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Sesshoumaru tried to hide his displeasure as the board members of Terau poured him yet another cup of sake. The food hadn't even arrived yet, but they were already on their way to staggering out the main doors once the meal had concluded.
It was supposed to be a simple contract, but their CEO had noticed the severe lack of human employees at Sesshoumaru's company. While she didn't hold it against him, especially with how long it had been running, the peacock hanyou wasn't convinced Ongonshoku Industries had their best interests at heart.
Sesshoumaru had been tempted to remind Mitousu that her own company had their fair share of youkai employees, but as Terau was a better mix than his own, he decided a gentler approach was an order. It was meant to be a merger, not a hostile takeover, so the usual battle tactics wouldn't work.
Which was why they were all seated around a table at a human-owned restaurant. Aoitori hadn't been anything at first—a mere pop-up café that sold handcrafted cookies—but as the lines improved, so did its reputation, and soon an expansion had been the only option.
His mother had gushed about the delicacies, and though he'd never partaken, he knew better than to go against her wishes. So, Ongonshoku Industries had become a silent investor. There were so many that he'd honestly lost track, but his mother would call him every month to ensure he made the transaction himself. He'd made sure to keep his name out of it, as it was more her investment than anything, but the last thing he needed was the owner begging for more.
"I was surprised you picked this place," Mitousu mused, raising her cup in silent cheers. "I didn't know you had a sweet tooth."
Sesshoumaru returned the gesture, the Sakura blossom at the bottom of his cup easing the liquid down his throat. "It came as a recommendation from my mother."
Mitousu's eyes lit up. "How is Hizuki-san? I hear Paris loves her."
He couldn't hold back his snort. "Paris loves her spending habits," he corrected.
Mitousu took it all in stride, brushing her blue hair out of her eyes. "I'm sure there are many countries that welcome her with open arms."
"Indeed." The conversation moved to the menu. Their meal would be several courses, with small palate-cleansing desserts in between. Sesshoumaru bit his tongue as Mitousu read over each course. He wasn't a food connoisseur by any means, so the pairing of specific flavours meant little to him. He was here on business. If the silly little desserts sweetened the deal, then so be it.
The first course was the same, regardless of the menu you chose, and came with their sake. The second was set in front of them shortly after confirming their selections with the server. Sesshoumaru eyed him carefully, trying to discern whether they were being given special treatment. He made a point of avoiding the media as much as possible, but his name was well-known enough throughout the corporate circles.
What was the point of a legacy if it was hidden under a false identity?
The nimono arrived in brightly coloured porcelain, the simmered flavours melding together with their sake. Sesshoumaru was slightly taken aback as he lifted the lid, expecting there to be more flourish. He winced at the thought of Terau's CEO thinking he'd scrimped on their meal, but she leaned closer, inhaling deeply.
"The chef must be an old soul," she mused. "Are you sure this place is run by humans?"
Sesshoumaru gave a stiff nod. "Mother swears by it. And by the cooking." He slowly set the lid aside. "I hope it is to your liking." Their dishes were empty before the server could check on them, and he removed them with a smile, replacing the plates with a small cookie in the shape of a plum blossom before mentioning that the next course would be out momentarily.
The design was painstakingly detailed, the edge of the petals differing between his and Mitousu's, indicating that they'd all been made by hand. No one at the table complained, most of the cookies disappearing within a single bite. Sesshoumaru nibbled on the edge, earning him a soft chuckle from the peacock.
"No need to be so uptight, Taisho-san." She leaned closer. "Between you and me, you're doing quite well."
His shoulders relaxed as small plates of sashimi were placed in front of them. "Mother will be pleased you enjoyed her recommendation."
Mitousu smirked. "Which has nothing to do with how eager you are to sign the paperwork." A silver brow raised, and she met it with another cup of sake, then dove into the next course. The pieces were expertly cut, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. The plating was elegant enough, he supposed.
However, the moment the fourth dish was placed in front of him, he found himself hesitating. Each ingredient was arranged with precision, the chestnuts and sweet potatoes reflecting the change in season.
Everything looked succulent, steam rising from the hot companions, but the arrangement caught him off guard. Momiji leaves decorated the plate, scattered around the rest of the ingredients like an autumn day, but the way the chestnuts and sweet potatoes had been cut and arranged gave the bowl a distinct look.
Like a well.
