Guess Who's Coming to Downton

Ah, yes. Fall was fast approaching, was it not? The young prince looked up from his writing and stared at the butterflies floating gently against the cool breeze and golden leaves. He set his pen down and allowed his feet to rest over the edge of the edogawa as he sat up. The garden always looked so beautiful at sunset. He looked at his broken sword forgotten on its pedestal in his corner. The wound on his chest aggravated at the sight of it. It wouldn't be long now, he supposed.

"Katashi!" A familiar voice called out to him. He turned to see Hana standing in the doorway, one foot already inside of the room as she clutched the sliding frame tightly. He'd seen her often in his dreams after being so far away. As usual, she had become a little prettier. "You've come back!"

Hana rushed into the room and embraced her beloved. She slammed so hard into him he nearly fell backward to the floor. She laughed a tearful smile against his weary body. Katashi could but smile and hold her tight, remembering the scent of juniper and the comforting warmth from within her kimono. Hana's eyes opened and noticed the pen and paper at his side.

"What are you writing?"

"A poem. For you."

Hana felt her heart swell. "I would love to read it."

"It's not finished."

"When you finish it then. We have all the time in the world, now that you are with me."

Katashi only chuckled weakly. "What is wrong with stopping halfway?"

Hana looked confused. Katashi turned and slowly fell to his back, resting the back of his head in her lap. He watched the afternoon before them and the butterflies dancing in his garden. "People everywhere live their lives so desperate to see how it ends...but does it ever truly end? When they are gone, when I am gone, do the seasons not change? Do our dreams die with us? Does love fade from our still hearts?"

"I...could imagine that. Why are you saying these things? It's been so long. I'll have the attendants prepare us a meal. I'll send that Owari sake you love. We can drink by the riverbed like you always talked about."

Katashi reached to his chest and grasped the seam of his robe tightly, parting it to one side. Bandages lined a mortal wound beneath his chest, crusted yellow and still red with fresh life. Hana's face ran cold with the horror of a grim realization. "I have crossed blades with a thousand bodies. I've stolen the futures of countless destinies. And all I have are scars. All I could ever see was your smiling face. It's only just that it's the last thing I see before it is all taken away."

Hana shook her head. "You still have time, Katashi! There's still so much I want to tell you! We can walk by the sea. We can go to the spring festival. We can see the fireworks! I...I…!"

"Hana…"

"You can't leave me alone." She whimpered. "Not like this."

"I can." He felt the warm tears stain his shoulder. Even so, Katashi could only offer but his simple smile that had greeted her so long ago. "Because you are strong. In all of this isolation and longing and sadness, you stood and fought for the sake of frail hope. You are stronger than I ever could be. Though I will wither into ash and naught but a thousand winds, there is one thing I want you to always remember."

His words began to grow weaker, his vision hazy and fading even faster. Her tears would be the last rain he would ever feel. "My beloved. I know it's not how you imagined it. I know it will never be the same as it was. But from the bottom of my heart...I love-"

Katashi stopped as he looked up to his true love and found the face of a snarling bear peering over him. Its fangs dripped with blood and saliva over his distraught face. In the blink of an eye, its fangs tore into his face and swallowed the flesh of his dying scream.


Masuyo snapped back awake. Cars merrily cruised by the road before her while the Japanese girl remained planted with feet to the concrete and a broom in her hand. It had taken her half of a second to remember what she had stepped outside to do in the first place. She was supposed to sweep. The fatigue was having her mind reminisce on her father’s soap operas.

The restaurant was closed for the day. The tourist trade was officially over and her parents had finally earned a well-deserved vacation to Hawaii. That left Masuyo to watch over their home and run the place effectively by herself. It was something she had done plenty of times before. They knew she wouldn't mind. As a child, it was her dream. Ask her a year ago and she would leap over the counter to grab her chef coat. Ai-Ko was her heart and soul.

And yet she hadn't smiled all day. Her eyelids were heavy and creeping with shadow.

Restful sleep had eluded her these past couple of weeks. She found herself waking often in the middle of the night and unable to fall asleep for what felt like hours. She had made something of routine out of it, reliably waking up and going out for long jogs beside fluorescent neon lights and beneath a moonlit sky. There was a surrealness to it all as if running through a waking dream when all she wanted to do was wake up. Her soles would hit the concrete harder, her heart would beat hard against her chest as if the Japanese girl were being chased. When the morning sun finally illuminated the sky, Masuyo would find herself on some unknown street far across the city. How she would get there, she wouldn't know. All she knew was the cold air in her lungs. The aches in her feet. The bruises on her hands.

