Spicy!
There's no better word to describe it.
In modern culinary circles, spice has risen to near-supreme status.
Why? Because spice masks flaws.
If the ingredients aren't fresh? Spice hides it.
If the seasoning is off? Spice distracts from it.
Even if the chef's technique is lacking, a blast of heat can make the dish passable.
Spice creates a neural rush, a mild pain turned into pleasure—and that addictive thrill keeps diners coming back for more.
Still, spice is a double-edged sword.
Used excessively, it overwhelms and destroys the original flavor. That's why in formal Chinese state banquets, even Sichuan dishes tone down the chili and peppercorn.
"Kuga, your skills have improved."
Rindō Kobayashi exhaled, her forehead glistening with sweat.
"But your obsession with spice still hasn't changed!"
She had just devoured a steaming bowl of Kuga's Mapo Tofu, and though the fiery numbness had her panting, she was undeniably satisfied.
That mix of pain and craving forced her to keep eating. It was maddening. It was addictive.
But once she stopped, she sighed.
As someone who pursued rare ingredients and their natural essence, Rindō couldn't agree with a philosophy that buried flavors under spice. For her, it was like hiding art behind fireworks.
"Senpai," Kuga responded, "don't give me that speech again about how spice ruins taste buds."
"Spice is a pain sensation, not a taste. It doesn't damage the tongue. I want to prove it's not that spice chooses people—it's people choosing spice."
He shrugged. He knew he couldn't convince her, but he had to stand firm.
Cooking is easy to learn, but hard to master.
The potential of any cuisine—or any single dish—is limitless.
If he could allow people to experience multiple layers of flavor through a primarily spicy dish, that was also a form of mastery!
Rindō didn't refute him. But in her heart, she knew Kuga hadn't reached that level yet.
Later that evening… at the Tavern
In the haze of smoke and warmth, the Tavern came alive.
Here, life flowed like sake—casual, heartfelt, unpredictable.
At the walnut-wood counter, customers chatted with the owner, Zane, as if he were a lifelong friend.
A tired salaryman lifted a piece of tofu from his bowl of Mapo Tofu.
He blew on it.
Then took a bite.
Smooth. Tender. Numbing. Spicy.
Just one chew and flavor exploded in his mouth.
Zane's version of Mapo Tofu always left a lasting impression.
Unlike many restaurants that used firm tofu or pre-made hot pot bases, his was authentic—handcrafted and bold.
In Japan, nearly every spicy Chinese dish was labeled "Mapo" something.
Mapo Eggplant, Mapo Chicken, even Mapo Noodles.
To many Japanese diners, "Mapo" simply meant spicy Chinese.
But Zane had adapted.
He abandoned high-heat stir-frying in favor of slow simmering, letting flavors soak deeply into the tofu.
His three-stage thickening technique gave the dish a smooth, velvety mouthfeel.
The spice wasn't overpowering.
It lingered.
It hooked.
"Owner, your Mapo Tofu is unreal!" the customer said, licking the plate clean before asking for water.
Behind the counter, Sonoka cleaned dishes with practiced ease.
Formerly a Totsuki graduate and head of Shunkatei, now she doubled as Zane's part-time assistant at night.
Anyone who knew her might have stormed the Tavern in outrage.
But Sonoka didn't mind.
She was learning—and that, to her, was priceless.
But tonight, something felt off.
Her vision blurred.
She staggered—then fell into a pair of warm, steady arms.
"Are you okay?" Zane asked, concern on his face.
"I… I'm fine," she murmured, leaning into him. "Just… too tired lately."
"You've been running Shunkatei by day, helping here by night. Even I couldn't handle that pace."
"Take tonight off. Rest."
"…Okay," she whispered, her head still nestled against him.
"…But could you, uh, let go now? I'm not used to this…"
Zane blinked, realizing his hands were still around her waist.
"S-Sorry!" He backed away in a fluster. "I'll check on the customers."
Sonoka stood still, face flushed, a strange warmth blooming in her chest.
Just then—
"Mana-sama! Slow down, your body—!"
Two elegant women stepped into the Tavern.
One wore a backless crimson dress, regal and refined, her hair styled flawlessly.
It was Mana Nakiri.
Beside her was the jasmine-like Annie, a touch breathless from trying to keep up.
"I couldn't wait anymore," Mana said. "As long as Erina's away at training camp, I'm free to come here!"
Zane raised a brow. "Back again?"
Mana simply sat down. "Zane, give me a Comet Fried Rice."
"No spinach tonight," he replied.
"Then… Frozen Bream?"
"I can make that," Zane nodded, "but may I suggest something else instead?
Magical Mapo Tofu."
"…Magical?" Mana echoed.
"Yes. Not just Mapo Tofu. Magical Mapo Tofu."
Mana narrowed her eyes. "What kind of nonsense name is that?"
"It has six flavors," Zane said smugly. "Try it. You'll understand."
After a moment's pause, Mana nodded.
"Alright. Surprise me."
As the dish began to cook, the Tavern filled with the sharp aroma of sizzling chilies.
Garlic. Garlic shoots. Fermented beans. Red oil.
Sizzle.
"This is the first flavor—spicy!" Zane announced.
Next came broth, soy sauce, rice wine, sugar, salt.
"The second flavor—fragrant!"
He added soft tofu, letting it simmer to absorb every drop of essence.
The sauce thickened in three stages until it gleamed, enveloping each tofu cube.
"The third and fourth flavors—color and heat!"
Lastly, he sprinkled in Sichuan pepper and soy-based minced meat.
"Fifth flavor—numbing!"
When the Magical Mapo Tofu was placed before Mana, it was still bubbling.
Green garlic shoots popped against the red oil. The white tofu shimmered.
It glowed.
Literally.
Mana stared.
A radiant light burst from the dish, illuminating the dim Tavern like a spotlight on stage.
"It's glowing again!?" she gasped.
She leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"Let's see… spicy, fragrant, colorful, hot, and numbing… that's five."
"But where's the sixth?" she asked.
Zane smiled. "Taste it."
"The sixth flavor… is hidden."