Chương 403: 184.Christmas Eve Dinner for Two 2

Once the stomach starts working, the brain recovers, and once the brain recovers, all those messy scenes from the day start replaying. Parents, visitors, temporary entry requests, cargo manifests, delivery sign-offs, and a bunch of humans who treated "I'll just take a minute" as a societal get-out-of-jail-free card—all lining up orderly in my head. I swallowed the second piece of seared salmon, put down my chopsticks, and delivered a very solemn conclusion.

"I can now objectively say that the most terrifying thing today was not the holiday duty." Maki, sitting across from me, was cutting her conger eel into two bite-sized pieces. Hearing this, she looked up.

"What is it then?"

"It's the parents," I said.

"Especially the kind whose face says 'I'm just here to pick up my child, I won't cause any trouble,' but the moment they open their mouth, they trample the entire traffic flow at the school gate." Maki nodded.

"The father at 8: 07 AM who wanted to drive straight into the dorm side gate was indeed very representative." I paused.

"... You even remember the time?"

"Because you almost said 'Don't even think about it' instead of 'No' at that moment."

"I was just doing semantic compression."

"That looked more like emotional direct translation." I picked up a piece of red sea bream with a very serious expression.

"Maki, if you didn't have an emotional direct translation talent like me helping to share the load today, relying solely on politeness, you probably would have been collectively ground down to ascension by thirty-seven 'Excuse me, sorry to bother you's before noon."

"I wouldn't have." Maki took a sip of tea.

"I would have asked you to handle it before ascending."

"... Thank you. That aligns perfectly with the spirit of organizational division of labor." She didn't reply this time, but the corner of her mouth twitched faintly. It wasn't an obvious smile, but it was the kind that made your teeth itch, yet you couldn't quite accuse her of smiling. I reasonably suspected that one of Maki Kushima's joys in life was watching people get ground to death by a combination of the system and their own mouth.

Halfway through the first round, the service robot glided over, the Santa Claus magnet on its chest looking innocently oblivious to human suffering as it tried to create a festive mood under the lights. It stopped by our table, its screen lighting up with a prompt: the second round was ready. I glanced at the list and immediately went quiet for two seconds.

"... This round seems to be getting a bit weird." Maki followed my gaze.

"What's wrong?"

"Ritualistic ambient soundscape design," I said.

"Earlier it was just sushi. Now we have 'dobin mushi,' 'premium sea urchin and caviar wooden box unboxing,' and 'binchotan-seared sea urchin sushi.' These names don't sound like dinner. They sound like some kind of religious appeasement ceremony held at a holiday-exclusive venue." Maki was calm.

"You need appeasing today."

"I don't deny that." I looked down at the supplementary icons on the menu.

"But pacifying with sea urchin and caviar—if the school finds out, they might say this exceeds the scope of mental compensation for student autonomy cadres."

"The school isn't here today."

"That sentence is truly reassuring." Just as I finished speaking, a staff member personally brought the second round to our table. The first thing placed on the table was the dobin mushi. The small, delicate earthenware teapot was warm to the touch. The moment the lid was lifted, steam billowed out, carrying the aroma of dashi, yuzu peel, and seafood. The scent wasn't as direct as the seared salmon earlier, nor as straightforward as the fried shrimp roll.

It was more like a meticulously designed surrender protocol—approaching stealthily, and by the time you realized it, you'd already been soothed by that warmth all the way from your nasal cavity down to your stomach. I stared at the teapot and said sincerely:"This looks more worthy of respect than today's handover procedures." Maki poured a small cup for herself and also turned the lid of mine slightly.

"You drink first."

"Maki, today you really seem like you're feeding something just fished out of a disaster zone."

"Because your current state is very similar to that."

"I hope it's at least a premium relic from the disaster zone."

"Based on current observations, it hasn't reached premium yet." I snorted, picking up the small cup and taking a sip. The next second, I understood why human civilization, despite being full of systems, misunderstandings, overtime, and inefficient administration, still managed to barely survive to this day. Because of dobin mushi.

With that one sip of broth, it felt as if my internal organs—battered by the wind, interrogated by people, and drained dry by forms at the school gate all day—had finally, politely, been placed back in their correct positions. The dashi had depth but wasn't heavy, carrying a hint of yuzu freshness that washed away a layer of the fatigue accumulated throughout the day. I put down the cup, stayed quiet for two seconds, and then said softly:"This thing is a bit excessive."

