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Mikage Reo strides through Tokyo's bustling streets, his discerning eyes reflecting the city's vibrant lights. As a scion of a renowned family of restaurateurs, he had forged himself an illustrious career in Europe as a food critic. His reviews were whispered among the culinary elite and printed with reverence in glossy magazines. With his perceptive palate and ability to dissect the taste, textures and intent behind dishes he had written about the haute cuisine of Paris, the rustic charms of Rome’s ristorantes, and the avant-garde experiments of Barcelona's cutting-edge kitchens.

But yet, no matter how much food he eats, or how well it's cooked– a growing emptiness gnaws away at him.The meticulous plating, truffle-infusions and rich reductions had become tiresome, ingenuine. What he yearns for is something that could invoke his emotions beyond pretentious plating and experimental flavours. He wants to dig with his hands to find a true diamond in the rough to write about. 

It was this hunger for authenticity that brought him back to Tokyo, specifically wandering in the middle of the dinnertime rush. But he wasn’t looking for trendy sushi bars or experimental seafood. His roaming had brought him to Shinjuku and Shibuya the past few evenings. Late at night it might be more populated by people enjoying the nightlife, offering post-drink snacks like yakitori. It was vibrant, but had an everyday, rough around the edges type atmosphere where he was sure he would find what he was looking for. 

He begins at Golden Gai, venturing further out into the tightly packed backstreets of narrow ramen joints and hole-in-the wall izakaya. He always orders the special, or asks for the chef’s recommendation, and he knows at such casual eateries his reputation will not follow him. Although the quality of his food has ranged from abysmal to homely, there was still nothing that enthused him. 

He stands now in the middle of a busy street that breaks off into several alleyways. There are plenty of places to eat, and many of them have queues snaking all the way out the doors. Reo isn’t interested in joining the common crowds; that’s not where he’ll find his unpolished gem. Beyond the glare of neon signs he eventually discovers a humble, weather-worn establishment tucked away in a quiet corner. The place certainly wears its age; faded wooden panels and a slightly crooked sign adorned with weathered kanji lettering hint at long years of service. A newer addition to the signage is the face of an akita dog tilting a ramen bowl up towards its face eagerly. The only sign that it is open is a gentle glow that emanates from within, which he takes as a warm invitation amidst the urban hustle and bustle.

Reo steps through the modest sliding door, and he feels as though he’s been transported to a different era. The air carries a comforting aroma of simmering broth and seasoning. The wooden panel walls are adorned with framed photographs of the ramen bar, some even in black and white– they tell a long history of countless ramen bowls that have been served and shared here. The space is cosy and intimate, with an L-shaped counter surrounded by a handful of worn, wooden stools that line it. The kitchen area appears to be separate, which is unusual, and behind the counter mainly seems to be a stocked up bar. 

Behind the counter is a broad chested young man leaning against the bar, shovelling noodles into his mouth. He looks almost surprised to see a customer. 

“Excuse me,” He puts down the bowl he had been eating from, clearing his throat. “Welcome to Akita Ramen, please take a seat wherever you like.”

“Thank you very much!” Reo responds brightly, taking a seat at the very centre of the counter so he can get a proper view of the establishment. Everything is very clean, he notes, and well cared for despite its age. 

Reo's eager eyes trace the menu. The offerings are certainly very tradiational — variations of ramen, each with its own unique blend of flavours. He's impressed by the simplicity and authenticity of the choices, a refreshing departure from the overly complicated menus of fine dining establishments.

He can sense the nervous energy emanating from the ginger man behind the counter, who looks slightly bewildered by Reo's presence in his crisp, white tailored designer suit. Clearing his throat, Reo breaks the polite silence.

“So,” he smiles, gesturing to the menu, “what do you recommend, chef?”

The other man chuckles, “I’m not the chef. Just the owner. To tell you the truth, I prefer eating the ramen rather than cooking it.”

Reo leans in, intrigued. "Ah, my apologies," he says, keeping his voice warm and friendly. "I suppose that makes you the ultimate connoisseur here, doesn't it– oh, I never asked your name, did I?"

"Kunigami. And well, I can't say I'm a connoisseur of anything, but the recipes have been passed on by my uncle, and between you and me I think the current chef makes them even better."

Reo’s  curiosity is piqued. "Bring me… whatever you think best represents the soul of this ramen shop."

The other man raises his eyebrows, looking caught off guard again. He looks down at the notepad he was about to jot the order down on. Reo knows he has that effect on people, but getting excited about food always brings out his flair for dramatics. 

“Sure, uh, I’ll just go and ask for… that.” He says, putting the pen and paper back down. 

As Kunigami makes his way to the kitchen, Reo settles comfortably into the weathered wooden stool. He hears music from the kitchen as the door swings open, followed by muffled voices on the other side. He takes the opportunity to slip his notebook from his breast pocket, jotting down a few notes about the establishment before hiding it again– he doesn’t want favourable treatment; he wants to find something genuine , not fabricated brilliance for the sake of a positive review. 

It’s not long before the owner returns, cradling a bowl of ramen in his hands. He places the bowl before Reo, who can't help but appreciate the artistry in its simplicity. The broth is a rich, amber hue, glistening with a delicate sheen of oils. The scent is a comforting blend of soy and the essence of slow-cooked bones, promising depth and flavour. Nestled within the broth are strands of perfectly cooked noodles, their firmness just right. A few slices of tender, slightly charred chashu pork, a sheet of nori, and a perfectly soft-boiled egg rest atop the simple dish. 

“Thank you,” Reo says with a smile, delving in with his chopsticks in one hand, the noodles twisting around them, and his spoon in the other. 

The critic brings the first spoonful of broth to his lips, and the flavours embrace him like an old friend. He’s pulled away from the tiny ramen shop back in time to his younger years, when Ba-Ya would pull over the limo on the way home from school to visit a simple ramen cart. The saltiness of the soy, the delicate firmness of the noodles, and the nori adds a faint crunch and hint of the sea. The egg tops it all off, embracing the essence of the brother and melding effortlessly with the symphony of flavours.

