Chapter Seventeen - The Old Ramen Shop Knows Everything

Kobayashi had been running his ramen shop for so long, the sounds of the place had settled into his bones.

The hiss of the broth, the clatter of chopsticks, the low hum of conversations floating up like steam—it was a rhythm that didn't need thinking anymore. His hands worked on instinct, his feet knew exactly where to step, and his ears knew who walked in just by the sound of their footsteps.

That's why he heard them before they even reached the door.

Three sets of feet—familiar ones. One too fast, one too tired, and one too loud.

Here they come.

The door slid open with its usual creak, and there they were: Elias, looking like he hadn't slept; Hikari, still dusted with flour and holding her backpack like a shield; and Mira, whose scarf was half-falling off and eyes blazing like she was ready to sue somebody.

Kobayashi grunted. "You look like you just crawled out of a haunted graveyard."

Elias paused. "Close enough."

That wasn't the answer Kobayashi expected—but it wasn't entirely surprising either.

They settled into their usual corner, Mira slumping across the table like a corpse in thrifted clothes, Hikari sitting so straight it looked like she was at a job interview, and Elias… Elias just looked quiet. Too quiet.

Kobayashi didn't ask yet. He knew better. Instead, he placed three bowls of ramen in front of them — tori ramen for Mira, miso for Elias, and a smaller shoyu for Hikari.

"Eat first," Kobayashi said, voice gruff as always. "Talk after."

To his relief, none of them argued. The three of them dug in—Mira with reckless slurping, Hikari so careful it looked like she was afraid to disturb the broth, and Elias somewhere in between, eating automatically like his mind was somewhere far away.

Kobayashi leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching.

He wasn't nosy—he told himself that all the time—but with Elias, it was different.

He'd known that boy since he was barely tall enough to see over the ramen counter. He remembered the first time Elias' parents brought him in, quiet and serious, hands folded neatly in his lap while his mother gently nudged a bowl toward him.

Back then, Elias' parents were full of dreams. Opening a bakery right next to the ramen shop, making the street a place people came for dinner and stayed for dessert. It was supposed to be perfect.

Until the fire.

Kobayashi still remembered the smell of smoke, the sound of sirens, the way Elias stood outside the house, hands clutching at his too-big sleeves, face blank because he couldn't process it yet.

Kobayashi never talked about that night. Neither did Elias. But the memory sat between them, quiet and constant.

"So." Kobayashi broke the silence once their bowls were halfway empty. "What happened?"

Mira immediately slammed her chopsticks down. "These two idiots baked a haunted cookie that made them disappear for an hour!"

Kobayashi blinked. "...What."

"She's exaggerating," Elias muttered.

"Am I?" Mira jabbed a finger toward him. "Because I was outside losing my mind, thinking you got kidnapped by flour ghosts, while you were apparently having a magic flashback episode in the kitchen!"

Kobayashi squinted. "Start from the beginning."

Elias sighed, setting his chopsticks aside. "We found an old recipe book at the house."

Kobayashi's grip on the counter tightened slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"It was my mom's," Elias continued. "There were recipes in it I'd never seen before. And one of them…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain.

"It let us see a memory," Hikari finished softly. "From the past."

Kobayashi's heart dropped—because that sounded exactly like something they would've done.

Elias' parents were dreamers, but more than that, they were experimenters. They didn't just bake for flavor—they baked for feeling. For stories. They always believed food could carry more than taste. It could carry time itself.

And now, their son had stepped right into the middle of that forgotten magic.

Kobayashi exhaled slowly. "What did you see?"

"My mom," Elias said quietly. "She was… happy."

The silence after that was thick, heavier than steam rising from broth.

Kobayashi rubbed his chin, thinking. "You know… your parents used to talk about something like that."

Elias' head snapped up. "What?"

"Not directly." Kobayashi shook his head. "But they always said the bakery wasn't just for baking. It was meant to hold things. Not just ingredients. Memories. Feelings. Regrets."

Mira leaned forward. "So, what, the bakery's like some kind of magical emotional sponge?"

"Something like that." Kobayashi's eyes narrowed slightly. "But it's not supposed to work like this."

"What do you mean?" Hikari asked.

"Your parents never finished the system." Kobayashi's voice was softer now, the way it only got when the past showed up at his doorstep. "They were still figuring out how much a baker could safely carry. How much memory could go into a cookie before it became… dangerous."

The three at the table exchanged uneasy looks.

"And now," Kobayashi said, "you've gone and woken it up."

Elias felt his stomach drop.

"Is that… bad?" Hikari asked quietly.

Kobayashi didn't answer right away. Instead, he poured each of them a small cup of tea, placing them on the table one by one.

"Bad or not," Kobayashi said, "it means you're not just baking anymore. You're inheriting."

"Inheriting what?" Elias asked.

"The unfinished dream." Kobayashi's eyes locked onto his. "To bake cookies that remember. To make a bakery where every person who walks in leaves something behind — a piece of themselves, baked into the walls, the air, the dough."

Elias' throat went dry.

Hikari's eyes went wide.

Mira groaned. "I swear to god, why can't you just be normal and make regular cookies like a normal emotionally stunted baker?!"

Elias didn't have an answer for that either.

They finished their ramen in silence after that.Kobayashi didn't press them further—he knew the weight was already sinking in.

As they stood to leave, Kobayashi called out after them: "Elias."

Elias turned.

"Next time something weird happens, tell me sooner. I'm too old to be finding out from Mira screaming at my window."

Elias smiled faintly. "Got it."

Mira groaned. "You love my screaming."

"Out."

As they stepped back into the alley, the bakery's sign flickered softly in the night.Elias knew the real work was only just beginning.

And somewhere behind the ramen counter, Kobayashi stood watching, hands in his pockets, heart heavy with worry and pride.

Just like the bakery, Elias wasn't just Elias Greywood anymore.

He was the son of the bakers who tried to bake time itself — and whether he wanted to or not, that legacy had come home.