(Translated from Japanese)

  Hibiki Hada rubbed his eyes as he passed through the ticket gate at ōmiya Station.

  From Hakuba Station, he took an express bus to Nagano, then transferred to a bullet train bound for Tokyo. He arrived in ōmiya at 8:50 a.m.—thankfully, his client HACK6 had their office right near the station.

  "Didn't even get a proper night's sleep... Dozing off on the train was all I had. A schedule like this? Normally, someone else would've taken the hit."

  He let out a sigh and glanced up at the sky above the station.

  Unlike the crisp mountain air of Hakuba, ōmiya's morning was thick with the heat of people and traffic. Businesspeople hustled toward their offices, commuters lined up at bus stops, and taxis queued in long rows. The city buzzed with urban energy.

  "Alright, let's head to HACK6."

  He was here for a meeting about a joint project between UBS Radio and HACK6. Apparently, a new radio program for the Saitama area was in development—and his visit doubled as a sales pitch to potential sponsors.

  Checking the map on his phone, Hada began walking toward the HACK6 studio just outside the station.

  When he arrived at the building housing the HACK6 studio, the entrance was already buzzing with activity.

  Through the glass, he could see staff members busily moving around the lobby. Monitors displayed live footage from an ongoing broadcast. As one of the region's top local stations, it was clearly a lively workplace.

  After giving his name at the front desk, a staff member promptly came to meet him.

  "You're Mr. Namita, from UBS Radio? We've been expecting you!"

  (Again...?) Hada sighed inwardly.

  "Actually, it's Hada. Not Namita—Hada."

  "Ah! My apologies! I'm Takase, from HACK6's programming team."

  As Takase hurried to correct himself, Hada gave a wry smile and handed over his business card. "It happens all the time," he said.

  Takase led him to a meeting room, and the discussion began.

  "Actually, we're considering a joint project between UBS Radio and HACK6—a late-night radio slot focused specifically on the Saitama area."

  Takase nodded, clearly intrigued.

  "A late-night slot, huh? What kind of program are you envisioning?"

  "We're thinking of a show centered around local bars and regional food spots in Saitama—something that makes listeners want to go out and visit the places themselves. For example, one of HACK6's personalities could visit the shop, chat with the owner, and introduce their signature dishes."

  "Sounds interesting," Takase replied.

  Hada continued.

  "So we were wondering if we could collaborate with HACK6 to create advertising slots tied to local businesses—restaurants, shops, that sort of thing. Since it's community-focused, I think local sponsors would be really interested."

  "True, companies around here do value local PR. But the real question is how many sponsors we can actually secure."

  "UBS Radio will also handle the sales outreach. We actually ran a similar late-night program in the Gunma region, and it was a success—so we can use those results to support our pitch."

  Hada handed over the documents, and Takase flipped through them with a focused look.

  "I see... This does look promising."

  After the explanation wrapped up, Takase took a sip of his coffee and smiled.

  "You know, Hada-san, your work sure seems to involve drinking a lot."

  "Yeah, I guess that's just how I'm wired," Hada chuckled.

  "Planning to grab a drink after this? Though I guess it's still a bit early in the day."

  "Well, since I made it all the way out to ōmiya, I wouldn't mind hitting a good spot—if you know one."

  "In that case, I've got a great place for you."

  "Seriously? That'd be awesome."

  Just then, Takase glanced at the clock and froze.

  "Ah—right, it's still lunchtime. All the spots I wanted to recommend only open in the evening..."

  "Wait, seriously...?"

  For a second, Hada felt defeated—until Takase quickly followed up.

  "But don't worry! There are izakaya spots around here that serve lunch too. ōmiya actually has more midday joints than you'd expect."

  "Oh, that's a relief!"

  And just like that, his business meeting turned into a lunchtime adventure.

  "There's this izakaya called Daimon nearby—it's open for lunch, and it's solid."

  Taking Takase's recommendation, Hada checked the location on his phone.

  "I see—it's a short walk from the station."

  "Yeah, and they've got a killer lunch menu. Their yurinchi—oh man, it's insane. Crispy on the outside, juicy inside, and the sweet-sour sauce? Perfection."

  "That does sound amazing."

