Chapter Text
“...Are you sure this is the right address?”
“Positive!”
Izuku stared up at the small, practically miniscule building sandwiched between two other buildings. The building wasn't dilapidated or anything – in fact, it looked recently renovated – but it was, for lack of a better word, plain. Izuku knew much about looking plain, and he could safely say it wasn't a very good thing to be.
There were no posters whatsoever that pointed to it being a restaurant. There wasn't even a signboard. The only sign it was a restaurant was the modern-traditional Japanese exterior. It had a simple, wooden door as the entrance, and a shoji window panel. Below the window was a short bar table, and a few tall stools. A traditional red lantern hung on one side. It was lit, adding to the warm orange glow of the lights. In the evening sun, it seemed very cozy.
Hm. Maybe it wasn't so bad.
“You're sure, Ochaco?” He asked once more, just to be safe.
“Yes, Izuku. Just go in,” Ochaco said in exasperation, before hanging up on him. Izuku frowned at his phone for a moment, then resigned himself to his fate. After snapping a quick photo for the article, he hesitantly headed up to the door.
He slid it open and stepped into the restaurant. At once, he could tell that the owner seemed to favour a clean blend of traditional and modern styles. On his right, there was a bar table for single eaters with an open kitchen behind it, separated by a rather tall divider, so customers could personally watch the chef prepare their food. The rest of the kitchen was likely tucked behind the other wooden sliding door, probably where most of the prep took place.
The rest of the small space was filled by a few tables. The restaurant was warmly lit as well, fairy lights strung up across the walls. There were a few posters of Japanese scripts and landscape paintings, as well as potted plants here and there. They were the only decorations in the restaurant. Overall, it was very homey. Points for atmosphere.
However, it was completely devoid of people. Maybe they were in the back? He didn’t want to bother them, so maybe he’ll wait. He carefully sat down on one of the stools at the bar table. He turned on his phone, reading through the comments Ochaco had parsed together about this restaurant one more time.
While there were quite a few complaints about the service, not much was said about the food. The few comments that deigned to recognise it, however, praised it to the high heavens.
It wasn't much to go on. Izuku glanced around once more. Considering that there was absolutely nobody in the front of the restaurant, he could see why people complained about the service.
Finally, he noticed a silver bell at the top of the thick divider between the open kitchen and the bar. He hesitated for a moment, before a hand darted out and rang the bell.
The sound echoed in the empty restaurant. Just as Izuku was contemplating leaving and telling Ochaco that he had, in fact, tried, the door of the back kitchen slid open with a quiet thump. Izuku startled, looking up.
A man stepped out of the kitchen. He was simply dressed in a black shirt and pants, and was currently tying the strings of a nondescript black apron around his slim waist. His fingers were deft, moving quickly with the feeling of someone who's done this many times before. But most interestingly, he had sharp red eyes that pinned Izuku to the spot. Pretty.
“Whaddya want?” The chef asked roughly.
Izuku jumped, quickly glancing at the menu on the divider. Tonkatsu ramen, kaarage, okonomiyaki…they were all traditional Japanese dishes. However, one caught Izuku's eye.
“Katsudon, please!” he said cheerfully.
The chef grunted in answer. He set about making the katsudon, fresh right before Izuku's eyes. Izuku sat up, craning his neck over the divider to watch as the chef cooked.
He'd seen a lot of chefs cook in his lifetime. Whether they cooked for performance or for fun, he'd seen them all. The expertise of sushi chefs slicing sashimi, the skill with which chefs tossed the food in the wok, the precision as fine dining chefs garnished their dishes.
Yet somehow, there was something different about the way this particular chef cooked. He moved around the kitchen like he owned it, familiar with each nook and cranny of the space. He barely looked as he chopped onions, aggressive yet elegant, finishing the task within seconds. When Izuku looked closely, he could tell that almost every slice of onion was cut to the same thickness.
The veins in his forearms flexed slightly as the chef whisked the eggs and poured them onto a heated pan. He deposited the bowl into the sink, reaching out to grab another bowl off a shelf without looking. His movements were fluid, completely familiar with his surroundings, each thing having its own designated spot.