These last few fights had been taking a much greater mental as well as physical toll than expected. Sixty-minutes of having her belly busted by Kyoko Akan, followed by an all-out MMA fight with Roxy Ashworthy, both of which were world champion-grade contenders in their own right. Each of those bouts had drained her for what felt like weeks, yet the fatigue only gave her further satisfaction. It reaffirmed why she was here. All she could feel walking away from them was a sense of pride. A new goal to strive towards.

Her last fight against Bashira Matsumoto was a different story entirely. Masuyo felt as though she were on the fast track only to suddenly face a massive brick wall in front of her. It wasn't even a matter of skill or technique. The Grizzly Magnum handled her like her namesake. Raw power that left the Demon of Shibuya thrown from one side of the ring to the other. She still felt the impressions of the night, being slammed again and again into the canvas until she was little more than a piece of trash on the floor for Bashira to scrape off the bottom of her boot. The memories came back to her whenever her fists met her workout bag, whenever she grasped the front door of her gym. All she could see was Bashira's face and hear her laughter mocking her from miles away in the back of her mind. And all of Tokyo heard it too.

She would never stop getting stronger. She would work every day until she could see the top. But was even that enough?

Masuyo was bumped from behind by a man in a suit hurrying with a cellphone in one hand. The broom fell out of her hand and shattered a tiny glass bottle carelessly left just outside their doorstep. Glass shards all over the sidewalk. Awesome.

"Ah sorry Masuyo-san! In a rush! Hey, good luck on your next fight, alright?!"

Masuyo hesitated on her response, simply meeting him with a smile and wave as he disappeared into the crowd. "No worries, Oyama-sama! Thanks, I'll do my best!"

Masuyo kept waving a moment longer. After a couple moments, the smile slowly faded from her lips once she was certain he was out of sight. She looked back up and found the pretty wings of a swallowtail drifting off over the building heights before it disappeared from view. Masuyo sighed and picked the broom back up, brushing a few more wrappers and shards of glass into her dustpan.

"I wonder how bear ramen would taste."

"Now while Primol remains a wise investment with solid numbers all around, it HAS shown signs of dipping into uncomfortable territory recently. Due in no small part to the grappling eccentricities of the Primol Princess herself, whom I believe, should spend more time easing supply chains and concentrating on her company's fiscal budget over the next year, and less time suplexing people in spandex. But coming up next after the commercial break, you're pal Jeff Campbell here is going to dish out the fifteen steps needed to be taken in order for the market to stabilize. Right here, on Crazy Cash-"


The dying lights of the mini-HD television airing the hyperactive T.V. personality's show concluded his broadcast before he himself could, and at the silken gloved hand of the subject of his erroneous tirade. A miffed glower and twitch to her eyebrow on her elegant countenance upon witnessing all she needed to before emphatically pressing the power button on her remote control and flinging it onto an adjacent couch. One that was emptied along with rest of the inside of her opulent mode of conveyance, a luxurious limousine that while astounding to those of less regal sensibilities with its host of amenities such as on-board televisions, interior LED lighting, and leather seating...was nevertheless seen as a significant downgrade from her last limousine. A masterfully palatial and custom made means of transport that was crafted as per Gwen's specifications and was utilized as her primary carriage since first stepping foot in Japan. Now tragically occupying the nearest junkyard thanks to the vandalizing and desecrating destruction wrought upon it by Adrian Kytes in the volatile lead-up to their match. Which despite winning, still left her sans one automobile worth millions of dollars. Ordering a replacement becoming an irksome inconvenience due to spotty delays in its assembly, so the noblewoman accepted the lamentable fate of being ferried about in more modest accommodations for the time being. The grim reality's of her situation quite literally surrounding her and closing in as she slumped back into her seat.

