“The broth? The broth is nothing special.”

Goro breathed a dismissive breath through his nostrils and ran his spoon in a lazy circle around the ramen bowl, stirring up small ripples as he did.

“Any half-baked monkey can make a spicy ramen broth if they had access to a kitchen. No, the real secret to this ramen bowl is the marinade I use for the meat!”

“The marinade…” Hanabi whispered to herself, sitting on the other side of the bar between two of the dock workers she’d befriended in the past few days. “How… how does the marinade help?”

“I was about to tell you, you stupid girl!” Goro threw his hands up in the air, flicking ramen broth onto the counter with the motion. “Asking me obvious questions! What kind of student are you?! You learn more when you close your mouth!”

Hanabi’s lips formed a full pout, and one of the dock workers, a big, husky guy named John spoke up. “Hey pal, go easy on the little lady!”

“She’s my student, I’ll decide how easy I want this to be, and the answer is not at all!” Goro stamped his feet, his face turning redder and redder. “The last apprentice I took was ten years ago, and he knew when to shut up! Then Iwata has the gall to contact me out of the blue and tell me his daughter is arriving on my doorstep!”

“And you’re lucky he did, pal, otherwise this place’d still be dark and closed!”

“You hush! I open this shop when I see fit!” Goro snapped, then turned to his apprentice with a rabid glare. “Hanabi, no more opening my restaurant before me! I won’t have you dragging in these impatient sea rats to eat my finely imported ingredients!”

“‘Kay.” Hanabi said boredly, still eyeing the ramen.

“Good! Good. Now, the marinade.” Goro cleared his throat. “In my youth I took an enlightening trip to Mexico where I traveled to rural towns and learned a great deal about the Mexican culinary philosophy. Of course, being an out-of-towner, they were suspicious of me at first, but Goro Ohno knows how to charm his way into the kitchen through any language barrier—”

Hanabi listened with a curious smile, and then she winced. She ran a hand along her left side as it cramped up something fierce, and she held back a whimper.

“You alright, doll?” The other worker, named Ron, asked. “You’ve been clutching that spot the past few days.”

“Yeah, you notice her body a lot, Ron?” John asked, and Ron grunted as Hanabi gave a small, pained snicker.

“You wanna blame me, man? C’mon, I notice things!”

“Pfft.” John didn’t press the issue, but gave Hanabi a look of concern as he bit into a strip of sashimi.

“Ugh…” Hanabi straightened up, and focused her attention on Goro.

“—now Juanita, she was a treat. She taught me how special the flavor of lime could be! Her words were as sour as her specialty, but a few sambas with her had her opening up to me in more than just the kitchen—”

Hanabi pouted. “Ever since I fought that big guy, I get this cramp just under my ribs.”

“Yeah, he hurt you pretty bad before you returned the favor. Think something might be broken?”

“Nah, I’ve had a broken rib before, this is just… something else. Like a knot got tied and it’s not untying.”

“Hum.” Ron contemplated his yakisoba bowl for a moment. “Maybe you should go to a hospital?”

“Eep.” Hanabi flinched at the word, squirming in her seat, drawing an amused eye from both men.

“Oh come on, a tough gal like you is afraid of the hospital?” Ron teased, and Hanabi stared down at her lap in embarrassment.

“They smell weird, and there’s all these needles, and you aren’t supposed to fight them when they poke you!” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And the worst part is the food! I’d rather just eat plain rice than the insults they serve on their plates!”

“Well you gotta get that cramp looked at eventually…”

The three went quiet, and Goro gave a sudden, loud laugh.

“And when Diego took his first bite of my sweet and spicy salamander shrimp, he ran racing out of the cocina looking for a bucket of water to dunk his head into! What was I talking about? Right! The marinade. Anyways, I first learned about making a proper, spicy Mexican marinade from Juanita’s abuela; a real firecracker of a woman. Why, when I first met her, she—”

“I got an idea.” John suddenly said, sticking his big fingers into his pockets, slapping along his overalls. “Hey Ron, did you grab one of those brochures by the magazine stand?”

“For that crazy healing house place?” Ron raised an eyebrow, and shook his head. “I got no faith in those ‘traditional medicine’ places. My ex-wife was all about homeopathic stuff and bloated up like a manatee.”

