Yuram: The Enigmatic Eatery - 2 -
In front of a certain restaurant in Hamel where people were lined up for ages.
Three folks who looked plenty suspicious no matter who saw them were sitting on a bench, waiting their turn. A man in a brown coat. A man in butler garb. And...
"Eeeeek!! Gimme that!"
...a woman bickering with a little kid.
They gave off an atmosphere that was anything but ordinary as they waited in line.
Ahem.
I cleared my throat and eyed the man clutching a paper ticket marked 12. "Boss."
"I'm analyzing right now, so don't talk to me."
I pressed on despite Malik's firm refusal. There was something more important than his analysis—embarrassment.
Bracing for a scolding, I asked Malik, "Why'd you stick that weird mustache on your face?"
"...Ah, the mustache, huh."
Thrilled that I'd recognized his disguise, Malik flashed a light smile and answered, "It's camouflage."
"That?"
"Yep."
His outfit screamed suspicious to anyone with eyes. Brown coat, sunglasses, fake mustache—Malik looked like he could get hauled off by the guards any second without raising an eyebrow.
"You look way too shady."
"..."
"We're not exactly industrial spies or anything. It's just weird."
Malik took off his sunglasses and asked—was it really that weird?
"That bad?"
"Yeah."
"The mustache too?"
"It makes you look even weirder."
"...My staff said it was perfect. They loved it."
"They can't exactly tell the boss it sucks, can they?"
"..."
His carefully prepared disguise a bust, Malik looked disappointed as he peeled off the sloppy fake mustache.
"It's really that bad?"
Still clinging to it halfway, he hesitated with the mustache in hand. I nodded firmly. "Yes."
Malik was bummed.
The line was long. We had at least forty minutes before our turn, with a ton of people waiting.
Popular.
Not quite Forest's Friend levels, but a seriously long wait. It didn't match Hamel's vibe of eat quick and get back to work, so I turned to Malik, puzzled. "Lots of people."
"Yeah."
"How long since it opened?"
"Two weeks. Opened while you were up north."
"Two weeks?"
I looked up at the shop.
[Restaurant: Yuram]
Nothing special about the sign or the plain interior. Not a ton of staff either. Table turnover wasn't fast, it wasn't huge, no standout menu items. Why the crowd at a place like this? Even with the opening buzz, this was too much. I shot Malik a questioning look. "Way too many people. The post-opening hype should've died down by now."
"Right?"
Malik nodded, watching customers head inside. "That's why I wanted to come. Curious why a nothing-special spot's packed."
"Hurting your profits?"
"Nah, different crowd, no losses. Just feels like there's something to learn. I bulldozed with capital, but I don't get the grassroots stuff."
"Hmm..."
I shrugged at the menu board visible through the glass.
Plain as plain gets.
If they'd smuggled a capital tteokbokki recipe, sure—but the food was utterly ordinary. Salads, risotto, steak, bread. No reason for this frenzy. Sighing at the unsolved mystery, I glanced down at the Young Lady munching chocolate.
"Young Lady."
"Yeah."
"Where'd you get the chocolate?"
She pointed at a kid crying on the street. "Snatched it from him."
"Ooh."
"Asked nicely, and he handed it over."
"That's straight-up robbery, isn't it?"
She beamed proudly. "That's a skill too."
"True talent."
I nodded, praising her for teaching the kid about society's rules. Spoil a child too much, and they'd turn into someone blaring air raid sirens every morning.
"You badmouthed me inside."
"...How'd you know?"
"Your eyes."
"Sharp as ever."
I stuffed chocolate in her mouth to shut her up. No winning a war of words with the Young Lady. True butler spirit.
"Eek..."
Sugar hit, she smiled and nodded. Waiting till her mood lifted, I ventured carefully, "Young Lady."
"Mm."
"Think this place'll be good?"
"Dunno."
"Smells tasty? Or nah?"
She scowled at me. "Ricardo."
"Yes."
"I'm not a dog."
Fair point.
Time ticked on. Folks ahead went in, new ones joined behind. Enough time passed to give the crying kid back a chocolate bar. Finally, the long wait ended.
Time to work as industrial spies.
*
Clink.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Clink.
The table echoed with silent torment of plates. We sliced the meat on our dishes, awkward smiles hiding our hunger.
What to say? Tasty enough, but bland. Not quite hotspot material—too many shortcomings. A notch above local spots, I cleared my plate with a forced grin.
"Eeeeek..."
Parked in Fairy Engine No. 1, the Young Lady stabbed her knife in rage, venting.
"It's raw..."
"Looks like it's mooing."
"Boss..."
Clang. Fork down, eyes blazing, she glared at the busy server, lips twitching.
"Eeeeek..."
I covered her mouth with a smile. "Patience, Young Lady."
"Can't. I said well-done, and they served a live cow!"
"Order mix-up, probably. I'll get it recooked. Mercy this once?"
"Eeeeeek!"
Her face was terrifying. Steak set her off like nothing else—she huffed, barely containing herself.
Staring at the kitchen seriously, she declared logically, "They're assassinating me."
I calmed her—knife in hand, eyes aflame—and eyed the plate.
Not good.
Bluntly, it wasn't tasty. Maybe my palate's spoiled from the best, but not worth the wait.
Malik too. Plate empty, he dabbed his lips and nodded. "Weird."
"..."
"Not great, not bad."
"Exactly."
"Yeah. Portions decent, but not dirt cheap."
Malik chuckled dryly. "Not the taste, not the price... Interesting."
Food-obsessed as ever, he grinned, tasting the sauce, then nodded. "Ricardo."
"Yes."
"Figure out why it's popular?"
I hedged. Honestly stumped. If this cooking won hotspot status, I could too. No good answer.
"No clue. Mine'd taste better, so nothing to say."
"Hm."
Malik held up three fingers, eyeing me. "Seen three cases of bad food succeeding."
One. "Insane connections."
Two. "Celebrity-owned."
Three—he stared at the kitchen intently—"Pretty owner."
"Pardon?"
"This feels like the last one."
Malik set down his napkin and subtly signaled a server.
And.
"Eek?!"
The Young Lady's plate snatched, underdone steak pointed out. World crumbling, she clenched her fists—Fairy Engine No. 1 prepping to grill—but Malik ignored her and told the server, "Steak's raw."
"Ah! Sorry! I'll replace it now!"
Malik waved firmly at the flustered server. "No. Get the owner."
"Pardon?"
"Can't stand it as a fellow food biz pro."
He offered a tip. "Won't badmouth. Promise."
Five minutes later, a woman returned with a fresh steak, bowing to Malik. "Sorry for the trouble. Server messed up the order... Any menu item, on the house."
Malik eyed her. "...You're the owner?"
She slipped off her mask, swept back her hair, and nodded. "Yes, that's me."
Familiar. Like I'd seen her before. Age showed, but her beauty hadn't faded. Who is she?
Watching her chat with Malik, I racked my brain.
Then a soft mutter from beside me clicked it.
"Mihail..."
Mihail.
I knew instinctively. This was Mihail's mother.
Her name never dropped in the novel, but knowing the story and ending, I got it. The woman before me was the one tied to a reunion where smiles were impossible. The protagonist of that heartbreaking tale.