The Curry That Shook the Queens

As soon as the first spoonful of curry rice touched their tongues, the sisters—Natsume and Orie—felt as if a volcano had erupted inside their heads.

Their minds blanked.

Their taste buds ignited.

A dizzying wave of heat and flavor surged through them, not sharp or painful, but euphoric—as if their entire consciousness had been tossed into a sea of molten gold. Their bodies felt feather-light, almost like they were floating through a dream woven from steam, spice, and sunlight.

It wasn't just food.

It was revelation.

"…This… what is this feeling…" Orie's breath trembled as she slowly returned to her senses. "My body… it feels like it's floating in lava. But it's not painful… it's almost—blissful?"

Natsume blinked in stunned silence. "I feel the same. It's like my brain is short-circuiting. But why…? This dish, it's—"

Both sisters stared down at the unassuming bowl of curry rice in front of them. Thick, golden sauce coating fluffy white rice, small chunks of beef ribs nestled among glistening vegetables, and the faintest wisp of steam curling upward—an image of simplicity.

Too simple.

"No matter the ingredients or method, everything about this screams 'cheap,'" Natsume muttered. "By all logic, we shouldn't be so affected."

"And yet… I can't stop," Orie admitted with wide eyes. "It's not just good—it's magical."

She took another bite, her brows furrowing in concentration. "It's not overly spicy… more like a delicate warmth that hugs your tongue. And then—sweetness. Coconut sugar?"

"Mm," Natsume nodded. "But it's not cloying. The sweetness is refreshing… almost floral. The coconut sugar adds a kind of mellow complexity, not the harsh, saccharine blast you usually get."

Orie swallowed again, then chuckled in disbelief. "I've had curry from across the globe. Thailand, Sri Lanka, southern India… but this… This Japanese curry rice—this might be the most satisfying version I've ever eaten!"

Natsume's usual critical demeanor had melted away. She took another bite, then another. "It's like… this curry isn't trying to impress. It's not flashy. It's just—balanced. Honest. And yet, somehow, that makes it better than any elaborate curry dish I've judged before."

It was a rare moment of vulnerability for the curry queens. They who had reigned over Japan's curry industry for years were now devouring simple tavern curry like ravenous children.

Rindō, who had been quietly savoring her portion, sighed with her eyes closed. "The sweetness, the spice, the depth… it just works. From the first taste, your whole mouth—from tongue to throat—is wrapped in flavor."

She slowly opened her eyes. "There's even a faint milky finish. Like… the curry base was steeped in coconut milk? But the result isn't rich in a heavy way. It's comforting. Familiar."

Rindō's voice took on a storyteller's tone.

"Curry first came from India, brought to England during the colonial era. From there, it found its way to Japan during the Meiji Restoration, especially in Hokkaido. Unlike Indian curry, which is a medley of aggressive spices, Japanese curry focuses more on harmony—the natural sweetness of vegetables cooked down with roux-based curry blends."

She gestured toward the bowl. "The onions, carrots, potatoes—classic Hokkaido staples. It's not that someone carefully curated them. They just happened to be the most accessible crops back then. But now? They're the soul of Japanese curry."

Orie was nodding fiercely. "I taste it. Garlic. Ginger. Black mustard seeds. Red chilies. Curry leaves… and the coconut milk. It's like the Siam-style sweet curry from Southeast Asia, but lighter. Less soupy. Less overpowering."

She paused. "It's like… the curry was designed to highlight the ingredients, not mask them."

At this point, the only sounds in the tavern were the soft clinking of spoons and the occasional slurp. The two sisters, queens of curry, had fallen into a trance. Bite after bite, they were pulled deeper into Zane's carefully crafted world.

The sauce—so rich it clung to each grain of rice—seemed to stretch flavor across time. The beef, slow-simmered in curry, melted like butter, releasing waves of umami. The white jasmine rice provided the perfect cushion, soaking in the sauce and swelling with flavor.

"Ahhh~ I'm so satisfied…" Orie leaned back, her face blissful. "I've judged hundreds of curry competitions. But I don't think I've ever tasted anything that left me so… so full. Not just in my stomach, but in my heart."

Her eyes turned to Zane with a newfound intensity.

"Mr. Zane, right? I overheard the name from the staff. That doesn't sound like a Japanese name. Are you… Chinese?"

Zane merely gave a calm shrug. "Yeah. Chinese-born, but I've been around."

"Zane…" Orie echoed softly, as if testing how the name felt on her tongue. "Unique name for someone with such… mastery."

She leaned forward, serious now.

"Your grasp of spice, balance, and subtlety—it's not just good. It's world-class."

Natsume nodded slowly. "At age twelve, we starred in the 'Curry Princess' commercial. We've lived and breathed curry since before we could ride bicycles. And yet, today… we were humbled."

"We've tried curries that cost tens of thousands of yen a plate. But none of them made me feel like this," Orie whispered.

They weren't exaggerating. The two sisters had pushed Haubi Foods to the pinnacle of Japan's curry industry. As CEO and head developer, they'd overseen innovations, expansions, and countless flavor tests. Very few dishes could surprise them.

But this bowl of curry rice—modest, unassuming—had done what dozens of luxury dishes could not.

And so, Natsume put down her spoon, wiped her mouth with a linen napkin, and leaned in.

"Zane. Join us."

He blinked. "Join you?"

"I mean Haubi Foods. We're expanding into the global curry market, and we're searching for someone with vision. Someone like you."

Her gaze sharpened. "If you come onboard, I'll offer you an annual salary of 50 million yen."

The tavern went silent.

Rindō nearly dropped her spoon. "F-Fifty… million?!"

Even Zane's eyebrows rose slightly. Not because of the number, but because the offer came after barely thirty minutes of acquaintance.

"I'm serious," Natsume continued. "Haubi Foods handles over 30,000 curry outlets across Japan. We dominate a 200-billion-yen market. And I believe you could take us even higher."

Zane shook his head with a faint smile. "That's generous. But I'm not interested."

"…You're… turning it down?" Orie said, stunned.

"Yes."

"But… 50 million yen…" she repeated, almost as if trying to process whether he'd heard her correctly.

Zane remained calm. "Money's not why I cook."

For a moment, both sisters stared at him as if he were a mythical beast.

Orie's lips parted. "Then… how about 100 million yen?"

Even Rindō gasped.

Zane shook his head again.

"…Unbelievable," Natsume murmured. "A man who turns down 100 million yen… just to continue running a small tavern?"

But then, a smile slowly spread across her lips.

"I respect that," she said softly. "Someone who chooses his path not by profit, but by passion… someone who stays true to his art. That's rarer than any spice."

Inwardly, she thought back to the philosophy that made Haubi Foods successful. She had read tens of thousands of complaint letters over the years, sometimes spending five hours a day going through them. Not because it was required—but because it was the only way to truly understand what customers wanted.

Zane's tavern, with its custom-order freedom, reminded her of that core belief:

Delicious curry is made by the customer.

Zane understood that, perhaps even better than she did.

"…I'm disappointed," Orie finally sighed. "But I understand."

"I thought I could tempt you," Natsume admitted. "But I suppose tonight, we should just be grateful for the best curry rice we've ever had."

Zane smiled, humble and unwavering. "That's enough for me."