She primly sat arms crossed with an index finger tapping fastidiously on the bicep of her other arm as her mind became a tempestuous vortex of business dealings to be made and negotiations to be cemented in the near future. Unforeseen fluctuations in her company's stock before rebounding had cast a noticeable pall of uncertainty within her organization, whispers of dissension in regards to her leadership skills assuredly being bandied about as a result. And even if they weren't, the heiress' cold and calculating mindset was already several chess moves ahead in regards to quashing any notions of discord within her com-...within her parent's, company. However, these more recent allegations, as bellowed about on national television by the boorish and bald Jeff Campbell, were of an altogether different ilk that she was quite unaccustomed to. The notion that her divided attention between her two respective careers was inherently inhibiting her company's fiscal growth. *Abject balderdash...* she considered the accusations considering that Primol had seen record growth and renewed interest due to the skyrocketing popularity that being an AFW title holder had afforded her. Except that with the media hype swirling down, questions were beginning to arise like weeds in a garden Gwendolyn had cultivated to perfection. Sprouting up in-spite of how often she severs them and digs out the roots. If trends persisted in this lamentable direction, she would assuredly be receiving a call from the only two people in the world she felt small and insignificant in comparison to-

"Why aren't we moving?" Gwen's sideways glance in the direction of her window enabled her to notice the strikingly obvious at last, the heiress scooting over towards the passenger's side window. She peered her head out the open window and scanned the street block before noticing the hood of her limousine popped open with her suited driver standing right beside it, scratching his head after tipping his cap up with his other hand. He was lamenting his rotten luck and praying that this common automotive misfortune wouldn't have him being served a pink slip by the end of the day. His jittery heart took a sudden jump scare though when he turned around to notice the deadpanned aristocrat standing beside him with a pouting glare.

"AH!!!...P-P-Profound Apologies, Lady Bettencourt. But it looks like it's a faulty battery. I've tried giving it a jump with my portable emergency starter, but it still won't kick over. I've notified your estate and they're on their way with another limo...but they just called back and said the driver is caught in traffic and it might take an extra...hour...or so."

"..."

"Oh, umm, you could always hail a...cab?"

"..."

"...did I mention I was sorry?"

The boiling outrage within her only settling down after a puffed exhalation through her nostrils venting piping hot steam, knowing all too well of her lamentable fate from being surrounded by outright incompetents. "...FINE. What are setbacks but a means to practice one’s own stopgaps. I will peruse this decidedly urban locale for as long as it takes for my ferry to arrive, and you will notify me upon my cellular phone once it has. Do try not to bungle instructions as rudimentary as that."

"Wha??!! B-B-But Lady Bettencourt, this is not exactly the safest of neighborhoods. And you're a high-class celebrity walking around without security and-!!!"

Ta Da~...:

"Which is why, I will be employing mine own masterful skills in stealthy subterfuge and inconspicuous disguising. Worry not. I'd wager not a soul alive would recognize me once I have donned this multi-layered level of concealment~..." Gwendolyn pridefully declared while turning around to sneak on her intricate disguise, afterward turning around to present it with a befuddled driver left speechless as she than went on her merry. Confidently traipsing down the city street and walking past bystanders who stopped to stare after she'd already passed them by, including one particular gentleman sprinting down the block while jabbering into his cell phone. She internally commented on his rudeness before coming across an authentic Japanese noodle shop...

"Ah, how delightfully rustic and unkempt~...As if it's the spitting image of a bonafide, stereotypical Ramen restaurant. Pardon, you there, Bus-girl. Does one need to have a reservation in order to frequent this establishment? I wish to partake in your finest Owari Sake~…"  

Shibuya was relatively clean compared to the rest of the wards. It was a commercial district and a lot of employers cared for their storefronts. Ai-Ko was one of the thousands of them.

That could explain why Masuyo was sweeping next to nothing into her dustbin for the past few minutes. She was doing the motions and focusing on little else. Not the dust on the sidewalk or the people passing by all around her. Her mind wanted the distraction more than she realized. The most menial tasks found her reminiscing in each quiet moment.

Even cooking, her first love, couldn’t spare her the humiliation. Green onions reminded her of Roxy. Pork bellies found her mind wandering back to Bashira. Pieces of her life felt tainted all of a sudden. It was a feeling she wasn’t used to. One that she hoped she wouldn’t be getting used to anytime soon. She had to do something. The answer was ‘what’?

A sudden voice from behind snapped her out of her trance with a gasp. Masuyo looked over her shoulder and was promptly met with confusion. It was a blonde woman, dressed nicely, almost like one of the dolls she used to play with when she was little. Even the most eccentric people in Tokyo didn’t dress like that. It was somehow just as distracting to her as the sunglasses covering her eyes and the mask across her face. It might have been a little bright out but...was that even a medical mask?

