Inside the silent restaurant, he sat alone.

No staff, no other customers.

Hada sat at the table. In front of him was a single plate—an empty white ceramic dish resting solemnly by itself.

He glanced toward the kitchen.

Warm lighting glowed over the counter. A refrigerator stocked with ingredients. Pots resting on the stove. A wine bottle left open.

But no one was there.

"...Is this really okay?"

Cautiously, he stood up and stepped into the kitchen. Through the glass door, he saw several hunks of what looked like aged meat hanging inside. Beside them were rows of cheese, and above that, brightly colored bell peppers and tomatoes.

He opened the door. A rich aroma spilled out.

"If there's this much here... maybe just a little..."

He took out some ham and cheese, sliced them with a knife, arranged them on a small plate, and placed them on a piece of baguette. He bit down.

Salty. Rich. Delicious.

Next, he peered into a pot.

Beef stewed in red wine. Shrimp sizzling in garlic butter oil.

He picked them up, one by one, and brought them to his mouth.

He grabbed the wine bottle nearby and poured some into a random glass. The ruby-red liquid swirled.

A sip.

The bouquet filled his nose, and a bittersweet warmth spread across his tongue.

But—

Something was missing.

No matter how much he ate or drank, he felt empty.

Despite indulging in his favorites, his hunger persisted. As if some essential piece had fallen out.

"What... What is this?"

Just then—

"Sir, sir."

A voice.

"Sir! Sir!"

"...Huh?"

"SIR!"

—THUD.

Hada snapped awake.

In front of him, the taxi driver had turned around.

"We're here. Tennozu Isle."

The cabin was dim. Outside, the city lights spilled in. In the distance, a ship's horn echoed.

"...A dream, huh..."

He shook off the daze, pulled out his wallet, and paid the fare. As the door opened, a chill night wind rushed in.

His legs wobbled slightly. The mix of sleep deprivation and hunger dragged him back into reality.

"Guess I dreamt that because I haven't had a proper meal in a while."

He stepped out of the cab and into the quiet streets of Tennozu.

Tonight, it seemed, would be a long one...

The streets of Tennozu still bore the remnants of its warehouse past, though now interspersed with modern office buildings and art galleries.

 While redevelopment had brought structure and polish, the area retained a faint air of solitude. Along the canal, a few restaurants lined the waterfront, their soft lights shimmering in the gentle waves.

Foot traffic was sparse. This wasn't a tourist destination—it was primarily a business district, and once night fell, it fell quiet.

"Really... there's nothing around here," Hada muttered, pulling out his phone to check the time.

His meeting spot was a five-minute walk away.

He turned up the collar of his coat and began walking through the hushed streets.

He was heading to an advertising agency headquartered in Tennozu. The purpose of the meeting: to discuss commercial slots for a radio program. He had heard in advance that the client had a particular fondness for red wine and beef.

So Hada had come bearing a gift—a bottle of fine wine and a pack of premium beef jerky.

"If they're the kind to bond over food and drink, maybe this meeting will go smoothly."

He passed through the lobby and up to the office, where he was soon greeted by a man in a casual blazer.

"Mr. Hada? I'm Sugimoto. Right this way."

"Thank you very much. Looking forward to working with you today."

"Likewise. You look busy as always."

"Yes, thankfully. Ah—this is for you. I heard you enjoy these."

He handed over the gift.

"Oh wow, really? That's very thoughtful—thank you so much."

"Hope it suits your taste."

"I'm sure it will. I appreciate it."

After a quick exchange of business cards, they got down to business.

"Let's dive into the matter of the commercial slot..."

The conversation quickly turned to food-related sponsors and narration preferences. Sugimoto spoke passionately about a gourmet-themed campaign they hoped to align with.

But as Sugimoto spoke, Hada found himself distracted—thinking again about that strange dream.

—Eating all you want, yet never feeling full.

He glanced at the beef jerky on the table.

Sugimoto's voice faded, and once again, the dream enveloped him—

Lavish dishes piled high: roast beef, foie gras, pasta dusted with truffle. Bottles of wine endlessly uncorked.

"Eat. Eat more."

A voice beckoned. He looked up.

A figure in white robes stood before him, face obscured but exuding authority.

"You hunger for food."

"Who are you?"

"One who knows every taste this world offers."

The robed figure raised a glass of wine.

"Yet no matter how much you eat, you remain unsatisfied. Why do you think that is?"

Hada had no answer.

"It's because—"

A divine voice thundered:

"Hada. Hada..."

"Why does a god know my name...?"

"Hada. Hada!!"

He jolted awake. Sugimoto was staring at him, concerned.

"Mr. Hada? Mr. Hada!"

"Ah! I'm so sorry!"

He quickly straightened up.

"I must be sleep-deprived... My apologies."

"Are you okay? You seem really overworked."

Sugimoto's voice was sympathetic, but Hada's mind was already elsewhere—consumed by a singular craving.

I need meat... the meat from that dream...

He nodded vaguely, eyes flicking toward the clock. He was barely listening.

"I see... Right, yes... Got it..."

He made up his mind.

"Alright then!"

"Huh?" Sugimoto blinked.

"I'll go ahead and pull this together on my end. Let's follow up soon."

He wrapped the meeting with abrupt cheer, leaving Sugimoto puzzled as he bolted out of the room.

No time to explain.

He needed meat—and he needed it now.

...He needed meat—and he needed it now.

