Chapter 132: The Swordsman's Gold and the Queen's Sweet Secret
The revelation hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
Girl-friends. Plural.
Mai Shiranui stood frozen at the entrance of the Dimensional Restaurant, her hand still gripping the brass handle of the door. The cool night air from her own world was already seeping in, nipping at her exposed skin, but the heat rushing to her cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature.
She was a Kunoichi of the modern era (or at least, the SNK timeline's version of it). She wasn't a prude. She knew about attraction, about the dynamics between men and women. But the sheer scale of what Ren had just casually implied—a Demon Queen in the kitchen, a sadistic General demanding bondage schematics, and a mature fortune teller on her way—was enough to short-circuit her brain.
Ren looked at her frozen form, tilting his head slightly. The water in the sink was still running, washing the starch off the rice grains.
"Miss Shiranui?" Ren asked, his voice cutting through her stupor. "Is something wrong? Did you forget something?"
Mai blinked, shaking her head violently to clear the mental image of Ren surrounded by an army of dangerous women. She turned back, her expression a complex mixture of admiration, concern, and a strange sort of professional curiosity.
"Shopkeeper Ren," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Aren't you... worried?"
"Worried?" Ren turned off the tap, drying his hands on a towel. "About what?"
"About... taking responsibility," Mai said, trying to find a polite way to phrase 'Are you sure you won't get stabbed by a jealous super-powered girlfriend?' "With so many strong women... the emotional burden, the time management... can you really handle all of them? In my world, playing with fire usually gets you burned."
Ren paused. Then, a slow, amused smile spread across his face. It wasn't the arrogant smirk of a playboy, but the calm assurance of a man who had seen the abyss and decided to build a vacation home there.
"Ah, that," Ren chuckled, leaning against the counter. "You don't need to worry about that, Miss Shiranui. In this place, the laws of physics are flexible, and the capacity of the heart is infinite. There are no limits here—not on guests, and certainly not on how many people I can cherish. Taking responsibility? That's the easy part."
Mai stared at him. He sounded so sincere, so unshakeably confident, that she actually believed him.
"So that's how it is..." Mai exhaled, a puff of white breath escaping her lips as the dimensional threshold began to blur. "I don't fully understand the logic, but as long as you're prepared for the consequences, that's what matters. You really are an unfathomable man, Shopkeeper."
She adjusted her ponytail, her usual vibrant energy returning.
"Well then! I should get going before the portal closes. I need to tell Grandfather Hanzo about this place immediately. He's been complaining about the lack of good sake lately. I'll bring him next time!"
"I look forward to it," Ren nodded. "Safe travels."
Mai stepped backward. The warm, golden light of the restaurant seemed to cling to her for a moment before the heavy wooden door clicked shut. The bell chimed—a final, cheerful sound—and she was gone, returned to the neon-lit nights of South Town.
Ren stood there for a moment, listening to the silence that followed. It wasn't empty, though. The restaurant still hummed with the faint, residual energy of the evening's chaos.
He turned his gaze toward the corner table.
Roronoa Zoro was still there.
The Pirate Hunter had been uncharacteristically silent for the last twenty minutes. He sat with his arms crossed, his single eye closed, resembling a statue carved from granite. The empty bowls of braised pork and rice were stacked neatly to the side, a testament to his earlier frenzy.
Ren walked over, collecting the empty dishes. "Mr. Zoro? You've been quiet. Usually, a customer who eats that much has a few more words to say. Is something wrong? You weren't this serious even after you lost the spar earlier."
Zoro's eye snapped open. The iris was sharp, focused, devoid of the drowsiness from the sake.
"A swordsman doesn't dwell on defeat," Zoro grunted, his voice rough like gravel. "Defeat is just data. It tells me where my edges are dull. I'll sharpen them next time. That's not what I'm thinking about."
"Then what is it?"
Zoro shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. His hand went to his Haramaki (belly warmer), patting around as if searching for something.
"The bill," Zoro admitted, his brow furrowing. "That girl... she paid in 'Yen'. I don't have Yen. I don't even know what kingdom issues that currency."
Ren blinked, then laughed softly. "Ah. The currency issue."
"I'm a pirate," Zoro stated, his tone defensive. "I don't carry a wallet. I usually just... acquire things. But this food was too good to dine and dash on. That would be a disgrace to the cook."
He pulled his hand out of his sash.
"I don't have paper money. But I have this."
Clang.
Zoro slammed a heavy, golden coin onto the wooden table. It wasn't a modern coin. It was a thick, irregular doubloon, stamped with archaic symbols—treasure from some grand adventure on the Grand Line. It spun on the table, shimmering under the warm lights before settling with a heavy thud.
"Will gold work?" Zoro asked.
Ren picked up the coin. It was heavy, cold, and solid. The purity was high. In the mundane world, this single coin would be worth a small fortune, easily covering a hundred meals of braised pork.
"It works," Ren said, spinning the coin between his fingers. "In fact, it's more than enough. I accept anything here—minerals, rare ingredients, jewelry, or even stories. You don't have to worry about exchange rates."
