“Man is ruled by his stomach. Kill his chef, and he will surrender.”

- Confucius, allegedly.

Since the dawn of life on Mother Earth, one pervasive truth has rung true: to eat is to live. Since the establishment of human civilization, this truth has become perverted: to eat decadently is to live well.

Oda Nobunaga knew this truth, and in his campaign across Japan he ensured his opponents did as well. No army could fight hungry, so he killed their cooks. No royal would politicize on gruel, so he stole their chefs. No populace would be content to starve, so he burnt their fields.

His enemies languished in their hunger and bent to Nobunaga’s rule, but when his remaining opposition attempted to inflict the same cruelties upon him, they were shocked to find themselves repelled by mere cooks, trained beyond their base kitchen tools.

The traditional Japanese chef goes beyond the expected norms of a cook by having complete understanding of their role in society: good food is hard to come by, but truly exceptional food must be defended. For a time, the truly exceptional chefs of Japan were more than mere gourmands, they were amongst the greatest martial artists of all time, capable of satisfying even the pickiest emperor’s palette, and defending them from one-hundred men armed with nothing but a salt shaker and the flaming fury born of an interrupted feast.

That’s how the legend goes, anyways.

In modern times, separating fact from fiction can be a laborious task, and many chefs are merely that, with most modern folk well aware that the old man in the takoyaki stall could not kill a bull with his bare, sticky hands.

But, some chefs still carried the legacy quietly. Some truly were as dangerous as the legends made them out to be.

American markets weren’t like Japanese markets at all.

No matter where Hanabi looked, she couldn’t find any small corner stores that sold fresh groceries; the employees kept telling her the best place to shop was the Food Mart on so-and-so street.

It was so much like what Japanese TV made America out to be: BIG! Bright! Loud! Excessive! Italicized! Exclamatory!!!

Sales signs were flashy, bins were loaded with produce of dubious freshness, red meat came in big, chunky sizes at prices that Hanabi could only gawk at, and instead of the curry buns she was used to back home, the snacks were almost entire meals in and of themselves: sub sandwiches piled high with meats, cold spaghetti dishes with the oily sauces marinating at the bottom, and fried chicken baskets that made Hanabi drool.

Americans were also like their TV counterparts, rolling by and grabbing what they needed without even so much as smelling their vegetables to determine if they were still good. They were large, and fast, and in a hurry, chatting loudly with each other in the aisles and boisterously showing off phones, talking about their children, laughing and clapping one another on the back like old drunks stumbling out of bars.

When they heard the young Japanese woman politely excusing herself by, they would all double-take and stare, and it was starting to make Hanabi feel self-conscious; had they truly never seen a Japanese girl before?

The girl at the till simply stared in shocked silence as Hanabi extended a muscular arm to deposit dollar bills on the counter before her, and it wasn’t until she coughed nervously did the employee pass back her change.

She exited the store with a satisfied smile, walked to the sidewalk, and stuck both a leg and a thumb out. Just like in the movies, a car came screeching to a stop in front of her, and the window rolled down to reveal a young man eyeing her hungrily.

“Hey babe, you got the PickMeUp app?” He asked.

“The what?” Hanabi asked in lightly-accented English; her old high school classes were coming in handy!

“Like, on your phone?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

The man’s face fell, and he seemed to consider the wind shield, then Hanabi’s legs.

“Fuck it, get in.”

And so she did.

New Medeo City was the archetypal modern day metropolis. A port city with a number of harbors, the city grew from the earth as an army of boxy glass colossi looming over flat, paved streets.

Founded in the early 1800’s, it attracted people of all stripes: profiteers, laborers, immigrants, natives, and also ‘natives.’ It was where general William Tecumseh Sherman famously declared: “This shithole is ours now.” before burning it down, thus prompting its rebuilding and redubbing as ‘New.’

The first Irish-American brewery began in New Medeo City, and this sterling example of an immigrant living the American Dream encouraged other hopefuls to move into the city, packing it with folk from across the world looking to make money, make it big, and make it easy.

It also had the prestige of being the historical site of John Wayne’s death after he was stepped on by his co-star while promoting his most famed work: Men of True Grit: John Wayne vs. Godzilla the Kid.

In modern days, New Medeo was also known as ‘The New Media City.’ It was famous for its trendsetting ways, with social media and modernized apps, being developed and promoted by a booming number of content creators. Clubs featured up-and-coming music artists, dozens of famous restaurants sold high-end luxury food, and celebrities flocked to the city to live the high-life away from Hollywood.

Cameras were the norm and living vicariously was a lifestyle in New Medeo City, though its older residents lamented the younger generation no longer hated Godzilla as much as they did.

Of course, every modern city’s high-life was restricted to a handful of streets at best, with the rest of the city primarily being offices, apartments, and street-level stores to walk in and browse.

While some streets flashed, the street winding along the sea merely blinked, with its main attraction harbors featuring fancy restaurants and launch points for million dollar yachts and much more affordable fishing boats.

Where Hanabi was destined, however, was not so glamorous or sparkling.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Her driver asked her, his eyes fixated on her shape as she stepped out of his car and stared up at the building she’d be staying in.

“Goro’s Four Bowls of Fire.” She read outloud, staring at a small, two-story wooden building that appeared to be little more than a shack with a faded sign hanging over the sliding door, depicting Japanese lettering, and a cartoony sumo wrestler breathing fire over four steaming bowls of ramen. “This is the place! Thank you very much.”

“Hey, no problem!”

“Is there any way I can repay the favor?” She asked him, leaning against the open car door.

