Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Azure Flame, here is your order, The Lunar Serenity.”

“Thank you kindly. Following our proper procedure, I shall examine the item.”

The man called Azure Flame sits still on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, waiting for the dealer sitting across the table to open the small box and reveal the shiny spherical object.

Under dim light, the gem illuminates the small corner with its tender blue and white radiance. Gloved hand delicately holds the stone near the ceiling light as the blue-haired man tilts his head, examining it from multiple angles. Captivating glowing subtly changes to a softer shade of silver. 

Being a moonstone, the salient adularescence has proved its authenticity.

This glow undoubtedly belongs to ‘The Lunar Serenity’, the blue-haired man confirms in silence.

“I’m quite impressed. Last time we took quite some time to sort out the misunderstanding between us.” He smiles softly as if there were no mocking intent about their past failed transaction. “We both learned our lesson and behaved this time.”

The dealer pretends to stay composed, sweaty hands clenching and unclenching under the unbearable pressure.

.

.

Previous transaction…

The dealer had swapped the moonstone with a replica in an attempt to satisfy his selfish gain. The gentleman immediately figured out his despicable scheme. 

However, Azure Flame didn’t report this issue to the Director.

“I’ll turn a blind eye this time. Next time, there won’t be any exceptions.” 

The man recalled Azure Flame’s warning, before his trembling eyes fell upon the paper package placed gently on the table. 

“Inside this bag is a bottle of mucolytic syrup, specialized to relieve the symptoms of asthma. It’s quite a hassle to get the right prescription, but it should be enough to ease the condition for at least three months.”

Oh. 

So Azure Flame knew about his sick daughter who had been stuck in bed and coughed like hell over the past five years. 

Her illness required costly treatment from famous doctors. As a father, he worked his butt off for the poor girl. Yet as an employee, he was trash and incapable of even the slightest thing such as delivery. His ankles and legs were already weak, for he was frail from birth. 

What a failure of a father.

His only escape route was to take on ‘under-the-table’ work and serve an underground organization. This time, he selected a shadowy gemstone trading organization, famous for unregulated auctions. 

On the first day of his work, he had the audacity to replace the moonstone with a counterfeit because his daughter was on the verge of death from coughing blood. He used up all the rewards from his lucky gamble to craft a replica. With that money, he could already buy medicine for his daughter, but the father wanted even more. Greed could destroy a person's morality.

And life gave him a splash of cold water: he was caught by Azure Flame even before the poor dealer uncovered the gemstone box. 

Yet, the customer showed mercy and even gave him the medicine he had craved for years. And for free. The effect was just like the male said, his daughter had been eating and stopped coughing for two weeks. 

.

.

Current timeline,

The dealer clasps his sweaty hands in front of Azure Flame. He has learned his lesson, and he does a good job by ensuring the gem is authentic this time.

“M–my sincerest gratitude for your kindness, Azure Flame. Thanks to your—” the dealer stutters, yet his sentence is cut off by the blue-haired man whispering.

“There’s no need to formalize. Our conversation can be recorded and used against us.” Ah yes, the dealer forgets that there are surveillance cameras everywhere to secure the secret transaction. 

Azure Flame places the gemstone box gently into his suitcase and stands up.

“I’m satisfied with the transaction. Please send this to the Director.” His tall and well-built figure straightens, strands of long blue hair scattering behind his back as he raises his body up. “I’ll be off.”

Azure Flame lowers his body and secretly passes a piece of paper into the dealer’s pocket.

“You’re truly unfit for this kind of job,” the gentleman keeps his voice low. “If you happen to be interested in other occupations, do come by this place.”

As the blue-haired man walks away, closes the door and finally leaves the room, the dealer begins preparing to meet up with his next customer in confusion. He takes a quick look at the business card in his pocket.

Chudomirovich Museum 

Opening soon

That lengthy yet elegant name rings a bell to the dealer. 

They were once among the aristocrats for hundreds of years. However, time flew, washing away fame and fortune. An accident of the previous heirs from decades ago ends their glorious era, causing their one and only son to bear the burden of securing the family’s honour. Yet, it was a story from more than twenty years ago already, and the last heir seems to have given up his mission.

But it was just what the public saw.

In fact, the dealer knows that blue-haired man’s real name. It is the bare requirement to register as a customer. However, stating their titles is an unspoken rule for traders like him. To become more procedural, they prefer to be called by aliases.

Over the years, Azure Flame has built up a solid reputation and collected gemstones from around the world, both using official and unofficial methods. Despite the cold distant aura from his usual dark attire, the man’s respectable approach, sharp tongue and gentle manners never fail to impress the insiders. 

The dealer faintly recalls the gentleman’s full name…

Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins

The last inheritor of the Chudomirovich Family

Stepping away from the narrow hidden passage, Flins removes his gloomy overcoat and places it in the suitcase, revealing a dark navy long-sleeved shirt and black slim fit trousers. Putting on another thinner black overcoat, Flins adjusts his attire, then walks to the end of the passage and blends into the crowd.

Even wearing only a casual outfit, his tall figure stands out. As Flins extends his elegant footsteps, murmurs and gasps from passers-by ripple through the air, admiring his attractive appearance and gorgeous blue hair.

“Another gemstone obtained,” the tall male sinks into deep thought. “I should gather intel for the next one.”

Flins takes out his smartphone and calls someone.

The intel will be available in a few more hours.

He checks the location and heads towards the metro station. The next train will arrive in two minutes, he must use the elevator to catch it in time. As he enters a nearly full elevator to reach the platform, Flins hears the hurried footsteps of someone running behind him. A young student is going to be late if she does not get into this elevator. Therefore, the gentleman offers his spot to the poor girl and heads to the escalator for an alternative way. It is slightly slower compared to the previous route, yet the escalator is less occupied and more relaxed.

As he goes down the escalator and reaches the platform, his eyes drift past the notice board.

“...Please stand clear. Doors closing.” The recorded line echoes through the station as the metro passes by.

He had just missed the train by a few seconds.

Waiting for the next metro to arrive, Flins reflects on his situation. 

The meet-up destination is the last metro stop, he should have plenty of time to rest. This morning, he arrived at Yec-Smai through a transit flight. In Teywatt, transportation is convenient and offers flexible options, including planes, metros, trains, cars, motorcycles, bicycles, and so on. (He wishes for a teleport waypoint to make the traffic useless, yet technology still has a long way to go.)

As the one and only heir of the Chudomirovich family, Flins inherits the fortune and runs the jewelry business on his own. Since he was young, the family had been in a period of decline because of the economic downturn to the point they had to sell gemstones at cheap prices to recover the cost and pay debts. 

At the age of twenty, he lost his parents in a plane accident. Their lifelong wish was to establish a gemstone museum for everyone to admire the beauty of stone creation. Since then, Flins’ goal has always been to reacquire their family’s gemstones and other valuable items to open the museum under their name. The reconstruction of the place is ongoing, and it will soon officially open its gates to welcome visitors.

“The train is going to enter platform number 1.”

The announcement wakes Flins from his doze. He waits until the rumbling sound of the subway tears the tranquil atmosphere as it approaches. 

The metro stops. Several doors slide open.

“Train doors opening.”

The blue-haired man steps aside, waiting for people to exit, then enters the carriage. There are plenty of vacant seats. Flins picks a random place and sits down.

“Please stand clear. Doors closing.”

He hears a soft metallic sound as the doors slide again. As the metro continues its journey, his body is slightly pulled away by the inertial force before returning to its stable position.

The trip is long. Searching for something in his suitcase to kill time, Flins picks up a catalogue he grabbed at the airport. He skims through the content. The colorful catalogue lists a variety of promising restaurants from different cuisines across the state. Being a multicultural country, Yec-Smai attracts tourists and businesses thanks to its hospitality and ethnic diversity.

Flipping through the pages, Flins wonders where he should eat after completing his next mission.

The door opens again as it arrives at the next station. 

Thirty seconds.

The doors are about to close. A hurried person sprints and slips through the metal door. 

That person just catches the train in the nick of time.

The doors shut. 

Flins can hear the sound of sneakers skidding on the carriage floor. That person would have fallen off if not for the handrail. Small huffing and gasping fill the air.

Some curious people glance at the new passenger before turning their gaze back to the smartphone screens. Flins also tilts his head from the lifeless stack of papers to look at the new passenger.

The young man is covered in sweat, soft silver hair is damp from running. He is wearing a white sweater and a pair of dark brown jeans. Flins can not clearly see his face, but he believes the passenger is in his twenties and still studying in university or college. His brown backpack is so stuffed. Several rolled posters nearly slip out of the zipper, and the bag is even sagging under the weight of whatever is inside.

Poor young man, what has education done to you?

Flins sighs and returns to his boring catalogue. 

As the head of a jewelry corporation, he has tasted numerous delicacies around the world during his business trips and solo travels. The blue-haired man appreciates the creative concepts and service rather than the food itself. And the stories behind the restaurants and their signature dishes are even highly complimentary.

In fact, Flins is impressed by the appealing design and positive purpose of the catalogue. Yet, the content seems too commercial and lacks inspiration. It needs more… storytelling and personal to stand out.