"Not good?"

"Too good." I looked at the small pot.

"So good that I'm starting to feel all the labor today might have just been a prerequisite quest for this one sip of soup." Maki nodded.

"Thinking that way makes it easier to survive." I stared at her.

"Have you thought that way too?"

"Occasionally," she said. That "occasionally" was very Maki Kushima. Brief, conservative, completely unwilling to give bystanders any extra material for analysis. But precisely because she said it so flatly, it made me feel that "occasionally" probably meant more than once. I took another sip of the dobin mushi.

"Alright, the value of standing at the school gate today has now been established."

"Bought off that quickly?"

"I am cheap, yes, but this isn't cheap." I pointed at the dobin mushi.

"This is called civilization." Maki gave me a look.

"Earlier, chain sushi was civilization. Now dobin mushi is civilization. Your criteria for civilization are very fluid today."

"Because I've been living on the brink of civilization's collapse from morning until now. Anything slightly normal is worth praising." She actually nodded in agreement. Then the second dish arrived. Premium sea urchin and caviar wooden box unboxing. The moment I saw that box, I couldn't help but frown.

"... Isn't this a bit too formal?" It wasn't a normal plating. The staff member brought out a square wooden box with the restaurant's crest stamped on the surface, accompanied by a small wooden spoon that was somehow just the right amount of pretentious. The moment the lid was opened, the neatly arranged sea urchin and gleaming black caviar inside looked like a luxury product launch. The golden yellow and pitch black formed an unreasonable contrast under the light.

Even someone like me, who had spent the day explaining temporary parking permit procedures at the school gate, couldn't help but feel a second of awe. I spoke softly:"This looks like something that shouldn't appear in front of the two of us." The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Maki replied calmly:"It's already appeared."

"That attitude is dangerous. It sounds exactly like a person in power facing an irregular resource allocation, choosing not to question the source and just starting to distribute it."

"Because questioning it won't make it any less."

"... Too reasonable, damn it." The staff member, probably used to customers staring blankly at the wooden box for the first time, thoughtfully added, "We recommend trying the original flavor first, then pairing it with a small amount of caviar for a more layered taste." I nodded as if listening to a tactical briefing. After the staff member left, I stared at the box for another two seconds.

"Maki."

"Hm."

"If that group of parents from today knew we were eating this right now, would they think the Seitokai has it too good?"

"No." She picked up the wooden spoon.

"Because they didn't stand at the school gate today." Damn it. That sentence was also reasonable. I scooped a small bite of sea urchin first. The moment it hit my tongue, my previously rather plain understanding of the noun "sea urchin" was rewritten in a very premium way. It had almost no fishiness—only softness, creaminess, and an unreasonably sweet umami, as if someone had filtered out all the roughness and harsh truths of the ocean, leaving only the parts that could persuade you to keep trusting the world.

I looked up at Maki. She also took a bite. Her expression didn't change much, but her pause was a fraction of a second longer than usual. For her, that already counted as strong approval.

"Well?" I asked.

"Acceptable," she said."'Acceptable'?" My eyes widened.

"Maki, if this box had any self-esteem, hearing that evaluation would make it want to jump into the sea."

"It came from the sea to begin with."

"Don't justify your low-temperature scoring like that." Maki ignored me, just picked up the wooden spoon, lightly dabbed a bit of caviar onto the sea urchin, and pushed it in front of me.

"Try it like this." The action was so natural that I didn't react for a moment. By the time I realized it, the wooden spoon was already stopped in front of me, the sea urchin and caviar gleaming excessively under the light, while she just watched me calmly, as if conducting the most ordinary taste verification.... Great. A new item has just been added to tonight's premium risk management. I coughed, but still took it.

"Handing it over like this makes it very hard to focus on analyzing the flavor."

"That's your problem," she said.

"How do you manage to absolve yourself of responsibility so cleanly every time?"

"Because I regularly categorize documents." I silently put that bite into my mouth. The next second, I decided to temporarily forgive about thirty percent of the deliberateness in her previous sentence. The sea urchin itself was already exaggerated enough. With the addition of a little caviar, that salty umami actually made the sweetness cleaner, like someone had ground seawater and expensive guilt into an extremely thin layer, precisely applied to the tip of the tongue. I was quiet for a full three seconds.

Maki watched me.

"So?" I slowly put down the wooden spoon.

"So, if this were a religious ceremony, I'd be willing to join." The corners of Maki's mouth finally curved up noticeably.