“How about you give me your number, doll?” The guy winked at her, and she smiled.

“Sure! I’m six-hundred and seventy-fourth in line to the Hanaya cooking legacy, and I finished one-hundred and ninth in my last year of highschool out of one-hundred and eighteen students!”

She flashed him a thumbs up and a smile. The guy merely looked dumbfounded.

The car peeled off behind her and Hanabi entered the restaurant. The sun was only just beginning to set, so she expected it to be quite busy and full, but to her surprise, walking inside, the four, small rectangular tables were bereft of diners, as was the bar counter right in front of the kitchen.

“Hello?” She called into the restaurant, but heard no reply.

The place was dark, and there were still dirty dishes sitting on a table; a half-empty bowl of cold ramen broth with a few withered vegetables in it, a wooden plate that had a crumbled sushi piece left on it…

And some money on the table.

Only a few dollars… was this an American tip? She heard they always paid their food servers extra money; a good idea, really, to avoid getting poisoned the next time they came in.

She held her hand out to pick up the money, until a scream made her freeze.

“THIEF!” She heard from the door leading to the back room. An older man, Japanese, short, but skinny and gangly, wearing just an old silk robe and slippers stood there fuming. He suddenly flew towards her with shocking speed, rearing his arm to swing what looked like a mochi mallet at her.

Hanabi hardly blinked, as the mallet was stopped dead against her open palm, and the man’s jaw dropped a second before her fist buried in his face.

“You’re lape.”

The old man glared at her.

{I’m really sorry Ohno-sensei, I wasn’t trying to steal anything! Now don’t bite down…}

He squealed with pain as she wrenched his nose back into position, and held a cloth up to his nose to catch the blood.

“You fertainly are a Hanaya…” He groaned, tears filling his eyes, dripping down to collect in the long, spindly wisps of his salt and pepper mustache, accompanied by a long, pointed beard.

Hanabi gave him an embarrassed grin.

In contrast to the gangly old man, Hanabi was a picture of youth and vitality. She wore a light, breezy jacket over a tanktop and shorts, along with a pair of tennis shoes. Her short black hair looked mussed by the wind, but not discordant enough to imply a lack of care. Fierce black eyes peered out amidst sharp facial features, with a prominent, pointed nose and chin, high cheekbones and smallish ears.

She was a shapely girl for her nationality, which she boasted to her old school friends being a side effect of her broad palette, standing at a mighty height of 5’7” in contrast to usual eastern shortness. She was developed in front and back, also a result of her diet, she’d say.

And, perhaps, most eye-popping of all was her powerful physique. Another side-effect of her good eating, she claimed, but in truth, few of the male athletes back at her school even came close to packing the toned abs, the prominent biceps, and powerful, column-like legs she had.

More than her shapeliness, her well-disciplined body drew curious eyes, hungry gazes, and emptied thoughts out of hormone-addled heads.

With Goro’s face doctored, the old man stood up straight and bridged his hands in front of his body, connecting his robe sleeves to try and take up the appearance of a wizened old man, though his fattened lip and swollen nose somewhat detracted from the look.

He cleared his throat, and glared up at Hanabi as she blushed and shuffled in place. “I agreed to take you into my home and business on the basis that you don’t cause me or my customers any trouble! I struggle enough to keep this place open, if you’re nothing but another mouth to feed with nothing to show for it, I will have you out on the streets! No take-backsies!”

Hanabi bowed low at a near perfect ninety-degree angle. {I’m terribly sorry, Ohno-sensei! I know it’s a great inconvenience to have me here!} She squawked when then old man chopped the top of her head.

“Speak English, girl! The customers won’t be able to understand a word out of your fool mouth otherwise! And call me Mr. Goro; saying ‘oh no’ around the customers will just make them worry!”

Hanabi rubbed her scalp and winced. “Gomen—err, sorry. I’m just very proud to apprentice under you while attending my classes! My father had nothing but high praises for your cooking, and I hope to learn much to enhance my own!”

“Fah!” Goro grunted loudly. “Iwata tells me you are much like him, a fiend for spice! When we were both boys training together, he would challenge me to contests to eat chili, or ramen, or kimchi that would blow the ass out of your pants! We imported habaneros to put in our food just to punish our tongues for being insolent and soft! If you wish to learn from me, you must prove you can handle the same!”

Hanabi shot up straight, her eyes all but sparkling as she eagerly bobbed her head. “I would love to, Mr. Goro!” She almost squeaked in delight as the man’s eye twitched. “On the ride here, I dreamed of eating your spiciest bowl of ramen! I even brought ingredients for spring rolls to cool down with!”

Goro scoffed. “Is that so? Then we shall see if you can even handle my Summer Fireworks Ramen Bowl!”

Hanabi trembled in anticipation as he stormed past her to the kitchen, and stared around. Hanabi joined him a moment later as he threw his hands in the air.

“That lazy good for nothing didn’t even clean the place!” He huffed and puffed and grabbed a still greasy pan in fury.

“Who didn’t, Mr. Goro?” Hanabi asked curiously, cringing at the state of the kitchen. It looked like it had been used today, but everything was still messy and gross, with pots full of stagnant water or decaying broth, noodles dried and dusty…

“That good for nothing Daniel!” Goro shook his fist.

“I’ll clean it up, Mr. Goro!” Hanabi said enthusiastically, grabbing the nearest dishes to take the sink for the toughest scrubbing she could possibly give.

Goro bobbed his head. “As expected of a proper houseguest! Hmph! Americans are always so whiny and demanding; I told him I’d have his paycheck for him next week! If he ever comes back again, I’ll have his head!”