Was she about to get robbed? Masuyo stumbled on her answer.

"Nope, no reservations, but we did sell our last bottle of Owari last night. Sorry. Our Ume Sake is amazing, though! We only source fresh plums from Fuji. Just one sip and-” Masuyo’s thoughts trailed off. Her eyebrows furrowed as she slowly approached the blonde woman and leaned forward, bringing herself close enough for Masuyo to see the reflection of her steel-gray eyes in the darkness of the stranger’s shades. The tips of their noses were inches apart, their contrasting bangs intermingling in the faint breeze working between the narrow space between them.

An inquisitive finger came to the underside of Masuyo’s chin as she stared deep into her. “Hm, I have to say, Miss. You look familiar. I can’t say exactly where from though…”

Yes, Gwendolyn was sufficiently appraised of the pitfalls of imbibing around midday. Her dear muh-mah would certainly have never condoned such an action. As a matter of fact the heiress could feel a pair of judgmental eyes burrowing into her from behind right this very second, in spite of the fact her mother should be fielding several phone calls behind a ludicrously lavish office table in the Primol corporate headquarters within London. Paranoid though she was to sneak a glimpse over her shoulder to make doubly positive her imposing parental figure wasn't there, Gwendolyn dared to disobey and cease the day, so to speak. She'd scarcely remember the last time she scheduled in "Spontaneous Recreational Activity" into her daily itinerary. She's heard praytell of these quaint restaurants being capable of dispensing only the must authentic of quality sake, Gwendolyn being somewhat ashamed she had yet to partake in a drink so intrinsic in Japanese culture despite having lived here all this time. Plus considering the downward trajectory her day was spiraling down towards, she was certain no could blame her for knocking one back, as the local peasantry would refer-

*Hm?!...How peculiar. Why does this bus-girl seem ever so famili-HCK!!!...MASUYO AI.* Gwendolyn balked backward with her arms stiffened into makeshift defensive karate poses upon recollecting who this raven-haired waitress was. Thankfully her gawking eyes were covertly hidden behind her sunglasses and perhaps concealed her instinctual remembrance of someone the heiress had grappled against in days long since passed for her long since taken tag-team title belts. Unassuming though she was, Gwendolyn could never forget the face of someone she had not only wrestled with on the grandest stage of them all, but also an individual who had a veritable black hole for a stomach. As intimidating as that voracious appetite was and most assuredly still is, the corporate princess was for now more concerned with maintaining her secret identity as Masuyo intently leaned herself forward and compelled Gwen to slant herself backward to compensate. A skittish twitch to her eyebrow from being close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, but managing to edge herself back a step and clear her voice against the top of her curled fist. Introducing herself in a guttural tone that clearly clashed with her naturally elegant vocal range.

"...*AHEM*...Yes, well I suppose I just so happen to have one of those faces, you know? But I assure you we have never met before in our lives, ever. For I am a...err...columnist, for your daily newspaper, here to...write an article...abooout-AH LOCAL CUISINE, Yes, that's it. And your restaurant is next to be written...about. Allow me to introduce myself as Gwe...er, GRACE..." Gwendolyn covertly scanned her immediate surroundings to help her think of a fabricated last name, eyeing a sign on the restaurant that said..."Yakitori?...Uh, yes Grace Yakitori. A pleasure to meet you, fellow commoner~..." Gwen merrily hooked her arm in front of her in a chummy swing to emphasize their budding camaraderie as fellow members of the working class.

What an awkward person.

At first, Masuyo would have taken this woman as a tourist. Besides the goofy dress, her stumbling speech and the odd way she handled herself reminded her of that "fish out of water" look that you could find all over Shibuya during the vacation season. However, she had never seen a tourist walking around with such a terrible disguise before. It was as if she wanted to broadcast to the entire world that she didn’t want to be noticed. Was this an American thing?

Yeah, this lady was shady as hell.

If only she didn’t seem so irritatingly familiar to Masuyo. The Japanese girl's eyes thinned once more as she leaned close enough to see the eyes hiding behind the golden woman's pitch-black lenses. That distinctly baritone, yet effeminate and commanding voice. There was a regal presence about this peculiar stranger that was almost impossible to not notice. She almost reminded Masuyo of-

"Grace Yakitori?!" A resounding cry stopped several city blocks in its tracks. Masuyo slipped her arm free and grabbed the woman by her shoulders and pulled her close, letting the broom crack against the sidewalk. "You. Are. Legendary, ma'am.”

