Chapter 118: This is the Charm of a Night Restaurant
The steam from the hot pot had mostly dissipated, leaving behind the comfortable, humid warmth of a well-enjoyed meal. The broth was gone, the noodles were gone, and the only evidence of the feast was the sheen of sweat on the diners' foreheads and the relaxed, slightly slumped postures of satisfaction.
"Phew... Now that feels right," Shusuke Fuji exhaled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His ice-blue eyes, usually hidden behind a serene smile, were now closed in genuine contentment. "Ren-ge's cooking is as dangerous as ever. It disarms you completely."
Hearing Shusuke's words, Fuji Yumiko nodded, her movements languid and heavy with the pleasant buzz of alcohol. She rested her cheek on her hand, smiling dreamily at nothing in particular. Fuji Yuta, usually the prickly one, had no intention of refuting his brother. He was too busy contemplating the residual flavor of the spicy cheese sauce.
Atobe Keigo, sitting at the adjacent table, glanced at Shusuke. He swirled the last of his non-alcoholic champagne in the crystal flute.
"Tezuka was right," Atobe chuckled, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. "Though I hate to admit it, that stoic captain of yours has good taste. This place isn't just about food; it's about... atmosphere. Right, Kabaji?"
"..."
Silence answered him.
"Kabaji?"
Atobe Keigo turned his head, expecting the usual monosyllabic affirmation. Instead, he saw Kabaji Hiroshi completely engrossed in his meal. The giant was holding his bowl with both hands, scraping the last grains of rice soaked in beef juices into his mouth with a speed and ferocity that bordered on religious devotion.
Atobe was stunned for a moment. Kabaji, his shadow, his mimic, was ignoring him for a bowl of beef?
Then, a small, rare smile graced the King's lips.
"Heh. This kind of situation is normal here, I suppose. Even loyalty bows before hunger."
Ren, who had been observing the room, suddenly stood up from his seat near Lucifer. He walked back into the kitchen, his movements fluid and purposeful.
This simple action made Atobe Keigo and Kabaji Hiroshi pause. A look of intense anticipation appeared in their eyes. The appetizer course was over. The main event was coming.
This was the first time Atobe had felt such raw, almost childlike anticipation for a dish in years. Both Chateaubriand steak and Yorkshire pudding were staples of his diet—things he had eaten since childhood at banquets and 5-star hotels in London. They were familiar. They were expected.
But tonight, in this small, mysterious shop tucked away in a Tokyo alley, he felt an extraordinary anticipation. He wanted to see how this magician of a chef would reinterpret the classics.
Sizzle.
The sound of searing meat echoed from the kitchen, louder and more aggressive than before.
"Oh~ This aroma!" Atobe's nose twitched. He closed his eyes, analyzing the scent profile drifting through the air. "Rich, buttery, with a hint of rosemary and garlic... It's definitely the smell of Chateaubriand!"
Although Atobe trusted Ren's confidence, he had harbored a sliver of doubt. Chateaubriand steak is the center cut of the tenderloin—the most tender, most expensive, and most delicate piece of beef on the animal. It's not something you can get just by having money; you need a butcher who respects you.
When Ren emerged pushing the stainless steel dining cart this time, the aroma that accompanied him was no longer subtle. It wasn't the gentle, earthy scent of the mushroom soup.
It was an assault.
Although light and elegant dishes have their place in the culinary world, it is an undeniable fact that primitive cooking methods—fire and fat—have a more visceral appeal to the human brain.
Cooking can never be truly separated from the three pillars: roasting, boiling, and stir-frying. Among them, Roasting is the king. It is the first cooking method humans mastered when they huddled around ancient fires, and it remains the most indispensable today.
Everything can be roasted. Vegetables, fish, even fruits. But nothing compares to meat and dough.
Roasting is the most appetite-stimulating method because it is visual seduction. Seeing the meat slowly transform, watching the red fibers turn brown and develop a crust, seeing the fat render and glisten under the heat, hearing the hiss of the juices hitting the pan... it is a sensory overload.
And besides the meat, there was the other giant of the roasting world: Baking.
Cakes slowly rising, cheese bubbling and browning, dough expanding and becoming crisp.
Ren placed a large, round wooden board on Kabaji's side of the table.
"For Mr. Kabaji," Ren announced. "The Hawaiian Beef Pizza."
The pizza was a masterpiece of rustic beauty. Its surface was a chaotic, colorful landscape. It didn't look messy; instead, it looked vibrant.
The golden crust was puffed and charred in spots, indicating a high-heat oven. The tomato base was buried under a landslide of toppings: savory ground beef, slices of salty ham, and chunks of bright yellow pineapple that had caramelized at the edges. And binding it all together was a thick, molten layer of mozzarella and cheddar cheese.
"That's right," Ren grinned. "This is Hawaii on a plate."
Pizza, like hot pot, has always been a dish of contradictions: simple yet rich. The method is basic—dough, sauce, toppings, heat—but the result allows for infinite complexity.
Pizza is somewhat like an open-faced pie, but it is far more aggressive. The "filling" isn't hidden; it's exposed to the fire.
The aroma of the cured ham and savory beef combined with the sweet, fresh scent of the roasted fruit and the nutty, salty taste of the cheese. It created a powerful sensation, a chaotic but extraordinarily lively mix of flavors. It was the culinary equivalent of a beach party—meat, fruit, sea breeze, and relaxation.
Kabaji's eyes widened. He didn't wait for a knife and fork. He grabbed a slice with his massive hand.
Meanwhile, Atobe Keigo was facing his own challenge.
Ren placed a white porcelain plate in front of him. On it rested a thick, cylindrical piece of meat, seared to a perfect mahogany brown on the outside. Beside it sat a golden-brown, cup-shaped pastry—the Yorkshire pudding.
