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His uncle and his father are arguing, again. They’ve been having arguments a lot recently, ever since Takumi’s father came back from the city trembling and with an expression of gravity on his face. Takumi creeps closer to the kitchen door to listen. He’s tired of not knowing what’s going on, what has his father and uncle so at odds. This isn’t the first time his father’s gone into the city looking into possibly opening a second branch of their family Trattoria, but the constant arguing tells him that something’s different this time. Something’s wrong.
“—can’t possibly be considering it!” his uncle explodes.
“You weren’t there,” his father returns, voice weary and resigned. “It was a really large mansion, up north in the middle of nowhere. It was definitely magic-touched. Possibly demonic. And you know the cautionary tales about breaking a bargain with demons as well as I do.”
“Shit,” his uncle mutters, anger fading. There’s a sigh. “So you picked the herbs without asking and it demanded, what, your life in recompense?”
“My life or Takumi’s,” his father agrees, and Takumi is left reeling because what? Demons, magic, debt… Clearly the issue at hand is more serious than he’d realized, if what’s at stake is his father’s life or his own.
“You can’t go,” his uncle insists, something concerned and, dare he say it, frightened in his voice.
“I’m not letting the beast take Takumi instead,” he father says sharply.
“I wouldn’t let you even if you were willing to,” his uncle retorts. “But that doesn’t mean I want to lose you, either. What about the Trattoria?”
“You can manage it as well as I can. And Takumi and Isami are fine chefs themselves. The Trattoria will be fine.”
“I don’t like this. Wait a bit, brother. I can reach out to some people I know…” His uncle’s voice fades away as Takumi backs away from the kitchen door, mind whirling. His thoughts go back to something his uncle said, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realizes this is his fault.
He remembers the herbs his father brought back from the trip, fresher and finer than any others he’d seen before. At the time, he’d chalked it up to a lucky find. Now though, he realizes they must’ve been the herbs his father picked for him, because he wanted to at least bring back the herbs Takumi had asked for before he left, even if his trip to the city was a failure. Something caught him when he was there, demanded a life. A demon, from the sounds of it. And if Takumi doesn’t go, it will come for his father instead.
His father and his uncle don’t bring it up. Dinner that night is tense, and only Isami is ignorant as to why. Even so, he’s clearly picked up on the tension, even if his younger brother doesn’t ask.
Takumi waits until night falls and his family’s breathing evens out in sleep. Then, carefully, he packs a bag, taking care not to wake Isami, who’s sleeping across the room. He writes a note for his family, because Isami deserves an explanation for his absence, and his father deserves to know that it’s not his fault, that Takumi doesn’t blame him in the slightest. If anyone’s at fault here, it’s Takumi. Or the demon. Most definitely the demon.
Easily the hardest part of this is leaving Isami. His death will devastate his younger brother, Takumi knows, and he absolutely hates the thought of making his brother cry, but the alternative, letting their father die in his place, is worse. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing that he could’ve saved his father but chose not to to save his own skin.
He takes a deep breath and permits himself one last look at his family’s Trattoria. The moon is out in full, and it paints everything with a peaceful glow. He memorizes it, burns it into his memory. It dawns on him that this will likely be the last time he sees his childhood home.
Stop, don’t think about that, Takumi, he tells himself. It will only make this even harder. He saddles Chocolate, one of his family’s two horses. (Isami still teases him about the name he chose for her when he was six, sometimes, and—Takumi hasn’t even left yet and already he misses his brother.) Miraculously, his hands don’t shake.
“Come on girl,” he whispers, urging her into a full gallop. North, his father said. And Takumi remembers the route his father likely would’ve taken to get back from the city, remembers when his father took him there and back as a child to buy the ingredients that their family needs. He doesn’t ever remember seeing a mansion there, though, but— In the middle of nowhere, his father said.
He thinks he has an idea of where it is.
The mansion, when he sees it, takes his breath away. Really large doesn’t even begin to cover it. Enormous is more apt, really. It’s lovely too, all fine architecture and delicate engravings. The creature who lives here is either wealthy, or powerful. Or both. Takumi doesn’t know much about magic, but it stands to reason that even with magic, something like this with be difficult to make.