Twenty Michelin Stars, Grace Yakitori. Undefeated AA Inspector, Grace Yakitori. Shining Empress of New Generation Food, Grace Yakitori. The Japanese girl couldn’t believe she didn’t recognize her presence immediately. All of those articles she’d seen on the internet, all of those commendations in the national almanac. A woman of Ms. Yakitori’s status could turn their restaurant around with a single word. Forget tourists, the entirety of Japan would be flocking to their front door.

And all she had to do was make her say ‘delicious’.

"You’re in luck! I was just about to open up!” Masuyo reached over and parted the sky blue nornen above the doorway for the both of them. She pulled close on their looped arms and escorted the renowned taster inside.

Ai-Ko Ramen was a “fascinatingly rustic - if somewhat aging and awfully wooden - little piece of Shibuya” as one examiner called them. Refurbished from a pre-war inn, it’s perhaps one of the few pieces of Old Japan that hadn’t been demolished and redone from the ground up. The walls of dark wood and bamboo contrasted finely with the bright colors of the hanging lanterns. The centerpiece of the room was its open kitchen and bar adjacent to the entryway. Towards the back of the room was a stairwell that led to the upper floor. Just above them were several rooms originally used to house tenets. Together, they’ve since become a complete living space above the restaurant. The place where they would all eat dinner, and sleep soundly through the city’s hustle-and-bustle. Her childhood home.

Masuyo led Grace to a stool by the bar, inviting her to sit down as she lifted her cleaning apron off. She was feeling improperly dressed all of a sudden.

“You didn’t have to bother with that lame disguise! While you’re here, why don't you try some of our house ramens? You won't find anything better south of Hokkaido!" Masuyo backed that statement by pumping a thumbs-up to Grace. She had been looking for years for the chance to make her Ai Ramen for a popular critic. There were so many restaurants in Shibuya, however, they always seemed to slip through the cracks. Now one just came up right to their door? And it was Ms. Yakitori of all people?

This must be the silver lining she was looking for.

The Devil's Luck. Of all the innumerable dilapidated hovels to frequent for what was meant to be nothing more than a free-spirited jaunt amidst the common folk, Gwendolyn happens upon the one eatery employing a bygone grappling conquest. The heiress scarcely needed a photographic memory to recollect this particular individual considering how she still struggles to comprehend how Masuyo was able to devour nigh every morsel of food from their Creme De La Creme promo segment. Splotches of food flying about and cleaned dinner plates were Gwendolyn's most immediate memory of that encounter, as well as the sprinting dine and dash that left her partner Akiha stuck with not only the food bill but the one pertaining to her splattered dress. A delightfully humorous memory for Gwen, though less so she imagined for her crimson haired partner. Who regretfully reeked of deep-fried octopus for days on end afterward. Although Gwen supposed it was quaintly apropos that anyone with such a voracious appetite spends her non-grappling hours surrounded by all the sustenance she could possibly consume.

However, becoming embroiled in some form of vengeful altercation in the middle of a public street would be an abject travesty for her corporations sterling reputation that was now under microscopic scrutiny. Gwendolyn could just imagine the abject field day taken upon by ravenous tabloid journalists thriving on scandalous gossip. Each one deriving cackling glee among their office quarters at Gwen's forlorn expense and cobbling together eye-catching yet grossly misinformed headlines that would make her sublime skin crawl.

"WAR OF THE ROSES!!!! Imperial Rose Gets Into Back-alley CAT-FIGHT With Scrappy Waitress Over Dating The Same Man!!! Exclusive Details!!!"

...*shivers*...Yes, Gwendolyn cannot let that detestable scenario come to pass. Hence why she sought to further weave her blanket of deception that was still cleverly pulling the proverbial wool over the waitress' eyes. Masterfully adapting and adjusting on the fly with naught by her cunning intellect and beguiling wordplay. For once the raven-haired sweeper was thoroughly convinced of her false identity, Gwendolyn need naught but feign a reason to depart abruptly, such as "forgetting her notepad", and coyly retreat to the safety of-


Gwendolyn's hazel eyes widened from behind her pitch black sunglasses from the roaring declaration, jolting her back a stuttered step as the bellowed holler of her faux-name somehow overcame the typical background noises of your average workday. The startled heiress still not quite comprehending what was transpiring as Masuyo brought them back close together to the perplexed gawking of onlookers briefly casting their sights in the duo's direction.