Before he knows it, Reo is looking down at an empty bowl.

"This was… exceptional," Reo begins, his voice infused with sincere appreciation. "The balance of flavours is perfect—this is truly remarkable.” He looks up, his eyes shining with glee, “Your chef is extraordinary."

Kunigami looks a bit stunned by his intensity, but nods appreciatively. "Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I’ll be sure to let the chef know.”

Reo instinctively leans forward, grasping the owner’s wrist as he reaches forward to take away the empty bowl, “You must let me speak to the chef.”

Kunigami hesitates, then offers a gentle smile, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but our chef doesn’t like to speak with customers. Prefers to stay in the kitchen.”

Reo narrows his eyes– he tries not to be the spoiled brat his parents raised him to be, but no one in the food industry tells Mikage Reo no . Persistent, the critic rises from his seat, edging towards the kitchen door. “I assure you, I'll be brief. I just need to extend my gratitude.”

However, before he can take more than a step, Kunigami steps between him and the door, a barricade of brawn. “Like I said, I’ll pass it on, but you can’t go in.”

His tone is still polite, but firm. Reo doesn’t know what feral part of his brain compels him at this moment, but he glances under the much larger man’s arm, then tries to dart under it in a mad dash towards the kitchen. 

“Hey–!”

A strong hand grips the back of Reo’s designer suit, scruffing him like an unruly cat. He gently, but firmly, drags Reo towards the door. "Oh no you don’t," he mutters, "C’mon, pal, I think you need to leave."

Reo is deposited outside in a most unbecoming matter, dropped back on to the dusty side street. “How dare you, do you know who I–!”

The door slides shut, and Reo hears the lock click. Point made, he supposes. 

Determination rises Reo as he brushes off his suit, looking back over his shoulder at the unassuming little ramen shop. No one has ever told Mikage Reo he can’t have something. He would meet this elusive chef. He just needs back up…

"Reo, do we really need to go down so many grubby back alleys just for a bowl of ramen?" 

Reo, leading the way with a boundless enthusiasm, looks back at Chigiri with a grin. "Trust me, Chigiri, this place is a hidden treasure. It's not just about the ramen; it's an experience . You'll thank me later."

Chigiri rolls his eyes, clearly unsure but willing to indulge his friend. "Alright, if you say so. But if we get mugged, I'm blaming you."

Chigiri's scepticism is evident in his tone as he follows Reo through the alleys a few nights later. Chigiri is Reo’s long time friend, who Reo entrusted with managing Mikage’s central Tokyo location while he travelled. The red head is used to Reo’s eccentricities and sometimes dramatic reactions, which is why Reo knew that he would keep him in check. 

“So,” Reo claps his hands, as if he’s calling a staff meeting before service, “I actually need you to do something really important for me here, Chigs.”

“Oh no.” Chigiri closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You only call me that when you’re about to ask me to do something really wild.”

“That’s the spirit,” Reo grins, slinging his arm around his friend. “I really need to get into that kitchen–”

“You told me the chef doesn’t speak to anyone.”

“He will when I get in there. He’ll have to. But the first hurdle is getting past the owner. Who happens to be very buff. And, eh, handsome if you’re into that brawny sort of thing–”

"Reo, I’m not flirting with some random man so you can trespass," Chigiri interrupts, disbelief etched on his face.

"It’s not flirting; it’s a tactical diversion," Reo pouts, although he can’t really refute his friend’s point about trespassing. Because it absolutely is trespassing. "Come on, you’re gorgeous, and he’s your type anyway. It won't hurt anyone!"

Chigiri puffs out his cheeks, sighing, “I manage one of the most critically acclaimed restaurants in Tokyo,” he says in exasperation, more to himself than to Reo. “ Fine , but next time you get a VIP table I want an invite.”

“Deal,” Reo says with a smile, giving his friend a fond kiss on the cheek, “I knew I could rely on you!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Chigiri replies, rolling his eyes. 

Reo leads his friend through a few more twists and turns, while the red head carefully preens himself in a hand mirror, combing his long hair into place with his slender fingers. Akita Ramen looks very much the same as it had the other day, which is to say it looked empty, other than the glow of the lights from the tiny windows. 

Chigiri raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "It looks like it could use a fresh coat of paint."

Ignoring the comment, Reo ushers him inside. The owner is behind the counter and, once again, the entire place is empty.

“Welcome–” Kunigami looks up from a glass he’s buffing, eyes narrowing as he spots Reo. “Hey, aren’t you the guy I threw out the other night?”

“Yes, that’s me!” Reo says, taking a seat and pulling Chigiri along with him. He tactically chooses the seats at the shorter end of the L-shaped counter so that the owner’s back will be facing the kitchen when he serves them. “I’ll apologise again, if that would help.” 

Kunigami looks like he wants to say something more, but Chigiri steps forward, brushing his hair behind his ear, flashing a charming smile.

“My friend told me there are plenty of things to enjoy here,” Chigiri says, batting his eyelashes at the owner, making a point of roaming his eyes over his muscled chest. “Could you possibly give him a second chance?”

Reo marvels at Chigiri's ability to turn on the charm. It’s one of the many reasons he’s a fantastic manager. Reo can schmooze, compliment and persuade people, but Chigiri is a honeypot when he wants to be.

Kunigami, visibly flustered, stammers, "I– I guess. Everyone deserves a second chance." He coughs nervously and quickly grabs a couple of menus for them. 

“Thank you so much,” Chigiri says, smiling, his gaze never leaving Kunigami. 

Chigiri doesn't let up on the charm offensive, making light conversation and laughing at all the right moments. Kunigami blushes the entire time, clearly trying his best to remain professional. With Kunigami momentarily occupied, Reo seizes his chance to execute the next phase of his plan. He excuses himself to the restroom, however Kunigami's attention is fully on Chigiri as he vapidly asks questions about every item on the menu as if he’s never eaten a bowl of ramen in his life.