“He sounds terribly impatient.” Hanabi said as she pulled on an apron, and Goro nodded rapidly.

“This is why Japanese workers are better. I had expenses to pay for this week and he expects me to just give him money? He’s lucky I offered to pay him at all! He was earning something more valuable than dollars, he was gaining experience! I even taught him how to make ramen broth!”

Hanabi paused. “Ramen broth is pretty easy to make, isn’t it?”

“AH! You young people are all the same! You want money money money, and say ‘oh, this is easy Mr. Goro!’ If it was easy, everybody could do it! Ramen broth is a sacred art, girl!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Goro!” Hanabi buried her head into her scrubbing and washing.

“Damn right you are!”

The door to the restaurant slid open, and a curious head poked inside.

“Hello?”

Goro turned and boomed: “WE’RE CLOSED! LEEEEEEAAAAAVE!”

And the door slammed shut.

“Always expecting food at all hours of the day.” Goro grumbled as he bustled over and locked the door. “When you’re done with the dishes, make the broth and set it to simmer! Then come clean this filthy place, I can’t cook in these conditions!”

“Yes Mr. Goro!”

“And when you’re done with that, make those spring rolls! Then I shall teach you why I was called ‘Dragon’s Breath Goro’ back in Japan!”

“Yes Mr. Goro!”

Hanabi wiped her brow with a heavy sigh. With the light on, she could see the dining area was spotless. Tables wiped, dishes clean, broth boiling; she was working up a sweat!

‘Cleaning one’s room is like cleaning one’s soul.’ Her father used to tell her. She believed that. She always felt so much lighter after a good scrubbing, and she enjoyed the ache in her limbs when all was said and done.

But now, it was time to make the spring rolls! She opened her grocery bags and smiled.

Then paused.

Then went into the back.

Goro laid on his side on a series of cushions, watching a small TV on a table.

“Did everyone hear about the plane crash in California today?” A suited, coiffed man on the TV asked an audience. “Yeah, turns out the pilot was up there puffing the reefer while trying to show his girlfriend what the ground looked like! Sounds like a real ‘high-flying’ experience!” Goro gave a hyena-like cackle and slapped his leg, devolving into low hoots of delight before Hanabi cleared her throat.

“Mr. Goro, you received my luggage, right?”

“Huh?!” Goro turned his head to glare back at her. “Why are you asking?! Did you finish cleaning?!”

“Yes sir! And I’m working on those spring rolls, but I need my equipment.”

“Ah! Huh, yeah, that no-good Daniel put it all up on the second floor in your room. Made quite a stink about it, too! These old bones can’t go up those stairs very well, he should know better!” He waved his hand angrily, and Hanabi decided to slink upstairs as he grouched more to himself, then burst out into a guffaw.

The upstairs was little more than a futon and a sitting table, with hardly any decorations whatsoever other than Hanabi’s luggage. Digging through her numerous bags, she eventually pulled out her kitchen set, and with a grin, ran back downstairs.

Stainless steel kitchenware; a spatula, some tongs, a whisk, a fork, a cutting knife, a butter knife, a spoon, a small eating bowl… and her prized piece, her father’s kitchen knife.

Long ago, a Japanese cypress was planted into the earth, not knowing its destiny as the handle of a knife so finely tempered, samurai of ages past would have forsaken their honored blades just to wield the beauty in Hanabi’s hands.

The finest Russian steel, melted and molded by caring hands that might never know what culinary delights this knife would make, but confident in its future as a gourmand’s tool. Put against the whetstone by a salesperson who could greet every day with a smile knowing their wares would create delicious family dinners, the knife’s edge had slid through the cores of apples and the flesh of pork alike, rending what was once whole into halves again and again.

Hanabi had seen her father’s love for this knife. He spent time each night grinding it to a microbial edge, so that the barest motion would find no resistance in the skin of even the most hardy tomato. Now the knife was in her hands, a parting gift for her time in America.

Carefully she lined up each ingredient of what would become her dish: a cucumber, a carrot, purple cabbage, basil, a mango, and small, pink shrimps kept in ice. With a deep breath, she raised her knife, and like a machine her other arm moved.

The cucumber, once girthy and long, was rendered into thin, robust stalks. The carrot was turned into a clean pile of moist orange strips. The cabbage and the basil looked like festive lawn-trimmings, the mango into sweet yellow chunks, all topped with the cooked shrimps and all of it was rolled together around glass noodles in a thin, pale, translucent spring roll skin, and sealed with a tight pinch.

But was she done? No.

Never.

Soy sauce with a pinch of cumin, mixed with garlic cooked to perfect fragrance in a skillet, and the smallest dollop of wasabi stirred in to provide the unexpected kick of delight to unsuspecting taste buds, all poured into a tasteful sake dish for dipping.

Two for herself, two for Goro, both served with the sauce.

“Mr. Goro~!” She called out happily, entering the back room with the two plates in hand. “The spring rolls are ready!”

Goro flipped up onto his butt with eagerness in his eyes. “It’s about time, girl! I’ve been starving while you were lazing about in there! Now serve ‘em up!”

His dish was set in front of him, and his lips pursed. Delicately, he lifted one roll up and sniffed it, and hummed. “I was expecting a wrapper of fried wheat-bread. I was expecting a crunch, girl!”

Hanabi took a bite of her own roll, and Goro flinched at the crunch the bite elicited. “Mmm, try it, Mr. Goro, the cabbage should be crunchy enough! Definitely try it with the sauce!”