As Flins is about to fold the catalogue for good, he can sense someone approaching him from his left and sitting next to him.

It is that young passenger.

The gently soft silver bangs cover most of his face. Now that he gets a closer look at him, Flins notices the youthful burgundy of his nape hair, blending harmoniously with the fluffy silver hair above. 

The passenger adjusts the backpack to the front and embraces it, then leaning against the backrest. He sighs in relief.

And they stay silent.

His yellow eyes capture countless cuts scattered like spider web across the skin as he unconsciously darts the young man’s fingers resting on the stuffed backpack. Those injuries must have been caused by sharp equipment such as scissors or knives. The tips of those fingers are covered in burn marks, not easily noticeable but Flins still recognizes.

Perhaps he’s working as a kitchen assistant. 

From his knowledge, people at that young age tend to work part-time or casual jobs to earn a living or simply gain experience. The effort to become financially independent is commendable, only if your physical and mental health isn’t affected.

Yet, the young man sitting beside him looks so exhausted. 

He feels worried for a stranger.

Flins wonders why.

Flins opens the catalogue again, trying to distract him from paying too much attention to the young man.

Yet, as he flips through the first few pages, the blue-haired man feels something warm pressing on his left side.

The young passenger has unconsciously fallen asleep on Flins’ shoulder.

Even through fabrics, he can feel the clammy yet soft hair resting peacefully, the chest rises and falls as the young man breathes. From this intimate distance, Flins can even smell the faint shower fragrance near his nose.

Flins doesn’t want to wake him up.

The gentleman lets the young passenger sleep and snore, small breathing tickling his bare neck. He can feel something wet slowly soak the fabric near his collar.

The young man is drooling.

And Flins doesn’t mind. 

The stack of papers in his hands becomes useless as his attention fully drifts to the person sleeping on his left shoulder, yet he can’t simply put it away.

He doesn’t want to interrupt that precious quick nap.

As the metro stops at the next destination, their bodies are being pushed to the right by the inertial force, making the young man’s head bump into Flins’ chest.

Sensing a warm tender surface and rhythmic heartbeat beneath his cheek, the silver hair tilts wearily and immediately moves away.

The young man just woke up. And he freaks out.

“S—Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” His voice softly stammers before remaining calm. “How long have I been sleeping like that? My apologies for being so careless.”

“Please don’t apologize, you must’ve been so tired from work,” Flins reassures the flushed man from embarrassment. “My destination is the last stop, so you needn’t feel guilty.”

“That’s so kind of you, I’m glad.” 

The young man sighs in relief before noticing something even more embarrassing. His face turns deep red.

“I deeply apologize for dirtying your clothes!” He pierces his gaze at the dampened fabric, one hand slaps his forehead. “What has gotten into me to result in such a mess…”

“Just a small issue, no need to worry.” Flins takes the handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the mess away. 

It's rare to find someone still using a handkerchief this elegant, like a noble. This gentleman must be an important figure, the young man gasps.

Even if that gentleman is just a mere person, the young man will still make up for his careless behaviour.

“No, it can’t be. I should repay you for your kindness.” 

The silver-haired man pulls out a poster from his backpack and places it in Flins’ hand. 

“I work at a restaurant nearby, let me treat you to a meal. The place has been open for a long time, you can count on our food and service.”

The blue-haired man is always busy. Normally, he would have politely declined the offer.

Yet, the name of the restaurant rings a bell in his memory as the poster flashes by his vision.

Flins knows this place.

The metro carriage becomes more crowded as more and more passengers come in. As expected of the end of the workday.

Both of them realize others need their seats. As Flins is about to stand up and give up his seat to an old lady, the young man beside him has already stood up, put on his backpack and guided the lady to the vacant seat.

He is kind and quick. 

Flins praises quietly while also standing to pass his seat to a pregnant woman. As he straightens, Flins can sense the young man and people around him gasp at his height and distinctive blue hair. 

“You’re so tall, Sir.” 

The young man tilts his head upward to look at Flins while holding onto the handrail. 

“I have only met someone this tall in the gym center. You must’ve been a model?”

“I’m truly flattered. However, it’s not my job.” 

The taller man gives a small smile, his yellow pupils observing the young man. Those injuries again appear in his sight as Flins’ eyes find those fingers. 

He is hard-working.

“I see. So, are you free this evening? Please visit our restaurant.” The young man smiles hesitantly. “…Or if you’re busy, feel free to come by anytime in the week!”

Hearing the soft voice, Flins drifts his eyes to the face beside him.

The young man’s sole earring on his left side captures his attention. Like the shiniest star illuminating throughout day and night, guiding people with its tender light.

He is quite attractive… and adorable?

The blue-haired man isn’t so sure. 

Where does his fondness for the young man come from? He has only just met him a few minutes ago, yet Flins feels as if they have known each other for years, or even centuries. The positive impression he has of him is too strong, too familiar to be their first meeting. 

His yellow pupils unconsciously find the young man’s eyes. 

As if they belong together.

Those red and blue pupils seem exhausted, yet they are undoubtedly pretty.

As their eyes lock, Flins’ mind turns pitch dark.

Time stops.

Color returns to his vision. Yet, Flins is no longer at the subway.

He is in the middle of a battlefield. 

Sounds of monsters roaring drum in his ears as they rampage and destroy the surroundings. Heavy droplets soak his black attire, painting it a mess of water and dirt and blood. Smell of moisture and corpses makes his nose tingle and burn.

Yet, he feels no one alive around him, except for the person he is holding.

The man he is holding…

The image of a silver-haired man catches his trembling eyes, resting in his arms, body covered in blood. He anxiously drifts his vision to the young man’s pretty face that has started to lose its brightness as blood continues to stream from the deep slash near his heart, blending with the endless rain.

The one and only star-shaped earring is broken, just like the world he imagines without the young man in his arms.

Those pretty red and blue pupils darken, droplets of tears spill down his cheeks. 

The young man murmurs something, and he smiles tenderly at Flins one last time before his body goes limp.

He has crossed to the other side of the world.

Flins doesn’t know whether he screams or not, but something ferocious within him engulfs the place in azure flames, burning down every last enemy on the field.

Everything.

Except for him, the corpses, and the lifeless young man in his arms.

His eyes feel sting. He wants to cry.

Yet, darkness soon blankets his vision. 

Color again fills his eyes. Noise from the crowd awakens him.

Time flows.

He has returned to the subway.

“…Sir, are you feeling unwell?” The young passenger asks worriedly. His left earring is still undamaged.

What is that?

“I’m fine, just dust getting into my eyes.” 

Flins wipes a single tear leaking from the corner of his vision. He hasn’t cried since the funeral of his parents. 

As Flins blinks, he notices the familiarity of the passenger standing beside him. His silver hair and facial features are so much alike to the young dead soldier in his previous hallucination. 

Hallucination… Or flashback? 

The blue-haired man quickly recollects his thoughts. That young soldier in that flashback must have died from severe injuries caused by those monster-like creatures. Flins seems to have arrived at the fight later, yet he couldn’t save the man. He still remembers the ache in his chest, as if someone had torn him apart and stabbed hundreds of cacti into his nonexistent heart.

Nonexistent.

His heart… It’s not beating at all.

Yet, a flame within him ignites.

What is that thing between the space in his chest? What is he in those memories?

“Do you need tissue paper? I have plenty in my backpack.” The young man’s gentle voice pulls Flins out of the turmoil. 

“No worries, I’m truly fine.” His vision flickers between the image of the silver-haired passenger and the fallen soldier as he blinks several times.

He must uncover this mystery.

“About your invitation earlier,” Flins slowly answers. “I’m free tonight. Please let me know the detailed address of your place.”

The young man beams at him. Flins is certain his vision has been greeted by the brightest light he has ever seen.

“Then I’ll see you at the restaurant,” The man’s finger points at the bottom of the poster. “You can find the address here.” 

“The next stop is Pieramida,” The recorded announcement rings out.

“Oh, it’s my stop. See you around!”

As the young man turns to leave, Flins’ voice echoes.

“May I ask for your name, young gentleman?”

“I almost forgot to introduce myself.” He giggles softly. “It’s Illuga Starshyna. Simply call me Illuga when you come to the restaurant.”

"The reinforcement will arrive soon. Stay strong, Master Illuga!"

"…I’ve already lost too much blood… Please be alive, Sir Flins."

“What a beautiful name.” 

Flins slightly bows his head. If he didn't stand in the middle of a crowded metro carriage, people would have thought he was a humble servant greeting his master.

“Please call me Flins.”

“Sure. See you soon, Sir Flins!”

“Stay safe, Mr. Illuga.”

As the metro stops at Pieramida station, several doors slide open. Illuga bows his head at Flins and walks away, blending into the sea of people flocking out of the carriage.

Doors close. The metro continues its journey.

Yet, Flins’ gaze still lingers on that fatigued silhouette slowly fading away as the young man runs. Illuga must be so busy with his current job. Even several minutes later, long after that silver hair has already vanished, Flins still wonders nonstop about why someone so kind-hearted must carry such burdens on those small shoulders.

Flins finally arrives at the last station. 

Marbles collide as he walks. The gentleman finds a secluded route and enters. He pulls the gloomy overcoat from his suitcase and wears it. 