Reo slips around the counter in one fluid motion, holding the door dividing the restaurant with his fingertips so he can shut it slowly and quietly. The kitchen is barely bigger than his walk-in closet— cosy, bordering on cramped, with aged but impeccably maintained equipment. The walls bear the marks of countless culinary endeavours, with hints of splattered broth and sauce that have never fully washed off. In a corner, a black and white TV mounted on the wall flickers to life, displaying grainy CCTV footage of the restaurant's dining area, where he can see Chigiri resting a hand on Kunigami’s forearm. 

The kitchen is also notably empty. Reo turns his attention to the stove, where a pot of broth bubbles gently. The aroma is intoxicating, an alluring dance of flavours, that makes him excited. 

“Who are you?”

Reo jumps slightly as a strange, soft voice addresses him. He turns to see a tall man with ruffled, white hair wiping his hands on a stained apron. His head is tilted, and his big eyes look at Reo with such gentle curiosity that the normally eloquent, confident critic stutters before replying properly.

“I, uh— ahem. Mikage Reo,” he throws his hand out, which the chef stares at, “And I’m here to meet the chef.”

The other man blinks, a bit taken aback, his expression a blend of surprise and curiosity. "Oh, uh, yes. That's me." He answers, taking Reo’s hand limply, which Reo shakes with great enthusiasm. 

“Can I just say that it is a pleasure— hell, an honour to meet a cook with such an authentic passion and talent! Your ramen is more than just a dish; it's an experience, a celebration of flavours and tradition—“

The chef turns as Reo raves on, spooning the broth into a bowl and assembling the rest of the dish with a pair of chopsticks, efficiently and expertly placing the final sheet of nori with a flourish. 

“Here,” the chef interrupts, holding out the bowl of steaming, hot ramen to Reo, “You must be hungry if you came into the kitchen…”

“—uh, thank you!” Reo takes the bowl, the sides warming his palms. “But I actually wanted to—“

The cook wanders off again, toddling out the back door. Reo feels his blood boil like the broth on the stove— no one ignores Mikage Reo. He stomps to the back door, ramen bowl still cupped in his hand, to see the other man sitting on an upturned bucket, playing a gacha game on his phone. 

“I’m trying to speak to you!” He exclaims, standing in the doorway.

The chef looks up at him with wide, slightly vacant eyes. “... I’m trying to play my game.”

Reo lets out a frustrated, garbled groan. “Look, my name is Mikage Reo. And you are…?”

“Nagi’s fine.”

“Nagi. Great! So, I’m a food critic and–” Reo stops himself, because he could wax poetic about why his food enchanted him, and so he decides to be brief, expecting the kitchen door to open any moment. “I want to speak with you and write about your ramen! I really think this place deserves to be on the map– people should be queuing down the street to get in here!” 

Nagi blinks at him owlishly, then shakes his head, and looks back to his phone. “No thanks.”

“Wh– what?! Are you serious? This place must barely get enough customers to stay open. One review and I could have this place filled every night.”

“Mm, sounds like a lot of work.” Nagi rolls his eyes, slow, contemplative, then he holds out his extended hand. “You’re gonna have to tip me.”

“Tip you…?”

“Yeah,” he makes a grabby hand motion, like an overgrown baby, “You look rich. So you can tip well, can’t you?”

Before the critic could respond to the bizarre request, it’s at that moment his time runs out. The door to the kitchen slams open. Kunigami points accusingly at him, crossing the small kitchen in a few heavy steps before Reo can leg it out the back door. 

“ You, ” he seethes, “are a menace.”

“Sorry Reo,” Chigiri says, leaning against the doorway to the restaurant, “I could only pretend to be embarrassingly vapid for so long.”

“I can explain!” Reo exclaims, holding up the steaming hot bowl of ramen like a shield between him and the owner. “I had a very good reason. Just hear me out!”

Kunigami's scowl softens, though he remains stern. "Fine. Explain."

Reo scoots around Kunigami, brushing past Chigiri, and marches over to the handbag he left on his seat. 

“Let me introduce myself again . I’m Mikage Reo, of the Mikage restaurant empire, and a renowned food critic.” From the bag, he produces several glossy magazines with bookmarked pages as his resume, thrusting them into Kunigami’s empty hands. “I would recommend Good Taste, page 9, I looked stunning in the accompanying photoshoot. Anyway, ” he claps his hands, “you would be absolutely foolish to not let me write about this place.” 

He sees Chigiri rolling his eyes at the dramatics, and pointedly ignores him. Kunigami looks at the magazines, then at Reo, his expression a mix of surprise and disbelief. "You really are a big deal, then."

Reo smiles with the self-assuredness of a seasoned critic and minor celebrity. "Only when it comes to appreciating exceptional food. And your ramen certainly is something special!"

He looks down at the bowl he was handed and marvels at the memory of that first bite—the broth's alchemy, the noodles' perfect texture, the dance of flavours that took him on a journey through taste itself. It was more than a meal; it was an enchantment, a symphony in a bowl.

“It’s kinda just a big soup though,” Nagi pipes up, leaning against the counter, “It’s not like it’s difficult to make or anything…”

“That’s the point,” Reo says, raising a hand and pointing at the chef, “It isn’t difficult to make a bowl of ramen, but it takes an artist like to elevate it to an experience . Something that evokes emotion. The nuances, the subtleties, the way every ingredient dances harmoniously—making sure each spoonful is a note in a perfect melody.” 

"You have a way with words, I'll give you that." Kunigami mutters, very earnestly reading through the article Reo had suggested.

"And your chef has a way with flavours. The people of Tokyo deserve to know about this hidden gem. So please, let me write about you." Reo gestures around the room, “You could clearly use the publicity, right?” 

“Yeah. How long has this place been struggling?” Chigiri asks, bluntly. 