“Huff!” Goro glowered. “Telling me how to eat?! I was making spring rolls when you were a sparkle in your father’s eye, I tell you! A good dish will survive on its own merits without the sauce, so don’t think for a second that I won’t—” He bit through the spring roll, “—mark you down if it… only…” He paused, and chewed slower between words. “... Hm.”

He dipped the next bite into the provided soy sauce, and his eyes rolled up towards the ceiling as he did it again.

And again.

He sucked his fingers clean, the plate empty, and Hanabi merely sat back and finished the last bite of her meal, and Goro planted his hands on his knees.

Hanabi glanced up to see the look on his face, expecting nothing but pure delight, but a wave of dread washed over her as she watched him shiver, and smolder.

“Mr. Goro?”

“You…” He growled under his breath. “You come into my restaurant to try and humiliate me?!” He screeched, pointing at her, her face turning white in shock.

“N-no sir, I—”

“You conniving child! That wasn’t your father’s recipe! The refreshing blend of sweet vegetables intermingling with the slight savory whiff of the shrimp, the crunchy cabbage giving way to the soft and ticklish noodles, the heavy, acidic sauce with the peppy kick of heat, that old fool would have tried to kick my teeth in with the flavor and laughed at my tears! You… you treated me you bitch!”

“I-I really didn’t mean to offend—”

“THAT’S IT!” Goro stood abruptly, his old body almost cracking at the motion. “You want me to show you how Goro Ohno crafts the perfect dish?! I will show you how Goro Ohno crafts the perfect dish! I shall create you a bowl of ramen that won’t just cleanse your pallet, it will flush your insides in a burning wave of heat!”

He stormed towards the front of the restaurant, Hanabi sitting there, trying to catch up with what the man was saying.

“Hold onto your buttcheeks, Hanaya!” He shouted from the front. “I’ll burn them right off your backside!”

Hanabi gulped, but a smile crept over her face.

Yay.

“There. Taste it and weep, girl.”

The bowl sitting in front of Hanabi had all the fixings one would expect of ramen, with the long, thick noodles sunken underneath a hearty broth, with the smell of garlic and green onions intermingling with the braised pork ribs sticking out, a halved hard-boiled egg floating alongside some fried tofu and softened bamboo shoots.

But what made Hanabi’s expression morph into one of pure ecstasy was how red the broth was. She could see the stray bubbles of housemade sriracha floating on the surface of the shoyu broth, see individual spices gathered in clusters along the edges, and could smell the nose-wrinkling marinade the rib meat had been soaked in.

Goro leaned over the bar counter to glare at her unblinkingly as she reached for her kitchen tools and pulled out a long envelope, from which she plucked out a pair of wooden chopsticks that were stained at the ends from countless use, but were otherwise smooth, depicting faded koi fish swimming up from the tips and becoming dragons at the thicker ends.

She drew up some noodles and watched them drip into the bowl, staring, intrigued at the soft tinge of orange they had grown from soaking up the broth, the stray red flakes of some form of pepper clinging to them, and she leaned forward.

Spicy food was best enjoyed as hot as one could bear their food; there were no words to describe the ecstasy of pure heat blooming in one’s mouth and pouring into their throat before the spices took hold and filled their mouth with fire.

Hanabi’s hand went to her cheek, a grunt of delight escaping her as tears filled her eyes, her face turning red in an instant as she sucked the noodles up and chewed, the spice dancing across every inch of her mouth like a bonfire. Her tongue curdled, her nostrils flared, her shoulders hunched, every inch of her body was tightened up as tongue-melting heat ran down her throat into her gurgling belly.

The chilly and pleasant spring rolls she made were banished to a burning hell; the peace and tenderness they had cultivated was replaced with the mood of a pulse-pounding club set ablaze by the arson-obsessed partiers.

She felt it.

The heat streaked up and down her limbs as fresh adrenaline awoke in her body. The spice itself disseminated from her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes, the flow of life-energy through her veins lit ablaze by the passion of Goro’s Summer Fireworks Ramen.

Her ki was boiling, leaving her trembling as she scooped another bite of ramen into her mouth with some egg, the taste of the yolk drowned by the purity of the ramen’s spice and the broth’s punch-you-in-the-mouth savory flavor, but the texture of the solidified albumen added a delightful layer of mouthfeel.

And the rib meat… yes, this was the centerpiece of the bowl. The burning heat of the brothy-noodles was there only to enhance the voracious bite in the ribs. The marinade was brutal and ruthless, and the heavy taste of beef acted as a trojan horse, inviting teeth to sink in and release the pain-drowning juices within.

Goro watched as Hanabi ate her third bite, trying each piece of the bowl one-after-the-other, sucking in cooling breaths between bites, tears uncontrollable dripping down her cheeks around a smile of utopian ecstasy.

She didn’t even see the concern in his face, she was too wrapped up in enjoying the heat blossoming from her mouth and spreading down her neck. She reached for a fourth bite, but paused.

Pushing herself back on her seat, she threw her head back as her gut gurgled and her ki grew inflamed, and a hearty burp was interrupted by a streak of fire.

“AH!” Goro shouted, swiftly grabbing a bucket of water as the wooden signs depicting his menu items immediately lit up in flame. “Stupid stupid girl! You Hanaya need to control yourselves!” He shouted, putting out the fire with a splash.

“Sorry Mr. Goro!” Every word was accompanied by a spicy-smelling inferno.

“Watch where you’re aiming, girl!” He ordered with a yelp, swatting the air to try and keep it from singing his facial hair.