He strode through the quiet Tennozu night, heading vaguely toward Shinagawa. His feet carried him instinctively, chasing signs of life, of food. But the further he walked, the more deserted the streets became.

"This isn't it... where am I?"

He realized too late that he'd wandered off course. A street sign read: Minami-Shinagawa.

Not Kita-Shinagawa.

He'd overshot.

Just as frustration started to well up, something caught his eye—bold red neon flashing in the drizzle:

Yakiniku Omoniya

Yakiniku. Grilled meat. Exactly what he needed.

No hesitation. His body moved on its own.

He pushed open the door.

A wave of smoke and sizzling meat aroma hit him instantly. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes.

"This is it. No mistake."

"Anywhere's fine," the staff called out casually.

He dropped into a booth, not in the mood for a quiet counter seat tonight. He needed his own battlefield—one where he could face the meat head-on.

"Beer and kimchi. Let's start there."

He opened the menu and made quick decisions.

"I'll have a draft beer, the house salad, and the kimchi plate, please."

The server jotted it down and disappeared. Hada leaned back in his chair, already feeling his senses sharpening in anticipation.

"Almost there..."

Moments later, an ice-cold mug of beer was placed before him.

"Thanks," he muttered, raising the glass and drinking in one go.

"...Aaaahhhhhh."

Nothing fancy. Just pure, golden relief.

He set the mug down and called the server again.

"Okay, now the meat: salt-grilled premium tongue, premium kalbi, salt-grilled skirt steak, premium loin, and premium tripe."

"Got it!"

He was ready. Let the feast begin.

The kimchi arrived, bright red and glossy. It looked tangy and spicy, fermented just enough to have that rich depth of flavor. Hada picked up a piece with his chopsticks and took a bite.

"Ohh..."

It had the perfect balance—tangy lacto-fermentation, sharp chili heat, and deep, earthy umami. A snack like this could be dangerous with drinks alone. But today, the real prize was meat. This was merely the warm-up.

Next came the house salad. A mountain of shredded lettuce, cabbage, daikon, and cucumbers drenched in house-made dressing.

"Whoa, this dressing is legit."

The tangy sweetness, the finely grated onion—it made the fresh crunch of the vegetables pop. This was the perfect pre-meat primer.

Then finally, the parade of meats arrived.

A large tray glided to his table, carried by the server with practiced ease.

"Here you go—salted premium tongue, premium kalbi, salt-grilled skirt steak, premium loin, and premium tripe. Enjoy!"

The plates lined up like royalty.

Each cut perfectly marbled or shimmering with seasoned sheen. Hada found himself staring, mesmerized.

This was what he'd come for.

He didn't need to think.

"First up—this guy."

He plucked the thick tongue slice and laid it on the grill.

Ssssszzzzz...

The thick cut sizzled slowly, surface turning golden, juices bubbling.

"One flip..."

A few more seconds.

Then, a squeeze of lemon.

And straight to his mouth.

"Mmhhfff... holy...!!"

A blissful shockwave. The chewy snap of the tongue, the rush of meaty juice, the citrus brightness.

He chased it with beer.

Glug, glug—ahhh!

"Perfect. Just perfect."

He was in. Fully.

Another slice. Then the skirt steak—tender, juicy, mineral-rich, with just the right salt to make it sing.

The beefy rhythm kept going.

Then the server appeared again—this time with a heavy stone bowl.

"Stone-grilled bibimbap!"

It hissed and sizzled as it landed.

Golden egg yolk in the center. Red kimchi. Green namul. Toasted rice crackling at the bottom.

"Ohhh... this is cheating."

He grabbed a spoon, mixed fast, and took a bite.

"Hot! ...But damn, that's good."

Crispy rice, savory meat, spicy-sour kimchi, silky egg.

This wasn't a side dish—it was another main event.

And he wasn't done yet.

Next up—premium kalbi.

Glorious marbling, shimmering under the lights.

"This one... slow burn."

He grilled it gently, flipping with reverence.

First bite—fatty fireworks.

Sweet, rich beef exploding in flavor.

Then he had an idea.

What if—he took rare grilled loin and buried it in the sizzling bibimbap?

No rules. No hesitation.

He did it.

The beef cooked gently in the stone bowl's heat. Melded into the rice.

"...Whoa."

It was a revelation. Juicy meat, toasty rice, layered umami.

He looked around. No one seemed to care.

So he kept going.

Back to the tongue. Then the harami. Then the kalbi. Then more bibimbap. One after another.

A refill on beer.

"...No one can stop me now."

This wasn't a meal—it was a mission.

A perfect, messy, sizzling victory.

When the last bite disappeared, Hada placed his chopsticks down gently.

He let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

Then he noticed the neighboring table.

A man sipping soup—steam rising from a milky broth.

"...Komtang, huh."

Tempting.

He opened the menu.

But his eyes landed instead on one last offering:

Egg soup.

Simple. Gentle.

"Yeah... that's the one."

He ordered it.

A few minutes later, the delicate bowl arrived.

Wispy egg strands floating in clear broth, a hint of sesame oil rising in the steam.

He took a spoonful.

And sighed again.

"...Damn, that's perfect."

He finished every drop.

"Thank you."

As he stepped outside, the night air brushed against his skin—not cold, but refreshing.

He looked up. A few stars twinkled above the city.

"That was... amazing."

He checked the time. Then turned toward the station.

"Time to head home."

And as he walked, full and content—

Sometimes, the right shop at the right time changes everything.

The best places appear when you least expect them.

Smiling softly, Hada disappeared into the night.