Kunigami leans his full weight on the counter, sighing. "Years," he admits, weariness evident in his voice. "The only reason this place is still open is that it was my uncle's whole life. He's old now. If this place closed in his lifetime, it'd destroy him. I'm just trying to keep it going until... you know."

Reo can't help but wonder how many people have sat in the well-worn seats of the humble establishment. The salarymen on their lunch breaks, young couples on awkward first dates, and perhaps even some solitary souls seeking solace in a warm bowl of ramen. It's more than just a business; it's been a part of many peoples’ stories over the years. 

Reo smiles warmly. "Sometimes, greatness comes from unexpected situations. If you want to turn this place around,” he points at Nagi, who has been hovering around quietly the entire time, “let me interview him.”

The statement hangs in the air, until Nagi huffs, slumping against the counter. “I don’t get what all the fuss is about…”

“I’ll pay you for your time,” Reo adds, “Both of you.”

“We’ll do it.” Both men say in unison. 

“Wonderful! I’ll be in touch,” Reo says, smiling brightly as he pulls his jacket on, “Come on, Chigiri.”

“Hold on.”

His manager tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, leaning down and jotting something down on a piece of paper. He holds it out to Kunigami with conviction, who looks bashful as he takes it. 

“What’s this?”

“My number. I manage one of Tokyo’s top restaurants, so I can give you a few pointers about improving this dive.” Then the redhead flashes a confident grin, “Or you can just ask me out on a date. Take your pick.”

Reo and Chigiri leave the poor man blushing bright red and stammering, chuckling as they step back into the hustle and bustle of the Tokyo streets, enveloped back into the neon lights and throngs of people. Reo finds his thoughts circling back to the chef and how he looked at him with his soft, tired eyes. He had to know how such a weary man could create a dish that warmed his soul for the first time in years. Perhaps he was also missing that spark that Reo had been searching for too.

The evening sun lazily sinks behind Tokyo's skyline, casting a warm, golden hue across the bustling city streets. Reo finds himself standing in front of the apartment building Nagi had given him directions to; a tired-looking structure with peeling paint and weathered edges, not too far away from the ramen place itself. Reo had wanted to start the article as soon as possible, and he had successfully pestered Nagi into meeting him on his day off, providing they met at his home.

He steps up to the creaking stairs, each step showing the wear and tear of countless footsteps. He reaches Nagi’s door, raises his hand and knocks, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor. Seconds stretch into a minute, and then the door slowly inches open. Nagi, with his dishevelled hair, peeks around the doorframe, blinking and rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Hi there! I’m here for our interview,” Reo says, brightly.

“Oh… Um.” Nagi opens the door, revealing that he’s only wearing a pair of cotton sleeping pants that drag on the floor, “I forgot… Sorry. I was still sleeping.”

Reo feels the edges of his smile pull a little too hard at the corners of his mouth, “It’s… 3pm.”

“Yeah?” Nagi replies, tilting his head, and stepping aside so Reo can enter the apartment.

If the apartment had been in a better state of repair, Reo might have referred to it as traditional. It’s small, with the kitchenette immediately to his left and the bathroom door to his right as he steps inside. He toes his shoes off in the cramped genkan, only a few steps away from the main room. A cactus sits on the windowsill, basking in the evening light. On the floor is a comfortable looking futon piled with pillows, duvet and crane machine plush, and the only other notable piece of furniture being a large television wired up to a gaming laptop that sits on the floor. 

“Uh,” Nagi looks around his feet, turning in the small space, then picks up the duvet, flicking it up so it lays flat on the futon, “You can sit there, if you want.”

Out of the lack of other options, Reo sits cross legged on the futon. 

"So, Nagi," Reo inquires, "tell me a bit about yourself.”

“Like what? You know my name, and that I’m a cook.” He shrugs, “That’s kind of it.”

This is going to be like pulling teeth, Reo thinks, but he’s dealt with surly, egotistical, difficult chefs plenty of times in his line of work. “Perhaps that was a bit vague. What's a typical day like for you?"

Nagi slumps down next to him, humming thoughtfully before he answers, "Well, I wake up, have a jelly drink, play video games for a while, and then go to work.”

“ Jelly drinks ?” Reo is on his feet in an instant, his tone sharp with disbelief as he flings open the tiny refrigerator. Sure enough the shelves are full of plastic bottles and pouches of jelly drinks– the only food item is a sad, wilted box of leftover noodles with the Akita Ramen logo on the side. "Is this really all you eat?! You’re a chef! You can’t subsist on this! Are you not getting paid enough or something?"

“I get paid fine. Tokyo rent’s just expensive. But it’s really close to work so I don’t have to walk far or take the train.” Nagi shrugs, his gaze distant. "I don't really need to eat much, so it's fine. Cooking is such a hassle anyway."

Reo’s eyes practically bulge out their sockets as he stares in disbelief, stunned that this is the same man whose ramen invoked such a powerful emotional response from him. How could someone with such little passion create such culinary masterpieces?

“A hassle ? Food is an art form, a language of expression–" Reo exclaims, his passion threatening to overflow. "How can such a talented chef say cooking is a hassle ?"

Nagi sighs, his eyes never quite meeting Reo's as he speaks. "It's just not the same when I'm the one eating it.” He closes his eyes, “People are a pain. They say things they don’t mean and it’s exhausting to keep up with them. But food... Everyone likes food, right? It’s a way to make people happy without having to talk to them."

The sincerity in Nagi's voice tugs at Reo's heart. It's a perspective he hadn't considered, and he realises that Nagi isn't motivated by personal recognition or the culinary limelight like most of the chefs he’s met. He's a cook who finds fulfilment in the simple act of making others happy through his creations. It’s his way of forming human connections. Reo had never considered that before, especially since speaking to people, fitting in and forming friendships came so naturally to him. It only makes the other man more enthralling. 