Hanabi sighed and discarded her jacket, leaving her shoulders and powerful arms bare, with steam rising off of her skin. Her next bite caused a series of pops and sparks along her naked skin, the back of her left palm crackling as a low, reddish-orange flame rose from her knuckles.

“So what do you think?” Goro asked, drumming his fingertips together in nervousness as she kept on eating.

“Sho shpicy!” Hanabi answered with a mouthful of tofu, flames escaping between her teeth. “Sho good!”

Goro planted his hands on his hips, jut out his still swollen bottom lip, and grinned, hiding a sigh of relief behind pure pompousness. “Of course it is! I am Dragon’s Breath Goro, after all! When you finish that bowl, clean up the kitchen! Come tomorrow morning, I will teach you the most basic of my dishes as you serve my customers!”

Hanabi merely nodded and kept eating.

Hours later, the heat and spice finally came to a stop.

Hanabi exited the upstairs bathroom into the extraordinarily plain second floor, which Goro had complained more about being too difficult to climb up there, so if she wanted to move in her own accommodations, she’d have to buy them and move them herself, and not make any noise, not to bother him too much, or make the space ‘too girly.’ Something about not wanting to let any visiting women think he’s weird.

She laid down on the futon and sighed heavily… What a busy day. Plane ride after plane ride, then she was hoofing it around town, then so much cleaning… but that ramen had been inspiring. It could have been spicier in her opinion, but to the average consumer, it was a blazing hot bowl of fire and fury.

Hanabi spat a wisp of fire into the air, watching it fade to an ember, which cooled and dissipated into ash… her ki was boiling, but her body was tired. She still had a few weeks before her classes at Central Medeo College started, so she had time to settle in.

Four in the morning was not a time that existed for most normal people in the world.

Hanabi Hanaya was not a normal person.

Four in the morning was the time to warm up. Start the day cold, and grow hot as the sun rose in the sky.

On an empty pier stretching out over the ocean, Hanabi sprinted from one end to the other, a length of thick boating rope wrapped around her torso and arms as she jogged back and forth, back and forth.

Sweat was already pouring down her body in the cold hours before sunrise, steam pouring off of her in visible waves.

A tall oak growing along the side of the sidewalk trembled as her fists slammed into its trunk, leaves showering over her body. The wraps around her fists helped dampen the damage to the bark, so she could likely use the tree again tomorrow.

An early-morning pier wanderer craned his head to stare as she did push-ups and walked right into the ocean.

She waved to a docking ship as did sit-ups under the light of the rising sun, and she lifted weights on a crate as dock workers passed by and enjoyed the eye-candy while unloading cargo.

Then, it was time for a nice, breezy jog to the grocery store.

Goro scratched his stomach as he awoke, tangled up in the blankets of his futon. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of clicking and sizzling coming from the front. The smell of food reached his nose, and he sat up straight with a yelp, quickly crawling towards the door and peeking his head through the hanging curtains serving as a partition between his home and his restaurant.

“—and Dave is grilling me because he can’t find the damn keys hanging out of his own back pocket!”

“Dave couldn’t pour water out of a goddamned boot with instructions printed on the sole, but what can we do? The boss ain’t gunna fire his own cousin.”

“The boss also ain’t gunna do anything that makes him get off his ass. Remember what happened with Jose?”

“God, don’t remind me.”

Two muscular, hairy men in work uniforms sat at the bar, chatting as they ate from meaty rice bowls with vegetable toppings, and sipped coffee from big, ceramic mugs.

Three other patrons were dining, one on what looked like a simple but effectively made sushi roll, the other two eating some grilled tuna served with some kind of spicy mango sauce.

Hanabi stood in the kitchen, dressed casually underneath an apron, scooping sticky white rice into a bowl to add some more grilled fish on top of, then drizzled with a sauce and vegetables to pass to one of the men at the bar seating.

“‘Ey thanks doll.” The man winked.

“Hana, baby, can I get a refill on my coffee?” One of the guys called from the table.

“On it!” She called back, scampering over with the coffee pot to fill his mug.

“Thanks!” The man sipped, only for his eyes to widen as he was suddenly presented with Hanabi’s thrust out backside and cheeky grin. After a few moments, he dug his hand into his wallet and stuffed a few dollar bills into a pocket already bulging with money.

“Dōmo arigatōgozaimasu!” She chirped with a wiggle of her rump, and suddenly the rest of the men in the little restaurant needed a refill as well.

Goro snuck out of the back towards Hanabi as she checked how full the rice maker was.

“Girl, wh-what are you doing?” He asked, his eyes focused completely on all the glorious green bills sticking out of her back pocket.

“I opened the kitchen for breakfast!” Hanabi grinned, presenting Goro with a bowl of rice and egg, with a small topping of soy and sriracha sauces. “I was exercising on the pier and a few of these guys asked what I was doing around here, and I told them I was apprenticing under you! I offered to prove to them that Goro’s Four Bowls of Fire is a breakfast establishment as well!”

Goro snorted as he took it and a pair of chopsticks, grousing between bites. “Don’t expect a tip from me, girl.”

Hanabi cheekily stuck her tongue out at the old man, drawing a harrumph.

“... Good work bringing in customers. I’ll start preparing for lunch.”

The little restaurant saw a number of customers slipping in, following their noses or their coworkers inside. Hanabi greeted each new face with a cheery ‘Irasshaimase!’, and she eagerly brought them food and drink, her lightly accented English and good looks drawing raised eyebrows and a steady flow of money.

Only one customer had the lack of foresight to understand that laying amorous hands on her was going to be a mistake, but a twist of his wrist and a painful jerk of his thumb made the whole restaurant aware that the muscles weren’t just for show.

