“I’d never have such thoughts!” Ian declared to Flora with righteous indignation. “It’s an honor to share a meal with a beauty like you.”
Flora merely smiled at Ian’s attempt to explain himself, saying softly, “Then it seems I misunderstood you, Ian.”
After their brief exchange, a heavy silence fell, neither finding further words to share with the other.
Perhaps they simply had no common ground for conversation.
Time ticked by slowly until Chiye’s mother emerged from the kitchen, swaying slightly as she carried a dish.
“Dear students, here’s your Watermelon Stir-Fried with Pork. Please enjoy.”
“The other dishes will take a bit longer.”
Ian watched as Chiye’s mother placed the dish Flora had ordered in front of him, his body shuddering involuntarily.
Uniformly cut pork strips were neatly arranged on the plate, topped with small chunks of diced watermelon.
Taken separately, each could be delicious, but combined, Ian found it hard to judge.
At that moment, Ian desperately wanted to tell Chiye’s mother to skip the rest of the dishes, but he felt it would be impolite.
After all, according to Chiye, this restaurant held sentimental value for her mother.
Though Ian didn’t know what that significance was, it surely had something to do with the food.
Maybe, long ago, someone actually enjoyed these dishes.
Why not let Flora handle this one?
After all, she ordered it, not him, so it was only fitting she deal with it.
With that thought, Ian pushed the plate of Watermelon Stir-Fried with Pork toward Flora.
Flora caught his subtle move, a faint smile playing on her lips. She gracefully picked up her fork, delicately lifting a piece of pork into her bowl.
With refined elegance, she ate the pork strip, her lips gently pursing as she savored the dish, her expression suggesting she’d tasted a rare delicacy.
Flora wiped her mouth with a napkin, offering Ian her thoughts on the dish. “This is really quite good. Won’t you try some?”
Seeing Flora’s apparent enjoyment, Ian couldn’t tell if she was acting.
Though the dish looked unappetizing, he considered that perhaps Chiye’s mother’s cooking defied conventional imagination, blending vegetables and fruit in a revolutionary way.
Ian mentally psyched himself up, trying to convince himself this dark cuisine was delicious.
Flora’s expression and words left him uncertain—maybe she was pretending, but he had no choice but to dive in.
Mimicking Flora’s actions, Ian picked up his fork, his hand slowly reaching for the Watermelon Stir-Fried with Pork, his reluctance obvious.
He speared a piece of pork covered in watermelon bits, trembling as he brought it to his mouth.
The moment it hit his tongue, Ian felt the dish’s bizarre magic. The once-crisp watermelon was now greasy, its sweet flavor overwhelmed by the pork’s overpowering saltiness.
In short, Ian found it utterly inedible, not just because of the odd pairing but because the salt level was clearly excessive.
“Water.” Ian frantically searched the table for something to drink, desperate to wash away the saltiness.
Flora, observing his distress, handed him a glass of water.
If that were her only gesture, Ian might’ve thanked her, but what was with that gloating expression on her face?
It was clear now—Flora had been playing him earlier.
Ian grabbed the water from her, gulping it down fiercely, the plain water diluting the saltiness and making him feel alive again.
But Flora’s smug look made him deeply uncomfortable.
Her eyebrows arched slightly, her golden pupils reflecting Ian’s flustered state, a classic victor’s gaze upon a defeated foe.
I’ve got to find a way to escape, or my stomach won’t survive this.
Using the bathroom as an excuse sounds good. After eating this, I might actually need it for real.
Just as Ian was about to tell Flora he needed to step away to use the bathroom, his mouth already opening, someone at the next table beat him to it. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
A neutral voice rang out clearly in the quiet restaurant, heard by everyone, including Flora.
She noticed Ian’s half-open mouth and his stunned reaction to the other diner’s words, piecing together what he’d been about to say.
She guessed Ian was planning to use the bathroom as an escape.
Since she’d figured him out, she wasn’t about to let him slip away easily.
Noting Ian’s awkward expression, Flora smiled faintly, tilting her head. “Ian, you wouldn’t happen to be thinking of using the restroom too, would you?”
Ian cursed inwardly at the person who’d spoken first, blaming them for his predicament.
If not for them, this wouldn’t have happened.
Undeterred by Flora’s interception, Ian clutched his stomach, feigning pain. “Sorry, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”
“My stomach’s acting up all of a sudden. I’ll be right back.”
Flora gasped theatrically. “Ian, are you ill?”
“Just need the restroom.”
“Well, hurry back. We’ve got plenty more dishes waiting for you,” Flora said slowly, each word deliberate, as if warning him not to flee.
“I know, I’ll be back,” Ian replied, sweat beading on his forehead as he answered Flora.
“I’ll be waiting.”
After excusing himself, Ian hurriedly shuffled toward the restroom, looking every bit like someone battling an urgent need.
Inside, he found the restaurant’s restroom larger than most public ones, as if the owner anticipated frequent visitors.
The first stall was locked—clearly occupied by the person who’d spoken earlier—but Ian didn’t mind, heading straight for the second.
After a while, boredom set in.
Though this world had communicators similar to phones from his past life, they were limited to calls, not video streaming.
This left Ian with nothing to do in the stall.
Buzz buzz buzz.
A vibration came from Ian’s pocket.
Puzzled, Ian wondered what it could be—he carried nothing but Ethelrina’s Senro Breath Pearl.
He reached into his pocket, finding the source of the vibration: the pearl itself.
So this thing really does vibrate?
Before he could marvel too long, something new caught his attention within the pearl.
A chat panel labeled “Demon Clan Undercover Intelligence Exchange Group” appeared in his mind.
Someone with the nickname “Last Hope of the Demon Dragon Clan” was frantically posting messages.
“Family, I think I’ve been set up by the system.”
“My roommate dragged me to this restaurant, and the food is awful.”