Nothing could’ve made Izuku take his eyes off the chef. He watched in wonder and awe as the chef cooked, marveling at the sheer grace each of his movements carried.
The oil was heated as the chicken was breaded. The chef only took a few glances at the oil, but when he dropped the chicken into the oil, it bubbled and crackled beautifully. It didn't seem like luck that he'd just so happened to drop the chicken at the right moment. No, it seemed as if the chef had known.
Ah, Izuku realised with a start where all this familiarity was coming from. The chef made this dish with the grace of someone who's done it at least a hundred times before. Perhaps even twice as much as that.
It wasn't long before the chef thunked a bowl down before Izuku. Or maybe it was just because Izuku had been utterly enthralled as he watched the chef, paying rapt attention to every move. He'd never quite seen anything like it.
Furthermore, despite the pressure of somebody watching him cook, the chef never faltered in his movements. He carried an air of easy confidence, so certain that he wouldn’t mess up at all. Izuku watched as the chef garnished the dish with mitsuba, finally dragging his eyes off the other man to look at the bowl.
It looked mouthwatering, and the chef hadn't been shy either, generous with all the ingredients. The tonkatsu had been deep-fried to a beautiful golden colour. The egg was cooked just right, the perfect balance between runny and firm. The rice underneath looked sticky and fluffy, and the sauce glistened under the light.
“Thank you for the food!” Izuku said with a grin, practically vibrating in excitement as he picked up the chopsticks and spoon served alongside the bowl. He barely remembered to snap a photo before he was eagerly breaking through the egg, picking up a spoonful of rice, egg, and the sauce-topped katsudon.
The bite was like seeing heaven. Izuku practically melted into the seat. The tonkatsu was ideally crunchy and all the juices in the meat were trapped within its breaded coating. Flavour burst across Izuku’s tongue. The egg provided the contrasting texture of soft and runny, while the savoury-sweet sauce cut through everything beautifully. Finally, the rice served as a wonderful base for all the flavours and textures.
Izuku took a moment to appreciate that first bite, before he took another. And another. And another. Too soon, the bowl was empty, practically licked clean. Izuku mournfully gathered up the last bit of sauce, savouring it.
“...You hungry?” The chef spoke up from the side, where he'd watched Izuku finish off the huge bowl in basically ten seconds flat.
“It's really, really good!” Izuku beamed. It really was. He would eat another bowl if he still had the space to. Forget what he’d said to Ochaco, he was so grateful that she'd sent him here to review this restaurant. He needed to send her a gift basket or something. “Where to start? The katsu has just the right amount of crunchinesses, the coating isn’t too thick or thin, so it traps all the—” Izuku set off on a tangent.
“Slow down, nerd,” the chef scoffed. He reached over to clear Izuku's bowl and utensils. “What are you, some kinda food connoisseur?”
Izuku laughed sheepishly. “Ah, sorry, it’s just so amazing. You’re really talented!”
“Well obviously, my food’s the fucking best.”
Izuku was slightly surprised by the chef's confidence. But, as he observed the chef, he realised that the chef genuinely believed it, like what he said was nothing more than a fact of life. The self-assurance made Izuku smile.
And anyway, he wasn't far off from the truth.
“What brought you here?” The chef suddenly asked.
“Oh! I was in the area, and I assumed this was a restaurant, so…”
He got another scoff. “You could've walked into a closed shop or someone's house.”
“Maybe, but it's worth it for good food,” Izuku shot back easily. “Are you the owner? Do you work here alone?”
“Yeah. My younger sister comes in to help out sometimes, or mostly to be a nuisance.”
“I see. Mm, what's the restaurant's name anyway?”
“Soul Food.”
“What?”
“Soul Food. ‘Cuz it's food for the soul.”
Izuku hummed at that. While it was a simple phrase, it carried a deep meaning. And it was fitting; after eating that katsudon, Izuku felt like he'd been healed from the inside out. A warm glow had settled in his belly, making him feel tingly all over, utterly satisfied. “So why's there no sign outside then?”