It was a normal business day for Hanabi, just with a more diverse clientele. Back in Osaka, in her father’s restaurant, they had a strong and steady stream of regulars bringing in family, coworkers, and out-of-towners, and she learned everything about serving from an old family friend.

Greet every customer with a cheery smile, read their mood to figure out how loudly to address them, don’t be afraid to wiggle her hips and flaunt a little to put a few more dishes on their table, and above all else, serve quality food. A little fanservice didn’t make up for poor taste, after all…

The door opened up, letting the fresh sea breeze sweep in, and Hanabi called out: “Irasshaima—” And froze. The restaurant goers slowly turned to see what she was staring at, and their eyes widened, their forks and chopsticks going slack in their grips.

The man ducking inside was more like a bear in his sheer stature. Immense, bare feet the size of plates thunked against the wooden floor, and his scalp nearly scraped against the ceiling. Long lengths of rough brown hair fell around a face made of light brown, pointed, stony features, with a tall, crinkled brow, an angular chin and jaw bones, a big, flat nose, and his mouth was a long, tight line.

Beady brown eyes glared out around the handful of patrons and the two chefs. The man’s body was dense with muscle stretching out his worn, dirty blue gi, and his massive hands formed massive fists that Hanabi could see were dark, tough, and leathery.

With a sneer, he slowly stomped towards the bar, so large that Hanabi almost had to stare straight up to meet his gaze before he sat on a stool, the metal chair squeaking in protest under his weight.

His fist fell on the bar, causing the other patrons’ bowls to jump, and the workers that had been chatting a moment ago scrambled to go sit further away from the beast of a man.

“Girl.” He grunted in a voice like pouring gravel. “Your largest noodle bowl.”

“Now bite your tongue you big galoot!” Goro stepped into view, wagging his finger. “She is my apprentice so don’t you—” His small eyes locked onto him, and his lips peeled back to reveal a row of straight, yellow teeth, and Goro coughed. “Of course, sir, my apologies, excuse me.” And he wandered into the back room.

With Goro gone, the man’s eyes locked onto the lone Hanabi. “Your largest noodle bowl, girl.”

“O-oh!” Hanabi bobbed her head. “Largest noodle bowl, okay! Any specific—”

“Meat.” The man growled. “Every piece of meat. No vegetables. Make it spicy.”

“Y—”

“Spicy.” He repeated with a growl. “Spicy spicy SPICY. I’m no milk-sucking baby.”

“U-understood, sir!” Hanabi flushed, intimidated, but she knew spicy like the back of her hand! “Big bowl, all the meat, extra spicy!”

He grunted, and nodded.

A man that size would need more than a mere large bowl of ramen, so Hanabi dug until she found a clay-fired bowl that looked like it could feed an entire family of six. Then came the process of filling it.

She needed more portions of everything! Two batches of noodles, beef rib, pork belly, chicken breast, steak tips, and fatty salmon, and giving the man some consideration, Hanabi ran into the back up to her luggage while Goro took his TV to the far corner.

Hanabi set a series of shakers, jars of red flakes, and dried peppers on the counter in front of her, and began to carefully portion out scoops of each.

The man watched her with a sense of interest, but only in his eyes, the rest of his face refused to so much as twitch.

She quickly mashed and chopped up peppers to stir into the broth. She couldn’t hide all of her excitement as she mixed it in and tasted the broth as it steadily became more and more red, and its smell turned pungent and sour.

“This is a special blend of spices I like to use for my meals.” She told him excitedly. “My dad can’t even handle it!”

“Tch.” The man growled. “A man with a softer tongue than a girl? Don’t compare me to such a weakling. If I don’t like it, I’ll make you eat it.” He rumbled in a threatening promise.

One of the workers, bolder than the rest, gulped. “Hey fella, go easy on the girl! She’s just a—”

His heavy fist slammed straight through the metal chair next to him, turning it into little more than crumpled scrap on the floor, and the worker choked back his words.

Hanabi lifted the heavy bowl up to the bar and set it before the man, passing over a pair of chopsticks, then a fork at his snarl. But, before he even took a bite, he turned to a nearby patron, and pointed. “You. Come here.”

Nervously, the man obeyed, creeping forward and following his finger to the bowl.

“Eat a bite.” He ordered.

“W-why?”

“If you can take it, it’s not good enough.”

The man blinked as the fork was forced into his hand, and Hanabi glared up at the giant of a guy. The attitude was rougher and uglier than his face, but she was willing to try and satisfy him before she tried to get him out.

The worker lifted some noodles out of the bowl, the broth dribbling off them as he brought them to his lips, and the moment they touched…

“Oh good GAWD!” He wailed, dropping the fork and throwing himself back from the bowl, breathing heavily into his hands.

“Bob, what’s wrong?!” His coworker asked, and the giant of a man’s eyes widened when Bob pulled his hands away, his lips turned a ferocious red.

“That ain’t food! That’s torture!” Bob sucked in his lips and winced. “Lordy, I can’t feel my face!”

The big man snorted, laughed even, a cruel sound as he turned to stare at Hanabi with cold satisfaction on his face as he took the fork and lifted a bite up to his mouth.

He chewed and shoveled more noodles into his maw, along with the plethora of meat filling the bowl. Hanabi smiled in satisfaction as he ate, seemingly content, but three bites in he stopped.

He stopped and lowered his fork, gave a small cough, and settled his eyes on Hanabi again.

“Girl…” He asked, his voice dropped to a choked snarl, and Hanabi blinked; his lips were already swollen and sensitive looking, and his eyes were watering ahead of his glare. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Wha-huh? How do you mean, sir?” Hanabi asked, and with a sneer, he thrust the fork out to her.