Zoro let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Good. I hate owing debts."
He stood up, grabbing his three swords—Wado Ichimonji, Sandai Kitetsu, and Shusui—and slotting them into his sash with practiced ease. The aura of the demon swordsman returned, sharp and dangerous.
"I didn't expect to find traces of him here today," Zoro murmured, looking around the shop one last time. "Hawk-Eyes Mihawk. That bastard... he really knows how to pick a place."
Zoro clenched his fist, the veins in his forearm bulging.
"He is the strongest. The peak. But I will catch him. I will climb over him." Zoro turned his gaze to Ren, his eye burning with a competitive fire. "And you, Shopkeeper. You're strong. Different from him, but strong. I'll work hard to defeat you, too."
Ren smiled, but he shook his head. He placed the tray of dirty dishes down and leaned against a pillar.
"It's good to have ambition, Mr. Zoro. The drive to be the best is what sharpens the blade," Ren said quietly. "But be careful. If you chase power blindly, you might lose sight of why you picked up the sword in the first place."
Ren walked closer, his voice dropping lower.
"And if your only goal is to surpass Hawk-Eyes... honestly? That aim is a bit too low."
Zoro froze. "What?"
"Hawk-Eyes is strong," Ren acknowledged. "But has he reached the absolute, invincible limit of swordsmanship across all dimensions? No. He is just a traveler walking very far ahead on the path."
Ren gestured to the door, to the infinite void that lay beyond the restaurant's threshold.
"If you only aim to pass the person in front of you, you are limiting your horizon. No one waits for you at the finish line, Zoro. Unless you realize that the road doesn't end."
Zoro stood there, stunned. The concept struck him hard. He had always viewed Mihawk as the ceiling. But this cook... he was suggesting the sky had no ceiling.
A slow, feral grin spread across Zoro's face. It was the smile of a predator who had just realized the hunting grounds were larger than he thought.
"Heh. The road doesn't end, huh?" Zoro adjusted his bandana. "You have a big mouth for a cook. But... I like that. I'll keep that in mind. But first—I still have to beat Hawk-Eyes."
"Naturally."
Ren cleared the table completely. Zoro walked toward the door, his boots thudding heavily against the floorboards. When his hand touched the doorknob, he paused.
He didn't turn around. He just spoke to the room.
"What did Hawk-Eyes eat?"
Ren paused in his cleaning. "Hot Pot."
"Hot Pot?" Zoro scoffed. "Never heard of it. Sounds like a mess. But... if you made it, it probably isn't bad."
"It's a dish meant for sharing," Ren noted. "It tastes best when eaten with friends. The steam, the noise, the fighting over the meat... that's the flavor."
"Friends..." Zoro muttered the word as if it were a foreign curse. Then, a mental image of a rubber man, a navigator witch, and a curly-browed cook flashed through his mind. "Heh. Idiots, more like."
He opened the door. The swirling vortex of his dimension waited for him.
"Next time," Zoro said. "I'll try that."
He stepped out. Just as the door began to swing shut, Ren grabbed something from the counter—a ceramic flask of high-grade sake.
"Catch," Ren called out. "Your change."
He tossed it.
Zoro didn't turn. He simply extended his arm backward, his hand closing around the neck of the bottle with perfect precision.
"Thanks."
Zoro waved his hand lazily over his shoulder, the green coat fluttering behind him like a cape. The door clicked shut, and the heavy presence of the swordsman vanished, leaving only the scent of ozone and the sea.
Ren stretched his arms above his head, hearing his spine crack. "Phew. Just one guest, but he had the presence of ten. Still... he's a good guy. It seems like a good world out there."
"Mmm~ It certainly seems like an interesting world, judging by the men it produces."
A soft, velvety voice drifted from the kitchen entrance.
Ren turned his head. His expression softened immediately.
Lucifer stood there. The CEO of Hell had undergone a transformation. Her usual crimson suit jacket was gone. Her long, silver hair, usually cascading freely, was tied up in a loose, messy bun, exposing the elegant curve of her neck.
And she was wearing an apron.
It was a simple beige apron, tied snugly around her waist, accentuating her figure in a way that was far more dangerous than any revealing outfit. She looked... domestic. The contrast between her title—Queen of the Underworld—and her current appearance was devastating.
"What's wrong?" Ren asked, walking over to her. "I thought you were washing the rice for Yumiko's porridge?"
Lucifer nodded, looking a bit flustered. She held up a stainless steel bowl filled to the brim with wet rice.
"I was," she admitted, her cheeks dusting pink. "But Ren... earlier you said 'about one bowl' of rice. Which bowl? The soup bowl? The rice bowl? The mixing bowl?"
She looked at the mountain of rice in her hands. "I didn't know, so I just... filled this one. Is it too much?"
Ren looked at the quantity. It was enough to feed a battalion, not just a fortune teller. He laughed, shaking his head.
"Lucifer," he said gently, taking the heavy bowl from her hands. "Cooking isn't always about precise mathematics. It's about feeling."
