Chapter 158: The Excited Nakiri Mana, The Fallen Iron Man
The air inside the World Gourmet Organization's headquarters was usually a stagnant blend of bureaucracy and hushed reverence, but today, it crackled with a tension that was almost electric.
At this moment, no excessive adjectives could describe the turbulent emotions swirling within the two beautiful women standing in the hallway; only one word, 'shock', was sufficient to encompass the entirety of their reaction.
Decora, usually the epitome of languid, fashion-forward indifference with her distinct "Decora" style, stood ramrod straight, her colorful accessories chiming softly with her trembling.
[Akarin's Note: "Decora" refers to a Japanese fashion style characterized by bright colors and excessive accessories. "Bookmen" are high-ranking officers of the WGO (World Gourmet Organization) in Food Wars.]
Courage, typically as sharp and cunning as a fox in her dealings, had lost all traces of her composure. Both of the WGO's elite Bookmen were staring at the man before them—Joichiro Yukihira—with eyes wide enough to swallow the world.
Courage's beautiful eyes wavered, her voice trembling as she struggled to articulate the magnitude of what she had just heard.
"Mr... Mr. Saiba," she stammered, using his old surname out of habit and reverence. "Do you... do you have any idea what your words imply? Do you realize the weight of the hope you are dangling before us?"
Decora stepped forward, her expression unusually solemn, stripping away her playful facade. "Exactly, Mr. Saiba. You, of all people, should be very clear about the gravity of this situation. This is not a matter that can be joked about. Lady Mana's condition... it is not something to be trifled with."
Joichiro Yukihira, the former Asura of the culinary world, merely leaned back against the wall, a relaxed, almost rogue-ish smile playing on his lips. He looked every bit the wandering chef, yet his eyes held a steely conviction.
"Of course I know," Joichiro said, his voice calm and grounding amidst their panic. "The old man—Senzaemon—and Gin are also very clear about this. Do you think I would come all this way, disrupting the peace, if I wasn't one hundred percent confident?"
Decora swallowed hard, the lump in her throat painful. She wanted to believe him—gods, how she wanted to believe him—but the despair had lasted for so long. Just as she opened her mouth to question him further, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor.
The three of them turned their heads in unison.
Approaching them was a young girl with dark green hair, her uniform slightly disheveled from running. It was Anne, another of the First Class Executive Officers. Unlike her usual composed self, her face was flushed with a mixture of exertion and a faint, irrepressible excitement.
"Mr. Saiba..." Anne panted, clutching a clipboard to her chest. "Please... please follow me. Lady Mana is awake."
Joichiro pushed himself off the wall, his grin widening. "Yo, Anne. I didn't expect you to be so beautiful too, Anne~. The years have been kind."
Normally, Courage and Decora would have immediately jumped in to tease Anne, and Anne would have puffed out her cheeks and retorted with a displeased expression about professionalism. But in this heavy, hope-laden silence, all three women remained surprisingly silent. The weight of the moment pressed down on them, suffocating their usual banter.
"Anne! The nutrient solution is gone! Get me a new bottle!"
A weak, hoarse voice drifted from the room at the end of the hall, cutting through the silence like a jagged knife.
"Anne!"
"Huh? Where did that girl Anne run off to?"
Inside the room, the atmosphere was stiflingly sterile, smelling of disinfectant and the faint, cloying scent of artificial nutrients. It was a luxurious room, decorated with a strong, traditional Japanese aesthetic—tatami mats, sliding shoji screens, and an exquisite ikebana arrangement in the alcove. Yet, the luxury felt more like a gilded cage than a home.
A blonde beauty sat at a low table, her posture slumped. On the table lay a pile of documents, the paperwork of the WGO that never seemed to end. This would normally be a scene of a powerful woman working diligently, if one could ignore the translucent IV tube snaking from a stand and disappearing into the thin, pale skin of her hand.
This woman was Nakiri Mana. The WGO's sole Special Executive Officer. The daughter of the Demon King of Cuisine, Senzaemon Nakiri. And the mother of the God Tongue, Erina Nakiri.
She looked frail. Her skin was almost transparent, her cheekbones prominent, and her eyes, though still sharp, held a deep, lingering exhaustion. The God Tongue, a gift to the culinary world, was a curse to its bearer. It had evolved to the point where it rejected almost all sustenance, finding flaws in even the most perfect dishes, turning the act of eating into torture.
Just as Nakiri Mana was wondering why her usually prompt attendant wasn't there to replace the vile life-support fluid she was forced to endure, she heard the sound of multiple footsteps approaching.