“This is way too spicy for anyone! I can’t taste anything anymore! You’re messing with me!”

“I-I’m not!” She squeaked, taking the fork as he pressed his fist against her chest. “That’s actually how I eat my own ramen!”

“You lie!” He snapped. “Look at you, built like a lioness, but I intimidate you, don’t I?! You might train like me, but you’ll never be as strong as a real man. All girls like you are the same, trying to knock the strong down a peg to compensate for your weakness! Well I know better. You eat it. The entire bowl!” A growl rumbled out of his chest. “And if you don’t…” He stood, his massive bulk filling her vision, and with a flesh, the threads of his gi pulled taut, threatening to snap at the seams.

Hanabi quivered a little at his immense height, but discarding the fork for some chopsticks, she dredged up some noodles and meat and popped it in her mouth.

In an instant, the pungency blasted her senses into orbit; fire, pain, heat, and flavor flooded her face, and soon, her stomach. Flames rushed through her ki and turned her white hot, her body shaking as renewed energy filled her, and with a satisfied swallow, she sighed.

“See?” She asked him, her face red and sweaty, but bearing a genuine smile. “I’m not trying to humiliate you, sir, I just thought we might have similar tastes in spice!”

His eyes bugged out of his head, his lips drew back as he ground his teeth together, watching her take another hearty bite and fan her face as she sighed, but before she could have her third, his mighty hand swept the bowl off the counter, sending it flying into the wall, and pieces of clay, wood-curdling broth, and five meals’ worth of good meat splattered all over the floor.

“Girl.” The man growled. “I will kill—heugh!”

His words were cut short when a pair of chopsticks went straight up his nose, and Hanabi furiously dragged him down to meet her face-to-face. Her black eyes were wide, her expression twisted up in anger as she held him at her mercy.

“You waste food, you are banned for life. Leave, and if you come back, I will give you a better reason to never return.”

The man’s expression fell, partially from the pain of the chopsticks trying to bury deep into his sinuses, partially from the girl’s sudden fire, but his shock lasted all of one second. With a ferocious howl, one of his massive hands swept towards her, knocking her and the chopsticks aside.

He wiped his nose and snorted out the discomfort, and glanced up right as a foot buried into his belly and sent him stumbling back a few steps with a grunt.

Hanabi glared at him, her extended leg steaming as heat poured off of her body, before slowly curling and planting beneath her. She held her fists up, and as if the action was somehow an insult to his very being, the man howled and flew towards her.

His sheer size forced her to slip around him, allowing him to barrel past her while a wildly swinging arm threw her back against a table, and his turn was accompanied by a backfist that cut through the empty air like cannonball.

From the floor, Hanabi thrust her feet into his knee, but she may have been trying to kick a tree down for all he cared. She rolled aside as a big, dirty foot crashed down into the floor, splintering the wood beneath him, and when he stepped over to crush her under his next step, she swiftly grabbed a chair and locked its wooden support poles around his ankle, and twisted to throw him aside.

He stumbled and hopped until his leg broke through the chair, and his flailing flight ended when he slammed into the wall. He turned back towards her with a glare that would cause a grizzly to shit itself.

Hanabi lept to her feet, and gasped as the beast of a man grabbed a table, and tried to swing it into her with all his might, but she turned her back foot, centered her stance, and braced herself as it slammed into her grip, sliding her a full foot before it stopped.

“Sir!” She grunted, moving one hand up to grab the edge of the table. “I’ll have to. Ask you. To not. Hurt. The dining room!” Her other hand lashed to grab the bottom of the table as the man’s sheer strength began pushing her towards the bar. “Or else!” Gripping the furniture, she suddenly thrust it straight into his torso, weakening his grip and allowing her to pull it away, tossing it on top of another table.

The other patrons, briefly wowed by the fight, quickly began to filter out, fleeing from the scene while pulling out cellphones to call the police.

With a little more room to fight, Hanabi flew forward as the man raised his fists to sledgehammer her into the ground, but a quick backstep caused the swing to miss, and as he stumbled forward, she lunged into a rising uppercut that smashed his jaw and rattled his brain.

But he didn’t fall, and through his addled daze, slammed an open palm against her shoulder and knocked her to the floor with a yelp. She tried to get up swiftly, but his foot slammed down on her chest, knocking the wind out of her before raising his foot up again.

She held her arms up to catch each stomp, which threatened to put her through the floor, assuming her arms didn’t break first, but he, without warning, pulled back.

Gritting her teeth in pain, her arms shaking from the attack, she did not get to enjoy the reprieve for very long as a massive hand grabbed her by the leg, and suddenly spun, swinging her into the wall with a pained shriek.

Barely catching herself on her feet, Hanabi stumbled backwards, unable to see a heavy fist as it connected with her belly and sent her flying out the door and into the street.

She bounced off of the asphalt and hit the floor with a cry of pain. Her eyes flew open as the sound of skidding tires woke her mind up, and she stared at the front bumper of a car just an inch from her face. She quickly picked herself up off the floor, and through her bruises, gave the white-faced driver a cheeky thumbs up and stumbled out of its way.

Not quite fast enough, however.

A mighty figure bolted out the restaurant’s door, barreling towards her with a slowly building roar like an oncoming steam train. His knee clipped the car’s left headlight, crumpling the car’s front and sending it spinning in the street as he threw himself at Hanabi with his arms wide open.

In that instant, Hanabi felt the world slow as the heat rose within her.

