They arrived at the entrance of the restaurant. Its exterior was rather plain and unassuming, reminiscent of a rustic cafe. Based on the formidable nature of the worn wooden door in front of them, they were about to journey into a brave new world. The restaurant—in direct contrast to the urban glitz of the cityscape just outside—was decorated in lush greens. The restaurant practically screamed “organic,” save for one noticeably unnatural feature: a massive chandelier, which hung from the center of the restaurant, served as the sole source of light in the otherwise dim room. It could be compared to rays of sunlight passing through the thick boughs of a forest.
It was Soliel Levant, the restaurant with three Michelin stars and a haven for everything French cuisine related. It also served as a second home for Asahi, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t visited it for years. As soon as he walked into the restaurant, he noticed that not much had changed at all. His mind wandered; distant memories and nostalgia started to surface. He specifically recalled his father’s broad smile. Unfortunately, unpleasant memories surfaced, as well—he thought of his mother, a woman who was always difficult to read, and his face tensed up inadvertently.
Please, God, let this night end peacefully, he prayed as he walked up to the reception desk to check his reservation with the host. While the host looked through the list, Asahi’s mind went blank. He found himself whispering in a voice that was inaudible to anyone but himself, “I’m here with a friend. Just a friend.”
The message he’d sent to his mother had been, word for word, the exact same sentence. It was the truth, plain and simple, stated as frankly as possible. He was confident that she wouldn’t be able to jump to any problematic conclusions with that wording. At any rate, he wasn’t holding his breath on the possibility of meeting his parents, especially considering it was the busiest time of the season for their establishment. In theory, they wouldn’t be able to leave their respective stations for the night, or so Asahi continued to assure himself repeatedly.
Fuyuka was eagerly taking in her surroundings. Her innocent eyes were that of an excited child in a toy store. It was so heartwarming that it even made Asahi relax, even if only slightly.
“Hasn’t changed one bit, right?” he asked.
“Indeed. It’s just as I remember it,” she replied with a faint smile. The sorrowful expression she’d worn just a few moments ago had completely vanished. Asahi was grateful to see that—if their night out would help her to recall pleasant memories, then it would have all been worth the trouble.
“Oh yes, Mr. Asahi Kagami. Right this way, please.”
Asahi and Fuyuka left their coats and any personal belongings at the entrance. As Asashi was removing his outer coat, a distinctive glint caught Fuyuka’s eye. There was something special on his blazer—something radiant and ruby red.
“Could this be...?” she asked while staring at his chest with curiosity.
“Yeah, thought it’d be a waste not to wear it,” he answered with his eyes averted. It was the brooch Fuyuka had essentially forced upon him. He figured he should at least put it to use somehow rather than having it sit around on a stand and collect dust. However, wearing it proved to be more embarrassing than he’d initially expected.
“It suits you quite well.”
“Thanks,” he replied to Fuyuka’s compliment after some hesitation. His face, ears, and neck started to turn a similar red to the brooch he wore.
They were escorted to their table, which was adjacent to the window. Everything was going well so far... besides one little problem.
“Why are the seats arranged in this way, I wonder...?” Fuyuka whispered as Asahi heaved an exaggerated sigh.
Normally, they would be seated facing each other. For some reason, however, the seats that accompanied the round table were placed next to each other. Honest to the French theme of the restaurant, the table was already prepared in advance. Show plates, napkins, cutlery, and glasses were spread out so that the dining sets were laid out next to each other. Asahi deduced that it had been done this way on purpose.
“My sincerest apologies. The chef requested that the table be set up in this manner,” the young host explained, then walked away.
Fuyuka was confused—understandably so. Asahi, who had figured it all out, hung his head in disappointment.
“Wasn’t the chef your father, Asahi?” Fuyuka asked.
“Future father-in-law here! You called?” a voice called out from behind them.
“E-Eek!” she shrieked and took a few steps back as a large man appeared behind them. “You... surprised me...”
“I knew you were behind this, Dad!” Asahi cried.
“Hm? Did you just call him ‘Dad’?” Fuyuka asked.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kazuaki Kagami. I’m a full-time father and a chef on the side,” he introduced himself with a smile as bright as the white chef’s uniform he wore. He stood out rather prominently, especially against the black attire the garçons had to wear. Then again, his father would’ve stood out regardless—it was his restaurant, after all.
Sure enough, whispers between guests soon turned into a commotion when the world-renowned chef appeared. Those with wine glasses held them up high to toast him.
“I’m sorry for entering the dining room, ladies and gentlemen. I couldn’t simply stay in the kitchen when I saw my son with a cute girlfriend in tow. I just had to rush out to meet her,” he addressed the crowd.
“Hey! What are you—” Asahi began to protest, but his father cut him off.
“I'll speak to them for a bit, then return to my post. Oh? You want my signature? My apologies, that's not included on the menu!”