The gemstone box accidentally falls out.

“Moonstone represents destined encounters. People also refer to it as a symbol of new beginnings.” 

Flins grabs the box and gently places it back into his suitcase, his mind ponders about The Lunar Serenity he acquired a few hours ago. 

Its silver glow reminds him of Illuga’s soft hair.

The moonstone, the hurried school girl, the missed train, the unexpected encounter with Illuga…

Flins wonders whether all of this is really coincidence, or if this is really their first meeting.

“I hope our encounter is truly a blessing of intertwined destiny.”

Sunlight begins to slip behind the buildings. It’s nearly nightfall.

I must finish the job soon and visit his restaurant.

The blue-haired man speeds up his footsteps. 

He will soon pay a visit to Illuga’s place.

Chapter Text

“I must hurry up, everyone is waiting!”

Illuga exhales as he runs out of the metro. 

Spotting spaces between the sea of people, he dashes and easily threads his way through the crowd.

Today is such a nightmare. He has three deadlines in a day after two months of doing nothing. Three freaking midterm projects! 

Thanks to whoever is watching above the clouds, Illuga is able to handle them all miraculously. Aiming to get the scholarship, he must pass the assignments with flying colours while still managing his job.

Now that's the real issue.

Aside from studying, Illuga is the head chef of a restaurant.

Repeat: H-E-A-D C-H-E-F. 

Not even a kitchen assistant, he is a headchef, headchef, headchef!!! (It's a legend that what is truly important must be repeated thrice.)

The details of why and how he became a chef at such a young age must be explained later, because Illuga is in a hurry.

It is nearly opening hour, and he hasn’t done any food prep.

Poor young man. He has been so absorbed in handing out flyers across the street to promote the restaurant that he doesn’t realize it is already noon.

“...Only one more right turn,” Illuga huffs. “There it is!”

Before his eyes, a humble restaurant appears. The familiar cedar color of the front door greets Illuga as he walks, woody scent soothing his flaring nostrils from running. He tilts his head upwards to find the signboard, white neon letters resting majestically on the rectangular red banner:

Lightkeepers Recipe

Illuminating Your Taste More Than Any Torch

Sliding the front door to enter, Illuga passes through the aisle, his footsteps echo along the pine floor. Four walls clad in beige wooden panels, embracing the room with its light shade contrasting with the entrance. Fluorescent lights from the ceiling bathe the room in warm and cozy amber. 

Walking between two rows of tables, the young man swiftly scans the entire room. Each row includes five tables, four chairs each. Near the chef’s counter, four seats are also available. On each table, dishes, plates, spoons, and chopsticks are set, alongside napkin boxes and spice trays. Outside the store, four tables are ready to serve, yet those areas seem to be abandoned because of the chilly weather. There is a sofa inside the restaurant for customers to wait in case the place is too crowded. However, that rarely happens nowadays.

“How are we doing, Illuga?” A raspy voice calls out from the corner of the room. “I bet we miss nothing this time!”

“Don’t be so cocky, remember last time? You forgot to set up the table near the chef’s counter!” Another lighter voice replies, before greeting the silver-haired man. “Hi Chef, feel free to check the room. We won’t make the same mistake again.”

“Anleifr and Rollon, you guys really did a good job.” Illuga nods in agreement as he sweeps the room once more. “I have nothing to complain about.”

“Please be quiet. Can’t you tell how exhausted he is?” 

A serious yet gentle voice rings out behind them. The man has just arrived and is already sighing at the duo’s antics. His shift starts in half an hour later, yet he always comes early.

Being a cashier, Bjorn lives up to his responsibility. Punctual, careful, and devoted. He seems more like the restaurant manager, and occasionally, Bjorn steps in as a server when the place is too busy. 

“Yes, we understand. Rollon, let’s decide who will wash the dishes today… Rock, paper, scissors!”

The disappointing groan from Anleifr indicates he has lost. Rollon lets out a small yet triumphant smile, while Bjorn sighs at the farce but still congratulates Rollon from afar. 

Illuga laughs at the sight.

Anleifr, Rollon, and Bjorn are diligent employees and have worked for the restaurant since it belonged to the previous owner till the new one took over. The first person’s raspy loud voice brightens the day with his humor, while the second person soothes the night with his calm tone. The duo’s contrasting synergy complements each other, earning them irreplaceable impressions on the regulars. 

However, their shenanigans sometimes get out of control, and it is Bjorn who rescues them in time. If Anleifr is the day and Rollon represents the night, Bjorn will be a clock to ensure the two were treated equally after causing trouble (it means slapping or punching them, friendly and lightly).

Five years ago, Bjorn left the restaurant to fulfill his dream, followed by Rollon and Anleifr a few years later. The condition of the place afterwards had been quite alarming, with debts accumulating every year and customers naturally leaving in search of more refreshing experiences. 

A few months ago, they were informed that a sophomore would be taking over the role of head chef and store owner. Feeling worried for the enthusiastic man, the trio temporarily returned to the restaurant and helped out as waiters.

“You guys are always funny. Let’s begin with the food prep.”

“Roger that!”

Illuga changes out of his drenched sweater into formal white working attire. Putting on the black apron, his hand swiftly takes the knife to slice vegetables, cutting them into equal pieces.

He loves seeing moments like this: Domestic moments with a dozen colours of life.

The sight of Anleifr and Rollon and Bjorn joking and bickering and working. The sight of onions and carrots being diced to prepare for a hotpot. The sight of countless tables soon filled with people and laughter.

Simple. Yet sometimes, people just need that one reason to keep moving forward.

This includes Illuga. Since he became the head chef, the young man has worked around the clock to restore the restaurant to its former glory. Illuga wished to witness the smiles on every customer and employee, and even himself, just like how he enjoyed their expressions as he walked around the street to learn from successful restaurants.

After taking the position of the head chef for two months, the young man reorganized the whole structure and made use of social media to promote the place. Aside from this method, Illuga also printed physical posters and hands them out on a regular basis. A round of applause to Jahoda and Durin for their assistance in spreading the flyers alongside him. Together with Ineffa, they are Illuga’s best friends in university (Ineffa would be likely to help; however, her sister Aino still requires her attention, which Illuga fully understands)

Thanks to his nonstop effort, the place has attracted a remarkable number of regular customers. 

First and foremost is Jahoda. She works as a barista for a coffee store located near the station. And that isn’t her only part-time job. The girl also has her casual role as the deliverer for a food company. Not yet, not yet. Jahoda has over one hundred thousand followers on her social media account (+100k followers!!!), posting about her daily life as an average university student. The cute and wholesome impression has gained her popularity among numerous content creators. As a supportive friend, the young girl is willing to promote her best friend’s restaurant (which is Illuga’s of course. He and Durin even make appearances in some of her videos!) He must admit, Jahoda has been a great help to him, to the point that the entire Teywatt must have heard about this restaurant at least once every time they open their phones.

Miss Nefer, a regular of Jahoda’s store, is a famous fashion shop owner. Knowing the place from Jahoda’s recommendation, the green-haired woman has been among the most dedicated guests. However, she is such a headache for our honest head chef. Nefer loves teasing Illuga to the point that he can’t say a word to defend himself (he doesn’t know why, maybe it’s just her nature, because Jahoda is receiving the same treatment as him)

Miss Lauma is a junior high school teacher. She isn’t a frequent guest, yet her visit always brings gentleness. According to Jahoda’s trusted information, Lauma is a close friend of Nefer from college. Working as a head teacher in a prestigious school, it is unavoidable for the long-haired woman to be stressed. To relieve her burden, Lauma sometimes makes a call to Nefer or anyone she trusts. And hanging out with her acquaintances or having meals together also calms down her stress.

Mr. Varka, a successful businessman with a carefree spirit, isn’t a frequent customer. However, whenever he comes to the restaurant, the blonde man always brings his entire department, turning the tranquil place into festivals. It is not a complaint, though, because Illuga does enjoy the sound of endless laughter and mugs clinking together as they celebrate after a hardworking day. As for how they met, Varka and Illuga are gym buddies. On the first day after registering for a gym, the young man couldn’t help but ask the most well-built man in the room for his advice (poor Illuga, he must become stronger physically if he desires to maintain both his studies and cooking career, or else his body may give out from overwork). That man was Varka, and they naturally became friends afterwards.

As for Durin, he is one of Illuga’s close friends. He sometimes visits Illuga’s restaurant with his cousin, who is a famous scientist as well as a freelance artist across Teywatt. Durin loves writing stories and drawing, just like his talented mother and cousin. His mother inspires Durin to follow the path of creativity. She has published numerous comic and literary works for multiple age ranges, with her most popular book known as “Tale of A Dragon.” And it brings joy to Illuga to hear his usual introverted friend become more open as he shares about his mother’s creation. The promotional poster was actually Durin’s work based on Illuga’s original idea.

There are still more customers, and Illuga remembers every single one of them.

However, the restaurant still has a long way to go.

Illuga is exhausted. 

He hasn’t slept for two days straight (again, “thanks” to those freaking three midterm projects in a day). Jahoda said he looked no different than a panda missing its fluffy pillow. Yes, Illuga did miss his pillow, but those deadlines were pulling him out of his bed and bringing him to the desk instead. His back ached from sitting for too long. But for the sake of his grades, Illuga had to endure the pain. The young man knew this wasn’t good for health, yet he had no choice.