"I am? OH, Ahhh...Y-Yes. I am indeed quite spectacular, a-aren't I?" Gwendolyn asked and answered at the same time, unsure if she was or wasn't before being saddled up right beside the rambunctious waitress. The flabbergasted noblewoman shoulder to shoulder with Masuyo as if they were bosom buddies before becoming escorted within the noodle establishment with nary a peep of protest from Gwendolyn. Not a syllable uttered before finding herself seated at the bar stool fast enough to have her spin a few spinning oscillations before the inertia dissipated to her emphatically blinking confusion. "W-Well...a critic, of my renowned celebrity, m-must sometimes adopt a disguise on occasion to...tooooo, Ah!!! Prevent being inundated with requests from other restaurant owners to indulge mine taste buds at their eatery's!!! B-But yes, I will partake of you finest house ramen, if you would. Hehe...heh..." Gwendolyn sheepishly giggling with a nervous undertone as she folded her hands and attempted to maintain her rouse as best she could. Clearing her throat to peruse her surroundings with a judgmental eye."Hmm, the humble, rural aesthetic rather does make for a comforting backdrop to partake in one's meal. As if it bore the warmth of ones home. I imagine customers frequent this establishment just as much for the atmosphere as the food served within..." The noblewoman studiously propping her chin atop the side of her index finger and thumb, although afterward trailing that gloved index finger along the table to check for dust and/or grime. Her posh upbringing and uptight mannerisms unintentionally making her come across as quite the adept "critic."

A cold sweat ran down the side of Masuyo's head. Her eyes were laser-focused on the ambitious critic's analytical finger running along the surface of her countertop. Masuyo had almost forgotten to clean it before she stepped out to sweep the storefront. Just the thought of what would have happened if she hadn't remembered to do it was enough to put her on edge.

“O-oh! That makes sense! I get recognized all the time in Tokyo these days, but I bet it's like ten times worse for you. Good thing we have the restaurant to ourselves today. Just you and me, Your Highness Grace Yakitori. Ha ha ha…let me just get set up...” Panic was starting to infect Masuyo’s mind as she rounded the bar and disappeared quickly into the kitchen. Her parents had gone away and there was an internationally renowned food critic inside of their store. Their home. She had served ramen in Ai-Ko from the moment she was old enough to grasp the edges of a bowl and yet she’d never even come close to matching her father’s technique. Was her ramen good enough for Grace Yakitori?

The ramen prodigy wouldn’t allow that lapse in confidence to show. Pride was on the line. She was back out into the dining space in an instant, carrying two towers of ingredients, meats, vegetables, and seasonings in either hand. As she traipsed back over to the open kitchen, she looked to the bar and almost immediately fixed her gaze to Grace’s finger running along the wooden surface. Her heart skipped a beat.

"CRAP, she's so observant!" Masuyo screamed in her own head. If she was this attentive over dust, what would she think of the food? Her anxiety was only staved off temporarily when Grace threw a compliment towards the decor. Locals seemed to like it. It was reassuring in a way to know that people in higher society had a similar appreciation. It was a slight hope that she had to cling to.

"Thank you! That was exactly the idea! This is one of the few buildings in Japan that hasn’t been renovated since the 1940s. We consider everyone that comes through our doors to be a part of our family, so the interior was meant to resemble that. The intention was to be something like an inn, a place where people from all over could meet and enjoy under one roof. A lot of our regulars like to think of us as a second home. You really get to feel the heart of Shibuya here on a crowded night." Masuyo set down the last of the ingredients in front of her. Okay, it was time to get to work. She linked her fingers and cracked her knuckles in front of her. She clicked the last button on her chef’s jacket before reaching down to pick up her knife.

Only her fingers wouldn’t touch it. Paralysis stung Masuyo’s nerves all at once as the white of her eyes widened in a tense, twitching circumference. She could barely grasp the instrument between her fingertips. Heavy breaths carried from her lips to run over the tips of her fingers, and all the Demon could do was watch. It reminded her of her debut fight, those opening seconds towards the bell of hearing her breath and being tortured by her thoughts.

Just do something.