Mana breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against her chair. "It seems she went directly to get the nutrient solution~. That girl, always worrying too much."
She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. But when the sliding door hissed open, she didn't hear the familiar clinking of glass bottles.
Mana looked up, and her body froze.
Five people stood in the doorway. Her two personal Executive Officers, Lanterby—who had joined them silently—and Anne. Her two right-hand women, Decora and Courage.
But the person who sucked the air out of her lungs was the man standing at the center. The man with the wild hair and the confident smirk.
Joichiro Yukihira.
Mana's expression shifted instantly. A flash of complex emotions—shame, anger, and a deeply buried nostalgia—crossed her face before settling into a stern mask.
"Decora!" Mana's voice was sharp, though it lacked its former power. "Why did you let him in?! You know I do not wish to see guests in this state!"
The four Executive Officers remained silent, lowering their heads. They knew they were disobeying orders, but the glimmer of hope Joichiro offered was worth the scolding.
Nakiri Mana was slightly taken aback by their silence. Before she could reprimand them further, Joichiro walked into the room with casual ease. He ignored the tension, ignored the IV drip, and sat directly opposite Nakiri Mana on the tatami floor.
He looked at her, really looked at her, his eyes softening.
"Mana," Joichiro said gently. "This must be the first time I've seen you in all these years. And of course, I'm the first person to see you like this~."
Nakiri Mana bit her lip, her hands trembling where they rested on her lap. She wanted to scream at him to leave, to hide her wretched state from the man she had once admired so deeply. But the words stuck in her throat.
Finally, she turned her head away, her voice indifferent. "Why are you here, Saiba-senpai? Have you come to see the ruin of the Nakiri family?"
"I'm relieved you still call me Senior," Joichiro chuckled softly. "Mana, your complexion isn't looking so good~."
Hearing this, Nakiri Mana clenched her fist. Her nails dug into her palms. What woman didn't want to be beautiful? What woman didn't want to be captivating? Yet, she was tormented to the point of relying solely on tasteless nutrient solutions to survive. Her once beautiful hands were now devoid of flesh, marked by the tracks of needles. She felt less like a human and more like a withering ghost.
Mana gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with a spark of her old fire. "If Saiba-senpai is here to mock me, then you can leave! I do not need your pity!"
"No," Joichiro's tone shifted, becoming serious. "I'm here to tell you that the old man and I... we have found a way. A way to treat the drawbacks of your God Tongue. With a success rate close to one hundred percent."
The room went dead silent.
Upon hearing this, Nakiri Mana completely froze. She slowly turned her head back to look at Joichiro, her eyes wide with disbelief. It was as if he had just told her the sun would rise from the west.
Joichiro nodded, holding her gaze. "Yes. We found a way. More accurately, we found someone who can solve it. And there are many different ways to resolve the curse of the God Tongue."
Mana's breath hitched. She leaned forward, the IV line swaying. "Saiba-senpai! You... you're not lying to me, are you?! Do you know how severe my God Tongue has become?! It's not just about taste anymore... it's rejecting existence itself!"
"You can rest assured on that," Joichiro smiled, a genuine, comforting expression. "As that kid would say, the God Tongue is just an evolved super-sense of taste. As long as it's still a human sense, it's not a problem. He treats it like a common cold."
Nakiri Mana was clearly agitated, her chest heaving. The concept was too foreign, too hopeful.
Courage, unable to stay silent any longer, stepped into the room. "Mr. Saiba, you said 'that kid'? Is that person... a young man?"
"Yes," Joichiro nodded. "Very young. About the same age as Soma and Erina."
Anne frowned, her protective instincts flaring. "Mr. Saiba, are you sure you haven't been deceived? This is no small matter. Countless doctors and top chefs have failed. How can a child succeed?"
Joichiro waved his hand dismissively. "I knew you'd say that. Just let me introduce that kid first, and then your doubts will be cleared."
For the next ten minutes, the room was filled only with Joichiro's voice. He spoke with a passion that Mana hadn't heard from him in decades. He described a small, unmarked restaurant in a back alley. He described a chef named Ren.
He spoke of a simple bowl of Ramen that contained the depth of the ocean. He described Mapo Tofu that exploded with such intensity it stripped the clothes—and the defenses—off the eater. He recounted the evaluation of Senzaemon Nakiri, who called the boy a "magical existence."
"He doesn't just cook food, Mana," Joichiro said, leaning in. "He cooks emotion. He cooks satisfaction. A single bowl of his noodles would take a normal chef years to learn, yet he whips it up as a late-night snack. Shinomiya Kojiro called him a perfect chef. He treats ingredients not as masters, but as friends."