The chef paused, hand stilling where he’d been wiping down the counters. There was a long moment of silence, in which Izuku realised he might’ve touched a sensitive spot. “Ah, you don't have to answer that if you don't have to! I was overstepping, I didn't mean anything by it!” Izuku backtracked quickly, worried the other would take offence.
“Calm down, nerd,” the chef rolled his eyes. Izuku frowned at the repeated nickname, opening his mouth to ask if it was going to stick, but the other continued before he could get a word out. “Just never found the time to put one up.”
It was such a simple answer, Izuku was momentarily at a loss for words. It also felt like the man was lying, but it was an awkward topic to pursue, so Izuku let it drop for now. “Ah, um, I’m Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku began.
“Cool. Didn't ask.”
Izuku frowned. Then he caught the small smirk at the corner of the chef's lips, and the fact that there was no malice in his words. “What's your name?” He tried.
“What are we, five?” The chef huffed. “Bakugo Katsuki.”
“Alright, Kacchan.”
There's a pause. Izuku stubbornly refused to back down this time. Then, Bakugo burst out laughing. “So the nerd's got bite, eh? Fine. See if I don't kick you out of my restaurant,” he said.
“Ahh, no, Kacchan!”
“That’s too damn bad. Sounds like a you problem.”
“Kacchan’s so mean.”
“Hah? See if I cook anything for you again!”
“Wait, wait Kacchan!”
It was so easy to banter with Bakugo. It felt like meeting an old friend again. Izuku had never felt so comfortable or at ease with another person so fast.
However, there was one thing he still didn’t understand, and he wasn’t willing to leave until he had answers. In the short span of time he’d been here, he was quickly growing attached to this quaint little restaurant (and perhaps the owner).
“So why don't you get a sign?” Izuku pressed. Somewhere in his head, a voice that sounded like Ochaco sighed exasperatedly at his persistence. “Good marketing brings more customers! And your food is already amazing, so you don't have to think about anything else.”
“I don’t remember it being any of your fucking business.”
“Well, no, but…”
Bakugo sighed. It was weary, as he finally relented. “‘Cuz I'm closing the restaurant in two months.”
“What? Why?”
No way. The only thing this restaurant was missing was good marketing, really. He was already itching to grab his laptop and write about the katsudon he ate, which was rare considering how fickle Izuku was with deciding when to write. Ochaco had a lot to say about that.
The thought of the restaurant closing was distressing. It was a real hidden gem, which was exactly what Izuku was searching for. And not being able to eat Bakugo's food was, well, utterly disheartening.
Which was ironic, considering the restaurant's name.
“It was just a kid's dream,” Bakugo shrugged. He wrung out the cloth, more forcefully than what seemed like it needed. “I'm wasting my time.”
“No!” Izuku rushed to say. “I've never had such good katsudon in my life. It's comparable to my own mother's, that's how good it is. It's clear you put a lot of effort into your craft, it'd be a waste if you just gave up now!”
Bakugo blinked at the outburst, leaning back to match Izuku's lean forward. “Calm down, nerd. Didn't know you were so passionate about food.”
“I am!”
“Yeah, and–”
“What would make you change your mind?”
“Seriously, Deku?”
Izuku was surprised by the new nickname, but he continued on, undeterred. “Yes!”
“I dunno, if business is booming or whatever.”
“Then I'll make sure of that!”
“What? That's insane, Deku.”
“If I can make business good, you'll keep the restaurant open!”
“And what if you don't?”
“Oh, um…”
“Fine,” Katsuki laid the cloth out on the counter to dry. “If by the end of the week, my profits see a total increase, after all the extra costs, of two hundred percent, I'll keep the restaurant open. If it doesn't, eh. We'll figure it out. Deal?”
That night, when Izuku left the restaurant, he made a call to Ochaco. “Hmm? What is it, Izuku?”
“Ochaco, I'm going to write the best damn article you've ever seen in your life.”
“Izuku,” her weary sigh came through the phone. “What did you do now?”