The bell rang.
Students began leaving the classroom almost immediately.
Chairs scraped across the floor. Bags were thrown over shoulders, notebooks disappeared into backpacks, and conversations filled the hallway.
Vash slowly packed his things.
His mind was still on the computer lesson from earlier.
HTML.
C++.
Programming.
And that strange mission the System had given him.
Three years.
Ten thousand System Points.
Create an artificial intelligence.
It still sounded ridiculous.
Vash zipped his bag.
I don't even know enough programming to make a proper website yet.
He shook his head.
There was no point worrying about something three years away.
For now, he had school.
And Grandpa's Noodles.
---
By the time Vash returned to the restaurant, the evening crowd had already started gathering.
The familiar smell of noodles filled the air.
Grandma was preparing vegetables behind the counter while Grandpa worked near the stove.
Vash put his schoolbag away and immediately joined them.
"You're back," Grandma said.
"Yeah."
"How was school?"
"Fine. Computer class was interesting."
Grandma smiled.
"Still thinking about computers?"
"A little."
Vash picked up a basket of vegetables.
"I learned something new today."
"Then that's good."
She didn't ask for a complicated explanation.
She simply handed him another basket.
"Help me with these first."
Vash laughed.
"Right."
School could wait.
The restaurant couldn't.
---
Outside, things weren't quite as peaceful.
Across the street, a small restaurant had only three customers.
The owner stood near the entrance, watching Grandpa's Noodles.
People were still entering.
A family walked past his restaurant.
Then another group.
Then two students.
All of them went toward the same place.
He frowned.
A man sitting nearby noticed his expression.
"Still crowded."
The owner didn't answer.
He simply watched.
Grandpa's Noodles had changed.
Not overnight.
Not magically.
But gradually.
The new dishes had attracted attention.
Then word had spread.
The gang boss and his men had become regular customers.
Other customers had followed.
And now people were willing to wait outside just to get a table.
The owner looked at his own nearly empty restaurant.
"Something has to change."
---
That evening, several nearby food vendors met after closing.
They weren't organized criminals.
They were simply business owners who had been watching their sales decline.
Some were angry.
Some were worried.
Others were simply tired.
One man placed his notebook on the table.
"My sales are down almost twenty percent."
Another sighed.
"Mine too."
"Since that noodle shop became popular."
Nobody needed to ask which noodle shop they meant.
For a moment, everyone remained silent.
Then one of them spoke.
"We could lower our prices."
Another immediately shook his head.
"We're already barely making anything."
"Then improve the food."
"We need money for that."
"Improve the service."
"With what staff?"
The suggestions continued.
None of them were easy.
But they were reasonable.
They were the things businesses normally did when competitors became stronger.
One vendor leaned back.
"What if we stop trying to beat them?"
Everyone looked at him.
"What do you mean?"
"We make customers stop trusting them."
Silence settled over the table.
The man continued.
"A rumor. A complaint. Something that makes people question the food."
One of the older vendors frowned.
"That's different."
"Different how?"
"Competing is one thing. Destroying someone's reputation is another."
The younger man shrugged.
"They're destroying ours."
"No."
The older vendor shook his head.
"They're running a successful restaurant. That's not destroying anything."
Nobody answered.
The younger man looked irritated.
"Then what do you suggest?"
The older vendor didn't have an answer.
That was the problem.
Everyone knew the fair solution.
Improve.
Work harder.
Find something customers wanted.
But those solutions took time.
And some people didn't want to wait.
---
The discussion continued.
Eventually, the group began to separate.
Some left without agreeing to anything.
Others stayed behind.
The younger vendor spoke quietly to two men.
"There are ways to create a complaint without directly touching the restaurant."
One of them looked uncertain.
"And if we're caught?"
"We won't be."
The other man remained silent.
The plan wasn't complicated in their minds.
They would create a disturbance.
Make customers doubt the restaurant.
Then leave.
After that, someone could make a complaint.
Maybe the restaurant would be investigated.
Maybe customers would stop coming.
Maybe their own businesses would recover.
It sounded simple when they talked about it.
They didn't think about the people behind the restaurant.
They didn't think about Grandpa.
They didn't think about Grandma.
And they certainly didn't think about Vash.
---
That night, Grandpa's Noodles was busy.
Vash moved between tables carrying bowls.
Grandma handled customers.
Grandpa stayed near the kitchen.
The restaurant was noisy, warm, and alive.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then several unfamiliar customers entered.
They looked ordinary.
Nothing about them immediately seemed suspicious.
They ordered food.
Grandma served them.