Meticulous scrutinization to this degree was typically reserved for whenever Gwendolyn performs impromptu inspections upon employees cubicles and/or other office domicile's within her corporate headquarters. Excessive dust or an otherwise unkempt work environment being tantamount to heresy in her sophisticated book and employees sometimes found themselves pleading for forgiveness from the discovery of unsharpened pencils or ill-sorted file cabinets. Masuyo should consider herself lucky that the noblewoman was without her measuring tape this day or else she could have suffered point deductions from whenever her ramen bowl and utensils were provided. Failing to present them with an exact number of inches distancing them apart could all be minuses chalked up to her eventual grade. As it stands though, Grace was delightfully impressed with the presentation of this establishment and it's sublime cleanliness as she scanned her index finger to not notice a single spec of dirt or greased grime. She'd need to make note of this and make sure she gets her article written up in time for her editor's approva-

*...Wait, What the devil am I talking about?...* Gwendolyn balked with a furrowed brow and a flinched tweak of her shoulders, shaking her head from side to side and catching herself from delving far too deeply within her fabricated namesake and role as renowned food critic. She wondered if this was it was like when method actors become so enveloped in their role that they begin to lose themselves in the process. A terrifying prospect considering how much of an abject tragedy it would be if the world would be deprived of her resplendence, but at the very least it demonstrated that "acting" was yet another talent of hers that she was brilliantly skilled in. For now she needed to remain focused on the task at hand, although her earlier compliment was nevertheless genuine as establishments of this rurality were indeed becoming a rarity as developers tore them down for more profitable, if unsightly and rather corporate eateries. "Hmm...Heart Of Shibuya~...I do believe you've just assisted me in crafting the title of my article. But ah yes, the adept combination of a humble eatery and a welcoming B & B. Why, this reminds me of when I traveled to the exalted peaks of..."

Unbeknownst to Gwen, who'd begun pontificating and fabricated falsehoods about travels never having been done, by now Masuyo had become petrified in place and perhaps incapable of even hearing the heiress' prattling. As if the food critic was becoming steadily out of focus and her words warbled as if they were underwater...although the boorish vocals of one Bashira Matsumoto would become all too tangible within Masuyo's psyche.

"Lookit ya. Yer nuthin in the ring, nuthin outside of it. Thought you were spose' to be some hot shot cook. Can't even pick up a knife to serve a customer. Guess you don't belong in this kitchen anymore than you deserve steppin in the ring. Pathetic. Beaten. Squashed. Ya hit a wall. Yer stuck. Ya reached yer limit. Yer useless. This is as strong as yer gonna get, and it ain't enough. And it's certainly not enough to beat me. It's like I said...you just ain't got what it takes ta hang with the big girls..."

"...which is how I ended up receiving the prestigious "Golden Menu" award. But enough of what transpired yesterday, you mentioned earlier getting recognized. Although I suppose I can piece together why that is. For you see, civilians within this area share rumors of a certain Demon of Shibuya whom is apparently quite the ferocious...Hm?" Gwendolyn stopped herself when opening her eyes to notice Masuyo unmoving and inert. The perplexed heiress raising her sunglasses to prop them against her forehead to studiously examine the stiffened waitress, tilting herself to the side with a raised eyebrow before raising her balled up fist to her mouth. "AHEM!!!"

Masuyo had never known the feeling of fear. Through an upbringing of daily martial arts training and persistent effort, she had gone her entire life without being able to understand the sensation. Facing insurmountable challenges she had long seen as a source of pride and a fact of life. That same profound resilience is what lead her to AFW and the challenges therein.

What the samurai girl did not anticipate was the crushing weight of reality; the sight of the mountain stayed her feet. For the first time in her young life, she had begun to experience doubt. Doubt would manifest anxiety. And anxiety dwelled but a step away from fear.

“Like I care what you think...” Bashira was in her ear again. She could never just stay in the back of her mind where she belonged. From the moment Masuyo had woken up in the AFW medical room that night she had replayed the match in her mind more times than she could count. At first, it was no different than any of her other matches, but what her thoughts kept lingering on was Bashira. What beating her meant for everyone watching. For herself. The longer she lingered in memory, the louder the voices of the boar seemed to grow.