Nagi’s gaze finally meets Reo’s again, “You seemed like you were missing something when you came in. So I took extra care,” then he huffs, “and now you keep asking me all these tough questions and getting me to do stuff… Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“I like talking with you,” Reo says, wistfully, purple eyes boring into Nagi’s, desperately searching them for more . 

“Your eyes are bulging.” Nagi says, having the audacity to reach out and prod Reo on the forehead. “Like a chameleon.”

“What a flattering comparison,” Reo says, but does finally blink. “I was just thinking. Come work a shift at Mikage’s. Just for one evening.”

“That sounds like hard work…”

“It will be, but it’s just for an evening!” Reo smiles, trying to sound convincing, “We would love to have you, and you might find you thrive in a fast-paced kitchen–”

“Doubt it,” Nagi interrupts, “but will you pay me for that too?”

“Seriously?”

Nagi blinks, slowly. “Don’t think it would be very nice of you to exploit my labour, Reo.”

“No I mean–” Reo huffs, “I want you to be there because you’re passionate , not just for money.”

Nagi simply just shrugs, and Reo sighs, reaching into his bag for his pocketbook.  

Reo can't stop thinking about Nagi in the days leading up to his shift at Mikage’s. Perhaps it's the paradoxical nature of a man so seemingly idle, yet whose hands create culinary masterpieces. It must be further curiosity about his talents. It’s like a mystery ingredient that lingers at the back of your tongue at the end of a bite, and the critic in him wants to dissect Nagi the same way he does with a plate of food. 

It’s absolutely not about how soft his white hair looks, or his wide eyes, or Reo’s intense need to look after other people because he can’t look after himself. No way. 

Nagi stands out like a spare part in the bustling chaos of Mikage’s kitchen. He tugs at the sleeves of the crisp white chef’s whites that Reo had to help him button up, shuffling from foot to foot as the eager restaurateur gives him the pre-service grand tour, shadowed by Chigiri who occasionally has to reach out and steer him around obstacles and chefs rushing around doing prep. Reo personally introduces Nagi to the head chef, a large, intimidating perfectionist man who doesn’t seem to like Nagi from the moment he lays eyes on him. 

"Listen," Chef Barou says, his tone as sharp as the knives he wields, "this isn't your ramen shop. This is fine dining. We need precision, quality– we don’t just throw ingredients in a bowl like a shitty street vendor."

Nagi looks at Barou. Then to Reo. “Is there another head chef I can work with? This guy’s an asshole.”

“Hahahahaha,” Reo laughs loudly, trying to diffuse the situation as he sees the vein in Barou’s neck pulse. “Chef Barou is the only head chef at Mikage’s, and he really does know his stuff.”

“Behave, both of you.” Chigiri says, arms crossed as he looks between them. 

Despite Chigiri’s warning, the simmering tension in the kitchen rapidly reaches boiling point. Barely half an hour goes by until they hear the familiar sounds of Barou yelling from the kitchen.

“This guy is driving me insane,” the head chef exclaims as they enter, pointing viciously at Nagi, “I’ve shown him how to prepare and plate this dish seven times, Mikage-san—!”

“I don’t wanna do that though,” Nagi intervenes, pointing to the correctly assembled plate. “If you’re going to pay that much for a plate of food you’d want a bigger portion… and it’s boring to make it look the same every time.”

“It’s about consistency , you donkey. Every customer gets the same. Every time.”

The argument continues in front of Reo, with Barou getting redder in the face, hands twitching as if he wants to wrap them around Nagi’s neck. However, it does make Reo think. He brought Nagi here to show him what to expect from a more upmarket kitchen, but also to explore his own potential, to ignite a spark of passion within the unenthused chef. Perhaps he had gone about this all wrong…

“Nagi,” he cuts in, making Barou stop ranting, and the white haired man looks up at him with his big, doleful eyes. “I want you to create a special for this evening.”

“What.” Nagi says, as Barou roars the same thing. 

“A special menu item for tonight only. It can be anything you want, and you will focus solely on that dish for the evening. That gives you a bit of leniency and,” he looks to Barou, “keeps him out of your hair, chef. Does that sound fair?”

Barou gives Nagi a glare, “…yes, Mikage-san. But,” he points to a far corner of the kitchen, “you work over there, and don’t bother my chefs. Got it?”

“Don’t want to be near you anyway, weirdo.”

Chigiri speaks up before another argument starts, “That’s enough— get to work, both of you. Service is in a couple of hours and we still have plenty to do.”

With the sudden reminder of dinner service approaching, Barou immediately snaps back into head chef mode, moving away towards the front of the kitchen. Chigiri sighs, quirking his eyebrow at Reo. 

“A new special, Reo? This close to dinner service?”

“Oh come on, it’s not a big deal!”

Chigiri doesn’t look impressed, and turns to Nagi with a tense smile. “So, what is it?”

“What’s what?” Nagi asks, tilting his head. 

“The special. What’s it going to be? I need to tell my front of house staff every single detail. The customers here won’t just eat whatever you put in front of them, they’re meticulous, they’ll want to know the ingredients, and they’re paying a lot for high quality.”

“Give him time, Chigiri, honestly.” Reo says, flapping the red head away, “Nagi will work something out, won’t you–”

He looks back at the cook, only to see him leaning against the counter, looking at his phone. Chigiri gives him a withering look. Reo snatches the phone out of Nagi’s hand. 

“Heeeey,” Nagi makes the most pathetic grabby hands, which Reo easily avoids, shaking his head.

“Come on, Nagi. You're better than this," Reo says, studying Nagi's nonchalant expression. “I've tasted what you can make in that tiny kitchen. This is no different. You just need to apply yourself, put in a little effort, and you'll blow everyone away.”

“It's just,” Nagi looks around the kitchen, “a lot to do. I’ll come up with something I suppose.”

Reo takes a step closer, his tone more earnest. “I know you can do more than just ‘ come up with something ’. You have talent. I know it. And I want you to show everyone here what you're truly capable of.”