"What are the conditions for joining?"

"A box issued at the end of every semester," I said.

"Priority allocation for the Seitokai."

"You're starting to use public office for private gain."

"No, this is called converting high-pressure labor into a stable incentive mechanism."

"Sounds like something you'd write in a proposal."

"If it could actually pass, I'd go back and write it tonight." And so we continued eating, pulling out the day's absurdities to air them out—which parent was hardest to handle, which vendor was best at turning "just for a minute" into a tactical weapon, which temporary application felt most like treating the Seitokai as a wishing well. Even the external liaison who dragged a noon meeting into an impromptu petition session got a round of our criticism.

Halfway through, I couldn't help pointing the wooden spoon at Maki.

"You were still the most impressive one today."

"How so?"

"At around 9 AM, facing that parent who kept asking 'Can't you just make an exception?', you managed to politely refuse him with three different versions in a row." I said sincerely.

"That's no longer administrative ability—that's something close to sorcery." Maki took a sip of tea.

"Because refusing directly makes them feel like they can try again."

"So you just cut off all their escape routes at once?"

"Mm."

"... Terrifying." She replied calmly:"You were pretty much the same today."

"I was different." I defended myself.

"I relied on my facial expressions."

"Which is why I said—you're a high-attrition type." This person really holds a grudge. Before I could counterattack, the third dish arrived. Binchotan-seared sea urchin sushi. This wasn't just a normal serving; it was an on-site operation. The staff member brought a small heat-resistant rack with the prepared sea urchin sushi on it, then used a piece of glowing binchotan charcoal for the final searing process.

The flame wasn't large, but it was bright enough to dance on the table, searing a very thin layer of heat and aroma onto the surface of the sea urchin. I watched that brief operation with complicated feelings.

"Today I stood at the school gate signing advance entry forms for vendors, and now I'm sitting here watching binchotan-seared sea urchin sushi." I said softly.

"Isn't the high-low contrast of life a bit too disrespectful to the person involved?" Maki was calm.

"This is how it balances out."

"How is this balanced?"

"If the beginning is hard enough, there should be compensation at the end."

"That sentence makes it sound like this school should have a sea urchin subsidy for labor damages."

"Doesn't it?"

"If it does, my loyalty to the system just increased by at least forty percent." After the staff member left, the sea urchin sushi on the table still carried a hint of aroma from just being touched by fire. That aroma was subtle—not a brutal charred smell, more like someone had gently nudged something already very soft into a more dangerous direction. I took the first bite and instantly understood why humans were willing to pay for something that looked like a performance but actually made a difference in taste.

Compared to the raw sweetness from earlier, this version had a bit more warmth, a bit more charred aroma, and even the almost luxurious softness of the sea urchin itself was magnified. It didn't mask the original flavor; instead, it added a thin, deeply unfair layer of persuasiveness on top of it. After swallowing, I was silent for a long time. Maki watched me.

"Are you going to join the religion again?" I looked up, my tone solemn.

"No. This time I'm going to found one." She finally laughed out loud. Not loud, but real. In that moment, the hint of fire, the aroma of tea, the steam, the wooden box, the sushi, and the snow glow outside the window all mixed together, creating an unreasonable illusion—as if all the troubles from before dawn until now, at least a part of them, had genuinely been properly absorbed by this table. Watching her laugh, something in my chest loosened a little.

Then, as if to remind me not to relax too early, Maki set her teacup back on the table and added, very lightly:"Though. When you said 'we won't need it' earlier, it was indeed very natural." My chopsticks almost slipped from my hand.... Here it comes. I knew it. I knew she wouldn't really let it go.

And her timing was so precise—not when I was most tense, not at the intersection where my guard was highest, but right when the dobin mushi, the boxed sea urchin, and the binchotan-seared sushi had collectively lulled me to the point of almost dropping my guard. Like sprinkling salt on the final dish, she dropped this sentence in, light and precise. Ruthless. Truly ruthless. I gripped my chopsticks again and stared at her.

"Maki."

"Hm."

"Do you enjoy proving that the world is untrustworthy right when someone thinks they might land safely tonight?"

"No," she said.

"I just thought your choice of subject in that sentence was interesting."

"That wasn't an interesting choice of subject." I argued stubbornly.

"That was a slip of the tongue."

"Slips of the tongue are usually closer to a habit."