  "Oh! And then there's this other place, Miyoshi—it's a little farther, but the beef tendon curry? Unreal. Slow-cooked until the tendons melt in your mouth. And get this—they've got rebanira too! The liver's so fresh, no odor at all. I ate three bowls of rice with it last time!"

  "R-Right... Got it..."

  Takase's excitement was off the charts—his eyes practically sparkled. He was clearly the type who couldn't stop once he got going.

  "And their fried chicken—tons of variety! Regular's good, but the spicy one? Wow. Oh, and their hamburger steak lunch set! Super juicy—like, really juicy..."

  (This is bad. If I don't move, I'm gonna be stuck here for another thirty minutes...)

  Hada quietly slipped his phone back into his pocket and began subtly backing away.

  "Thanks for all the tips, Takase-san! I think I'll head out now!"

  "Huh? Oh—yeah! Enjoy!"

  The area around ōmiya Station was livelier than he'd expected. People moved in every direction around the station roundabout, beneath towering signs for department stores, electronics outlets, café chains, and an endless parade of restaurant banners.

  "Man... ōmiya's got everything."

  He'd been here for work before, but hadn't taken time to really walk around in a while. Since he had the chance, he figured he might as well explore a bit.

  With that in mind, Hada wandered off into the streets around the station.

  Passing through a shopping arcade and slipping into a narrow alley, he found rows of old-fashioned mom-and-pop shops. A greengrocer shouted energetically to passersby, and a dusty bookstore displayed retro magazines in the window. Turning a corner, he spotted a tiny coffee stand where a young barista was carefully drip-brewing a cup.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  (I kinda like this vibe.)

  On impulse, he stopped and sat down on a bench out front.

  "One coffee, please."

  He took the cup, sipped the hot brew—deep roast, slightly bitter, warming him from the inside.

  "...Alright, time to get moving."

  The clock read exactly noon—prime lunch hour. Things would be getting crowded, but he figured he'd manage.

  He headed for the place Takase had mentioned—Miyoshi. But when he arrived, it was packed.

  A flustered staff member came over. "We're full at the moment. I'm sorry, but would you mind waiting a bit?"

  Completely full. Hada looked at the line forming at the entrance and rubbed his forehead.

  (Guess I lingered too long over that coffee...)

  "How long's the wait?"

  "About fifteen minutes, I'd say."

  (Fifteen, huh...)

  He hesitated. Waiting in line during the peak of lunch hour didn't sound appealing.

  (Alright... guess I'll look for something else.)

  And just like that, Hada became a "lunch refugee."

  As he walked, he typed "ōmiya lunch" into his phone.

  (Okay... what do we have here...)

  If the izakaya was out, he'd have to find another place. But the search results were mostly chain cafés and family restaurants. Not bad—but he was hoping for something with more local flavor.

  (Come to think of it, ōmiya's full of bars, but there aren't many proper lunch spots...)

  As he wandered the station area, his choices seemed to shrink by the minute.

  "Ugh... what now?"

  He didn't want a generic chain, but wasn't in the mood for a trendy café lunch either.

  (I want something... hearty. Something that hits hard.)

  Then, Takase's voice echoed in his mind.

  "Their yurinchi, and hey—the rebanira too! The liver's so clean, no smell at all. I had three bowls of rice with it!"

  (...Yurinchi and rebanira, huh...)

  He swallowed unconsciously.

  Just as he was thinking that—he turned a corner into a narrow alley and spotted a red sign: "Ichibantei."

  It was a classic neighborhood Chinese joint.

  Peeking through the curtain, he saw counter seats and tables filled with local salarymen and blue-collar workers, all quietly devouring their meals. On the wall were handwritten menu signs: "Yurinchi Set," "Rebanira Set."

  (...Is this fate?)

  It felt like the universe had guided him here straight from Takase's monologue. Hada smiled to himself.

  "All right. This is the one."

  With a decisive nod, he stepped through the curtain.

  As he stepped inside, a wave of savory aroma from stir-fried dishes hit him. The place was buzzing with lunchtime energy—counter seats, tables all filled. From the open kitchen came the rhythmic clang of a wok, and the staff barked out orders with practiced ease.

  "Welcome!" came a cheerful shout.

  Greeted by the energetic voice, Hada took a seat at the counter.