However, his sleep deprivation couldn’t be the only reason for Illuga to sleep against a stranger’s shoulder. And he was even drooling on that person’s shirt. 

How humiliating.

Illuga has always been in this miserable condition since he was in charge as the head chef. However, he has never slept on anybody that way. As a cautious person, Illuga never lets his guard down.

Maybe there is a second reason for Illuga to sleep on that man’s shoulder so comfortably.

He wonders why. 

“No, I should call him ‘Sir Flins’ from now on.” 

Illuga smiles softly as he reminds of the blue-haired gentleman.

Huh, why am I smiling?

“Chef, you’re acting weird today. Just a moment ago, your face looked like hell. And now you’re smiling on your own.” 

“...It is nothing.” Illuga tilts his head downward to hide his embarrassment from Anleifr’s innocent question.

Anleifr and Rollon make eye contact and grin.

He must have something fun.

“How’s the hiring going?” Illuga asks to relieve the awkwardness. “Is there any application today?”

“Unfortunately, there is none.”

Oh great, a whole restaurant and there is only one head chef, two waiters, and one cashier. And that head chef is even a university student with no prior experience.

Sigh.

“Don’t be discouraged, we’re still doing great.” 

Illuga claps his hands to lift the mood. His eyes find the clock hanging on the wall.

“It’s time to open the store. Be ready to serve our customers.”

“Yes, Master!”

It is worth mentioning that the head chef will be referred to as ‘Master’. This has been the tradition of the restaurant since its establishment. Illuga is still not used to this formal title, yet he can’t hide the pride blooming in his heart whenever he hears the word.

“Let’s get to work!”

Bjorn flips the door sign as the two waiters stay in their spots.

[ OPEN ]

Just as the cashier turns around, a customer already appears. A few minutes later, a group of students enters, followed by a couple and a family of four.

One hour passes. One fourth of the room is occupied.

Two hours pass. Half of the room is occupied.

Three hours pass. The room is full.

Unbelievable.

And today isn’t even the weekend. How is this possible?

It seems that Illuga’s promotional plan has succeeded. 

Despite the busyness, the silver-haired man can’t hide his smiling face as he admires the bustling sight. 

Even from the kitchen counter, Illuga can still hear the sound of people talking and whispering gossip, the sound of them slurping the delicious broth between heated conversations, the clinking sound of spoons touching the dishes and plates, the sound of chairs and tables moving as customers finish their meals, and empty seats are ready to serve the next people. He enjoys seeing the expressions of every single customer, happy or sad, emotional or nonchalant.

It fills Illuga with contentment.

That golden era will return soon. The young man nods and continues with his job.

Time passes. 

It is raining.

A major factor, because this place is a hotpot restaurant. 

Imagine strolling down the streets in cold weather, instinctively searching for some kind of food to fill your rumbling stomach after working all day long. 

And boom! 

Water falls from the sky, making it even colder and wetter. Your body is frozen, and your stomach is desperate from hunger. 

Just as you speed up and decide to go home for instant noodles, your nose catches a faint aroma of hot soup. You involuntarily seek the source of that alluring smell, and a ⟡hotpot⟡ restaurant stands proudly before your very eyes.

Who would have denied their rumbling stomach after seeing hot soup in the middle of the rain?

However, in their wildest dreams, Illuga and his staff never expected that the restaurant is this crowded to the point that they need a waiting list. The usual empty sofa is filled with customers waiting for their turn.

Bjorn and Rollon walk and turn around nonstop from table to table as if they were spinning. Anleifr is washing the dishes after dishes, a plate nearly slips from his hand. 

The busiest person is their head chef.

Lightkeepers Recipe takes inspiration from soldiers’ hotpot since the war. After a fierce battle, they would celebrate by eating together, using random ingredients from everyone and making a large bowl of soup. Taste was not the main purpose, but the coziness they felt as people cooking and enjoying their brief rest together, before parting ways to continue their missions. 

The first founder of Lightkeepers Recipe was a soldier. Surviving after a historic war, he built this restaurant as a way to share the meaningful cooking method, and for him to commemorate his friends and nameless soldiers.

Up to now, the restaurant still maintains its original theme. Customers select their favourites from a set of fresh ingredients, ranging from vegetables and noodles to meats and seafood, then go to the counter to choose the hotpot soup. However, this multiselected concept is not enough to withstand the corruption of time. More and more places have learned the idea, so Illuga must do something different to make the place stand out. 

Besides advertising, the current head chef is determined to add uniqueness to the soup. After all, taste is the soul of a dish, and the symbol of a restaurant.

And Illuga has a genius idea.

He will tailor the soup for every single customer.

Do not get the wrong idea, he doesn’t actually make every soup bowl from scratch. A normal restaurant will have its designated hotpot soup selections, and the chef only needs to prepare beforehand and follow the orders.

However, Illuga adds an extra step.

As the customers decide their hotpot soup at the kitchen counter, Illuga will personally ask them about their preferred taste: which sauce? salty or sweet? plain or spicy? cook briefly or fully cooked? (for meat enjoyers). They can fill in forms near the kitchen counter or on the website for time efficiency, or wave at Bjorn and Rollon for assistance.

It is different for a chef to ask people this type of question than for an order taker. Because it makes customers feel they are listened to. By the one responsible for their food.

They call it: Personalization.

Every hotpot has its own story. And Illuga will be the one to materialize individual stories into each bowl of soup.

The young man must be insane, because he is even willing to suggest ways to bring flavour explosion to their dishes by adding some sauces or spices (of course Illuga is doing a free-service recommendation!). The head chef can see customers widen their eyes at his suggestion, smiles curving on their faces.

Brilliant. 

Absolutely brillianto!

Because they haven’t even thought about that before (and because they have never ever seen a chef this passionate and knowledgeable about every single one of them)

Illuga is capable of serving this service to ten or twenty customers a day. It is their usual number of daily customers, or even lower if he has to admit it.

Yet, today he has served nearly one hundred customers in three hours, and the restaurant is barely near closing time.

Forehead is covered in beads of sweat. Fingers are stinging from unrecovered cuts as he frequently practices culinary skill. His eyes seem to be blurry and duplicate automatically objects and people within his vision.

He will soon reach his limits.

To relieve himself from exhaustion, Illuga washes his face and returns to his position.

Now that Illuga thinks about it, his limited sleep on Flins’ shoulder is the only time he was truly resting. The crowded metro should have disturbed his rest. Yet, the brief relaxation was already enough for Illuga.

Because Flins’ shoulder was firm.

Because Flins steadied his movement to not wake the person sleeping like a log beside him.

It made Illuga feel comfortable.

It made him feel like home.

As his head was resting on Flins’ strong shoulder, noises faded behind him, and time seemed to stop. 

…Time

Ah sheet, why am I thinking about Flins again??? My shift is still ongoing, focus Illuga!

The young man slaps his face and mumbles.

“Sir Flins will definitely think of me as a freak if he knows the person sleeping shamelessly, and even drooling on his shirt is missing his shoulder.”

But yeah, I really do miss his firm shoulde—

And Illuga washes his face again. This time using ultra super ice-cold water to not let him wonder about that gentleman again. 

“Focus, Illuga. You still have four more hours until the end of the shift.”

Unlike other restaurants closing at ten or eleven o’clock, Lightkeepers Recipe opens until two A.M. After all, Lightkeepers will not be Lightkeepers if they don’t operate at the dead of night. 

Good news travels fast. The restaurant is even more bustling until midnight. 

Seeing the tiredness behind the smiles of Bjorn and Rollon, and the sweat streaming down from Anleifr’s face and arms, Illuga regrets not calling more staff from other shifts to assist in rush hour. He is too confident that he can handle everything (even if he wants to, there aren’t that many personnel who can immediately help at this freezing midnight, let alone they are short-staffed).

The reason is mostly that the restaurant has never received this considerable attention after so many years. Even the former head chef will not be able to deal with this unpredictable situation. Illuga has done great beyond his capabilities, yet it is his nature to blame himself for anything due to an accident in his past.

“Master, you should take a short break. I can handle your task for a while.” Anleifr’s voice rings out from the washing basin. 

“Thanks, but please let me continue.” Illuga sweeps his hand over the sweaty bangs covering his eyes. “I’ll stay here until the very end.”

Anleifr shakes his head in helplessness, yet he smiles at the young man’s stubbornness.

That is their head chef.

Yes, I can do it. Illuga cheers himself as he is preparing another one-person hotpot bowl. 

Yet, his vision is again hazy.

The young man washes his face. His mind naturally goes back to the blue-haired gentleman on the metro. 

“Speaking of which, where is he?” Illuga hands the hot soup to Bjorn, then his eyes swiftly scan the room. “It couldn’t be that he already arrived and took his leave without me noticing, could he?”

Or Flins is just not interested and doesn’t pay any attention to this type of food. He seems to prefer high-class restaurants with rare delicacies and premium service.

Or he just simply accepts the offer out of politeness.