“Well it’s better’n nothing…”

“Traditional medicine healing house?” Hanabi raised an eyebrow, massaging her sore spot as John dug around before finally pulling out the brochure.

“Ah-hah! Yeah, check it out.” He unfolded the brochure in front of her as Goro continued to ramble on without a single mention of the marinade. “See? It’s all Japanese and stuff too. Fancy wooden designs and such, they do these massages that release the tension from your chakras or some’in’ like that.”

Hanabi took the brochure to flip through it. Pictures of comfortable looking massage beds surrounded by lit candles, of a collection of colored vials used in aromatherapy, smiling, happy looking masseuses and masseurs, and a hot, healing spa!

She sucked in a loud, excited breath as she stared at that picture of rippling water and the blossoms floating atop, one hand rising to touch her cheek as she just imagined floating in rippling, comforting warmth.

“Boss!” She stood up suddenly, and Goro paused mid-word.

“What?!” He demanded. “I was just about to tell you where I picked the limes to complete my trial of one-hundred marinades!”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“I’m taking the day off!”

“WhaaaaaAAAAAT?!” Goro wheezed in offense. “A day off?! You opened this shop, girl, you’ll be closing it too! Besides, I’m not done with my lesson, yet! Don’t you want to learn how to make my special marinade?!”

“I do!” Hanabi bobbed her head eagerly. “But I have an errand to run first!”

Goro threw his hands into the air. “Bah! You’re letting this business fall to ruin with your truancy! Hmph! Fine! See if I care!” Goro scuffed the floor with the heel of his slipper. “You’ll be closing the restaurant regardless!”

“Okay! When I get back!” Hanabi bobbed her head, reaching into her pocket and depositing a large portion of the tips she’d made for the day on the counter. “Thanks boss! And thanks John, Ron! This’ll cover their meals and whatever else they want!”

Goro blinked, and snagged the money off the counter with an excited giggle. “It absolutely will! Have fun, Hana-chan, enjoy your errand or whatever~!”

Hanabi sprinted out the door with the brochure in hand, the two workers giving each other grins and congratulatory punches to the arm before they turned back towards Goro. “Hey boss, you heard the lady! Can I get another bowl?”

“Me too!”

Goro’s head twisted to face them with a wide-eyed glare. “No! We’re closed! GET OUT!”

----------------------------------------

Getting around New Medeo City was getting a little easier now that Hanabi knew how to get to the subway system; the hard part was navigation.

The green line connected to the orange line, then she had to get on the blue line and take it to Bacchus St. The subways were smellier than she was used to, but Hanabi was a chef, and also the one to clean the bathrooms back at her dad’s restaurant, so she could put up with a bad smell.

The people were their own unique specimens, too. For the most part, the Japanese packed together like sardines on the train and just generally… shared personal space out of necessity. It seemed like Americans were more inclined to keeping their personal bubble, as tight and claustrophobic as it could be.

She rubbed her left side, her cheek twitching the slightest bit at the pain as she hung onto the handhold above her head, though she was… mindful of keeping her other hand free.

Americans were supposedly bolder, more forward, and Hanabi had her fair share of violently-punished chikan incidents back in Japan. Despite some of the folk on the train looking a bit rougher than she was used to, nothing came of it, and she expressed a sigh of relief as she stepped off the train and wound her way up to the open air of Bacchus St.

The very second she emerged above ground, her senses were blasted with stimulation; great big screens the size of two-story houses displayed silent, but vibrantly clear commercials and news tickers on the surrounding skyscrapers; music played from hotel fronts, advertising live shows, fine-dining, and liberal casino rules, whatever that meant.

Adverts were everywhere, from digital signs fading from a restaurant’s finest cut of butter-topped filet mignon, to the latest purse being sold by Prada. The smell of food mingled with perfume and cigarette smoke, and the sheer number of people…

Osaka was a busy city, Tokyo was a busier city, where Hanabi was used to a series of suited business folk and students clustered together to get where they needed to go. Bacchus St. had a number of characters wandering in all sorts of clothing, and like in the grocery store, they were loud and emotional, laughing with one another, telling elaborate stories, crying outside the casinos or shrieking in joy, and the audaciousness of their clothing…

The very air felt alive and sweaty, and Hanabi had half a mind to declare the whole place a city of deplorables, but in a way it was exciting. The street along the harbor was quiet and, as Hanabi had experienced, had some faces she was getting used to as she memorized the various stores and locations along the way… Bacchus St. may very well have been walking straight into the television into some commercial advertising the hottest tourist locations.