Nagi meets Reo's gaze for a moment, a flicker of something undefinable crossing his normally sleepy eyes. Then, with a nod, he heads back to the prep area. 

Chigiri mutters to Reo, "You're wasting your time. Nagi can cook, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t care ."

Reo watches Nagi start to pull out an assortment of pans, an inexplicable determination welling up within him. “All he needs is a little push. Someone to encourage him. Tell him he’s doing a good job.”

Something he wishes he had, rather than been handed a restaurant empire with lofty expectations of its continued success. 

Reo leaves Nagi to his work, sitting down at one of the restaurant’s tables. He realises he’s still holding Nagi’s phone, and the screen is unlocked. Reo glances at it and notices that Nagi had been scrolling through an interview featuring Reo from a few years ago, before he began his independent venture as a critic. Why would Nagi be reading an interview with him? Reo reads his own words on the screen, contemplating the answers he gave about the intricacies of fine dining, the pursuit of culinary excellence– his own words seem incredibly vapid in hindsight, but they were the right things to say to maintain Mikage’s public image. He locks the screen and slips it into his pocket, deciding the less distractions Nagi had for now, the better. 

Reo returns to the kitchen just before service is due to start. It’s chaos, as always, but Barou always ensures it’s a controlled chaos. Nagi stands near a bubbling pot, tidying up his station. He moves with a casualness that belies the intensity of the rest of the kitchen. His movements are languid, as if he's daydreaming rather than preparing to feed a dining room full of upper-class customers. Reo can smell a rich aroma of simmering broth and savoury notes. 

“How are you getting on?” Reo asks, smiling through his slight unease.

“All done.”

Reo takes this as an invitation to lift the lid of the steaming pot. Inside he sees chunks of tender beef mingling with earthy potatoes, and verdant specks of green and orange vegetables, simmering in a savoury broth that carries the promise of comfort and warmth. It smells… homely– well, not like Reo’s home, but one he might have had. It gives him the same aching, wishful nostalgia as that first bowl of ramen had. However this is Mikage’s; a high class dining establishment with the trendiest, cutting edge food in Tokyo. 

“This is… stew, Nagi.”

“Yep,” the chef replies, wiping his hands on his apron. “Now all of those rich people out there can have a full meal instead of those piddly little plates.” 

There's a flicker of something unreadable in Nagi's eyes—perhaps a hint of satisfaction, a touch of mischief. It’s the first time Reo has spotted something like this in him, and he wants to rise to the challenge.

“Nagi,” Reo closes the pot with a grin, “Let’s make sure this is Mikage’s best seller tonight.”

“Nikujaga,” Chigiri says, the dining room bustling behind them both as the first diners begin to be seated. “That’s just meat and potatoes. We’re serving meat and potatoes at Mikage’s. ”

“Chigs–”

“Don’t you Chigs me, Reo–”

“ Listen ,” Reo slips his arm around Chigiri’s shoulder, “we’re not serving just any old stew. We’re serving an… elevated homage to a Japanese classic, with the finest cuts of wagyu beef and locally sourced produce.”

Chigiri looks like he’s about to argue with the pitch, but something catches his eye over Reo’s shoulder. Looking round, Reo sees Kunigami awkwardly hovering by the bar area, wearing a fitted formal shirt and holding a wine glass completely wrong. Reo can’t resist looking back at Chigiri with a catlike smirk. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a special guest coming…”

“Shush, you.” Chigiri snaps, striding off to greet the man, fixing his hair behind his ear.

Reo watches Chigiri approach, sliding his arm smoothly into Kunigami’s before guiding him towards a table that should have been booked up for months. Kunigami’s ears are tinged red as Chigiri leans over him, going through the menu options one at a time, but the other man never takes his eyes off him. Reo has never had time for relationships really, despite his parents helpfully attempting to set him up with their wealthy associate’s daughters. The constant travel and the demands of his career have left little room for deep personal connections. Wistfully, he wonders if there could ever be a place for such luxuries in his life, before shrugging off the thought. It’s dinner service, after all.  

Reo hasn’t worked the floor in quite some time, but he feels determined, fired up to sell Nagi’s simple dish to Mikage’s clientele. It’s a challenge, it’s new, it’s exciting . He moves through the restaurant, making his presence felt at each table. His minor fame as the owner and a recognized face in the culinary world adds a layer of allure to the dining experience, something more for the clientele to brag about later. Due to this Reo finds it easy enough to schmooze at least one diner per table to try the guest chef’s special, even as he sees several quirked brows and hesitance as the first few unassuming bowls of nikujaga are brought out. However he soon starts to overhear snippets of conversation; praise for the well-balanced flavours, how the wagyu melts in the mouth, and how comforting but refined the simple dish is.

“Nagi,” Reo exclaims, as he bursts into the kitchen at the end of service, “Everyone loved the nikujaga! I told you this would be our best seller tonight.”

“Great… Can I have my phone back now?” Nagi asks, holding out his hand. 

“Oh, sorry, of course…” Reo hands the device over, then remembers what he had seen on the screen before service. “You were reading an article about me. Why?”

Nagi blinks, then turns away, retrieving a portion of nikujaga kept warm under a plate. He holds it out. “Saved you a bowl. Try it.”

Reo’s about to ask for an answer to his question first, but Nagi stares at him with intensity, waiting for him to take a bite. So he does, making sure to load his fork with every element of the rich stew. The meat melts across his tongue, perfectly cooked, however just as he felt with the ramen, this bowl is much more than just a well-cooked meal– it's a comforting embrace, the taste of a home he never knew he craved. 

“This is incredible, Nagi,” Reo says, savouring another bite.

“I wanted to know your favourite,” Nagi says, holding up his phone, “And it was some kind of fancy steak thing… but,” the chef pauses, looking thoughtful, “I thought Reo deserved something simple and comforting. Because you already have so many fancy things, but you don’t seem happy with them."