He dismounts from Chocolate. Only then does it occur to him that he has no clue what the demon looks like. Maybe he should have spoken with his uncle and father… except, he knows they would never have let him come. Not to die in his father’s place.
He leaves Chocolate untied. With any luck, she will find her way back to the Trattoria.
The wrought-iron gate swings open easily upon his touch, no trace of usual grating or rust common in most gates after a few years. In fact, as he looks around the courtyard and the neat stone-paved path leading up to the front door of the mansion, everything appears to be perfectly maintained, not a trace of degradation in sight. Despite the late hour, everything is illuminated by an unearthly glow, though Takumi can’t see any source for the light. If he wasn’t convinced that this was magic before, Takumi certainly believes now.
He steels himself, doesn’t let his steps falter or hesitate as he crosses the courtyard to stand in front of the wide front door. This door, too, parts easily beneath his hand, and he tries not to let the lack of opposition unnerve him. The demon has yet to make his appearance—in fact, looking around him, the mansion is all wide open spaces and bright moonlight, and Takumi finds it hard to believe that a demon lives here. It’s warm and welcoming, lit by sconces lining the walls, nothing akin to what he had imagined the home of a creature of hell looks like.
“You must be Takumi.” Takumi startles, whips around to see… nothing? At least, nothing at first. Looking closer though, there’s a shimmer in the air, a haze of not-something, like a mirage in the desert.
“Who are you?” he asks warily, even though he knows that he can’t possibly defend himself against magic. He’s helpless and unarmed, completely at this creature’s mercy, and while he knew it would be like this, it’s unnerving all the same. “And how do you know my name?”
The haze-creature laughs. “Oh sorry! I’m Satoshi Isshiki. And as for how I know your name… well, your father was here just last week, was he not?” Takumi stiffens at the reminder, the not so subtle threat lining the words, for all that the tone is jovial.
“Yes, well, I’m here,” he says. Then, like the words are a death sentence—and they are, he thinks grimly—“Take me to the demon lord.”
“Demon lord?” There’s a ripple in the air, and he gets the sense that the haze-creature, Isshiki, is tilting their—his?—head. “You mean Souma? He should be in the kitchen, I think.”
Souma. He has a name, now, at least. The walk to the kitchens isn’t silent, Isshiki cheerfully rambling on about nothing of consequence, seemingly unbothered by the fact that the most Takumi can muster are terse, clipped responses. He’s too busy trying not to think about how these are the last minutes he has left to live. Just because he chose this doesn’t make it any easier to bear, though, thankfully, his hands don’t tremble. A product of long hours in the kitchen, learning to keep his movements swift and sure despite the nerves. Now, it serves him well.
If he is lucky, maybe his death will be swift. He kind of doubts it though; demons aren’t well known for being kind.
“Here we are,” Isshiki says, stopping by a door that is slightly ajar. A heavenly aroma is coming from within, and okay, apparently the demon is a chef. At any other time, if the demon were anyone else, Takumi would’ve been thrilled to challenge or cook with him; judging by the smell alone, the demon is no amateur in the kitchen.
Takumi takes a deep breath, hides his nerves and lifts his head. If he is to die, he will meet it with dignity. He steps into the room.
His first impression of the demon is that he’s a lot smaller than Takumi was expecting. The demon’s humanoid, about five and a half feet tall, with blood-red hair and fangs nowhere in sight. Given the hushed voices and the fear in his father’s voice, Takumi had perhaps been expecting something a bit more grotesque, a hulking, shadowy figure. The only real indication of his monstrous heritage are pair of wicked-sharp horns sprouting from his head; every other aspect of him is startlingly human. When he turns around, Takumi sees he’s wearing a carved mask covering most of his face, exposing only his mouth, tipped with sharp fangs. Golden eyes regard him with curiosity.
“Hi there,” the demon says cheerfully, and again the voice is incongruous with what Takumi expected. “I’m Souma.”
“Takumi,” he returns warily, even though the demon must already know. Confusion prickles at him, making its place at home with the fear and wariness. This—none of this is what he had been expecting, when his father said demon, said bargain and life.
“Do you cook?”
“Do I—what?”
“Cook,” the demon says. “Your father said those herbs he picked from the garden were for you, so I assumed you do.”