  (Alright... what'll it be?)

  He opened the menu in front of him and involuntarily sucked in a breath.

  "Whoa... that's a lot of options."

  Set meals, noodles, rice bowls, fried rice, gyoza—it was a full-on parade of choices spread across the menu. He was instantly overwhelmed.

  (Okay, rebanira and yurinchi—that's a lock. Takase made those sound too good to pass up...)

  Pretending to scan the menu, he started sneakily checking out what everyone else was eating.

  The salaryman to his right was digging into a plate of twice-cooked pork.

  (Ooh, those crispy cabbage strips look amazing...)

  On his left, a workman was having fried rice with a half-ramen combo.

  (Fried rice sounds good too... but the combo? Hard to beat.)

  Across the room, a student-looking guy was wolfing down a massive plate of tenshinhan—crab omelet over rice.

  (That looks ridiculously good too...)

  Back to the menu. Every item was calling his name.

  "Oh, they've got gyoza too..."

  Not just regular gyoza—but jumbo gyoza too.

  (Ugh... I wanna try both of those...)

  His eyes darted around indecisively until a new customer entered.

  "I'll have the gomoku yakisoba and gyoza, please!"

  (Gomoku yakisoba... that's solid too.)

  Another customer called out, "Fried rice with karaage combo, please!"

  (Damn it, that sounds amazing too!)

  His indecision spiraled. He had fallen deep into the town-chinese trap.

  But his stomach was nearing its limit—he had to choose. Now.

  (Alright... decision made!)

  Hada raised his hand with determination.

  "One rebanira set, large rice please! And a side of yurinchi!"

  "Got it!" the server shouted toward the kitchen—just as Hada's eyes caught a note in the menu's corner.

  "Mini ramen +250 yen."

  (...Mini ramen!?)

  (So... just a little ramen? Just enough to taste?)

  Skipping ramen at a Chinese diner felt borderline criminal. Gyoza, fried rice, ramen—that was the holy trinity of town-chinese. But he'd already ordered a set meal and a side.

  (No... but... but still...)

  "...Excuse me—can I add the mini ramen too, after all?"

  His mouth had moved before his brain could stop it.

  And just like that, indecision had led him to a full-blown, gut-busting lunch.

  Having placed his order, Hada let out a breath and glanced around the bustling diner. In the kitchen, a seasoned wok clanged loudly as steam rose with mouthwatering scents. Meat sizzled on the griddle, plates clattered onto the counter one after another.

  (God, I love this kind of atmosphere...)

  In front of him, an old, well-used tray of condiments sat at the counter. Vinegar, chili oil, soy sauce—and what looked like a house-made spicy miso.

  (Yep... gotta hit that rebanira with a dash of chili oil.)

  As he pondered, he watched other customers enjoy their meals. The man next to him was eating fluffy fried rice, each golden grain tumbling apart as he scooped it with a spoon.

  (Maybe I should have gone with fried rice too...)

  At another table, a plate of gyoza was served—crispy, golden, and steaming. One bite, and the juices would surely burst out.

  (Ugh... gyoza... don't tempt me now...)

  This was the trap of town-chinese dining—everything looked so good, even the things he hadn't ordered were calling to him.

  As he wrestled with food envy, a server approached carrying a massive tray.

  "Here you go—Rebanira set, large rice! Yurinchi on the side!"

  "And here's your mini ramen too!"

  (Yes—it's here!)

  Laid out before him was the ultimate town-chinese trio.

  The rebanira was piled high—a glossy heap of liver coated in rich sauce, tangled with garlic chives and crisp bean sprouts.

  Beside it sat the yurinchi: perfectly fried chicken, crispy on the outside, juicy inside, drenched in sweet-sour sauce and topped with finely chopped scallions.

  And the "mini" ramen—though honestly, it was nearly full-sized. Clear soy broth shimmered invitingly, bringing a wave of nostalgic comfort.

  (This is... perfect.)

  Hada instinctively put his hands together.

  "Itadakimasu!"

  He started with a sip of the mini ramen's broth.

  He scooped it up with his spoon and let it gently coat his tongue. A clear soy-based broth—simple, but that's what made it perfect. The light richness of chicken bones and the mellow depth of soy sauce spread slowly across his palate. No flashy flavors—just comfort in its purest form.