For any reason, losing a potential customer is painful. Tomorrow– no, tonight— no, this morning? (arghhh he doesn’t know because it already passed midnight), Illuga must brainstorm more plans to—

“Good evening, or perhaps good late night, Mr. Illuga.” 

A warm and gentle voice echoes, snapping Illuga out of his turmoil.

“Bwahhh! You are…” The head chef nearly drops the bowl in his hand before realizing the distinctive soft tone. 

“...Good evening, Sir Flins.” 

The thin black overcoat mostly covers his body, yet the tall figure stands out amongst the crowd. 

Although Flins already puts on a coat, Illuga notices the gentleman is slightly damp. The lower hem of his overcoat, the front view of his dark navy shirt and black slim-fit trousers, his leather shoes and the suitcase. However, as Flins turns around to search for a vacant seat, Illuga again finds that his back is dry. The captivating long blue hair cascading behind his back only gets drenched at the tips.

This means Flins got caught in the rain while running and holding his umbrella.

“Sir Flins, are things good?” Illuga asks. “You seem to get caught in the rain.”

“Thanks for your concern, everything is going well,” Flins replies and lets out a small smile. “You’re a good observer. I ran to catch the transportation on time, and some water droplets got onto me.”

Ah yes, using public transport is quite a hassle at midnight. 

“It’s dangerous to run on slippery surface, and you don’t need to come on this rainy night. We open every day, including weekends.”

“I can’t break my promise with you, Mr. Illuga,” Flins continues as he stares directly at Illuga’s pretty eyes. “Even at this hour, the restaurant is still bustling, just like your words. I’m quite impressed.”

The praise brings foreign joy to the young man. 

Now that Illuga thinks about it, Flins is still travelling just like any normal passenger despite his elegant appearance. And he keeps their little promise even though Illuga himself doesn’t pay too much attention to it (actually, Illuga does pay attention, a bit too much, but he won’t admit it).

Next time, the young man should stop jumping to any conclusions.

“Thank you for your kind words! Please sit down, Sir,” Illuga guides the tall man to the only seat near the kitchen’s counter. 

“I’d love to taste your culinary skill, but…” 

Flins’ vision finds delicate hands covered in bandages before moving upwards to again stare at those weary red and blue eyes pretending to be fine.

“...You seem to require urgent assistance. If you may, I can help you at the kitchen counter. I do have some prior experience.”

“No, that can’t be!” Illuga raises his hand, palm facing forward to refuse. “I’m the one inviting you, and you’re our customer.”

“Mr. Illuga– no, Master Illuga?” Flins slightly bows his head. “I hope that title is still carried up to this day.”

How does he know about this?

Illuga is sure that only his men know about this title. The young man has already restructured the theme, including removing the use of the title ‘Master’ among the customers (there are several reasons behind this decision, and he even argued with the former chef about it). Unless this gentleman was a frequent guest before Illuga takes over the position of a head chef. 

“The restaurant will operate until 2 A.M, while you and your men have passed your limit.”

Illuga can feel Flins’ gaze is fixed on him, gentleness radiating from those yellow pupils.

“Don’t be so formal, I’m willing to help.” 

Silence.

“Our promise can wait, there’ll always be next time…” 

Flins reassures the young man as if he is reading his mind. 

“…I look forward to sharing a story with you, Master.”

Huh, this gentleman even knows the secret messages of this restaurant from years ago.

Who is this?

Illuga wants to question more. Yet, time is not a valuable thing to waste. He still has his customers and employees.

“Then I’ll take you up on that. I owe you my life, Sir Flins.” 

The young man bows his head to express sincere gratitude, before standing upright and pointing his finger to a cabinet.

“The uniform and apron are over there. You can help me in asking customers based on this format and step in as a waiter when needed.” 

Illuga places a form in his pale hands. 

“Perhaps you don’t need more instructions? You seem to know the basic stuff already.”

“You flatter me.” But truly speaking, Flins does know most of the restaurant etiquette. As expected of an heir from a noble family. “Please excuse me.”

Illuga nods his head and continues with the job.

As Flins returns with black working attire, slightly tight because of unfitable size, white apron covering most of his front, Illuga can feel eyes after eyes glancing quietly at the blue-haired man.

The head chef has already sensed it since Flins stepped into the restaurant. His appearance is too outstanding to be a normal citizen, let alone elegance showing on each of his moves.

Male and female, old and young. All the people in this room seem to stop their doings and tilt their heads to the tall gentleman. Some drop their spoons at the handsomeness of ‘The Eighth Wonders of Teywatt’, while a few secretly take their phones and snap pictures of Flins and his gorgeous blue hair for unknown reasons. 

New customers come into the room, and some are flustered as they ask the blue-haired man. Yet, Flins politely answers and guides them through the steps written on the form provided by Illuga.

“Did you hire a new person, Master? I have no idea!”

Anleifr exclaims as he takes his brief break. The man makes eye contact with Bjorn and Rollon, seeing the same confusion from them.

However, smiles soon replace the hesitation on their faces.

Oh, so that’s the reason for his weird behaviour, saying Bjorn.

Make sense. I would have leaped so high that my face smashed the ceiling if I could recruit this people magnet, humming Anleifr.

Great job, our Master and the blue-haired guy! cheering Rollon.

(This conversation is purely from deciphering eye contact. Yet they understand each other so well that it becomes instinct.)

The three of them smile even brighter at Illuga, then Flins, and return to their tasks. 

What the heck just happened?

Illuga is just about to answer Anleifr’s question that Flins is not the new staff, yet the man already gets back to the washing place, a satisfied grin creeping on his face.

Illuga will explain eventually after this. 

Flins’ assistance has lightened the heavy workload. After a short while, Flins already gets the hang of this restaurant. He can even suggest to customers the right sauces to their taste, just like Illuga does.

lluga feels his vision is clear again as he has time to rest. If not for this gentleman’s offer, Illuga would have collapsed from fatigue and had his name in the headline of Yec-Smai’s digital newspaper. Its title would be “Labour Exploitation at a Restaurant in Pieramida”, with his bloody head crashing onto the floor as he falls, causing a scandal for his beloved restaurant.

Glancing at Flins for who knows how many times, the young man can’t help but admire his professional serving skill. 

His lips curve into a contented smile.

Flins is really his lifetime saviour.

In the blink of an eye, the last customer stands up and exits the door.

[ CLOSED ]

Never in his life has Illuga felt so relieved at seeing the ‘Closed’ sign of Lightkeepers Recipe. 

Having more customers is great news, yet they must somehow resolve the man shortage problem. And Illuga should return to the gym as soon as possible to build his physical endurance. Taking a month break to balance his chaotic life is enough.

“Well done, Master!” Anleifr raises a thumb-up, followed by Bjorn and Rollon.

“We’re all doing great!” Illuga grins while wiping sweat on his forehead. “Thank you for your hard work, everyone.”

“So… it’s time to introduce our new member, right Illuga?”

All at once, three curious people point their fingers at Flins still turning his back and drinking water. As Flins turns around, Illuga sees locks of blue hair winding and dancing before being blocked by his back. 

“Hey, new buddy, you’re such a pro!” 

Anleifr raises his signature thumb-up at Flins. 

“You have no idea how many customers have taken your photo in secret and grinned until they were pickled pink. I bet your photos will appear everywhere tomorrow— no, this morning!”

Flins chuckles and raises his pale thumb, imitating Anleifr’s pose.

“I’m glad to be your great help.”

Oh, so Sir Flins can make jokes. And he has such a beautiful smile. Illuga comments. He starts to understand the reason his customers address Flins as ‘The Eighth Wonders of Teywatt’.

He does not know why. Seeing Flins’ chuckle makes his heart bump ridiculously fast.

“There were also quite a considerable number of customers taking your photos as well. Did you notice, Illuga?” Bjorn asks their head chef, already foreseeing the answer. 

Of course, Illuga is too occupied to even care about that.

“Not only pictures, but they were also filming the entire process of you cooking their hotpot. I saw a customer using the ‘blushing cat’ filter to record you…” 

Rollon adds on and soon reassures the young man as he freaks out and his face becomes red. 

“Don’t worry! I swear you looked incredibly attractive and cute in that video. You should have seen yourself, sweaty and exhausted but still enduring the pain to finish your job, what a—”

“Please stop, Rollon…” 

Illuga raises his hand in defeat, the other hand hiding his crimson face. He can not bear to open his phone anymore. Jahoda must have flooded his inbox with those silly videos and photos.

“Then tomorrow, both our head chef and the blue-haired buddy will become a phenomenon. We hit the jackpot, guys!” 

Amidst their cheerful laughter, Illuga can finally voice.

“Sorry to disappoint you guys, but this blue-haired gentleman isn’t one of our staff.” Illuga sighs. “He’s the person who helped me on the metro earlier. I wanted to return the favor, so I invited Sir Flins to have a meal. But he’s kind enough to lend us a hand after seeing our struggle.”

“...”

Dot… Dot... Dot.

Gasp. 

They never imagined this skill level is just that of a layman.

“Y–you’re Flins, am I right?” 

Anleifr stutters before continuing as the tall man nods his head politely. 

“We can’t thank you enough. Perhaps you were a retired chef from a premium restaurant?”

