The owner stopped in front of his table, her eyes briefly scanning him.
"So, you're the one who wants to work here?"
Her voice matched her demeanor—sharp, capable, but not unkind.
"Yes, ma'am. My name is Kuro Tsukasa. I just arrived from the outer district."
Kurosawa Yori—now calling himself Kuro Tsukasa—stood up and gave a small bow.
In the Soul Society, there were no strict identity records. A false name made integration easier.
"I'd like to find work here. I can help with anything in the kitchen."
The izakaya wasn't very large. The waitress alone could handle the front, which meant the real pressure fell on the kitchen.
The cuffs of the owner's dark kimono sleeves were visibly darker, stained from constant contact with water—proof she spent most of her time in the kitchen.
Tsukasa had aimed straight for the core of the problem.
And when he said "anything in the kitchen," it wasn't bravado. He had real experience: washing, prepping, carrying, cooking—he'd done it all during his time in the living world.
He'd already scanned the menu when he came in. All common izakaya dishes. In fact, there were fewer items here than the shops he'd worked in back on Earth. Likely a result of limited ingredients in Rukongai.
"Kuro Tsukasa?"
The name made the owner pause a moment. It wasn't common. But she didn't press.
"You're pretty confident, saying you can do it all in the kitchen."
She gave him a sidelong glance. Judging by his appearance and calm tone, he didn't exactly look like someone built for labor—but that only made her more curious.
"Alright then. Let's see what you've got. Follow me."
She turned toward the kitchen without another word, clearly intent on testing him firsthand.
"Thank you very much!"
Tsukasa bowed again and followed her inside.
"Good luck!"
As he passed, the waitress whispered encouragement with a small fist pump.
He tilted his head slightly and smiled, offering a reassuring glance in return, then disappeared behind the curtain after the owner.
The dark curtain fell behind him, muffling the chatter and laughter of the dining room.
In its place came the sounds and smells of the kitchen: fresh ingredients, damp wood, burning firewood, and a blend of spices and condiments—a kitchen's soul, alive and fragrant.
"Alright. Start by helping with prep."
The owner's tone was brisk. No small talk. She pulled a bleached apron from the wall and handed it to him, nodding toward the order tickets pinned nearby.
She returned to the stove to check the pot of simmering stew.
"Yes, ma'am."
Tsukasa accepted the apron, unhooked the stone axe from his waist, and placed it safely in a corner out of the way. Then he tied the apron around his waist, washed his hands quickly, and walked over to the fish basin.
Aside from using clay ovens, the kitchen setup was nearly identical to what he remembered. Nothing unfamiliar.
The owner stirred her pot with practiced rhythm but kept one eye on the newcomer.
She watched as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing lean, steady arms. He reached into the basin and pulled out a bonito, then used a hanging spike to drain its blood. He scaled it at the sink, rinsed it clean, and patted it dry.
Without hesitation, he moved to the cutting board, picked up a kitchen knife, and began—Gutting. Cleaning. Slicing.
Smooth. Efficient. Unbroken rhythm.
The owner's eyes narrowed slightly. She hadn't expected that.
"Ma'am, please take a look."
Tsukasa placed the cleaned fish neatly on a wooden tray and pushed it toward her.
To be honest, even he was surprised by how natural it felt. He'd cooked for himself before, sure—but it had been years since he worked in a kitchen like this. Yet now, the moment he picked up the knife, his hands moved as if they remembered everything on their own.
"No issues. Keep going."
She gave him a single nod and stepped aside.
"Yes, ma'am."
Zzzshhh!
The kitchen filled with the sharp sizzle of hot oil.
Tsukasa gripped the skillet's handle, tilting it just enough to let the oil bathe the fish. A savory aroma burst forth as the skin crisped, turning golden on both sides. He added a pinch of coarse salt, letting the crystals melt into the surface, then finished it off with a drizzle of clear sake that sent up a fragrant cloud of steam.
He plated the fish cleanly on a ceramic dish and added a mound of freshly grated daikon for garnish.
Just as he finished, a slender hand reached in and tapped the surface of the fish. The owner brought her fingers to her lips, tasted it, and nodded.
"Tsukasa, from now on just call me Terada-san. Take it out."
"And that girl outside—her name's Koyuu. Be sure to thank her later."
No long speech. No flowery praise.Just quiet acknowledgment.
Truth be told, she'd only come out earlier because Koyuu had begged her to check.Turned out she'd found a gem.
"Yes, Terada-san."
Tsukasa placed the dish on the serving counter, gave the brass bell a soft tap, and turned back to handle the next order.
A short while later, Koyuu peeked through the pass and saw him working alongside Terada in the kitchen, the two moving efficiently together.
She smiled brightly.
…
Before the Dinner Rush
After the last afternoon customers left, Tsukasa helped Koyuu and Terada-san finish preparations for the dinner service.
Once the final stack of bowls was arranged neatly on the shelf, the three of them sat down at a table near the counter.
A hot pot of rice steamed in the center. Several plates of pickled vegetables sat nearby, each person had a bowl of miso soup, and a dish of simmered stew—radish, potato, and meat glistening with sauce—completed the meal.
The izakaya had gone quiet. Only the faint crackle of wood in the clay stove and the bubbling stew broke the silence.
"Good work today."
"Eat up. We've got a long night ahead."
Terada took the head seat, quick and efficient as always. She filled two bowls of rice and passed them to Tsukasa and Koyuu.
"Itadakimasu."
All three joined their hands in unison.
Koyuu picked up a slice of pickled daikon and nibbled. Terada slowly tasted the rice.
To them, eating was a ritual—something ordinary yet grounding.A reminder they were still alive.
Only Tsukasa ate faster. His posture remained proper, his chewing silent and polite, but his pace was clearly accelerated.
He couldn't help it.He'd nearly fainted from hunger hours ago. If not for sneaking a few bites while taste-testing, he might've collapsed mid-shift.
Now that he could finally sit and eat properly—even a mouthful of plain rice tasted like a divine miracle.
Terada noticed. She didn't comment.
Instead, without a word, she gently slid the dish of simmered stew a few inches closer to his side of the table.
The movement made Tsukasa pause briefly. Then he smiled softly and kept eating—savoring every bite of his first real meal in the Soul Society.