Atobe picked up his knife and fork. He cut into the steak. The knife slid through the meat as if it were cutting through room-temperature butter.
The center was a uniform, glowing pink. Medium-rare perfection.
He took a bite.
"Mmm..."
Atobe closed his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips.
He felt... helpless. He was helplessly captivated by a dish he had eaten a thousand times.
For him, this Chateaubriand now felt extraordinarily unfamiliar. He realized that what he had eaten before, though delicious, always seemed to lack soul. They were technically perfect, but cold.
This steak, as if enchanted by Ren, was alive. It was exceptionally tender, dissolving on the tongue, yet it retained enough texture to remind him he was eating meat. It was incredibly fragrant, the juices exploding with every chew, leaving an endless aftertaste of umami.
This taste perfectly expressed the inherent characteristics of Chateaubriand—tenderness, smoothness, and a subtle, refined beef flavor—to the fullest. A second less on the heat, and it would have been raw and metallic. A second more, and the delicate texture would have seized up.
But grilled beef is never eaten alone in high society.
For grilled steak, there are many excellent choices: perilla leaves for freshness, garlic cloves for punch, heavy barbecue sauces for sweetness, or simple sea salt for purity.
But Ren had chosen the British classic: Yorkshire Pudding.
This "pudding" isn't the sweet, gelatinous dessert most people imagine. It has the texture of a soft, airy bread, similar to a popover or a soufflé.
Atobe cut a piece of the pudding. It was crisp on the outside, soft and slightly eggy on the inside. It was cup-shaped, designed by generations of British cooks for one specific purpose: to catch gravy.
Ren had already drizzled a rich, dark reduction sauce over the steak, and some of it had pooled in the hollow of the pudding.
Atobe speared a piece of beef and a piece of the sauce-soaked pudding together.
He ate them as one.
"Perfect combination," Atobe whispered.
The four words were not an exaggeration. The slight saltiness of the pudding batter, the soft, bready texture absorbing the intense, savory meat juices, paired with the warm, tender beef... it was a marriage of flavors. The pudding provided the carbohydrate balance the rich meat desperately needed.
If you can't refuse it, then enjoy it to the fullest. Atobe ate with a speed that defied his usual table manners, chasing the last drop of sauce with a piece of pudding.
[The Totsuki Table]
"It's also very enjoyable to watch others eat," Ren's voice broke through the trance of the room. "But it's not a good thing if you get hungry from watching. Come and try this. I made it along with everything else~"
Ren placed a large platter in the center of the Totsuki girls' table.
It was a pile of golden-brown, bite-sized meat chunks, each pierced with a toothpick.
Toothpick Meat (Cumin Fried Pork).
When everyone saw the platter, they looked like drowning people seeing a lifeline.
Just as Ren said, watching Atobe and Kabaji eat with such unbridled enjoyment was a form of torture. The visual stimulation of the pizza stretching and the steak juice flowing was a pleasure to the eyes, but a disaster for the stomach.
No one can watch others eat so deliciously when they're hungry (or even half-full) and not feel the pangs of desire. It is biologically impossible.
Cerberus was the prime example.
The demon girl's eyes had practically turned green with envy looking at Kabaji's pizza. She was drooling.
"Meat!" Cerberus cheered, grabbing a toothpick instantly.
She now had a great fondness for these small, bite-sized things. Whether they were meatballs or this "toothpick meat," they were fun. They were snacks.
She bit into the pork.
Crunch.
The outer layer was crispy, fried to perfection. Then came the burst of flavor—cumin. The warm, earthy, slightly spicy aroma of cumin seeds exploded in her mouth, pairing perfectly with the savory pork and the heat of chili flakes.
It was simple. It was addictive. There's nothing much to say about the combination of fried pork and cumin; it just needs to be fragrant, salty, and hot.
Lucifer picked up a toothpick elegantly, examining the golden morsel. She took a small bite, her eyes lighting up.
"Sigh..." Lucifer sighed theatrically, leaning back in her chair. "I really don't know if eating your cooking is good or bad, Ren."
Ren raised an eyebrow, wiping the counter. "Why do you say that? Is it not to your taste?"
"No," Lucifer shook her head, looking at him with a complicated expression. "Because I'll get hungry when I see it again. You've ruined me for other food. If I go back to Hell and eat the cafeteria food... I might actually start a rebellion."
"Hahahahaha!"
The group erupted in laughter. Even Erina giggled, knowing the feeling all too well.
The atmosphere in the Restaurant had reached its peak. The air was filled with the rich scents of cumin, cheese, and beef. The soundscape was a mix of the girls' laughter, Cerberus's happy chewing, and Fuji Shusuke discussing tennis strategies with Atobe across the aisle.
It was warm. It was alive.
Ren chuckled, leaning back in his chair behind the counter. He watched the scene—the demons, the chefs, the tennis players—all united by his food.
"This is the charm of a night Restaurant," Ren said softly to himself. "Strangers becoming diners, diners becoming friends."
"This is also your charm..."
A soft voice whispered beside him.
Ren turned his head. Before he could react, he felt something being stuffed into his mouth.
He chewed instinctively. It was a piece of toothpick meat, spicy and savory.
He looked up. Lucifer and Kobayashi Rindou were standing in front of him. Lucifer's hand was still extended, holding the empty toothpick. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were bold. Rindou was grinning like a Cheshire cat behind her.
Ren smiled, swallowing the food.
"It tastes pretty good..." he admitted, his gaze softening as he looked at his Queen. "Especially when fed by you."
Lucifer turned an even deeper shade of red, while Rindou whistled appreciatively.
"Smooth, Shopkeeper. Very smooth."
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