil in there.
Carme returned his sight to Ludwig before smiling. "You misunderstood, Chef. Boss Ryouma is not a noble. He's just close with the Jamils. From what I heard from him, the Jamils were the one who brought him to Gimul."
"Is that so?" Ludwig asked. "Did he live somewhere else before? Like a village faraway from town?"
"I don't know that much about it." Carme shook his head. "I don't think it's my place to ask."
Ludwig hummed at his answer. From his tone it was the truth. He really didn't know about it rather than trying to keep it a secret from him.
At that moment, Valerie appeared on the counter. "Boss, three fried chicken, two tempura sets, and one chili soup for Ryouma's table. They all want water."
"Alright." Ludwig took the order before giving Carme a nod.
As the Bamboo Forest's employee nodded back to him, Ludwig walked to the kitchen. "Three fried chicken, two tempura sets, and one chili soup and six waters. Do you guys need help preparing it?"
"No for the fried menu, Chef." Bilo answered quickly. "Just the soup since you freeze the time around the pot."
Ludwig nodded as Finka and Bilo moved side by side throughout the kitchen, like they were dancing to a chaotic rhythm.
Ludwig stopped himself in front of the stockpot, a single bowl floating beside him before landing on his hands. Polished, clean.
He slid his fingers under the edge of the lid and lifted it. In an instant, time resumed for the pot of Beef Chili Soup.
The pot came alive immediately. Thick blips of simmering sound, a slow rise of steam, the deep, warm smell of cumin and smoked paprika finally released into the kitchen like a held breath. The chili shifted, heavy and unified, fat threaded through it instead of floating apart. It looked the way it was supposed to look when it had been given patience.
"Good." Ludwig murmured, and he meant it.
He set the lid down on the counter with a soft, controlled tap, then reached for a ladle. The first dip went straight to the bottom of the pot. He didn't skim the top. Skimming was for soups you wanted to look pretty. Chili was supposed to feel like something.
He dragged the ladle through the thick body and lifted it carefully, letting excess drip back in slow ribbons. Beef. Beans. Pepper. Tomatoes. The balance he'd fought for earlier, now behaving.
He poured.
The chili hit the bowl with a heavy sound, settling in a thick pool that spread outward and then stopped, holding shape instead of running thin.
He tapped the ladle once at the pot before putting it back beside the pot. Once he was on the prep counter, he put the lid back on the pot with a flick of his fingers before confining the pot into another time stop.
Last but not least, he poured a generous amount of scallion, putting more colours into the soup.
After it's done, Ludwig brought it to the counter before putting the bowl into time stasis. Pacing was important in every aspect of life. When it comes to a restaurant, giving a food quicker than the rest would only invite trouble.
Instead, he turned into the glass rack beneath the counter and started filling it with water.
Only after he saw Bilo finish frying the batch of fried chicken and Finka finished her portion did Ludwig remove his timelock around the bowl and hand it in to Valerie who came with another order from the customers.
What happened after that was a routine. Orders came, he scooped the soup and put the stove back into stasis, helped putting the drinks on its designated glass or even helped with the frying when the volume became too big.
Throughout that, he couldn't help but to chuckle. Even after what happened yesterday and how wrecked his current dining hall was, there were still people from Tempest who came. Even more of the Shadow Hands team came.
It's like the attack yesterday didn't become a scare for them but an effective advertisement campaign.
Well, the one who fought in the restaurant like Ilea and the others successfully repelled the invaders without sustaining injury. So maybe it was really an advertisement.
As more and more people came and went, Ryouma and his entourage stood up from their seats. So of course, as someone who was in charge for payment when around, Ludwig went towards them.
"Here to pay?" Ludwig asked.
Ryouma looked at him before scratching the back of his head. "No, no. In truth, this gentleman right here wants to talk with you."
Ludwig followed the gesture of Ryouma and looked at the grey-haired elder standing beside him.
The elder smiled, hands stretching towards him. "My name is Reinbach Jamil. I have a matter I want to ask you. But since you looked busy and we are afraid we took too much space there, can I wait here in the bar?"
Ludwig chuckled before clasping Reinbach's hand. "Please do so. For whatever reason, this place is busier even after what happened yesterday."
This time, Ryouma opened his mouth. "I heard from Carme. So unfortunate. Hope no one is injured?"
"Not physically." Ludwig shrugged. "But some egos were bruised black and blue. I'll leave you guys again then. We have so many things to serve."
As he returned to help both Finka and Bilo, the bell on top of the door chimed. Six denizens from Tempest, the restaurant told him. Then four. Then two, talking about how the restaurant still functioned even after the attack yesterday.
Ludwig didn't stop moving.
He refilled sauce bottles with a flick of space. He steadied a tray mid-wobble without touching it. He restarted the stasis around the stockpot every time he poured some of the soup into a bowl.
The kitchen answered him with its own dance. Bilo's quick hands, Finka's practiced timing, oil popping like applause.
At some point, Valerie's 'abstract furniture' became an actual obstacle. A guest nearly tripped on a chair leg.
Zhark caught it before long, lifted the entire broken chair in one motion, and carried it away like it was a misbehaving child.
The demoness watched him go, offended. Then she turned and began sweeping the floor with a seriousness that suggested she'd decided cleaning was also a kind of revenge.
Time blurred, not because Ludwig lost track, but because the restaurant demanded the same thing again and again until it was satisfied. Plates came back empty. Cups refilled. Coin clinked into payment bowls.
And slowly—like a tide turning—the rush began to thin.
The bell chimed less often. The long table's voices dropped from roar to conversation.
A few groups stood to leave, stretching arms and shoulders with that heavy comfort only a full meal could give. Chairs scraped as people pushed them back in, some even doing it neatly. Rare, miraculous behavior brought on by good food and better peace.
In the kitchen, Finka exhaled the kind of breath that meant 'survived.' Bilo turned off one burner, then another, and for the first time since noon the silence between sounds lasted longer than a heartbeat.
Ludwig wiped his hands on a towel, checked the dining hall in one sweep, then glanced toward the bar.
Reinbach was still there, posture unchanged. If anything, he looked more at ease now that the room had room to breathe. The tea in front of him, which Vilera brought out at some point, had been sipped. No, not finished. It was perfectly paced.
Ludwig caught Ryouma's eyes at that moment, and he gave the businessman from other world a nod.
Ludwig set the towel down, rolled his shoulders again, this time not from labor, but from switching roles, and walked toward the bar with the same smile he wore for any guest.
"Alright." He said, voice light. "The lunch rush is finally merciful. What did you want to ask me, Sir Reinbach?"
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