Vash continued working.
A few minutes passed.
Then one of the men suddenly raised his voice.
"What's this?"
Several customers turned.
Grandma stopped.
"What happened?"
The man pushed his bowl slightly away.
"There is something wrong with this."
Grandpa stepped forward.
"What is it?"
The man complained loudly.
Another customer looked uncomfortable.
A third person whispered to someone at the next table.
The atmosphere changed quickly.
Grandpa tried to calm everyone.
"Please, let us check."
But the men weren't interested in an explanation.
Their voices grew louder.
Customers began standing.
Some wanted to leave.
Others watched nervously.
Vash stood near the counter.
Something felt wrong.
Not because of the complaint itself.
Because of the way they were behaving.
They weren't acting like disappointed customers.
They seemed to be looking for a reaction.
Before Vash could understand what was happening, one of the men knocked a chair aside.
It struck the edge of a table.
The table tipped.
A few dishes fell.
Crash.
Grandma gasped.
"Stop!"
Grandpa stepped between them and the other customers.
"Enough."
The disturbance lasted only a short time.
But it was enough.
Several chairs were damaged.
Dishes were broken.
Food spilled across the floor.
The restaurant's atmosphere disappeared.
The men left in the confusion.
Nobody stopped them.
---
Vash wasn't there.
He was still on his way home from school.
His bus moved through the evening traffic while he looked out the window.
His phone was in his hand.
He had been thinking about the computer lesson again.
Maybe I should learn more about programming.
He opened his notes.
There was something satisfying about understanding how a few lines of code could make something happen on a screen.
He wanted to try more.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tonight after helping at the restaurant.
He closed the notes.
The bus stopped.
Vash got off.
He walked the rest of the way.
As he turned the final corner, he expected to see the familiar faded red sign.
Instead, he stopped.
The restaurant looked different.
The lights were still on.
But the entrance was crowded.
A few people stood outside.
Vash's steps slowed.
Then he saw the sign.
One side had been damaged.
A chair was lying near the entrance.
Something inside the restaurant was scattered across the floor.
Vash's expression changed.
He hurried forward.
"Grandma?"
She was inside, cleaning broken dishes.
Her movements were slow.
Grandpa stood behind the counter.
He wasn't cooking.
That alone was enough to make Vash's stomach tighten.
"Grandpa..."
Grandpa looked at him.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Vash looked around.
Broken dishes.
A damaged table.
Several chairs out of place.
Food spilled across the floor.
The restaurant looked as though something had torn through the peaceful routine they had built over months.
"What happened?"
Grandma lowered her eyes.
"Some customers caused trouble."
"Customers?"
Vash looked at the damaged furniture.
His mind started connecting details.
The sudden complaint.
The disturbance.
The timing.
The damage.
This doesn't feel random.
He walked toward the counter.
"Are you hurt?"
Grandpa shook his head.
"We're fine."
Vash looked at Grandma.
She nodded.
"I'm fine too."
Relief came first.
Then anger.
Vash clenched his hand.
This restaurant wasn't just a place where they sold food.
It was their home.
It was where his grandparents had lived after selling almost everything to pay for his treatment.
It was where Grandma had taught him to cook.
Where Grandpa had taught him about customers, money, and responsibility.
It was where they had slowly rebuilt their lives.
And someone had walked into it and damaged it.
Vash looked toward the broken sign outside.
His thoughts became quiet.
Too quiet.
He didn't know who had done this.
He didn't know why.
But he knew one thing.
Someone had made a decision.
Someone had looked at Grandpa's Noodles and decided that damaging it was easier than competing with it.
Vash slowly looked around the restaurant again.
His eyes moved from the tables to the counter.
Then to the kitchen.
Then to the entrance.
His Business Sense began sorting the situation automatically.
This wasn't simply a bad evening.
There would be consequences.
Customers might talk.
Some might avoid the restaurant.
There could be complaints.
There could be financial losses.
And if someone had deliberately caused this...
They might do it again.
Vash's eyes narrowed.
He had spent months learning how to build this place up.
Now he had to figure out how to protect it.
A faint System window appeared.
[BUSINESS CONDITION UPDATED]
Grandpa's Noodles
Operational Status: Damaged
Customer Confidence: Declining
Business Stability: Unstable
Vash stared at it.
Then he looked at the restaurant.
The System gave him numbers.
It didn't give him an answer.
For once, that was fine.
He didn't need an answer yet.
He needed to find one.
Vash slowly closed his fist.
Someone did this on purpose.
And tomorrow, he would start figuring out who.