  (This is what town-chinese ramen is all about...) Unable to resist, he took another sip. Then he picked up the straight, thin noodles and slurped them down in one smooth motion. (Oh yeah—nice and smooth going down.) The broth clung beautifully to the noodles—simple, yet perfectly executed. He could've been satisfied with just this, but the real stars were still waiting.

  First up: the rebanira. He picked up a plump piece of liver, coated in glossy sauce and tangled with bright green chives and crisp bean sprouts. (This one's a guaranteed winner.) He took a bite. Tender—remarkably so. Not a hint of gaminess, just that clean, melt-in-your-mouth richness. The sweet-salty sauce soaked through each bite, and the chives and sprouts added a perfect crunch. It was the kind of flavor that demanded rice. (Oh man, this is dangerous.)

  He dove straight into the heaping bowl of rice. White rice and rebanira—an unbeatable duo.

  Next: the yurinchi. The golden-brown crust crackled under the weight of a tangy-sweet sauce, seeping into every crevice. The contrast between crispy skin and juicy interior was sublime. (Just looking at it, I already know it's gonna be amazing.) He took a bite— Crunch. Juicy burst. After the crispy exterior came the flood of chicken's natural savor, chased by the sharp-sweet zing of the sauce. "Damn... that's good..." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Topped with chopped scallions, each bite added a fresh crunch that elevated the whole thing. (This is going to demolish my rice supply...)

  Switching between yurinchi and rebanira, his mountain of rice shrank rapidly.

  Then—back to the mini ramen. With each bite, he sipped broth to cleanse his palate. Rebanira → rice → yurinchi → rice → ramen... Like a perfectly choreographed pitching rotation, he cycled through each dish in flawless rhythm—unable to stop, totally entranced.

  Before he knew it, every last bite was gone. He set his chopsticks down and let out a long, contented sigh. (Satisfaction level: 120%.)

  "That was insanely good." "Glad to hear it! Come back anytime!" the owner replied with a big grin.

  Hada paid his bill and stepped out, the cheerful owner seeing him off. "A good shop always shows up at just the right time."

  Outside, the midday sun was almost blinding. ōmiya was still buzzing—businesspeople heading to meetings, shoppers darting between stores. (Man... that really hit the spot.)

  Rubbing his full stomach, Hada let out a deep breath. Rebanira, yurinchi, and the "mini" ramen—all of it had been perfect.

  The rebanira had lived up to Takase's hype—no odor, just pure umami that demanded rice. The crispy-crunchy bite of the yurinchi, soaked in that sweet-sour sauce, was the kind you'd crave again and again. And the ramen? Mini in name only—but hey, that's part of the charm.

  (No doubt about it—this was the best.)

  Suddenly, Takase's passionate speech echoed in his head again. "And the rebanira—seriously, no smell at all, I had three bowls of rice with it!!" (No joke... I totally could've eaten three bowls too.)

  Hada chuckled to himself. Simple, honest, no-frills town-chinese—but packed with real flavor. "A good shop always shows up when you need it." (He repeated the line quietly, as if reaffirming it.) (I'll be back here someday.)

  He pulled out his phone, still smiling faintly. Just then, it rang. Caller ID: Kayama, a friend.

  "Hello?" "Hey Hada! Where you at?" "Kayama? Haven't heard from you in a while. I'm in ōmiya right now." "Listen, next week I've got a TV planning meeting at Tanuki Studio—with Tetsuya Beppu. Wanna come along?" "Wait—Tetsuya Beppu?!" "Yeah! I know you're a hardcore fan of TOKYO EVENING RADIO. Figured I'd hook you up with a chance to say hi." "No way... seriously?!" Hada clenched his phone, heart skipping a beat. He was going to meet Tetsuya Beppu in person. "Keep it hush-hush from UBS though, alright? It's with another network, haha." "Haha, got it. When exactly?" "I'll text you later, just keep the day open!" "You got it!"

  Hada turned toward ōmiya Station. Before the afterglow of lunch could even fade, a new excitement had taken hold. "All right... Tanuki Studio, next week it is." With a lighter step, Hada walked on.

  Next stop: Setagaya. More food. More drinks. More stories.