The restaurant, which had been quiet and peaceful just a moment ago, had changed drastically when his enthusiastic father had walked into the dining room. With a demeanor as brilliant as the glowing sun, it was obvious to see that he was rubbing off on the patrons. There was a smile on everyone's face, and they didn't seem to mind his intrusion in the slightest. The bizarre scene only served to show how popular Asahi’s father really was.
“Have a seat, you two. Don’t be shy. Let’s have a little chat!” Kazuaki, ever the gentleman, said while he pulled out a chair for Fuyuka to sit in. A sizable smile was plastered on his face. “And what might your name be, Miss?”
“I-I am Fuyuka Himuro,” she replied somewhat timidly.
“Ooh, so you’re that Himuro? Thank you for helping my son out so much recently.”
“On the contrary, sir—I'm the one indebted to him.”
“Isn’t she just a doll? A polite young lady through and through. You've got yourself a keeper here, Asahi. The future of the Kagami household is safe and sound,” he said with a hearty, bellowing laugh that resounded throughout the room.
Poor Fuyuka was no match for his vigor, and she looked to Asahi for help. Unfortunately, he could do little but shake his head. Once his father got excited about something, there was no virtually stopping his burning spirit. It was completely out of his hands. In fact, there was only one person on Earth who was up to the task. Still, he attempted to calm Kazuaki down. “Come on, Dad, let’s dial it down a bit. You’re scaring the girl.”
“Am I? My apologies, Miss. I must have gotten carried away when I saw how pretty you are,” he replied.
“Look, there's been a misunderstanding,” Asahi said. “Let's get something straight—we’re not a couple.”
“Then why are you blushing, Asahi? You too, Himuro. Goodness, you two are just so pure and innocent. It reminds me of when I was young. Those were the days. Hahaha!” he exclaimed with another loud laugh. Despite Asahi's best efforts, the man could not be tamed. He'd hoped that “The Ice Queen” could help him cool down with her frigid, piercing stares, but Fuyuka was overwhelmed. She was hanging her head and trembling slightly.
“I’ll return to the kitchen soon. Just bear with me for now, okay?”
“Y-Yes, sir...” Fuyuka managed to squeak.
Although he was an overbearing middle-aged man who refused to stay quiet, he was still a much-revered master chef who ran a famous restaurant. As a result, his personal time was indeed limited—especially because it was their busiest time of the year. Still, the few minutes they spent with him felt like the longest Asahi had ever experienced in his life.
“So tell me, Himuro,” Kazuaki continued, undeterred. “What exactly do you like about Asahi?”
“Err... um, well...” she faltered.
“I would love to hear how the sparks began to fly between the two of you. You see, Asahi's never had a girlfriend before. You could say I’m extremely interested.”
“U-Um, it’s not that... hmm...”
Fuyuka was being completely toyed with as his father barraged her with an endless onslaught of questions. She tried her best to clear the misunderstanding, though she was no match against a persistent Kazuaki.
“You look exactly like Toko, actually. Guess guys are naturally attracted to women that resemble their mother,” he said. He was just pulling answers out of thin air now and only riling himself up.
Fuyuka and Asahi looked at one another. They were practically begging for something—anything—to happen so he could return to the kitchen.
That was when she appeared.
“Be quiet, Kazuaki.”
A monotone voice rang throughout the room. It was so distinct that it could be heard even over the classical music in the restaurant. They all looked to the source of the commanding voice. Fuyuka was bewildered, Asahi had a sour expression, and—most shocking of all—the once-zealous Kazuaki had practically deflated on the spot.
“Oh... Yes. Sorry, dear,” Kazuaki replied.
“Get back to the kitchen. We need you,” the voice commanded.
“Huh? Can you give me three more minutes?”
“Did I stutter?”
“Ma’am! Yes, Ma’am!”
It was clear who wore the pants in their relationship based on their short exchange. Kazuaki made a rather quick retreat, tail tucked firmly between his legs, back to the holy ground of any chef. He looked somewhat pathetic and strangely unreliable. Still, once he resumed his work, the flames of his passionate personality would be rekindled once more. Therefore, Asahi wasn't too worried about him.
As humorous as his reaction had been, the situation was far too heavy for them to laugh. The woman who had quickly extinguished the wildfire known as Kazuaki stood in front of them, and she didn’t seem very happy.
“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Toko Kagami,” she said flatly.
There was no follow up; she wasn't interested in making any small-talk. Asahi could almost hear her voice continuing, “I’m a full-time mother and a patissier on the side,” though he quickly shook that illusion off. His mother was, and always has been, straight to the point. She gave the bare minimum introduction with no trace of inflection in her voice. Asahi took a quick peek at her face—sure enough, it was devoid of any emotion. He sighed. Another woman with a detached and cold personality that could rival Fuyuka's had entered the scene.