"Feeling?" Lucifer pouted. "I don't have 'feeling' for grains! I manage souls, not starch!"
Ren wrapped his arm around her waist, guiding her back into the kitchen. The warmth of the ovens made the space cozy.
"It's okay. I'll teach you," Ren whispered near her ear. "But I have to say... you look incredibly virtuous in that apron. It suits you."
Lucifer stiffened, her face turning a shade of red that matched her eyes. "E-Eek! What... what are you implying? Don't get any weird ideas! I'm just helping because... because Yumiko is coming! That's all!"
"I didn't say anything," Ren teased, leaning closer. "What ideas are you getting?"
"N-Nothing!" She pushed him lightly, though there was no force behind it. "Just... hurry up and teach me! I still don't know how to gauge the water level!"
"Okay, okay."
The night deepened outside, but inside the kitchen, time seemed to slow down. No other customers arrived, granting them a rare pocket of privacy.
Ren guided her hands, showing her how to measure the water using her knuckle—an ancient Asian technique that baffled the demon queen. Once the porridge was simmering on the stove, filling the air with the scent of scallop and ginger, their attention turned to dessert.
"Yumiko likes sweets," Ren noted, pulling out a block of dark chocolate. "And so do you. Let's make Nama Chocolate."
Lucifer watched with exceptional seriousness as Ren chopped the chocolate. The rhythmic chop-chop-chop was hypnotic.
"Melting chocolate requires patience," Ren instructed, placing the bowl over a pot of simmering water. "Too hot, and it seizes. Too cold, and it doesn't emulsify. It's like managing a kingdom—it requires a gentle hand."
Lucifer leaned on the counter, her chin resting on her folded arms, watching Ren stir the glossy, dark liquid. The rich, bitter aroma of cocoa filled the kitchen, mingling with the heavy cream.
"Ren," she murmured, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw. "You seem to know everything."
"Not everything," Ren dipped a spoon into the ganache and offered it to her. "Taste."
Lucifer opened her mouth, letting the warm chocolate coat her tongue. It was decadent—silky, rich, with a bitterness that melted into pure sweetness. Her eyes fluttered closed.
"Mmm..."
"It seems you've successfully learned this step," Ren smiled, wiping a speck of chocolate from her lip with his thumb. "But Lucifer, you really do love chocolate, don't you?"
Lucifer looked at him, her gaze lingering on his fingers. A mix of shame and desire swirled in her chest. This man... he made even the act of tasting chocolate feel intimate.
"It's alright," she snorted, trying to regain her composure. "I just like the sweetness. It feels more... premium. More sophisticated than those cheap candies."
[Akarin's Note: Nama Chocolate (raw chocolate) is a type of ganache made from cacao and fresh cream, famously associated with the Japanese brand Royce. It implies a high-end, luxurious texture.]
"Premium, is it?" Ren nodded. "The texture of ganache is indeed superior. It melts at body temperature."
He poured the mixture into a square mold and smoothed the top.
"Lucifer," Ren said suddenly. "How about we make our own chocolate during the day today? From scratch. Bean to bar."
Lucifer snapped out of her trance. Her eyes lit up. "Make our own? From the cacao beans?"
"Yes. You can choose the roast, the sugar content, the shape... You can mold them into little demons if you want."
"Little demons..." Lucifer imagined it. Tiny chocolate Cerberuses. "That sounds interesting."
"Yumiko will be here soon, and with her divination skills, maybe she can predict the flavor profile," Ren joked. "The amount we make will be enough for everyone."
Lucifer nodded repeatedly, a genuine, childish excitement bubbling up. She realized she was actually looking forward to the daylight—to the domestic routine of making sweets with him.
Seeing that the prep work was done, Lucifer untied her apron. She folded it with meticulous care, treating the simple fabric like a royal vestment, and placed it on the stool. However, she didn't let her hair down. She liked the way Ren had looked at her neck.
She picked up the small plate of test-chocolate Ren had set aside for her and walked out to the dining area.
Ren stayed behind to chop the scallions for the porridge.
Lucifer sat alone in the quiet shop. The lights were dimmed to a warm amber glow. She looked at the small square of chocolate on the plate.
She placed her hand gently on her lower abdomen.
It was a subconscious gesture. There was nothing there yet—or perhaps there was? Demons had different physiologies. But the thought that had started to take root in her mind wasn't about biology; it was about belonging.
Hell was cold. It was bureaucratic. It was eternal.
But this kitchen? It was warm. It smelled of rice and chocolate.
She picked up the chocolate and placed it in her mouth. It melted instantly, flooding her senses with dopamine.
Sweet.
Lucifer smiled—an expression so gentle it would have terrified her subjects in Hell. It was the smile of a woman who had found her sanctuary.
Desserts are magic like that. The moment the sweetness hits the tongue, it bypasses the brain and flows directly into the heart. It evokes memories of safety, and more importantly, it creates hope for the future.
She looked toward the kitchen door, listening to the rhythmic sound of Ren's knife.
Yes, she thought, the sweetness settling deep in her chest. I could get used to this.
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