A Restaurateur's Mild Fathoms, part 1 (after battle)
<You know we only have two chances left, right, team?>
<How about we start with Meursault's, made by following the formula to a tee?>
Prepared with pinpoint precision, Meursault's dish looked like a picture in a cookbook come to life.
<Right, we have something that looks like an actual serving, so that's a good start.>
……
After having a taste of Meursault's work, the restaurant owner quietly savored it, contemplating for a while.
……
Gagaga… Gigigi… Gugugu…
<"I had to ruminate on this dish for a long time. It was an excellent serving in all tangible ways - the smell, the taste, the presentation. Yet, I felt that it was still missing something I couldn't quite describe with words.">
Gegegeh… Gogogo…
<"And that… was professionalism as a cook. An ironic smidgen of a blemish within perfection…">
……
<"That is why this dish cannot get a pass, unfortunately.">
He suddenly started sounding like a posh judge…
Someone tug the mask off that blighter's head. The only thing distorted 'bout him might be his crooked attitude.
…Je m'avoue vaincu.
Nevertheless, I hold no regrets over this battle.
<At least the chickens aren't bum-rushing us this time.>
With only one chance left, Outis brought her dish to the table.
<It looks neat. Nothing too fancy, but still simple and clean.>
<What are these couple of needles on the dish for, Outis? They look like a clock's hands.>
They are a simple decoration I added in tribute to you, Executive Manager.
<Ooo…! I'd give bonus points if I could.>
Ugh…
……
!!!
The comment that followed from the owner was too sensational for me to put into words.
You're such a mess! What are you doing with that freaky mask on your head?
Back in your momma's day, we grinned and bore with all sorts of nonsense! How are you gonna live through this unforgiving world if you get all heartbroken over something so small? Get it together already…
My mother… was always like that.
Rather than kind and caring words, she would scold me with her nitpicky lectures.
She was so particular about chicken, too, rarely touching a piece that anybody else would take in a heartbeat…
Running this restaurant, I had forgotten something important.
I…
Oh, mother…
<Now's our chance! The Distortion or whatever on him is weakening!>
Look at this! Some kind of door has appeared next to him!
Should we go through it?
What made Outie's dish stand out anyway?
Let us march, soldiers. May we see the end of this.