Minutes later, Tokyo's streets.
Cigarettes and beer only nurse loneliness, never erase it.
In low moments, a clear sky, a pretty girl's smile, or a sweet, fragrant cake are the real remedies to forget your woes.
True gourmet isn't exclusive to lavish banquets.
In narrow alleys, under dusk's veil, small diners lit crimson lanterns, their signs flowing with inky elegance. Japanese charm mingled with the aroma of food.
These hidden gems spread by word of mouth or chance discovery. No ornate decor or polished cutlery—just clean square tables, a gray-haired grandpa chef, diligent part-time college girls, office workers loosening ties, and a speaker looping retro hits.
Here, rice and sides were seasoned with life's intangible flavor.
Takizawa, a staunch "rice bowl warrior," favored simple, hearty dishes—affordable, popular, convenient, the ultimate bachelor meal.
Until he learned the company offered snacks, including instant noodles, birthing a fearsome warrior of free ramen and water for lunch and dinner.
As someone who fine-tuned his lifestyle, in slumps, he'd order lavish takeout, play comedy shows, eat, and laugh, channeling a survivor's spirit to keep going.
Today was different—no sorrow, no bad news, no firing, no scapegoating.
Yet he savored fine cuisine.
With a beautiful woman.
Who was treating him.
What did he do to deserve this?
Takizawa sat upright, striving to project the poise of a UN delegate. Across the table, the two Sakura ladies sat—the younger one aside, Shinobu was scanning the menu, her gaze soft, stray bangs falling.
At this distance, he saw her trembling lashes, delicate nose, faint pink blush. She evoked marble sculptures veiled in gossamer, nuns praying under rose windows, sunset ripples on the sea, or hymns echoing in golden theaters.
All beautiful things.
"Anything you want?" Shinobu asked.
"Nope."
"Then why're you leaning so close?" Sakura frowned.
"Fifth-set neck-and-shoulder stretches. Want to learn?" Takizawa eased back, casual.
"No thanks."
"You studied art—better watch your posture, or you'll mess up your own neck and shoulders before mastering figure drawing."
"Don't be shy, tell me what you want," Shinobu said warmly.
"Whatever you pick is fine. I'm easy."
"Alright, my taste it is."
Her flavor preferences—acquired. Takizawa smiled shyly.
The waiter took their order, and the mood shifted to casual chat.
"Why'd you marry so young, Sakura-san?" Takizawa opened.
"Marriage is finding someone to lean on, trust. Love's a bonus. I just met the right person early, shared feelings sooner," Shinobu said, hands cupping her face, smiling. "Looking back, lucky me."
"You cherish it. What's Sakura-san like?"
"Lazy, chatty, scatterbrained, socks everywhere, impossible to wake, a kitchen wreck who only washes dishes," Shinobu listed, then pivoted. "But he's a devoted dad and husband, elite grad, high earner, company pillar, kind, helpful."
"Sounds like a man worthy of you. If I may, which elite school?" Takizawa asked.
"University of Tokyo, Law," Sakura cut in, beaming like she was flaunting a prized toy.
Damn, a senpai. Miscalculated.
"So, you and your husband met at the same university?" Takizawa pressed.
"No way, I'm not that impressive. I visited Tokyo U with a friend for a debate. He was second speaker for the affirmative, suited up, commanding, crushing opponents—radiant," Shinobu recalled.
"And you suggested being friends? So bold!" Takizawa praised.
"Nope."
"He made a move? So shallow!"
"Neither. After the debate, he asked me for my friend's contact."
"Blind to true beauty, small-minded."
"Not at all. My friend was stunning, a campus star. She turned him down flat, and he didn't push. But we started talking, and eventually, he pursued me," Shinobu giggled.
"Backing off at hurdles? Questionable sincerity," Takizawa shook his head.
"You got a grudge against my dad or what?" Sakura said, exasperated.
"Just stating facts."
"I grilled him with a rolling pin once. He said he wanted me but used my friend as a tactful detour," Shinobu clarified.
"…" Takizawa ran out of critiques.
"Relationships have heavy misunderstandings early on, but cross that hurdle, grow old together, and the tears turn to shining memories," Shinobu said softly. "Savoring time, holding wrinkled hands, watching the breeze and dusk—that's happiness."
"A partner who inspires such thoughts?" Takizawa sighed. "I'll believe it."
"My dad's awesome," Sakura added.
"Oh? You respect him?"
"Of course!"
"Say that to his face, and he'd be over the moon for a week," Shinobu muttered.
"Sounds like a chill dynamic," Takizawa said earnestly.
"What do you mean?" Sakura asked, puzzled.
"Your family vibe—relaxed, friendly, with that deep blood-bond weight."
"Isn't every family like that?"
"These days, you need a license for everything, even sweeping floors. But parenting? No test required," Takizawa said slowly.
"Every family's got issues. Not all are loving or harmonious—fights are common, parenting can be skewed, authoritarianism's normal. Families turn into enemies over money or control. Many would envy your open, responsible parents."
"You're going deep, always prying about my family. What about you? Siblings? Never mentioned," Sakura asked, twirling chopsticks.
Takizawa paused, then shared his story carefully.
"I'm an only child, I think… I have a half-sister, same mom, different dad, never met. Won't bother her complete family. My father's gone."
Sakura's hands froze, guilt washing over her.
"Sorry," Shinobu said softly.
He wanted to say it was fine but lacked the right. He just nodded.
The table's world detached from the lively diner, the air quiet and still.
Sakura felt glum, worried.
Just then, the waiter arrived with steaming signature dishes, their aroma stirring appetites, warming the moment.
"Let's eat," Shinobu said, passing him chopsticks.
***
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