“I—yes,” Takumi says, still off-guard. Of course he does. What is he, if not a chef? But—“What does that have to do with anything?” And maybe he shouldn’t be antagonizing the demon who’s demanded his life, especially when the demon doesn’t seem to want to kill him yet, but his self-preservation and fear seem to have abandoned him under the force of his confusion.
The demon brightens further. “Great,” he says happily, seemingly ignoring his second question. It’s only now that Takumi notices the simple white cloth wrapped around the demon’s arm, as the demon swiftly yanks it off and ties it around his forehead. Or, rather, around his mask, where his forehead would be. It looks odd, to say the least. “Then I challenge you to a shokugeki! Isshiki can be our judge.”
If this were anyone else, in any other situation, Takumi would’ve taken him up on it. He doesn’t know what a shokugeki is, but given the context, it’s safe to say that it’s a cook-off of sorts. And that, Takumi loves to do.
But this is a demon, one who has demanded his life or his father’s, and clearly his sense of self-preservation has deserted him (Isami would say he’s never had any, but Isami is wrong, just… maybe not in this case) because instead of doing the smart thing (and what his competitive side is urging him to do), he crosses his arms, meets the demon’s eyes squarely and says, “No.”
The demon blinks, clearly taken aback, and there’s still none of the anger and cruelty Takumi was—is—expecting.
His mouth keeps moving, despite the rational part of him shrieking at him to shut up. His temper is flaring, as it is wont to do, and Isami might not be far off when he says that it is what may get him killed one day. Because this kindness, if it is faked, is far crueler than anything else the demon could’ve done. Cruel, to give him hope. “What are you playing at?” he demands. “You told my father you wanted my life or his, for the herbs he picked. If you’re going to kill me, I’d rather you didn’t drag it out.”
The demon’s smile drops, something startled and guilty in his eyes. “You thought—?” He deflates, and when he speaks next, his voice is much more subdued. “I don’t want to kill you.”
The demon’s either an incredibly good actor, or he’s telling the truth. And quite frankly, Souma would have no reason to pretend, not if he was planning to kill him, so Takumi is maybe slightly inclined to believe him. Maybe he’s doing this to be cruel, to give him a taste of hope only to rip it away. But Takumi can’t think of why he would do so. It doesn’t fit with what he’s seen so far. “But then, why?” Why make the bargain with his father? Why demand what he had, if Souma has no intention of killing him?
It’s Isshiki who answers, and Takumi barely suppresses his flinch. He’d forgotten Isshiki was even there. “It was Erina who dealt with your father, I believe. And Erina can be…”
“Cold?” Souma offers.
“...intimidating,” Isshiki finishes. He coughs, or makes a sound like it, and his tone is sheepish as he says, “That, in hindsight, may have given the wrong impression.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure Erina just meant that she wanted you or your father to come here as company.”
“Company,” Takumi repeats. The rush of relief is heady—he’s not going to die —but he’s admittedly also a bit annoyed, that he’s worked himself up for what amounted to no reason. “For what reason?” From what he’s seen, the demon is far from alone; there’s Isshiki, and this Erina, too, and likely others besides.
“I can’t tell you,” Souma says, sounding apologetic.
“It’s nothing that will hurt you,” Isshiki assures Takumi. “There’s just something that an outsider can do that we can’t.”
Interesting. And cryptic. Well, it’s not as though Takumi doesn’t have all the time in the world to figure it out. A bargain’s a bargain, and even if the terms aren’t quite what he thought they were, he still has his end of it to fulfill. It looks likes he’ll be here for the foreseeable future.
Everything—all of this—is so far out of the realm of his expectations, and he already misses Isami something fierce, but this won’t be too bad, he thinks. He lets the last of the tension unspool from his shoulders. If Souma had wanted to harm him, he would be dead already. (And—they want his life. Not his death.)
And really, now that the film of fear is clear from his vision, Souma looks even less intimidating this his initial impression, cheerful demeanor balancing out Takumi’s trepidation at the horns and fangs.
“Now that that’s all cleared up, how about that shokugeki?”
Takumi flashes him a challenging smile, all teeth. “You’re on.”
(It ends up being a tie. Takumi’s already planning the rematch.)