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“Alright, fellas, get ready,” Ichiban said, rubbing his hands together as the gang stepped into the revolving sushi bar. The place was buzzing with energy, the scent of fresh fish and soy sauce thick in the air. Plates of sushi glided past on the conveyor belt like little edible race cars, and Ichiban’s eyes lit up like a kid at a candy store.
Nanba, however, had one goal. One mission. One singular purpose in this world: to grab a plate of unagi nigiri before some other greedy bastard snatched it. He cracked his knuckles, adjusted his glasses, and locked in on the belt like a hawk eyeing its prey.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he muttered under his breath.
Across from him, Zhao already had a stack of empty plates in front of him, casually plucking a fatty tuna roll off the belt with one hand while sipping a beer with the other. “Nanba, you okay? You look like you’re about to throw hands with that conveyor belt.”
“Shut up, Zhao, I gotta focus,” Nanba grumbled.
Ichiban, Chitose, and Tomizawa were already loading up their trays, popping sushi into their mouths like they were at a damn buffet. Even Adachi, who normally took his time with food, was stuffing his face. Meanwhile, Nanba kept reaching out—only for his targets to get snatched right before he could grab them.
First, a salaryman grabbed an unagi plate. Then, a kid with sticky fingers swooped in for another. Then, worst of all—Seonhee, with all the grace of a panther, picked up the last unagi right as it passed Nanba. She took a dainty bite and smirked at him.
“Too slow,” she said.
Nanba slammed his fist on the table. “DAMMIT!”
Ichiban nearly choked on his salmon roll from laughing. “Bro, you good? I’ve never seen you this worked up over food before.”
“You don’t understand, Kasuga. The unagi nigiri is the highlight of this whole damn place. And I keep missing it! This conveyor belt’s moving faster than my will to live!”
“You sure it’s the conveyor belt, old man?” Chitose teased, popping a shrimp tempura roll into her mouth.
Nanba was about to retort when he spotted another plate of unagi coming his way. This was it. His moment. He licked his lips, tensed his fingers, and lunged—
Only for Adachi’s old-ass reflexes to beat him to it.
“Mm. Not bad,” Adachi said, chewing thoughtfully.
Nanba’s jaw dropped. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
Adachi shrugged. “Didn’t even see you reaching for it. Maybe you just gotta be quicker, man.”
Nanba let out a strangled noise of pure suffering. “I am going to kill all of you.”
Tomizawa, still struggling to keep a straight face, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Alright, alright, let’s strategize. Maybe if you time it right—”
Nanba did not want to hear this from a man whose whole plate was already full. He ignored him and braced himself as he saw another plate coming. He leaned forward, arm twitching—
Only for the goddamn sushi chef to snatch it off the belt and place it in front of a VIP customer at the counter.
Nanba slammed back in his seat and let out a groan of agony. “This is some kind of sick joke.”
“Bro, just eat something else,” Ichiban said, shaking his head.
“NO. This is about honor now!”
Zhao, wiping a tear from his eye from laughing too hard, leaned over. “Alright, alright, look. I got an idea. Just—get up, stand by the belt, and when the unagi comes, sprint for it.”
Nanba blinked. “That’s… insane.”
“Yeah, but do you want the unagi or not?”
Ichiban gasped. “Wait—no, even better. You gotta fake out the competition. Make them think you’re reaching for one thing, then—BAM! Go for the unagi!”
Chitose cackled. “Or just fight the kid next to you. Steal it off his plate. Show no mercy, Nanba.”
Nanba buried his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”
At that moment, one last plate of unagi appeared on the belt. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights, golden, glistening, perfect.
Nanba’s eyes went feral.
This was it.
Now or never.
He waited. Calculated. Ignored the snickers from his so-called “friends.” And right as it was about to pass—
A pair of chopsticks snatched it up.
Nanba turned his head in slow-motion, horror spreading across his face.
At the end of those chopsticks was Kiryu Kazuma.
The legendary Dragon of Dojima sat at the counter, oblivious to the tragedy he had just caused, and placed the unagi into his mouth with a serene expression.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “Delicious.”
Nanba let out the longest, most guttural scream of his life.
Ichiban fell over laughing. “NO WAY! EVEN KIRYU STOLE IT FROM YOU?!”
Zhao was wheezing. “This is the best dinner I’ve ever had!”
Nanba slumped forward, dead inside, as Kiryu turned around, confused. “Huh?”
Adachi clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll get ‘em next time, champ.”
Nanba exhaled sharply. “I hope you all get food poisoning.”