It wasn’t even midday yet, Hanabi couldn’t imagine this place at night…

Weaving through the crowds of people, Hanabi felt, for once, unseen. It was kind of nice, and kind of terrifying, but she eventually found herself standing in front of a tall map depicting Bacchus St. and its many commodities and outlets, and carefully scanned the brochure for its location.

“Hum…” She scratched her temple and glanced over at a figure resting nearby, leaning against the map with a twig-like cigarette holder between her fingers. She had a long, sparkly red dress and ruffled golden hair, and from the rear, appeared quite shapely… “Excuse me, miss?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you but I’m a little—” She looked up as the figure turned around. She had big red lips and a big layer of purple eyeshadow underneath painted eyebrows, with deep, dark skin to contrast, but what stood out to Hanabi was her rather handsome five o’ clock shadow and strong, masculine jaw.

“Just a little what, honey? It’s okay, baby, you can talk to Rubi, she don’t bite.” The woman spoke in the deep voice of a man trying to imitate the husky, seductive voice of a woman, smiling a coy smile as Hanabi felt like she’d just seen a wave threatening to suck her under the current.

“A-ah… oh… uh… Namae wa Rubi wo itta ka?”

“Come again honey?” Rubi took a drag of her cigarette and gave Hanabi an apologetic look. “I’m afraid Rubi only speaks English.”

“S-so sorry!” Hanabi squeaked, and red-faced, approached the woman with the brochure in hand. She could now make out the corset she was wearing that lifted up a flat, hairy bust that only had definition thanks to some padding. “Um, I’m looking for a place and I can’t read this map.”

Rubi covered her mouth with one hand and gave the bass-iest otome chortle Hanabi had ever heard. “Oh you came to the right woman, darling, Rubi knows this city like the back of her hand. What are you looking for?” Hanabi handed over the brochure, and Rubi accepted it in her free hand, covered in a long, near shoulder-length purple glove. “Hm… oh-ho! The Huang He Healing Center; good taste, honey, good taste! Went there a few years ago after a panic attack, and hoo-ey do they know their stuff.”

“Y-you know where it is, miss Rubi?”

“I sure do.” Rubi sauntered with an exaggerated roll of her hips, and Hanabi scrambled back a step before Rubi stopped and tapped a finger against a star on the map. “You ‘n Rubi are right here, honey, and Huang He is right over here.” She moved her finger a long ways northwest and tapped a building with a plus-shaped marker indicating it as some sort of medical facility. “It’s a good walk from here, but you just take those pretty little legs of yours about ten blocks north, take a left, and seven blocks west, and it’ll be right across the street; ya can’t miss it.”

Ten blocks north, seven blocks west… she learned what a block was before coming to America, so she knew the terminology, she just had to keep count, and memorize a few street names.

“Okay, that sounds easy enough. Thank you, miss Rubi.”

“Just Rubi’s fine, darling, otherwise ya gunna make her feel old.” Rubi gave her an almost flirty wink, and Hanabi turned beet red in an instant. “Just before you scurry off, dear, I just have to tell you what a damn pretty girl you are; hoo, it takes effort to make muscles look good.”

“A-arigatou.” Hanabi gave a little blush.

“You new to this city, hon?”

“Hai. Uh, yes ma’am.”

“Then, you best enjoy yourself; this city makes or breaks folks in ways New York wishes it could.” Rubi winked at her, puffing on her cigarette again. “Just don’t go down the alleyways at night, and if somebody on the street is telling you a sob story, they’s a liar and you can walk right past ‘em.”

“Oh! O-oh, okay.”

“Good. Now hurry on, girl~!” Rubi waved, her toothy smile glinting in a field of unshaved whiskers.

Hanabi nodded rapidly, and turned heel to head north.

Certainly her strangest encounter yet…

Though, was it really? The last strange person she met tried to kill her over a bowl of ramen… Hanabi supposed that a lady with a beard was probably less weird than a murderer.

She glanced over her shoulder at Rubi one last time, and saw her climbing into the back of a black car with tinted windows, but couldn’t see any other occupants.

Hanabi frowned a little to herself. She seemed to know the city pretty well, but Hanabi still hoped she was okay.