“I consider your question as a praise for my skill. But unfortunately, I’m just a mere guest who picked up basic etiquette from frequent business dinners. I’ve had opportunities to visit quite a few restaurants, so I try to imitate their manner.”

What a fine gentleman. Everyone in the room gasps, including Illuga.

“...Chef, can we invite him to become a member of us? We’re short-handed after all.”

“That can’t be! Sir Flins is a guest, we can’t simply take advantage of his kindness like that!”

“...So what do you think about this offer, Flins?” 

Anleifr promptly asks the blue-haired man before Illuga can shut his mouth. 

“You seem to be the type to have a lot on your plate. We’re just joking, no need to be pressured, haha!”

Flins is in deep thought.

…He really considers it?

Everyone gasps. 

“Hello, Sir?” Rollon waves his hand in front of the taller man’s face to snap him out of whatever is inside his mind. “Anleifr is just saying nonsense, you don’t need to take it so seriously.”

“You don’t have to think that long to say no, it’s just a harmless joke,” Illuga speaks for them. “We still owe you. Whenever you’re free, do visit us so we can treat you to a meal.”

“Actually…” 

Flins’ nonchalant voice fills the room. 

“...I’m about to accept the offer. I’ll work at this restaurant until you can find suitable applicants to fill the position. I’m only in deep thought to decide my shift.”

Silence.

Are you freaking serious?????

Even the least expressive person in this room, Bjorn, is showing bewilderment on his face. Not in a bad way to be specific.

“...You really agree to become our staff?” Illuga asks for confirmation.

“Yes.”

“...No need to check for salary or anything else?”

“There’s no need, you can pay me at the bare minimum.”

Shock.

“...What about the shift? Which days are you available?

“I’m available everyday this month,” Flins’ hand lifts his chin in deep thought. “But next month I won’t be available for some weeks due to my working schedule. Until then, you should have enough time to hire more personnel… So from now on, I’ll cover whichever days you're short on. Does it sound good?”

Shock. 

Is this a fairy descending from tales to save us?

Illuga and his men feel like sobbing as if they may cry, and tears stream down their faces like waterfalls. They swear Flins should have wings behind his back to look like a fairy. The most generous and selfless fairy they have ever known (Flins’ outfit is black and gloomy, so he won’t fit as a standard fairy. But who cares when this gentleman is their lifetime saviour? They all agree internally that Flins should have his own honored category).

“It’s even beyond good, you’re our savior!” 

Illuga beams, and Flins again bathes in the brightest light radiating from that precious smile.

“Everyone, formation!” 

The head chef commands, followed by Anleifr and Rollon on his left, Bjorn on his right. Illuga wraps his arms around their neck.

“Sir Flins, welcome you to Lightkeepers Recipe!” 

The young man wraps tighter, and he can feel the other members also colling their arms the same way. 

“We usually hold a little welcome party for new members, but things get a bit hectic this time. So let’s just leave it for now, alright?”

Flins stares at the silver-haired man, at his sincere smile and the others as their laughter fills the room. Just like how a group greets their new friend to join the joyous party. Just like how a family celebrates a reunion after dozens of years.

The four people then return their gaze to Flins as if wanting him to join the embrace. 

As Flins moves closer and wraps his arms around them, Illuga can see through the corner of his eyes. 

A genuine smile is painted on those thin lips. And Flins’ voice again echoes.

“This warm welcome is already more than enough.” 

Only Illuga and Flins are staying at the restaurant.

A few minutes ago, Anleifr, Rollon and Bjorn offered to clean until the very end. Yet their chef was worried about their sleep-deprived state (it was already long past 2 A.M.), so he forced them to leave, or else he would cut their shift tomorrow. Three people reluctantly obeyed, with the only condition being that Flins must stay here to help their tired chef. Despite the continuous objections from the young man, Flins agrees to stay. And the three were relieved to end their shift.

Anleifr’s reminder is still echoed in Flins’ mind.

“Flins, please keep an eye on Illuga. Whenever your advice can’t reach his stubbornness, just punching him hard in the stomach,” He quotes just like how Anleifr stressed the word punching and hard. “It’s even more effective than words. He’ll have a niceee and longgg rest until morning without any care.”

Of course, Flins will never do that to anyone, let alone hurt this kind man. Yet, he feels like it is better to make a mental note on this unwilling method.

“Sir Flins, you still haven’t eaten yet,” Illuga’s soft voice breaks the silence. “I can make something light for you.”

“Thank you for your consideration, but I’m not hungry.”

In fact, Flins is not that hungry. 

The tall man did not know the reason, but his hunger already dissipated as soon as he saw Illuga in the restaurant. Watching the young man work hard, sweat rolling down his forehead and cheek and neck, determined eyes still shine bright like stars despite the heavy workload. 

Simple, but it already fills Flins’ empty stomach with unfamiliar feelings. His belly seems to be tickled by a swarm of butterflies whenever he looks at Illuga.

So yes, Flins is already full.

The gentleman is also concerned about Illuga’s condition. He needs to rest.

“That won’t do. Skipping meals isn’t a healthy habit.” Illuga scowls. “Especially for a busy person like Sir Flins, you’ll experience dizziness and low concentration. Tomorrow is workday, isn’t it?”

“You seem to be talking about yourself, Mr. Illuga.” Flins lowers his head to meet the chef’s gaze. “You must’ve skipped both your breakfast and lunch today, am I right?”

Exactly. Illuga gasps. How did you know?

“...I just don’t have time, things have been busy for me lately.”

A head chef but can’t take care of his own stomach. How ironic.

“No more talking. You, sit down here!” 

The young man tries to break free from their close distance. Flins’ face is literally an inch from him. 

“Let me cook–”

As he turns around, Illuga feels dizzy. His head spins like tornado, vision is clouded by a mix of colors blending in together. 

Illuga slips.

He falls.

His back is about to smash the floor.

A pair of strong arms catches him immediately.

“Your body has long passed its limit. Please get some rest.”

It is Flins who saved him from the dangerous fall. 

Without those firm arms, Illuga’s back would have been slapped by the floor. The cold wooden panel would have kissed his head, and blood would have spurted out as if they were watching horror movies where the protagonist was dead for whatever silly reason. 

Phew.

Illuga sighs in relief. Yet, his body soon tenses as he feels those gentle arms embracing him, tighter and tighter to not let him fall.

His body is again an inch, or even closer to Flins’ chest. Only a few more millimeters and their chests will bump against each other. Illuga can feel tender heat radiating from Flins’ clothes, the roughness of his pale skin as Flins grabs one of his arms to stay still. Cool air wafts on his face as Flins takes his heavy breath, tickling his face every time the tall male inhales and exhales.

Their eyes lock. 

Illuga stares directly at the pair of yellow pupils above him, intense and mesmerizing under the restaurant's dim light. 

The young man instantly stands up and regains his position to shake off those strange thoughts flooding his mind.

“You again saved me, I don’t know what to say.” 

Illuga scratches his head, then bows so low as if his head would touch the ground. 

“I’m so sorry for not being able to treat you to a proper meal.”

“That’s not your fault. Please stand up straight.” 

The blue-haired man places his hands on both Illuga's shoulders for reassurance. 

“Don’t apologize for everything, young man. You should learn how to protect yourself as well.”

“...Please grow up well, Illuga.”

 

“Mom and Dad will always protect you, but you have to learn how to protect yourself without us.”

 

“We will always love you, our dear son.”

Illuga's head again feels dizzy.

“...”

“Let me help you up. Would you like me to call you a ride home?”

“I’m good for now,” Illuga grabs Flins’ hand to stand still. “I just need to sleep a bit. Please get me to the sofa over there.”

This means the chef frequently stays overnight at this restaurant alone. No wonder his men suggest Flins punch Illuga until the young man is knocked out, or else this workaholic will stay up late until the sun rises.

The tall man slowly steadies Illuga to the sofa and lets him sit on the soft surface. As Illuga lies down, he sees Flins rush to somewhere and returns with his suitcase. Taking out a thick black coat, Flins wraps it around the young man and adjusts it to fully cover his body.

“I couldn’t find anything to serve as a pillow, so just use my coat for now.”

“That’s all I need, I already cause you too much trouble in a day,” Illuga instinctively curls up in the warm coat.

He feels safe. 

“I already told you not to apologize, and that goes for feeling guilty as well.” 

Flins smiles softly, his hand tucks away a silver hair strand covering Illuga’s eyes.

“The former chef isn’t that formal. He’s quite carefree yet ambitious and kind, just like you.”

“Sir Flins, this isn’t your first visit to this place, is it? How could you know about the ‘Master’ title that only I and my staff know? And you even repeated the secret messages of ours from years ago without a single error.”

“Indeed, I’ve been here before, and I was even a regular customer of Sir Nikita.”

So he does know Old Man Nikita.

“...Glad to know that.” 

Illuga blinks his pretty eyes several times before continuing. 

“By the way, you know both Old Man Nikita and me, is it awkward for you to call both of us Master?”

“I thought about it once, and I have already figured out the solution…”

Flins grins. So freaking gorgeous. 

“…Since you belong to the next generation, I’ll call you Young Master. Does that work?”

“...I’m the leaf nearest to you, aren’t I?”