The man was intending to kill her, she could read it in his eyes. If she didn’t act fast, she was likely going to be beaten to a pulp.

Escape was unlikely, he was big and strong enough he could likely catch up to her in her weakened state.

Fighting back as she had wouldn’t work, he was simply too tough.

But, she realized, she was no longer indoors.

She was in the safe, non-flammable street.

Her hand rose from her pants pocket, and in the air she threw a scattering of ghost pepper flakes as the man’s face drew near, and with a snap of her fingers, her ki discharged across the pepper, and a fireball filled the space between them.

The brute was slung across the street, sliding against the stone until he laid flat on his back in front of Goro’s, while Hanabi wiped the ash off of her face, and with a confident grin, sank her teeth into a dried ghost pepper and swallowed it.

He picked himself up and threw himself at her, swinging concrete-busting fists that she slipped around, before a gout of pungent-smelling flame washed across his back that left him howling and scampering away, his brown hair and brown flesh turning red and raw from the heat, spice-induced hives exploding across the already sensitive skin.

He twisted around and ran in a semi-circle towards her, jumping and rolling beneath the next blast of spice-fire blown his way, and threw his arms around her body, lifting her into a tight bearhug.

“I’ll crush you!” He grunted as his arms tightened like steel cables around her. “And leave nothing! But broken! Bo-ho-ho-HOT!” He screeched, pulling his arms back and stumbling away, slapping the fire off of his body as Hanabi gathered herself off the ground, a more confident smile on her face as a delicious-smelling flame danced along her limbs. “Y-you bitch!” He spat, staring at her in horror, his flesh suddenly feeling tender.

Vulnerable.

Weak.

The girl grinned smugly, then slowly, casually straightened her stance, and gave him a low bow.

“Thank you for coming to Goro’s Four Bowls of Fire. From the bottom of my heart, I hope I never see you again.”

The beastly man stared in shock, gripping the burns along his biceps, before Hanabi suddenly closed the gap.

A blow that was one part fist, one part fireball buried itself into his stomach with the force of a charging bull, and a handful of pepper flakes ignited in the air as her palm opened, the resulting explosion sending the massive man flying through the air, and landing in the ocean behind him with a gout of steam and an inglorious ‘splash.’

Hanabi withdrew her smoking-hot fist with a small sigh, and winced as the pains of battle decided to announce themselves upon her victory. Stumbling back into Goro’s, she gave the shocked onlookers a pained smile.

“Is he gone?” She heard as she stepped inside, Goro’s eyes peeking at her from around the backdoor’s frame.

“Yessir.” Hanabi groaned in pain. “He’s gone. Phew… American customers are much tougher critics than I thought they’d be.”

He stepped into view with a relieved sigh. “Good, good! I would have hated to get involved, that boy would have been nothing more than a smear on the ground if I’d had! Good work keeping this place safe, excellent indeed! A Hanaya is nothing if not good at shooing out the vermin.” Goro hooted to himself in delight, but stopped when Hanabi collapsed against the wall.

He quickly shuffled over and knelt down to touch her bruised arm, and Hanabi just grinned. “I’ll be okay. I just need some rest.”

“... Good.” Goro grunted. “Go. Sleep. Use my futon if you can’t make the stairs, but the moment you’re back on your feet, you’re scrubbing this place and fixing everything that brute broke!” He huffed and puffed, and Hanabi bobbed her head.

“Yeah… of course, boss.”

“That’s right! I’m the boss, so you do as I say! Now, rest! Rest you foolish girl! I’ll be up shortly with something red-hot and lip-smacking, but then you’ll clean! Clean clean clean!”

Hanabi stumbled into the back, and Goro sighed.

Those fucking Hanaya…

Late that evening, a black car with tinted windows slowly rolled up to a stop across the street from Goro’s Four Bowls of Fire. It was closed and dark for now, only street lamps illuminating the building’s exterior in the night.

The rear window facing the restaurant rolled down a crack, and a bald man in a black suit and sunglasses stared at the establishment sternly, before turning back to face the backseat’s other occupant.

“This is it, sir. This is where that girl is staying.”

The other rider, a man in heavy black robes, an elaborate cloth headdress/hat, and a veil over his face that only exposed his black eyes, pale nose, and glasses, stared intently at the business, leaning forward to get a better look.

“The one who defeated Jorge Brutus?” He asked.

“The one and the same. It looked to be a close fight until they were out on the street.” The man in the sunglasses said. “That was where she showed her true power.”

“As one of the enlightened; an empowered martial artist.” The man in the black robe reached under his veil to stroke his hidden chin. “And she used naught but her raw strength?”

“No tricks. No poisons, no sending him stumbling into his own defeat. She beat him squarely and soundly.”

“To think the Bull of Ishtar would be defeated by some unknown teenager… And was it a brilliant fight?”

“Explosive, sir.” The bald man answered. “Explosions, fire, the smell of spice so strong it could burn your nose hairs, all companions to martial combat.”

The figure hummed, his eyes closing slowly. “Master Wangui would insist she join.”

“Should we come here tomorrow, then?”

“No.” The robed man answered. The man with the sunglasses frowned in confusion, and the robed man continued. “Not yet. Let’s observe her a little longer. It’s possible this was a fluke.”

“Based on what I saw—”

“Yes yes, but let’s not be too hasty. We know nothing about her. Observe her for now, and should she get into another fight…”

“I’ll have the cameras prepared.”

“Good… good…”

With that, the car peeled off down the street.

Inside, Hanabi slept a dreamless dream as she recovered from her injuries, her belly still full and white hot.