It’s been a while. This is Kiyori.
We were at Mr. Sumo’s cafe again enjoying tea on the “terrace” (which I guess is what we call the outdoor seats). I can be myself with these friends, and our meeting had become part of my daily schedule; we talk about all sorts of things.
Miss Haru was joking around as usual in high spirits. Miss Lupe laughed adorably, providing backup for Miss Haru, who often gets a little extreme in her conversation topics. I don’t know much about the world, so her jokes are actually quite educational for me. Of course, they’re all sinful words I could never repeat, myself.
But even when I talk about boring things, these people listen. And for some reason they laugh, so I find myself becoming chatty, too. It’s a lot of fun.
Today’s tea was very fragrant. Apparently Mr. Sumo creates the blend himself. It has depth, yet it’s refreshing. There’s a hint of citrus. Perhaps he made it in Miss Haru’s image. I’ll have to get him to teach me what he used.
The cake was so elaborate that I felt bad demolishing it. I don’t think there are many people who can make such delicate sweets.
What a charming shape. Stabbing it with a fork would be such a waste.I hesitated, but when I gathered my resolve and took a bite, the gentle sweetness did me in. The soft texture on my tongue was delightful. The scent of vani and the acidity of rasp bloomed in my mouth and then sadly melted away.
I regretted the waste, but once I started eating it, there was no stopping. Mmm. I trembled. My entire body was thrilled by the subtle sweetness. Mr. Sumo is amazing.
It must be because he puts serious thought into coming up with food Miss Haru will like. His intense kindness permeated the very core of my being and gave me a warm feeling.
I’m so happy to eat with you all...truly.
—Suddenly a cup and saucer clattered.
Miss Haru, clenching a fork with cake on it in one hand, pounded the table with both fists.
Miss Lupe and I were startled and curled in on ourselves. The other customers were looking at us. Even Mr. Sumo came thumping out of the kitchen.
Miss Haru slowly lifted her head with a stern look on her face.
“I wanna eat ramen...!”
Every one of us cocked our heads.
What is ‘ramen,’ I wonder.
I didn’t know, but I had a bad feeling, so I apologized to God on her behalf.
Maybe it’s another of her indecent jokes.
✦ ✦ ✦
“No, why would I say that? It’s a real food. It’s slurpy and warms you up. It’s like uh, these really long things, and the soup is all rich, and it’s super tasty. You haven’t heard of it?”
Miss Haru was mad and her face was bright red. Apparently she really wanted to eat this thing called ramen and was trying to explain what it was with her faltering vocabulary.
Super tasty, slurpy, and rich?
I couldn’t think of what that was. And what does “rich” mean, exactly, in that context? Mr. Sumo didn’t seem to have any idea what it was either, and his head just stayed cocked. It was leaning over so far I thought it might fall off, which was frightening.
“I guess it doesn’t exist here...” Miss Haru was disappointed.
I felt sort of sorry for her. I’m the only one who knows, but she and Mr. Crimson Chiba are from another world. They’re heroes. Even if they don’t seem like it.
So they’re having a hard time making it in this unfamiliar world. But actually, according to the little bit she told me, there are quite a few similarities between this world and hers, so she hasn’t had that much trouble. And I would imagine that God chose heroes from a world that would work out.
But there are also differences, of course, and if the technology, ingredients, or system doesn’t exist, then they can’t get a hold of some things no matter how badly they want them. For example, ramen.
“But once you want ramen, you can’t stop thinking about it...!”
Miss Haru cradled her head and began to suffer.
What could this ramen be? Some kind of hazardous plant?
“If you want to eat it so badly, why not try making it yourself, Haru?”
Miss Lupe offered a pointed solution in an easygoing way. Miss Haru doesn’t look it, but she’s a talented cook. I heard that sometimes she cooks at Blue Cat Nocturne.
“Impossible. I can’t make something if I don’t know how. Ramen is hard. For starters, the things called noodles, they’re in a soup.” Miss Haru made a gesture like she was grabbing something and then shredding it. “Like this, I think?”
It did look difficult. Even so, Mr. Sumo said, “I’ll figure something out,” and nodded reassuringly.