“Rest assured, Young Master, we’ll all make landfall together.”

Unfamiliar voice lines keep repeating inside his mind as if Illuga is playing a recording tape. The mysterious yet gentle voice at the end is undoubtedly Flins’ voice, yet he is sure that gentleman has never said such things to Illuga. 

And his heart skips a beat whenever the phrase ‘Young Master’ appears. 

As if it were an irreplaceable part of Illuga’s name. 

As if it were natural for Flins to call him by this title.

Illuga intends to ask the blue-haired man for this strange memory, yet a loud yawn escapes him before he can voice his question.

He wants to sleep.

“That’s a great idea! I hope you will meet my Dad soon, he must still remember you.” Illuga wraps the black coat tighter. 

“If you want to head out, just open the door. I’m crashing here, bye, Sir Flins.”

“Have a good night, Young Master.”

The mild scent of the tall man emitting from his coat slowly lures Illuga to his slumber.

Chapter Text

Resting his back against the wall, Flins tilts his head to greet the former chef of Lightkeeper Recipe - Nikita Starshyna.

.

.

Thirty minutes ago…

Illuga was sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

The front door opened.

A man long beyond his middle age walked in. Wearing a dark colored leather hat and a thick jacket, Nikita shook his head in defeat, both hands on his hips.

“Sigh… You again sleep here?”

Thanks to the father's instinct, Nikita made a quick call to Bjorn and was informed that Illuga was still staying at the restaurant even after his shift. There was a brief mention of a blue-haired gentleman, but Nikita didn’t pay much attention to that detail.

His eyes captured an oversized thick coat wrapping around the silver-haired man. 

Whose was that?

“It has been so long since we last met. My pleasure to see you again, Sir Nikita.”

The voice echoing from nowhere nearly made the former chef jump out of his skin. 

“F—Flins? Why are you here?”

“We can continue our conversation outside,” Flins whispered as he glanced at Illuga furrowing his brow and nuzzling deeper into his coat.

Nikita nodded, and they went outside.

.

.

“I heard that your museum is already under construction. How long does it take?”

“You never know. But it should be soon.”

“I guess so. Best of luck then!” Nikita pats the taller man’s shoulder. “Finally, you can fulfill your family’s dream.”

“And my dream also,” Flins slightly bows, one hand on his chest, the other behind his back. “Please accept my sincere gratitude, Sir Nikita. If not for you and your restaurant twenty years ago, there wouldn't be me today.”

“Just drop your formalities! You were just telling stories, and I only listened to and gave some simple advice.”

“Do I look like someone who would dare to brush away the person they are indebted to?” The blue-haired man mocks, yet it can’t hide away the sincerity in his tone. “Yes, it was simple, yet not anyone could do that basic act of attentively listening to others like you, Nikita Starshyna.”

“Ha ha, I know it! That’s why I said it’s a shame Illuga didn’t continue the restaurant’s tradition. He’s my adoptive son, you must’ve known him already, haven’t you?”

“He is indeed a promising talent, let alone undertaking the role of a head chef with such youthful enthusiasm. I’ve no right to judge or complain about him.”

Genuine praises send the former chef over the moon. He is so proud to hear such compliments about his beloved child. 

As usually composed as he is, the sight of Nikita sighing heavily and pouring out his heart to Flins is rare.

“Cooking and witnessing others’ smiles have always been Illuga’s dream since he was a toddler. You must still remember… Twenty years ago, I kept yapping about him every time you came to the restaurant. Even after you have only visited once or twice a year, I still somehow bring my son into our conversation until you can’t help but shake your head, haha.”

And Flins chuckles.

.

.

Twenty years ago, the time his parents passed away, a young adult Flins was burdened with unbearable responsibility. After a single day, he inherited the family business, while hundreds of people were awaiting his decision. Without a doubt, the heir was capable of organizing the funeral and pulling the business out of a crisis.

Yet, he was just pretending to be fine. How could a person be sane after handling such heavy duty on his back?

In an attempt to relieve the stress, Flins had the habit of eating alone at midnight. Or even long after midnight. 

During one of his business trips to Yec-Smai, the young heir wandered around the street to forget his recent failed negotiation. 

1 A.M. And this was the only available restaurant. The signboard with white neon letters captured his attention.

Lightkeepers Recipe

Illuminating Your Taste More Than Any Torch

Lightkeepers? 

It piqued his curiosity. Who had the right to keep the light like that? How could they ‘illuminate’ customers’ taste with such a mere bowl of soup? 

The alluring aroma of hotpot blended in with the faint woody scent of the door as Flins entered.

It was not crowded. In fact, he was the only customer. He saw no waiters or cashiers except for a lone man preparing the dish at the kitchen counter. 

If so, why was that man still cooking? For who?

Nikita Starshyna, the former head chef, tilted his head to greet the newcomer. 

“I hope the restaurant still receives customers,” Flins surely recalled the ‘Open’ door sign.

“Yes. Please choose the cooking ingredients and hand them to me for the broth,” Nikita instructed, eyes unreadable. “Let me have a guess. You didn’t seem to come here for a simple dish, did you?”

“...I was wondering who you were preparing for, given how empty the restaurant is. I mean no offense, because the aroma is truly appealing.”

“That’s a great question.” The chef lets out a chuckle. “This hotpot was made to remember the long-lost souls who ascended long ago.”

The vague answer didn’t satisfy Flins’ curiosity. Yet, Nikita continued, his green eyes pierced through the tall customer.

“...But that isn’t the answer to my question of what you’re looking for when coming to this place… You want to share a story, or simply find a place to forget.”

“It must be my natural talent, but I can see true emotion hidden behind every customer’s eyes, including you. And your story… It’s one of unbearable pressure, piling up on your shoulders until you start to wonder how long it will take to bury you alive.”

The chef gestured for Flins to come over to a seat near the kitchen counter.

“The choice is for you to make. I’ll hear your story clearly and provide my perspective, and in turn, you’ll be treated to a meal.” Nikita laughs. “Of course, you don’t have to pay, considering it’s a firstcomer offer! Rest assured, a scammer won’t be this generous.”

What kind of self-destructive business was this? 

“Sir, you’re quite confident of yourself,” the blue-haired man mocks. “How can you assume that there'll be a second time I come here?”

“Because you have decided to enter this restaurant. And I believe your story can’t be explained in just one late night…

…After all, Lightkeepers must live up to their mission of guiding the lost souls, dead or alive, to where they belong.” 

Flins smirked. So that was what Lightkeepers meant.

He had never shared his burden with anyone except for his blue lantern in his room (yes, he had been talking to a lantern since he was young. It was Flins’ most favourite birthday present from his parents before their business declined, given how exclusive and ridiculously expensive those other gifts were. Whenever he shared his unspeakable worry, its flickering blue light soothed his heart.) 

However, talking to an object wasn’t different from talking to yourself.

He was still fighting alone.

Perhaps he should give this chef a chance.

“I’m quite intrigued. However, I’d like to be sure you truly understand what your customers want. Taste is still the core of a restaurant, let alone your mission is to illuminate my taste… 

…Since I’m a newcomer, might you suggest any ingredients that fit my story?”

What a tricky guest, Nikita gasped. 

“Then… I’ll recommend green vegetables like bok choy, cabbage, or sweet leaf… Mushrooms can be a good choice since we do have Enoki and Shiitake mushrooms… I won’t suggest too much protein at this late hour, but you may give it a try. The meat and seafood are freshly made.”

And Flins laughed. A satisfying one.

The chef was simply listing all the ingredients on the counter, some of which are even Flins’ least favourite food.

Yet, it showed that the man was truly passionate and sincere.

Flins followed Nikita’s recommendation, including his suggestion for the soup. He was sure the taste was exceptional, yet his mind already drifted to the story he shared. The relief he felt after pouring out his heart couldn’t use words to explain. 

For an eternity, Flins was listened to. By a stranger he met just thirty minutes ago.

Naturally, he came to the restaurant the second time, third time, fourth time, and so on. (Of course he paid in full, even for the first meal despite Nikita's endless refusal.)

From his frequent visit, as a way of equivalent exchange, Flins offered to hear the chef’s life. And the blue-haired man was able to glean the entire story.

Nikita Starshyna used to be a warrior. Ironically, he was one of the sole survivors of his squad after undertaking a kamikaze mission. Even long after the war ended, he was still alive and fell into survivor guilt. 

And this restaurant was his savior. 

The former chef before Nikita’s generation did the same thing, simply listening to his nonsense and providing his outsider’s perspective. Yet, those story sessions healed his scarred heart, urging him to continue living for the sake of the fallen comrades. 

Years later, Nikita applied to become a waiter, then upskilling to be a head chef. He wanted to preserve this tradition and somehow guided the long lost just like him out of the emotional jail. Whenever he missed his comrades, Nikita would prepare a large hotpot late at night as a way to commemorate.

This restaurant’s concept was unusual but not that difficult to comprehend, Flins commented. 

Ordinary people, commonly attracted by the taste and willingly continuing as regulars, were, as mentioned, ordinary customers.