Reo is momentarily speechless. It’s true he’s lived a life wanting for nothing; wealthy parents, an expensive education, a successful career handed to him– he is, by all accounts, incredibly fortunate. However he’s always felt hollow – and his critical career is supposed to be for him to strike out on his own and find something to fill the emptiness.

“How did you…?”

“Why else would you come into our crappy ramen place when you own a place like this?” Nagi shrugs, “...and you just seemed kinda… like you wanted to find something.”

He did. When Reo had started his search of Tokyo, he had wanted to uncover a diamond in the rough, a treasure, just for him. And now he wants to polish Nagi and present him for the culinary world to see. 

“I think I’ve finally found it,” Reo says breathlessly, purple eyes boring into Nagi’s. 

“Your eyes are doing that chameleon thing again,” Nagi reaches out, tapping Reo’s forehead. “It’s cute though, when Reo does it.” 

“...come work for me.” Reo blurts out, face flushing red when he realises how flustered he sounds. “I— I mean, I would love to have you at Mikage’s. You could have such an illustrious career here—!”

“Nah. One night was enough.” 

“But you’re too good to be hidden away in some back alley shop!”

“Don’t want to.”

“But why—!”

“Reo’s never been told no before, has he?”

Nagi says it so off-handedly, but Reo feels his face heat up, ashamed and frustrated. It’s true; he’s rarely been told he cannot have something, no matter the cost. He cannot fathom why Nagi would throw away an opportunity to utilise his talents, and it’s infuriating. 

“…sorry, Nagi.” He mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for your hard work this evening. Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, Reo turns on his heel, leaving the kitchen behind. Nagi says nothing more, but Reo can feel his soft eyes watching his retreating back. The nonchalant remark echoes in his mind as he enters the dim, near empty dining room. 

Chigiri is seated at the bar, facing Kunigami, toying with an empty glass between his fingers. He watches the red head lean closer, resting a hand on the muscular man’s thigh, as he whispers something in his ear with a confident smirk. Reo has never seen a man chug a glass of his expensive house wine before, but Kunigami knocks it back, slams the glass down and gets to his feet, leading Chigiri out eagerly by the hand. Reo watches as they bundle into a cab together, then wanders over to where their empty glasses sit on the well polished bar, rolling the stem of one idlily between his fingers as he thinks. 

The polished surfaces of Mikage's remind him he lives in a world where success has always been measured in stars and accolades. He contemplates Nagi's resistance, grappling with the notion that someone might not yearn for success in the same way he does– or, well, perhaps it isn’t so much yearning, but how he was raised. Still the frustration lingers, like a bitter taste that refuses to fade. 

Reo is going to show off his prize, one way or another. 

“A relaunch…?”

“Yes!”

Chigiri and Kunigami exchange a look over the bar of Akita Ramen. Nagi is there also, but he seems to think that Reo hasn’t noticed him tapping away at his phone. It has been a week since dinner service and the awkward aftermath, but what is much more important is that in another week Reo’s article would be printed for the world to see. Reo hadn’t stopped wracking his brains for a way to elevate Nagi’s status as a chef. Is he overinvested and maybe manic? Probably, but he is determined to show off Nagi’s skills to the foodies of Tokyo.

“And where do you propose we start?” Chigiri says, “This place needs a lot of help.”

“Yes, but it has this… uh,” Reo’s eyes flit about the room– the worn wood, patches of damp on the ceiling, and duct tape over a crack in the front window, “... a raw, unfiltered charm.”

“It’s a shithole,” Nagi pipes up.

“Thanks for the feedback, everyone.” Kunigami mutters, to which Chigiri mouths “sorry” at him and Nagi just shrugs.

“But these things can be fixed,” Reo waves his hand, “I can have a team in here over the weekend, and you won’t even recognise it by Monday.”

“I really can’t afford to do that...”

“I’ll see to it. Consider it an investment.”

Reo refuses to hear a word against his plans, despite Kunigami’s attempts to reason with him. He and Chigiri leave the ramen place to the neon glow of Tokyo’s nightlife, and Reo notices how his friend eyes him. It’s the same way he does when he disagrees with Reo’s choice of new plates, or when he’s trying to be as tactful as he would be with a difficult diner. 

“Reo, you seem to be getting very emotionally invested in this,” Chigiri eventually says, as their cab winds through the bustling streets. “I mean, I know you're passionate about food, but is this still about proving something or ramen or...” He trails off, leaving the question hanging in the air.

“I'm doing this for Nagi. His talent deserves recognition, and this relaunch is the stage he needs. It's not about me; it's about showcasing what he can do.”

“I think you’re doing it for him too, but not just for that reason.” Chigiri raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, as they pull up to his apartment building. “Ren and I have seen the way he watches you, you know. He might not say much, but you can tell he’s thinking a lot.”

With that, Chigiri opens the door, swinging his legs out of the car. Reo's expression tightens, looking out the window. The car speeds through the night, the cityscape a blur beyond the glass, as Reo contemplates his words.

It’s a warm evening, the evening sun casting an orange glow on the bustling, busy alleyway at dinner time. A large queue for Akita Ramen winds its way from the door down the street, full of eager foodies looking to sample the hidden treasure that the Mikage Reo had raved about. The new, vibrant paper lanterns hung outside sway in the breeze that carries the scent of broth, and a freshly painted sign makes the outside much less drab. 

“That’s a lot of people,” Nagi murmurs, face pressed up against the blinds. Reo notes that, unlike the many other times he’s heard Nagi complain, that he actually sounds… excited, or at the very least pleased. 

“Good, you’ll be kept busy tonight!” Reo says, smiling, but placing his hand on the small of Nagi’s back to guide him towards the kitchen. “You better finish getting ready, chef.”

“Yes, boss.” Nagi replies with a mock salute as he heads into the back.

