Chapter Text
Iguro Diner.
Those were the words written at the front of the entryway. Mitsuha Kanrouji triple-checked the sign, just to be absolutely sure that she wasn’t, somehow, fell victim to tanuki prank. The words didn’t change. However, that was also the only sign that indicated the house in front of her was some sort of dining establishment. No open sign, no banner—nothing.
The house itself was a normal, Japanese-styled one could find anywhere in Tokyo, with a small, well-maintained garden at the front. Situated behind the older part of the shopping district, anyone wouldn’t guess that there would be a diner hidden right inside. Mitsuha had lived for nineteen years in the nearby neighbourhood and she had never discovered the place—up until now, thanks to her nose.
The sign up front convinced her she had found a hidden gem. She belatedly realised it might have been just an ordinary house after all and the smell she followed from the main street might have been the resident preparing their dinner for the day. Which could very well mean she was trespassing right now.
Should she knock? She tugged her braids, frustrated. If she was wrong, she’d suffered serious mortification. But if she were right, she knew she’s in for a jackpot.
The answer to her predicament arrived just in time. Two middle-aged men showed up, already drunk even-though it was still dusk. Mitsuha scrunched her nose as the strong alcohol smell assaulted her nose. The men didn’t seem to notice or maybe they simply ignored her presence. They slid open the front door, yelling loudly, “Boss, the usual!”
Fortunately, they left the door open. Mitsuha peeked inside. It truly was a diner; not so big, with only a handful of tables on tatami mats and a couple of bar seats. The house must’ve had good noise insulation. On the inside, it was actually rowdy and crowded, despite still being a bit early for dinner.
Nobody paid attention as Mitsuha followed the men to the table. She sat on the furthest table, acessing the room. One thing that immediately stood out was the snake decorations—on the shelves, by the counter, on the register machine... literally everywhere in every size. Sticking out like sore thumbs.
Mitsuha was pondering the unique sense of the owner when a man showed up from the kitchen. He carried a tray as he made a beeline to the drunk men’s table. He placed an otoshi and a glass in front of each drunk man, before placing one at Mitsuha’s table.
Now that she could see him up close, she noticed he was actually quite young. Maybe a few years older than her. His face was half-hidden with a surgical mask, although Mitsuha could still make out the sharp line of his face. Beautiful sharp lines. Tall nose. Mismatched eyes.
Oh no, he’s hot.
“Welcome, what’s your order?” For someone who’s in a service business, the cold tone of his voice should’ve been downright rude. To Mitsuha however, she was distracted by how smooth his deep voice sounded.
Loud gagging and sound of retching snapped Mitsuha out of her daze. The drunk men were making ruckus at their table. One of the men turned to the waiter, pointing an accusing finger. “The hell did you serve us?!”
“Hangover cure.” The waiter answered calmly. Alarmed, Mitsuha checked her own glass. Fortunately, it was plain old steaming hot green tea.
Down the table, the waiter was holding stare contest with the drunkards. “I’m not serving drunkards.”
“You sell sake!”
“Which I will not sell to drunkards.” He said sharply, leaving no room for argument. “Drink that or find somewhere else.”
If the drink didn’t sober them up, the look the waiter sent them must’ve do. Just like scolded children, the men obediently sat on their seats. Even if they were still visibly sulking.
Mitsuha also realised that aside her, nobody in the diner paid attention to them despite the commotion. As if the scene was just another Tuesday.
The waiter returned his attention to her. “Sorry about that.” to her surprise, despite his sharp attitude earlier, he did know the basic of hospitality service. “Are you ready to order?”
Not knowing what to order, she chose the first menu she could read. “Tonkotsu curry set.”
“Regular or large?”
“Large.”
The waiter didn’t bate an eye at her order. “Anything else?”
Well, since he asked...
Her order ended up taking the whole table. To her delight, the portion was generously huge, and the taste was just as heavenly as the smell. What’s even better, the price was ridiculously cheap. The cherry on top? No curious gaze nor disgust was ever directed to her. The waiter just diligently placed dishes after dishes to her table, no question asked.
Since then, she became regular to the diner. She learned later that the handsome man she mistakenly thought as the waiter was actually the owner of the diner. Technically, he was also the waiter and the cook, as he ran the place alone. Of course, unfortunately (and understandably), that means the service was slow. How the diner could stay afloat was beyond her comprehension.
Overtime, Mitsuha wondered if the diner was actually a closely guarded hidden gem, only meant for locals. First, it was odd enough that a diner in a hidden spot with barely a sign was always buzzing with business. Second, as a strategy since Iguro-san was essentially one-man army, unlike other Izakaya, Iguro’s had different set of main courses each day that seemed to have been predetermined and agreed beforehand with the patrons. Like he was the community’s cook. Otherwise, that would mean most of the regular who coming in asking for “the usual”, were walking in blindly and accepting whatever dish the cook had prepared for the day.
Another thing that Mitsuha noted, most of the guests frequenting the diner knew each other personally and were acquaintance, with varying degree, to the owner. Boss, they called him, although some—mostly the women patron—greeted him as Iguro-san.
On her part, she never directly greeted him. As if having a crush on a total stranger wasn’t embarrassing enough, she became tongue-tied in front of him that their conversation only consisted of dishes ordered and bill paid.
She thought that was all it was. A cute crush. Mitsuha crushed on anybody—any guy cute or sweet enough to sweep her off her feet. Harmless attraction she never intended to follow up seriously.
One night, the diner was at so full that she had to sit at the bar seat. Tucked in the corner, her seat actually had bigger space than other seats at the bar. It also placed her nearer to the kitchen, with direct view to the stove area. That also meant, it was their closest and longest interaction.
Good food for Mitsuha equal to good mood. Nice drink meant she was a lot more relaxed than usual. And the moon was so beautiful tonight. Out of the blue, she blurted out her honest feeling, “You really are an amazing cook, Iguro-san!”
He looked taken aback. Mitsuha felt something cold dropped to the pit of her stomach. What was she saying? Did she creep him out? Why did she call out his name, as if they were close?
He turned away. Internally, Mitsuha had begun to scream, lamenting what apparently would become her last day in the diner. Gone were her appetite. Dejected, she couldn’t even remember her food taste as she slowly finished her remaining food.
Then unexpectedly, a bowl of steaming nikujaga were slid into her view. “On the house.” he said briefly before returning to the kitchen.
Mitsuha swore the tips of his ears were as pink as her hair.
The nikujaga wasn’t on the day’s menu, so she wondered how he could get it served so fast. It was even served as a set with a generous portion of white rice and—oddly enough—silky smooth tamagoyaki. A sweet one, the way she preferred.
Something drummed inside her. Butterflies fluttered.
Oh.
Oh.
Heaven above, this crush might be different after all.