Taste of Home

Obāchan clasped her hands together with excitement. "Mirae dear, shall we go have some ramen today? There's this little shop Tanaka's Ramen House number one in the village. Come on, bring your bodyguards too. Big and strong like that, they might eat the whole shop!"

Grandpa locked the sliding doors of their traditional Japanese home, the wood creaking gently as it sealed shut. The five of them,Obāchan, Grandpa, Mirae, and the two towering bodyguards—began their walk through the quiet stone-paved streets of the village.

As they passed under blooming sakura trees swaying softly in the breeze, Obāchan turned to look at Mirae.

"Mirae dear, why is your hair so short?" she asked with a gentle frown, reaching out to touch the ends of Mirae's bob-cut. "A graceful woman should have long hair. It symbolizes elegance… beauty."

Mirae tucked a strand behind her ear, a little self-conscious under her grandmother's gaze. "Obāchan… Mama doesn't like long hair. She says it's old-fashioned. In the West, shorter hair is trendy. Women wear bob cuts, even shorter. She says it shows confidence and modernity."

Obāchan huffed, narrowing her eyes. "Hmph. Your mother and her modern ideas… Everything is always 'too traditional' for her. I tell you, it's hard when someone wasn't raised with the same roots…"

She sighed, shaking her head in mild frustration as they turned the corner, the savory aroma of broth and noodles slowly filling the air.

As they continued walking through the narrow village path, the scent of simmering broth and roasted garlic growing stronger with each step, Obāchan spoke up again, her curious tone drifting through the air.

"Mirae dear, wasn't your hair blonde like your mother's?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as she glanced at the soft waves framing her granddaughter's face. "I remember it used to be such a bright, sunny color."

Mireyna smiled lightly, brushing her fingers through her hair as the morning sun caught hints of chestnut. "Ah, yes… My hair was strawberry blonde when I was little—just like Mama's. But as I grew older, it started to darken. Now it's more of a warm brunette."

From behind, Ojīchan joined in with a small chuckle. "My dear, don't you know? It's common for Western children to be born with light hair. As they grow, it darkens over time. Just like our sweet Mirae here. Her hair may no longer be golden, but the color is so unique… not quite black like ours, but just as beautiful."

He smiled warmly, eyes soft with affection. Obāchan glanced at him, her stern face easing into a tender grin.

Mireyna's heart fluttered a little at their exchange, feeling a subtle warmth bloom in her chest. Though far from the city, surrounded by rice fields and old stone fences, this simple moment—under blue skies and between gentle words—made her feel safe. Seen. Loved.

As they finally arrived at the ramen shop nestled between two old wooden buildings, the nostalgic aroma of broth and soy welcomed them like an old friend. A wind chime above the door jingled softly as they stepped in, announcing their presence.

Obāchan and Ojīchan greeted the shop owner warmly.

"Ohayō, Tanaka-san!" Obāchan called out with a smile.

The man behind the counter turned, wiping his hands on a towel, and his eyes lit up.

"Ohayō! Village Chief Tokushiro! Please, take a seat. What would you like to order today?"

But just as his eyes scanned the group, he paused—completely stunned by the sight of the two tall, broad-shouldered men sitting at the table beside the young girl. The bodyguards, dressed in clean-cut dark attire, sat with the disciplined stillness of soldiers.

Tanaka blinked and leaned closer. "Who… who are those two?" he asked in a hushed tone, directing the question toward the chief.

Ojīchan chuckled. "Ah, they're bodyguards. My son has hired personal guards for Mireyna ever since she was a child. Can never be too careful these days."

Tanaka's jaw dropped slightly as he turned toward Mireyna, his eyes slowly widening in recognition. "Wait… are you Mireyna?"

Mireyna blinked. "Yes… I am," she said, unsure.

Tanaka laughed warmly, nostalgia gleaming in his eyes. "I remember you when you were just a little thing, barely tall enough to reach the counter. You used to eat ramen here all the time. You even called my miso broth the best in the world!"

Mireyna tilted her head. "I… I used to eat here?" she asked, a touch of wonder in her voice.

"Yes!" Tanaka grinned. "You were so small back then. Always running in with your grandfather. And you had a soft spot for mochi, remember? You'd always beg for it after your meal."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Mochi? I do love mochi…" she murmured, the taste of memory almost forming on her tongue. "What flavors do you have here?"

Tanaka lifted a hand and began listing them, "Peanut… and red bean. Just the two today."

Before Mireyna could even respond, Obāchan waved her hand. "Give her both. This child of mine eats anything sweet."

Tanaka chuckled and nodded. "Coming right up!"

As he headed to the back to prepare the order, he glanced once more at Mireyna. "You've grown so much. You look just like your father, Haruki-san—though I can see the Western side in you too. There's a grace in your features… a kind of elegance that's rare around here."

Mireyna lowered her gaze shyly, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear. She wasn't sure why, but the words filled her heart with a strange warmth, a distant ache, like hearing a song from a dream long forgotten.

The table was soon filled with steaming bowls of ramen—rich miso broth swirling with soft noodles, tender slices of chashu, bamboo shoots, and golden-yolked eggs that shimmered in the warm afternoon light. Next to the ramen, a platter of beautifully wrapped onigiri sat neatly on a wooden tray. Each rice ball was shaped into perfect triangles, wrapped in crisp sheets of nori and filled with flavors like salted salmon, pickled plum, and spicy tuna.

Mireyna clasped her hands together with a soft smile. "Itadakimasu."

They began eating. Obāchan nibbled gracefully, while Ojīchan slurped his noodles with the gusto of someone who knew good ramen when he tasted it.

The two bodyguards glanced at the onigiri suspiciously, as if unsure whether to eat it or bow to it. One picked up a salmon-filled onigiri and took a bite—his eyes widened in delight. The other, trying to look composed, chose a tuna one, but squeezed it too tightly and the filling squished out the side. It plopped onto his lap with comedic precision.

Mireyna couldn't hold back her laughter. "You're supposed to eat it, not crush it!"

Ojīchan chuckled heartily. "Don't worry, lad! Even I've had a few 'onigiri mishaps' in my youth."

The bodyguard looked sheepish, brushing rice grains off his pants while the other handed him a napkin, silently shaking with laughter.

As the mood lightened, Ojīchan leaned in with that familiar sparkle in his eye. "You know, you two remind me of a festival guard we had years ago…"

And once again, laughter filled the shop, while sweet mochi was served for dessert—soft and chewy, filled with red bean paste and peanut flavor.

Everything was perfect in that moment—simple, warm, and deeply comforting.