Reo plays a gracious host, welcoming every single guest personally as they enter, with Chigiri on queue control and Kunigami taking orders and serving drinks. The anticipation is palpable as the eager diners file in, taking seats at the counter and admiring the vibrancy of the redecorated restaurant. It’s mostly a younger, trendy audience they’ve attracted, which he’s glad to see. The savoury aroma of simmering broth and the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans emanate from the kitchen, and as the initial surge of diners settles into their seats, they operate like a well-oiled machine.

However, after two hours of service the pace begins to lag. Customers are waiting longer, the queue begins to stall, which is putting people off joining it to see what the fuss is about. 

“Nagi? Is everything alright?” Reo says, leaning into the kitchen, immediately met with the sweltering humidity of several pots bubbling at once. 

“It’s fine,” Nagi mutters, turning away from his pans to wipe sweat from his brow. The counters are in disarray, with bowls, empty pots and scraps of ingredients strewn wherever there is space. Nagi’s apron is stained with flecks of broth, there’s a slight welt on wrist where he’s clearly brushed against a hot pot.

“It’s clearly not fine!”

“...yeah. It’s not.” Nagi says, sighing. “It’s never been this busy. It’s tough to keep on top of everything...”

Reo is not about to let Nagi fail– for both their sakes.

“Right,” he says, pulling off his jacket, and rolling up the sleeves of his well-pressed dress shirt, “give me an apron.”

“Huh?”

“Consider me your sous chef for the rest of the evening!” Reo says with a determined grin, giving Nagi an encouraging bump with his elbow. “We’ve got this, Nagi.”

Reo may not be a chef, per se, but he’s spent his entire life in kitchens and knows he’s a perfectly capable set of hands. Nagi's initial bewilderment transforms into a grateful smile as Reo seamlessly assimilates into his tiny kitchen. With the clinking of utensils and bubbling broth as their orchestra, the chef and the critic work in tandem to meet the demand, and soon the kitchen catches up with its orders. They can do this, side by side. 

“Kanpai!”

Reo, Nagi, Chigiri and Kunigami clink their sake cups together triumphantly. They sit shoulder to shoulder in a tiny bar not too far from Golden Gai, celebrating the success of the evening with several rounds of drinks. It’s a place that Reo might have overlooked in the past, but the cheerful banter filling the air intermingles with the jaunty tunes emanating from a vintage jukebox in the corner, and the cheap (by his standards) sake tastes just as fine surrounded by friends. 

“I can’t believe how well that went,” Kunigami says, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’ve never been that busy– even when my uncle was still with us.”

“You did soooo well,” Chigiri all but coos in the other man’s ear, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He is definitely inching towards the sloppy stage of drunkenness Reo knows he will deny tomorrow.

“What about me,” Nagi says, pointing to himself.

“I am not kissing you.”

“No but I did well too, right?” Then he looks round to Reo next to him, “Right, Reo?”

“You did amazingly, Nagi.” Reo raises his cup with a chuckle, “We all did!”

“Maybe you should give him a kiss, Reo.” Chigiri remarks, raising his eyebrow. Reo narrows his eyes, about to rebuke when Chigiri falls a little bit too far forward, slopping sake onto the table. “Shit.”

“Maybe uh, that’s enough for you tonight?” Kunigami says, gently taking the cup away and moving it to the other side of the table. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“My hero.”

Kunigami puts his arm around the redhead, coaxing him out of the booth and towards the door as Chigiri clings to his arm. Just as Reo notices that his friend seems to be walking a lot more sober than he seems, Chigiri glances back, giving him a very obvious, hinting wink and mouthing “you’re welcome” . Reo is left alone with Nagi, who is looking very thoughtfully into his untouched drink. 

“So. Are you sure I still can’t tempt you with a job at Mikage’s?” Reo says, tilting his sake cup towards the other man, “You could be famous, maybe even earn a star.” 

Nagi looks thoughtful for a moment, but shakes his head. “I don’t really need recognition and stars and all that stuff. I think as long as Reo thinks I’m doing a good job, that’s fine for me.”

“Ha, Nagi… I’m just, well, one person?” 

“Then I want to cook for Reo, and only Reo,” Nagi says softly, leaning closer to cup Reo’s chin in his calloused hand, “because it makes you happy, and… I like making Reo happy.”

Reo is stunned by his unexpected forwardness, as Nagi looks intensely into his eyes, hand lingering on his burning red cheek. 

“I… Nagi,” Reo clears his throat, bringing up his hand to place it over the other man’s, “I don’t want you to think that I’m only interested in your talents. It may have started that way, but…” His heart thumps in his chest, “I have really enjoyed getting to know you.”

“Oh, then we should get to know each other even better.”

“Nagi?!” Reo splutters, aghast, and not drunk enough for any of that right now. 

“Huh? Oh– no, not like that.” Then he hums thoughtfully. “Well, maybe later. But… I still need my “well done” kiss.”

Reo groans fondly, because of course out of all the eligible suitors he’d had offered on a platter of the years, of course this adorable, strange, recluse of a man is the one he’s become so besotted with. Still, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he leans in to press a kiss to Nagi’s cheek.

“Let’s go on a date– somewhere that’s not your work or mine.” 

“I’d like that a lot.”

[…] and so in the realm of culinary exploration, critics often tread well-worn paths to the extraordinary. I found myself compelled to traverse the wilderness of Tokyo’s back streets, which led me to Akita Ramen, a place that would leave a mark on my palate and perceptions of what good food truly means. 

Akita Ramen is an ode to tradition, simplicity, and authenticity in a world saturated with showy gastronomic offerings. In a single bowl of ramen, it has proven to me that greatness can indeed emerge from the unlikeliest of places, if only we give them the chance. I implore and invite you to Akita Ramen and places like it— they are the heart and soul of our streets and country, with every mouthful a reminder of our cultural heritage preserved in its broth. 

Needless to say, dear reader, the chef responsible has left an indelible imprint on not only my tastebuds, but on my very heart and soul.