Nakiri Mana swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Is there... is there really such a chef? Flawless taste? Any dish?!"
The four Executive Officers stood behind her, stunned into silence. Such a chef had no reputation in the culinary world? It sounded impossible. But considering it was Joichiro Yukihira saying this—the man who stood at the pinnacle of their generation—and that he cited the testimony of Senzaemon Nakiri himself... they had no choice but to believe it. They were proud individuals, Bookmen of the WGO, but they knew when they were outclassed.
Nakiri Mana looked down at her emaciated hands. Hope, terrifying and fragile, began to bloom in her chest.
"Saiba-senpai..." she whispered. "What if... what if it fails? What if I go there, and it's just another disappointment? I don't think I can survive another heartbreak."
Joichiro smiled, standing up and walking over to place a hand on her shoulder. "First, what that kid said about it being very simple isn't empty talk. I've seen him do the impossible. And all the methods he mentioned have very high feasibility. His skill is definitely sufficient. Even if it truly can't be cured medically, his cooking alone can bring you back to life. He can make food that even the God Tongue cannot reject."
Mana was silent for a long time. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning. She looked at the nutrient solution, the symbol of her imprisonment.
Then, a fire ignited in her eyes.
She slammed her hand down on the table, startling Anne.
"The day after tomorrow... no..." Mana's voice gained strength, commanding and absolute. "Tomorrow morning! We will set off to find Mr. Ren! Courage, the four of you will come with me! Handle the arrangements, prepare the jet, and cancel all communications for official business!"
"Yes, Lady Mana!"
The response came in unison, a chorus of four voices filled with renewed purpose.
Nakiri Mana clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. Although she appeared calm on the surface, the Executive Officers could see the tremor in her shoulders. She was so excited she could almost jump.
The endless torment. The hunger that clawed at her soul. The isolation that made her feel neither human nor ghost. She had had enough! Now, a lifeline had been thrown to her. No matter how calm a person was, facing the prospect of salvation after years of hell... no one could endure it without breaking.
Nakiri Mana was the Bookman, the demon queen's daughter. But beneath that, she was just a girl who wanted to eat a meal with her family. She just wanted to go home.
Meanwhile, in a quiet alleyway in Japan, the dimensionally-connected restaurant was usually a sanctuary of peace.
But tonight, that peace had been shattered.
The sliding door of the restaurant was currently closed, shielding the interior from the prying eyes of the mundane world. Inside, the warm, yellow light bathed the wooden furniture in a cozy glow. However, the atmosphere was thick with a lingering killing intent.
On the polished wooden floor, a man in a violently expensive, high-tech suit lay sprawled in a heap.
It was Tony Stark. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Or at least, he had been all of those things five minutes ago before he decided to walk through the glowing door and attempt to "buy out" the establishment and perhaps flirt with the silver-haired waitress.
He groaned, twitching slightly. Smoke rose from the repulsors on his palms, which were currently flickering and dying. His suit, usually a marvel of engineering capable of tanking tank shells, looked scuffed and dented, as if he had been swatted by a giant hand.
Lucifer sat at a nearby table, crossing her shapely legs. Her crimson eyes flashed with displeasure as she sipped her tea, though her knuckles were white where she gripped the cup.
"Ren," she hissed, her voice dripping with annoyance. "You should have let me handle him. This insolent man! Did you hear what he said? He asked if I was a 'cosplay hostess' included with the property! I should have sent him to the deepest circle of Hell!"
Ren, the shopkeeper, stood behind the counter, wiping a glass with a calm, practiced motion. He looked at the fallen Avenger with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
"Alright, alright," Ren soothed, his voice gentle. "If I let you handle him, Lucy, there wouldn't be a body left to send back. And we don't want blood on the floor; I just waxed it."
He walked around the counter and crouched down beside the groaning billionaire.
"So, Mr. Tony Stark," Ren asked, poking the man's shoulder with a finger. "Are you calm now?"
Tony Stark, lying on the ground, trembled. His HUD was flashing red warnings, telling him that his systems had been overwhelmed by an unknown force. He managed to lift a shaky hand, giving a weak OK sign with his fingers, and then let his arm drop back to the floor with a thud. He fell silent, his ego bruised far worse than his body.
Ren chuckled, standing up and shaking his head.
"This customer," Ren mused, looking at the defeated superhero, "was probably the most reckless of all his customers~."
[Akarin Note:
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