The weary glow of the evening city settled on the shoulders of a lean, bespectacled man as he trudged homeward, the weight of another day in middle management bowing his posture.
'My name is Saburo Kojima,' he recited inwardly, a daily mantra. 'My title is "reluctant middle manager," my life is not my own, and my one true passion is the quest for the perfect bowl of ramen.'
His feet, as always, carried him to a small, unassuming Ramen restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city.
Its exterior was plain and unassuming, but inside it was a haven of flavor. It was one of his favorite restaurants—a place where he was a known regular.
The door chimed softly as he entered. His eyes immediately fell upon an unfamiliar back seated at the counter.
'A newcomer who found this hidden gem by chance?' Saburo wondered.
He noted the man had chosen the stool right by the entrance. Saburo gave a faint, internal shake of his head.
The seat with the most traffic, where every opening of the door breaks your concentration. A poor choice for anyone seeking to truly commune with their ramen.
Dismissing the thought, he moved toward his own preferred spot. But after two steps, he halted. The man's order reached his ears.
"Shoyu Tonkotsu. Light on the salt. Firm noodles, please."
The words made Saburo stall mid-stride, his gaze snapping toward the man with newfound interest.
'He ordered the 'optimal combination'? The perfect balance to highlight this shop's specific virtues. Is this man a fellow ramen connoisseur? Or is this just a fortunate accident?'
Perhaps sensing the weight of his stare, the man—Tanaka Masao—turned to him. Their eyes met across the quiet shop, their true expressions hidden behind the glare on their glasses.
In a single, synchronized motion, they offered each other a curt, respectful nod before looking away. No words were needed.
Saburo's thought was one of chagrin: 'A misstep on my part. I've intruded upon another's culinary solitude.'
Masao's was one of curiosity: 'It's immersive, watching the master work. I wonder if filming this would get a lot of views online.'
—
Saburo took his seat, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.
He placed the same order: the "optimal combination." As he watched the owner commence the meticulous ritual of broth and noodles, he kept Masao in his peripheral vision.
'He isn't scrolling on his phone to pass the time. He's observing the craft. Good. A man who understands and respects the process.'
A comfortable silence descended, broken only by the harmonious sounds from the kitchen—the gentle bubble of the pot, the precise chop of the scallions. This tranquility was fragile however.
The door slid open with another soft chime.
A girl stepped inside, radiating a vibrant, almost startling cuteness. A cascade of pink hair, tied with a black ribbon, framed a face with a hint of charming baby fat.
She wore a form-fitting, moss-green tank top that hinted at a figure more mature than her youthful face suggested, all paired with a simple white skirt that gave her an air of innocent charm.
She took a deep, theatrical breath, her face blossoming into a brilliant, satisfied smile.
"Wow~! It smells incredible in here!"
She bounced in with uncontainable energy and, without a moment's hesitation, plopped herself down on the stool next to Masao, disregarding the concept of personal space.
Masao's assessment was instant: "Extremely outgoing."
The shop was compact, but not full; there were empty seats on either side of him and several more further down.
A typical person would choose a spot that preserved their bubble. Only someone extroverted would sit right beside a stranger.
But there's something familiar about her...
'Pink hair... black ribbon... a ramen shop…'
As Masao searched his memory, Saburo was also observing the new arrival.
His face remained a neutral mask, but his internal commentary was as lively as ever.
'My, my, what an adorable young customer. Did she wander in here thinking it was a cupcake shop?'
He watched her bright, curious eyes scan the interior. She seems out of place.
"What would you like?" the owner asked, his steady voice a familiar anchor in the space.
The girl brought a finger to her lips, humming in thought.
"Let's see... okay! Shoyu Tonkotsu. Light on the salt."
As the words left her smiling lips, Saburo was inwardly stunned.
'Impossible! The shop's optimal combination, spoken by a girl like her? A statistical fluke? No, consider the facts. A girl her age, alone, finding her way to a place like this at this hour... it doesn't fit. Is it possible this woman is... one of us? A true initiate of the ramen world?'
His seasoned composure held firm, but his interest was now fully piqued. He continued his surveillance with a detective's focus.
This evening's meal has just become more interesting.
The owner, his back still to them, posed the next question in his usual economical fashion. "Noodle texture?"
"This one's easy," she declared. "Extra firm!"
A subtle, relieved smile touched Saburo's lips.
'Extra firm? She chose that trendy, almost performative hardness. Noodles that rigid sacrifice flavor for mere texture. She is, indeed, just a regular girl after all. I overestimated her.'
—
—
'She likes her noodles extra firm…'
And then, it clicked for Masao. The mental file opened, and he remembered exactly who the girl beside him was.
Fujiwara Chika. The secretary of the Shuchiin Academy student council, from Kaguya-sama: Love is War. Infamously nicknamed "The Cancer of the Planet."
Her family lineage was political royalty, with a former Prime Minister in the family tree—a level of influence that made local assemblymen look like small-time players.
Lost in this cascade of anime lore from his previous life, Masao's stare became a bit too fixed.
Chika noticed. She tilted her head, a curious puppy-dog expression on her face.
"Um, excuse me... you're staring. Is there something on my face?" she asked, her tone more inquisitive than offended.
She sensed no malice, only a puzzling intensity.
Her voice snapped him back to the present. He realized his social misstep.
Mental note: 'Don't get lost in thought just because you recognize a 2D character from the past life. You'll come off as a total weirdo.'
Chastising himself internally, he quickly manufactured an explanation.
"My apologies. I was just thinking you looked familiar. Like I've heard of you before."
Chika's eyes lit up with immediate, unguarded interest. As a politician's daughter, her intuition for truth was sharp, and she detected no lies.
She leaned in, her whole being radiating excitement.
"Familiar? Really? Am I famous? Do you actually know who I am?" Her eyes were wide, sparkling with anticipation.
Seeing her reaction, Masao understood the required play. He leaned into the bit.
"Fujiwara Chika. Secretary of the Shuchiin Academy student council. A veritable paragon of beauty, talent, and intellect. Even a humble university student from Chiba has heard the rumors of your perfection."
He laid the flattery on with a trowel.
The effect was instantaneous.
Chika's expression melted into one of pure bliss. She looked at him, her face an open plea: "More. Keep going."
"Uh..." Masao began to sweat, mentally scrambling to dredge up every last scrap of complimentary language he possessed.
Just as he was nearing the bottom of the barrel, Chika finally seemed sated.
She reached out and patted his shoulder companionably, then cupped her blushing cheeks in her hands, swaying back and forth with delight.
"Aww, you're going to make me blush! Sto~p it! I'm not nearly as amazing as all that, ehehe~!"
Masao let out a quiet, internal sigh of relief, wiping a metaphorical bead of sweat from his brow. He looked at her preening form and thought, 'Sure. You say that, but you're basking in every single word.'
He picked up his glass of water and took a long, restorative sip. Feeding her ego had been mentally exhausting work.
Evidently, Masao's performance had been flawless, because Chika had already catalogued him as a friend.
Emerging from her happy daze, she turned her bright gaze back to him.
"So, I didn't catch your name! I'm Chika!"
"Tanaka Masao."
"Okay, Masao-kun! Are you in university too?"
"Yeah, I go to school in Chiba."
"Chiba! I've been there so many times! It's a really nice place!"
Chiba was, after all, just next to Tokyo. And Shuchiin was the most prestigious academy in the country.
It required no suspension of disbelief for her to accept that a boy from another prefecture might know of her. It was only natural that a person of her radiant renown would be recognized, even out in Chiba.
Or, at least, that was the reality the flattery had so effectively constructed in her happily addled mind.
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