The Crystal Phoenix

Meat.

On the grill, it sizzled and steamed, releasing mouthwatering aromas that filled every corner of the tavern. The sharp, savory scent seemed to wrap around each customer, gently pulling at their senses—like a hypnotic lullaby composed of fat, flame, and fire.

A bite of grilled pork.

A mouthful of steaming white rice.

A warm flood of flavor that lit a fire in their bellies.

Each customer unknowingly surrendered to this comfort, their eyes half-closed in bliss, hearts content as if time had slowed around their chopsticks.

Tonight, the tavern brimmed with energy. Laughter mingled with clinking glasses. A warm haze of charcoal smoke and good cheer hovered over every table.

"Ahhh…"

Gin Dojima leaned back in his seat, letting out a deep breath as he set down his sake cup. "This sake… really does hit the soul just right."

Across from him, Director Senzaemon let out a soft chuckle, also savoring his drink.

As Gin looked around, he was surprised to notice a trend—almost every customer had ordered grilled meat. Despite the tavern's small size, the menu was impressively diverse. The drink list included beer, sake, shochu, plum wine, even cocktails and fruit liqueurs. The food spanned everything from grilled and fried to simmered, steamed, and even light desserts.

Some patrons were even finishing their meal with a bowl of ochazuke or udon—refusing to leave without squeezing out every last drop of satisfaction.

This wasn't just a tavern. It was a carefully cultivated sanctuary of indulgence.

"Owner," Gin called out, swirling the last of his sake. "Is the grilled meat your signature dish?"

Zane shook his head as he cleaned off the grill. "We don't have a signature dish."

"Oh?" Gin raised an eyebrow.

"Customers can order anything they want, as long as I've got the ingredients and the skills to make it." Zane's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "Grilled meat's just popular right now because of the cooler weather and the start of the school season. People crave warmth."

"Hmph. From the way you talk, I take it you've got dishes even better than this grilled meat?"

Zane didn't hesitate. "Plenty."

"Name one."

Zane turned slightly, locking eyes with him.

"The Crystal Phoenix. Right now, it's the most refined dish I can create with what I've got in the kitchen."

Gin blinked. "Crystal… Phoenix?"

The name hit like a thunderclap in his mind. Both words carried heavy symbolism. In Eastern culture, the phoenix was a divine bird of renewal and transformation—often signifying nobility and destiny. Crystal, on the other hand, was believed to hold spiritual power, capable of purifying and healing.

But a dish named after both?

He'd never heard of anything like it.

"…Alright," Gin said, voice firm. "I want to try it."

Zane nodded without missing a beat, then turned toward the Director. "And you, Director?"

Senzaemon chuckled, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "From the name alone, I wonder… Is it comparable to the Ascending Dragon Dumplings you made for me last time?"

Zane gave a slight smile. "Yes. Simpler ingredients this time, but the taste, texture, and presentation? Absolutely on par."

"In that case…" The Director's eyes gleamed. "I'll have one as well."

"Understood. Please wait."

With that, Zane stepped back behind the counter.

There are no historical records of who first created bean sprouts. But if you understand their growth, it's clear—they were a humble miracle discovered through daily life.

Under the right temperature and humidity, seeds would sprout, drawing only from their internal nutrients. No soil. No fertilizer. A quiet metamorphosis.

Much like how a chick hatches from an egg.

For mere coins, bean sprouts could elevate any dish, nourish the body, and complement countless ingredients.

Tonight, they were the key.

Ding!

A crisp chime echoed through the tavern.

Zane now stood over the prep station, gripping a gleaming knife from the Peacocks series—a high-end, handcrafted kitchen set. The handle was carved with the elegant plumage of a full-feathered peacock. The blade sparkled like a mirror under the overhead lights.

Under the glow, his refined features seemed almost ethereal.

The knife tip shimmered—almost as if it had a soul of its own.

"Let's begin," Zane said softly.

He placed a single potato onto the board.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

The rhythm of the blade was hypnotic. Gin's gaze narrowed. That cutting style—it wasn't ordinary slicing.

Then, Zane changed angles.

Instead of chopping, he began to carve.

Not dice. Not julienne.

He was sculpting the potato. Like an artisan shaping marble.

"…Carving?" Gin murmured, stunned. "He's carving a potato?"

"And with a Chinese kitchen knife, no less?"

He expected force. Precision. Maybe showy speed.

But this—this was delicate craftsmanship.

"Fascinating," Senzaemon whispered, eyes glowing. "I assumed his knife work would rely on brute efficiency. But this… this level of control is something else entirely."

Before long, the carving was complete.

Next came the wok.

Zane heated oil until it shimmered, then dropped in rock sugar. The sugar bubbled slowly under low heat, caramelizing into a golden syrup. Once it reached the right hue, he splashed in boiling water, creating a viscous glaze.

He tossed in bean sprouts, now mixed with finely minced pork, then poured the syrup over the mix, coating each strand with a crystalline sheen.

Then—masterfully, almost like folding origami—he arranged the glazed sprouts and meat into the shape of a soaring phoenix, wings outstretched, head tilted skyward, tail feathers fanned in mid-flight.

The final glaze caught the light, giving the "feathers" a glassy, sparkling effect—like they were made of crystal.

It was… unreal.

Gin stood from his seat in shock.

"This… this dish…"

Words escaped him.

He had judged this tavern as a modest side street eatery. A place for casual food and quiet drinking.

But this…

This was the kind of craftsmanship you'd find in a high-end imperial kitchen. The plating, the balance of ingredients, the symbolism—it was a gourmet work of art.

He looked at Zane again, the same way a soldier looks at a hidden blade drawn in silence.

This man isn't just a chef.

He's a culinary monster… hidden in plain sight.