What If I Accidentally Fall in Love with You?

There's something comforting about living near a tavern.

After a long, exhausting day, many people just want a place to relax, to let go of their stress, and melt into a warm atmosphere with good food and drink. Unlike regular restaurants, taverns thrive in the late hours—where stories are whispered over half-empty glasses, and laughter fills the night air.

Zane's tavern was one of those places.

A hidden gem glowing in the darkness of Neon City.

There was always alcohol, always food—simple, honest food—and Zane himself, quietly cooking behind the counter, always ready to lend an ear.

It wasn't uncommon for diners to pour out their hearts in front of this near-stranger. Worries they couldn't share with family or friends somehow found their way into hushed confessions and half-drunken murmurs. Maybe it was the anonymity, maybe the food—or maybe it was just the way Zane listened, without judgment.

This was the magic of the tavern.

A group of strangers.

A handful of cliché phrases.

But shared pain, empathy, and the kind of advice that somehow always hit the mark.

Zane didn't just cook—he comforted.

He didn't just serve food—he served a moment of peace, and sometimes, that was more nourishing than the meal itself.

Time passed.

Erina, Hisako, and Alice had already left.

But the dishes they'd tasted—the Rising Dragon Dumplings, the Oyakodon—they had stirred something deep inside them. These meals weren't just food. They were turning points. Dishes that quietly challenged them to reflect, and sometimes, even change.

Now, only Rindō remained.

Seated comfortably at the counter, she stared in awe at the oversized plate in front of her—golden, glistening teriyaki chicken skewers, artfully arranged like a sacred offering.

In Japan, grilled skewers might arrive late to the party—but they're never absent.

And tonight's featured dish was the iconic yakitori.

Unlike the quick and greasy street stall skewers, Zane's version had refinement. It was crafted with care, using a famous local breed of free-range chicken. Strictly raised. Over 80 days of open-range farming. No antibiotics. No cramming. Just chickens living happy, active lives—until they eventually found their way onto the plate.

The result?

Meat that was firmer, sweeter, and more flavorful than anything you'd find in a supermarket.

And Zane didn't stop at quality ingredients. Every part of the process was handled with care—down to the way he skewered the meat.

Too much hand contact? It would affect the taste.

Even the pattern of skewering followed an odd rhythm—small, large, medium, medium, small—to optimize the way heat traveled through the meat over the flames.

These weren't long sticks hung over charcoal.

This was close-fire, high-heat grilling. Precision work.

As Rindō chewed a chicken meatball, her eyes gleamed.

Soft bones, thigh meat, chicken hearts and gizzards—paired with chopped scallions, thick egg yolk dips, and house-made seasoning blends. Every bite had a different texture, a new flavor.

For a gourmand like Rindō, this was paradise.

Only in this place could she drop her guard.

Only here could she stop thinking—and just feel.

"Mmm~ So good…" she moaned, clearly entranced.

"Hey, you know there's a restaurant in Japan that earned a WGO one-star rating just for its yakitori?"

"The head chef there is even called the Yakitori Master! I've been—I've eaten his stuff. It was great…"

She took another bite and closed her eyes.

"But after today?"

"He's nothing!"

"You, Zane… You're not just a master. You're a Yakitori Sage!"

Zane blinked.

"Yakitori Sage? What kind of weird title is that?" he said, rolling his eyes.

But in truth, he was flattered.

Shows like Solitary Gourmet and Midnight Diner had helped yakitori earn its place in the hearts of the people. And now, street-food skewers were claiming WGO stars.

Still, fame brought problems.

One such WGO-starred restaurant had even begun serving chicken sashimi. And while Japan could turn almost anything into sashimi, raw chicken—despite strict farming practices—still carried risks.

Cases of bacterial infection were not uncommon, especially in regions like Kagoshima and Miyazaki.

Zane wasn't about to follow that trend.

He believed in tradition—refined, perfected, and served with love.

"Honestly," Rindō said, savoring the last bite, "you're in a different league."

"The ingredient handling, the temperature control, the detail… You've already surpassed that guy."

Between bites of yakitori and sips of chilled Shizuoka sake, she felt the warmth spread through her chest. A soft, radiant kind of happiness—nothing flashy, but deeply satisfying.

Each bite melted a little stress.

Each sip chased away the fog.

For a moment, the world outside didn't matter.

"Ahhh~ It feels so good," she exhaled softly, her cheeks pink from the sake.

Then, slowly, she looked up.

Her golden eyes shimmered in the soft tavern lighting, settling on Zane as he wiped down the counter, focused and unbothered.

Her heart skipped.

Just a little.

"Hmm?"

Zane noticed her gaze and looked back, puzzled. "Why're you staring at me like that?"

She smirked… but her eyes didn't waver.

"You're dangerous, you know that?"

Her voice was quiet, teasing.

"You keep cooking like this, saying the right things, being you…"

She turned away suddenly, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

"…What if I accidentally fall in love with you?"

Zane chuckled, amused. "Just one look and you're already getting ahead of yourself?"

Rindō scoffed, hiding her flustered expression.

"Tch… You wish."

But for the rest of the night, she didn't look him in the eyes again.

And for some reason… neither of them minded the silence that followed.