The clock struck 7:00 PM.
Twilight painted the town in warm orange hues, casting long shadows across the polished floor of Zane's tavern. Inside, the place buzzed softly with pre-opening preparations—clattering pans, the soft murmur of voices, and the rustle of aprons tied and re-tied.
Hisako stood near the window, a damp cloth in hand, carefully wiping each table until its surface gleamed.
Though born into a family of medicinal culinary elites, and raised with all the poise expected of a lady in Erina Nakiri's service, Hisako worked here like any ordinary girl. She didn't shy from chores—sweeping the floor, washing greens, scrubbing cookware until her hands were raw.
To her, this was more than just menial work.
Every stroke of the cloth was a penance.
Every task was her way of easing Zane's burden—and her own guilt.
As she wiped, her eyes occasionally darted toward the door, though she would never admit why.
Then—
Click.
The soft chime of the doorbell rang, and the warm light from outside spilled in.
A familiar, aristocratic voice followed.
"Zane, I'm here again."
He looked up—and immediately straightened.
"Erina."
She stepped inside, her long golden hair cascading over her shoulders like sunlight captured in silk. She wore a soft pink dress—light, airy, almost translucent under the glow of the lanterns—paired with white shoes and short socks that emphasized her youth and grace.
Zane hadn't seen her in over a month.
Since the start of the Autumn Selection, she'd been buried under work—press, coordination, elite judging duties. But now that the Maple Viewing Festival had ended, she'd found a few days of reprieve.
And yet, instead of resting… she came here.
To this tavern. To him.
No—
To someone else, too.
Her eyes scanned the interior—and froze.
"Hisako…?"
Erina's voice trembled as she locked eyes with the familiar figure, still kneeling by the table with a cloth in hand.
But Hisako didn't respond. She didn't smile. She didn't even greet her.
Instead, she instinctively took a step back—hiding behind Zane.
That simple gesture felt like a knife plunging into Erina's chest.
"It's me. Erina. Don't you recognize me?"
Her voice cracked slightly. She took another step forward, confused, hurt. This wasn't how their reunion was supposed to go.
We were childhood friends. More than that—we were family.
I never blamed you for losing the match. Never even thought to punish you. So why…?
Across from her, Hisako stood half-shielded by Zane. She peeked through strands of loose hair, and when she saw the tears welling up in Erina's violet eyes, her own heart clenched painfully.
Say something, she begged herself. Go to her. Hug her. Apologize properly.
But she remained frozen.
Because she was ashamed.
"I… I've been so lost without you," Erina said quietly.
Her voice wavered, too fragile for someone who once judged master chefs without blinking. She lowered her gaze, holding tightly to her composure.
"I can't find the manga I like… I don't even know how to load the washing machine properly. I scheduled three tasting sessions this week and forgot them all. I… I miss you, Hisako."
Her shoulders trembled.
"Please come back to me. Even if we're just friends again—just that is enough."
The silence that followed felt endless.
Then—
"Miss… I lost in the Autumn Selection."
Hisako stepped forward slowly, bowing her head.
"My skills were lacking. I let you down. And… I left without telling you. I was weak and ashamed. For that… I'm truly sorry."
But what came next was even more painful to Erina:
"I don't think I'll return to Totsuki anytime soon."
Erina's lips parted as if to scream—but no words came.
She looked shattered.
How did it come to this? How did she become a stranger to the one who once stood closest?
"Erina," Zane interjected softly, "Let her stay here for a while."
Erina blinked at him, confused and teary-eyed.
"But…"
"She needs space," he continued gently. "The internship period is coming. Why not use that as an excuse? Let her intern here."
Then, lowering his voice so only Erina could hear:
"You can apply too. Live with her. Give her time."
Erina's expression changed. Slowly, realization dawned.
A temporary retreat. Not a goodbye.
She nodded slowly, like a child finally offered hope.
Avoidance may be cowardly, but sometimes it gives people just enough distance to start healing.
"Hisako is doing fine here," Zane added.
"She's working hard. But… she misses you."
Erina looked down, tears still threatening to fall.
"She's the only one who ever truly understood me," she whispered. "And I pushed her away without even realizing it."
Zane smiled faintly. "Then let her find her way back. And in the meantime… how about a dish to lift your spirits?"
Erina glanced up, sniffled, then tried to smile.
"A new dish?"
"Yes."
Zane turned toward the kitchen, his voice suddenly brimming with quiet pride.
"A lost dish."
Kitchen Theater
Erina followed him to the counter like a curious cat, her earlier melancholy giving way to genuine intrigue.
"Lost? You mean a dish that once existed… but disappeared over time?"
Zane nodded. "Exactly."
The smell of sea salt, citrus, and cold steel filled the air as he revealed a large fish resting on a chilled stone platter.
"Soup-filled Yellow Croaker."
Erina gasped.
"Isn't that…?"
Zane didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he began.
The ancient Chinese character for fresh is composed of the radicals for fish and lamb, but it is the fish that has always represented the pinnacle of umami.
And among those fish—none more revered than the large yellow croaker.
"This one," Zane said, "weighed over five pounds. It took years to mature. They're so rare in the wild now, they're nearly myth."
He began the delicate process of deboning.
First, he removed the scales with clean strokes. Then the gills, the fins, and finally, the internal organs—without making a single unnecessary cut. The fish lay pristine on the board, like a blank canvas awaiting its first stroke.
Then—he slipped his knife in through the gills.
Erina's breath caught in her throat.
"Is he… using the gill-removal method? On a fish this size?"
Even Hisako, watching from the back, gasped.
"That method's only supposed to work on smaller fish! The bones are too hard otherwise!"
But Zane's hands didn't hesitate.
His knife danced between bone and flesh with almost poetic rhythm—like a calligrapher tracing sacred ink onto rice paper. With every angle, he maintained the skin's integrity.
The fish's body remained whole.
Only the skeleton disappeared.
"Flawless…" Erina whispered.
He turned to the stuffing ingredients.
Snow frog oil.
Ham.
Pearl meatballs.
Shark fin.
Fish lips.
He simmered them all in a chicken broth base until the air itself was thick with flavor. Then he carefully placed the pieces into the croaker's belly.
After tying it shut with thin kitchen twine, Zane moved on.
Hot oil—80°C.
The fish entered gently, its body curling slightly as the golden sheen developed. He basted it carefully, ensuring the exterior crisped evenly without compromising the internal stuffing.
"The mustard greens…?"
Zane nodded. "Thin slices. For texture."
He thickened the broth, added a final layer of depth with yellow wine, and poured it over the plated fish.
When the dish was complete, he placed it gently in front of Erina.
Steam rose in elegant swirls.
The skin shimmered gold beneath the thickened broth. The aroma was layered—clean sea freshness, tender sweetness from the stuffing, umami from the wine and soup.
It smelled like the sea… and home.
Erina stared, frozen, mesmerized.
"It's beautiful…"
She picked up her chopsticks, hesitated—then broke the skin.
Clear broth spilled out, aromatic and golden.
The moment it touched her tongue, her entire expression changed.
She wasn't in a tavern anymore.
She was somewhere timeless, where cuisine met memory, emotion, and artistry in perfect harmony.
"It tastes like… a dream someone woke up from too soon."
Zane smiled quietly.
"Welcome home, Erina."
And across the counter, Hisako—hands still clutching her apron—let a single tear roll down her cheek.
For the first time in days, she felt warm again.