"This isn't a conversation anymore. This is a live linguistics interrogation."

"If you want to interpret it that way, you may." I glared at her for two seconds, and finally looked away first. There was nothing I could do. She said it too flatly. So flatly that I couldn't find a suitable angle to firmly refute her, and could only let that sentence catch there like a small hook—not causing bleeding, but impossible to pretend I didn't feel it. I had no choice but to lower my head and drink the dobin mushi, pretending I'd suddenly developed a profound respect for dashi.

Maki didn't pursue it further, either. That's how she is. One strike, then stop. Leaving the rest for me to think about slowly. And that's what I hated most. Because every time she just touched on it—touching it just enough that I couldn't pretend nothing had happened, but not enough to let me flip the table on the spot.

If this kind of precise control were applied to school administrative processes, the school would probably have half the chaos; unfortunately, she was clearly also very happy to use a small portion of it on me. We later added two more ordinary plates to close out the meal: a plate of minced tuna with green onion gunkan, and a plate of seared scallops. Both tasted good—good enough to make one understand that the so-called "finish" wasn't an ending, but a smooth landing from the overly ritualistic items earlier.

By the end of the meal, quite a few empty plates had piled up on the table. That kind of fullness wasn't stuffing—it was a complete extraction from the state of labor, pushing you back into the normal range of "at least I can still be considered alive tonight." There were fewer people in the restaurant too; the child at the next table had already been carried away by the parents to pay the bill, and only two tables in the distance were still eating slowly.

The projected menu kept rotating, the service robots kept gliding, and the snow glow outside shone on the glass, making the whole restaurant look wrapped in a faint layer of silence. I leaned back in my chair and let out a long breath.

"Alright," I said.

"Now I admit—the decision to come out for dinner tonight was indeed much smarter than going straight home and collapsing." Maki finished the last sip of her tea.

"Then remember to write down my contribution in your decision assessment later."

"You still dare to claim credit?"

"I was responsible for proposing, selecting the restaurant, and continuously providing supplies when you were about to burn out."

"And continuously creating verbal trauma."

"That was an add-on service."

"I have absolutely no desire to thank you for that add-on service." Maki looked at me, her expression faint.

"But you ate much more quietly tonight than when you first sat down." I paused. There was nothing wrong with the sentence itself. The problem was, whatever she said now, I would subconsciously suspect there was a second layer to it. I narrowed my eyes.

"Is that sentence innocent?"

"Very innocent."

"I don't really trust your definition of 'innocent' anymore."

"That is also your problem."

"See, you're doing it again." This time she didn't deny it—just smiled faintly, then pushed the ordering panel on the table back in front of me.

"See if you want to add anything else." I glanced down at the dessert section, then at my current state of fullness, falling into a brief but real struggle. Reason told me I should stop now. Emotion told me that after today, one crème brûlée wouldn't be excessive. Finally, I restrainedly swiped back from the dessert page, stopping at the beverage section.

"No," I said.

"If I eat any more, I might wake up tomorrow in a very undignified manner."

"Rare for you to still remember tomorrow."

"My professional instincts are still gasping for breath." I turned off the ordering panel, tapping my fingertips on the edge of the table.

"Besides, tonight's ending is already luxurious enough. Adding more would feel like showing off to fate." Maki nodded.

"Then we'll stop here." She said it very ordinarily. But for some reason, I suddenly didn't want this meal to move on to the next step too quickly. Not because I was still hungry, and not because I really couldn't bear to part with these dishes.

It was more like—from dawn until now, the school gate, the parents, the vendors, the handover, the night shift, the ultra-thins, that "we won't need it," the wind on the road, the steam from the dobin mushi, the unreasonable solemnity when unboxing the sea urchin—all of it had temporarily found a place at this table. Once we paid the bill, this segment would truly end. And I hadn't fully figured out yet which part of tonight should be filed under fatigue, which under trouble, and which...

would be safer left uncategorized. I looked at the half-empty teapot on the table, raising my hand to hold down the fingertips that were almost reaching out to pay.

"... Let's sit a little longer," I said. Maki looked at me, didn't rush me, and didn't ask why—just calmly pushed her teacup forward a little.

"Then finish the tea."

"Maki."

"Hm."

"You are a truly terrifying person."

"You only realized that now?"

"Not only now." I picked up the cup, looking down at the slightly swaying tea inside.

"It's just been confirmed especially thoroughly today." Maki didn't reply. And I didn't say anything more.