However, visitors who did come and return for a different service, like this blue-haired gentleman, were ‘peculiar customers’. At one time, they wished for someone, anyone to hear them. Elation, misery, bragging, babbling. Whatever the topics. Whatever the meanings behind those monologues. This place listened and accepted them. At one time, those customers craved stories other than their own, to escape or freshen their minds, or to have a bedtime story before getting caught up in the vortex of life.

The chef was the one and only listener, and whoever required this service had to book beforehand a seat near the kitchen counter. And this resulted in another genius idea: the chef would match people with similar stories to be at the same tables. ‘Peculiar customers’ had wonderful chances to greet their emotional soulmates rather than this lame old man, while the chef himself could manage both his cooking and additional service. 

Two birds one stone.

Simply put, Lightkeepers Recipe’s theme was a form of psychological therapy. 

Seeming unrelated to appetite’s behaviours, yet it solves the mainspring of customers’ lack of appetite: pent-up emotions before meals. The constant conversations they engaged in, accompanied by active listening and mutual respect, would miraculously cure their loss of appetite, and thus, bring in individual flavors for each customer.

People facing psychological problems tended to visit late at night, and were more willing to open their, the restaurant remained open long after midnight, and even occasionally extended its hours into the early mornings.

Truly living up to the title of "Lightkeepers."

.

.

“Why laughing?”

“Just reminiscing about the old times,” Flins sighs. “And realizing we’re old.”

“Such nonsense! We grow old on the outside, yet what matters is staying young at heart. Saying that yourself, but you don’t look aging at all, Flins.”

Pair of green eyes briefly scans the gentleman.

“You seem just like the old days, or even better if I have to admit. Must be happy to be blessed with such a charming appearance.”

“I’ll gladly accept your compliment.” Not a trace of modesty is found in his sentence. Truly a man brimming with confidence, nothing the same as how he was with the silver-haired boy. 

“Please continue with our previous conversation. Why did your son decide to discontinue this restaurant’s tradition?”

“He just doesn’t believe in his ability when it comes to people.” Nikita sighs for the nth time. “Illuga is confident in everything else as long as it connects with his professionals, like studying or culinary skills. But understanding emotions? Illuga always shakes his head in refusal. He said he didn’t even understand his own feelings, let alone anyone else’s.

…Perhaps his past still has a hold on him.”

Ever since finding the poster and the restaurant's name, Flins could expect Illuga to be the children in Nikita's stories. 

Again, replaying their old times, the blue-haired man also gleaned another story about Nikita and his children. Or rather, his first adoptive son.

According to Nikita, the child had lost both parents in a traffic accident since he had only known how to speak for months. Amidst the smoke and flame, his Dad and Mom had shielded him in their final moments, so he survived. 

His physical body is mostly unharmed, save for two or three large scars etched across his small body.

No matter what it took, the boy had been alive.

A miracle, indeed.

A few months after this brutal incident, Nikita first met Illuga. That day, Nikita went to the hospital to treat a burn on his arm (as expected of a chef, even professionals still struggle to keep their arms safe and sound). As he was walking, young Nikita spotted a small child crying, sitting on the pavement, his body marred with scars.

And it turned out, the boy had been running from the nurses.

He was looking for his parents.

He couldn’t find them.

…

Nikita coaxed him for a while, pulling out a small handkerchief and wiping away his tears before finding the nurse responsible for this wounded little soul. He asked the nurses about the situation, and he learned the heartbreaking truth. The hospital had been planning to send the child to an orphanage.

Nikita refused, of course.

Who would have let this fragile soul fall into unknown hands, let alone spoken to the nurses who had abandoned this child, leaving him crying until he was nearly faint - trembling figure, puffy eyes, clammy cheeks, swollen lips from biting - and it was even Nikita, an outsider, who figured this out and brought him back?

He would take care of the boy himself.

And just like that, he began taking more and more young long-lost souls. Nikita wanted, at the very least, to give them a place they could call home. 

That was the beginning of “xxx Fireplace”, an orphanage established and sponsored by Nikita, and soon Lightkeepers Recipe’s members.

Flins still recalled the way Nikita rambled on the ‘ordeals’ of raising children. Never in his life had the chef struggled this much, from daily routines to throwing tantrums. For Illuga’s case, it was how stubborn the silver-haired child was. Each time Nikita rushed around in a panic to find the young boy, Illuga was found crying alone. It wasn’t to the point of Illuga hurting himself with objects, yet as a father, Nikita had the full right to worry.

During certain meet ups, Nikita asked Flins for advice to deal with the young boy and his distress, knowing full well that the gentleman was still single and hadn’t engaged much with children. Yet, Flins still gave his perspectives of the matter, and Nikita still followed the advice. Since the chef was always busy, his words often came in short careless bursts. However, whenever he spoke about the boy, his green eyes sparkled with intense emotions.

Twenty years ago, Flins used to visit the restaurant often. About ten years later, those visits became less frequent due to the nature of his work.

And then, he hadn’t set foot here again until now.

…

As Flins stopped his overflowing recollection, he realized how cruel time was, and how he has become more mature.

And how that young boy he has only ever heard of from Nikita, had grown into someone so composed and talented, even becoming a head chef, following his adoptive father’s footsteps.

To be fair, Illuga’s skills have yet to surpass Nikita’s. But given time, he would undoubtedly outdo the former headchef.

“…Flins, are you even listening?”

“Yes, I’m still all ears. We’re talking about how his past still haunted him until today...”

The gentleman pauses, his yellow eyes are unreadable, as if he were replaying his brief time spending with Illuga, of how the young man has always been youthful, passionate, resilient, and well-mannered. 

“…It must’ve been a hard time for the Young Master to endure such emotions bottling up in his chest.”

“H—huh, Young Master?” Nikita asks incredulously. “Where did that come from?”

Nonetheless, he rubs his chin, thinking of the supposed origin of that Young Master, before nodding in approval. 

“Speaking of which, it does fit Illuga. I should also call him with that title too—“

“No, you won’t. His Young Master will be irritated to the point of never speaking to you ever again. After all, he doesn’t want to be looked down on as a child anymore.”

“Make sense… But what about you? What makes you the only one who can call my child like that?”

“Who knows?” Flins grins mysteriously.

The blue-haired man doesn’t really know where this possessiveness comes from. Yet, his intuition tells him that Young Master indeed belongs to Illuga alone, and that only he can speak to him with such adoration. 

For some unknown reason, the title naturally slips from his lips, as if he had repeated it thousand upon thousand times before.

Warmth.

Familiarity.

…Affection.

And his unwavering heart somehow beats faster and faster whenever he witnesses Illuga’s reactions. He again recalls a few minutes ago, the moment he first addressed the current chef as Young Master. The way his red and blue pupils glittered as if numerous stars had woven into an eternal galaxy beneath those eyes. The way his lips twitched as if saying something before involuntarily closing. The way his body slightly trembled. The way Illuga seemed more vulnerable at hearing his voice.

And the way Illuga’s earnest beaming never fails to soothe his heart.

It makes Flins want to do whatever it takes to protect that precious smile.

“But you still haven’t told me why you suddenly came back to this place, Flins.”

“…Perhaps it’s fate,” Flins replies vaguely and picks up his suitcase. “I’ll be coming here more often. See you around, sir.”

“Wait, leaving already? What about your coat?”

“It’s of no concern. I already left a note telling Illuga to keep it until my return… Make sure you take good care of him.”

With that, Flins walks away.

“Still as strange as ever. Don’t you ever come back!” It's a joke between old friends, of course.

As the blue-haired man strides forward, Flins remembers his empty stomach and sore limbs. The only proper meal he had all day was the one served on the plane, and the only time he could rest was during that brief metro ride with Illuga.

Yet, he doesn’t feel tired in the slightest.

Beyond overlapping rows of buildings, the sun gently unveils its first light, tearing apart the tranquil night.

Cutting through the dawn, Flins mumbles.

He should rearrange his schedule to make some space for his job at Lightkeepers Recipe.

Sliding the front door, Nikita returns to the restaurant. It has been so long since he last met the young man.

His green eyes are greeted with the sight of Illuga snoring and drooling on Flins’ thick coat. Silver hair is clammy from sweat, yet Illuga’s face shows no sign of discomfort. Quite the opposite, both arms clutch the black overcoat, small nose buries deeper and deeper as if the scent were a remedy to cure his sleep.

His big hand finds Illuga, carefully stroking the silver hair to not wake him up. 

“...My age and duty at the orphanage have caused me to retire from my position, and indirectly caused you too much trouble. I’m so sorry, and thank you for sharing my burden, Illuga.” His eyes soften at seeing Illuga unconsciously leaning into his hand.

Yet, those green pupils again notice Illuga’s body curling into the black coat for warmth. 

“I bet that blue-haired guy is more than just a normal guest to you, right son?”

The old chef can’t see Illuga’s lips because of the coat covering them, yet he’s sure the young man is smiling.

“I’m counting on him to bring you happiness. Don’t you dare hurt Illuga, or else I’ll kill you, Flins.”

Nikita even repeats his warnings in his head several times later, until he’s sure the blue-haired man would sneeze more than three times on his way home.

Adjusting the coat to fully cover Illuga’s body, the former chef stands up and walks away. Closing the door, Nikita feels so relieved.

Because from now on, both Flins and Illuga aren’t lonely anymore.