She could smell her sweat. Hear that odd rasp in her throat. Feel the heat of her whisper at the back of her ear and a meaty hand digging into her nape. “Shut up, you big, fat-”

“AHEM!” Masuyo’s eyes shot up and met Grace’s for the first time. She had lifted her sunglasses (weird how she was wearing that inside, actually.), likely to show Mausyo that impatient look. She was a busy woman. Masuyo had seen her walk out of restaurants before on her programs.

“A-ah, sorry about ma'am! Just got distracted for a second. I think we had fresher green onions in the back, b-but these will do!” God, she’d never strung together so many times in such a short amount of time in her entire life. She just had to forget it all for this moment. The only things she had to focus on were the ingredients and the empty ceramic in front of her.

“Alright.”

Masuyo gripped the knife and quickly went to work. Her furrowed brows shaded the laser-focus reflecting in her steely irises analyzing each step with lightning precision. The fires of the stove came alive beside her. The prodigy dropped a net of noodles into the boiling water. In the two and a half minutes it took to boil, she chopped her onions, cleared the bamboo shoots, sliced through the pork belly, glazed the top, and cleared the Ai Broth. In a flash, her noodles were lifted from the pot and dipped into their specialty bowl. Each ingredient was filled to the brim and the meat tenderly glazed with her Aizu Chicken paste. Only once that was done did Masuyo release the breath she was unconsciously clinging to. Her fingers couldn’t help but reach out and grab a pair of chopsticks and dip them into the broth if just to appease her anxiety, however little.



It looked as good as her father’s, at least.

Masuyo closed her eyes and finally relaxed. Calmly, she brought the bowl over the counter and placed it gently in front of the traveling critic. “Dozo, Ms. Yakitori.”

Fortunate though Masuyo may mistakenly believe herself to be given that an internationally acclaimed critic has, to her knowledge, handpicked her family restaurant as the centerpiece for her next highly publicized critiquing column...the raven-haired waitress should perhaps consider herself even more fortunate that this was not the case. Even Gwendolyn knew that seemingly ignoring ones customers when they were attempting a civilized discourse would not be looked upon favorably by any respectable critic worth their salt. The customer was always right, after all...and this mantra was amplified even moreso when Gwendolyn was the customer in question. Not to mention her brief mental vacation occurred in the kitchen, where safety was always of prominent concern. Points would have surely been deducted...if Gwendolyn was a critic, anyway.

"Mhm...quite." Gwendolyn tersely responded before settling back in her stool, faintly curious as to what had just transpired but opted to forego questioning for fear of accidentally compromising her cover by a careless slip of the tongue. The idea of scampering off now that Masuyo had her back turned did enter into her thought processes, but the truth of the matter was that she need not be concerned with getting recognized out in public if she lingered within this rustic hovel. Plus, there were objectively less enticing ways to wile away the time waiting for her limousine than by indulging in a meal strictly prohibited by her meticulously regulated diet. Gwen has scant little hope that Masuyo can prepare a dish of such sumptuous quality that it would satiate her refined palette, however she appeared confident in her culinary capabilities at the very least.

And that confidence was apparently far from ill-founded as Gwen balked from how the noodle waitress fluttered all throughout the kitchen to a harmonious rhythm that only she was capable of dancing to. The preparation of the ingredients and execution of each step was performed with masterfully coordinated accuracy, to the point where the process itself seemed like a composed symphony of expert cookery. She wondered if perhaps witnessing and appreciating the chef's efforts like this was yet another reason why customers frequent these establishments...but before she could ponder on it for long the wafting smells indicating her meals completion overtook her senses. Garnering her interest in the final product before it was presented with the heavenly golden glow and soothing warmth of a masterfully crafted noodle dish.

"Ohhhh~...Such a delightful presentation. Equal proportions. Properly seasoned. Swiftly prepared. And the quality of the ingredients is clearly evident. Kudos to what appears to be an exquisitely crafted ramen dish. Now Bon Appe-...uhm, that is to say, Itadakimasu~..." Gwendolyn clasping her hands together to further her attempts at fitting in within the restaurant and Japanese culture as a whole. She hummed pleasantly while putting down her sunglasses (which indeed made it ever so troublesome to see once inside), daintily placed her napkin upon her knee, and nonchalantly unmasked herself before placing it beside her sunglasses. Unknowingly revealing her true identity to the world and the noodle waitress, but was far too preoccupied in partaking of the ramen dish before her as the chopsticks in her hand inched ever so closer to the steaming bowl...