His chopsticks remained on the table, and it wasn't until the rest of the board members sat back in their chairs that he realized he was the only one who hadn't touched his food. Ignoring Mitousu's questioning glance, he dug in, though the initial presentation was never far from his mind.
"I've never had such a decadent hassun course before," the peacock hanyou said, still picking at the crumbs. "Usually, the ingredients are just thrown together on the plate. That was art."
"Hnn." Sesshoumaru continued to stare at the table long after the plate had been removed. He'd barely tasted the miniature mochi. Though the flavours had complemented the previous course, it was the next one that interested him.
Yakimono was the grilled course. There were a thousand types of fish that could be served, and a million different ways they could be prepared. Perhaps the previous course was nothing. Perhaps the lock he'd placed on that part of his life simply wasn't tight enough, and he was projecting.
That had to be it.
Movement out of the corner of his eye signalled the server's return, and several dishes were placed at the opposite end of the table. Even with his youkai abilities, he didn't dare try to inspect the plates from so far away. It would only get his hopes up.
When the server finally made his way around to Sesshoumaru and Mitousu, he placed the plates down with a flourish, his description of the course drowned out by the buzzing in Sesshoumaru's ears.
The yakimono course was grilled fish, but it was the way the tail curled around the end of the skewer that had the blood draining from his face. It could've meant nothing, if not for the telltale cuts below the fin to keep it in place.
"I need to speak with the chef," he said, eyes still on his plate.
The server tensed slightly, though his smile didn't waver. "Is there something wrong with the dish, sir? I can replace it—"
"Now," he said, voice sharpening. Mitousu's startled look did nothing to deter him, and the server inclined his head.
"As you wish." Then he scuttled away, one hand clasped tightly behind his back.
"Too much spice?" Mitousu asked, looking at both their dishes to see if there were any significant differences in colouring. "Mine is excellent."
"It is not about the spice," he replied, voice low. "I have had this dish before."
Blue eyebrows rose in question. "Do you think the recipe was stolen?"
"No," he replied firmly. "She has always made it this way."
"She?"
Kagome flicked her head to the side, a habit from when Aoitori was nothing but a pop-up café and she'd spent all of her money on ingredients instead of hairnets. Headbands and barrettes had been the norm, though neither did much to control the mass amount of curls protruding from her head.
No one seemed to care, and she was meticulous enough to make sure nothing ever fell into the food, but now her hair was long enough to pull back into a ponytail, the most unruly curls slicked back with gel or her chef's hat should the occasion call for it.
Most of the time, she stayed hidden away in the kitchen, either ordering the staff around or working on the line herself. It was a slower night, one she could've taken off, but a glance at the reservations showed a large corporate dinner, and handling it herself meant fewer complaints.
Not that her staff couldn't handle it, but she knew these types. They thought themselves better than those working in a restaurant; funny how they were the first to make fun of the food industry when they were the most likely to use its services.
She doubted anyone who worked at Ongonshoku Industries had ever boiled water before.
Rolling her shoulders, she checked the temperature of the miso soup. The futamono course required less scrutiny than the yakimono one, but she wasn't about to give them any reason to question her abilities in the kitchen. She'd yet to have a complaint—her online reviews were off the charts—but this particular menu was so dear to her heart that she hardly ever let anyone else make it.
It was silly, she supposed, to dwell on the past so much, especially since the menu had changed so much over the years. The fact that she now had a restaurant and could serve real food instead of just cookies by the dozen had her heart shining with pride every time she came to work.
Mama had been worried at first, but she'd seen the bento Kagome had put together during the hunt from the shards, so she knew where her passion lay. It was one of the reasons she couldn't get rid of this menu. She was on her way to earning her first Michelin star, but was still serving grilled fish skewers?
Leaning against the counter, she took a moment to breathe. Everyone else bustled around her, plates, ladles, and knives clinking as they dealt with the rest of the dining room. She'd specifically chosen this location so she'd have her own station. When she wasn't on the clock, it remained closed, and she was the only one who was allowed to set it up.
Doing something for herself felt strange. She'd spent so much time worrying about and serving others that she'd latched onto this space the instant she'd seen it. She'd had to ask Gramps for help, but she'd already paid him back in kind. Her name was on the deed; her name would get the Michelin star. Even with the grilled fish skewer still on the menu.
"Hey, chef?"
Chuckling as she checked her watch—she'd managed seven minutes without being bothered this time—she turned around. "What's up, Katsuki?" The young man looked harried, and she immediately stiffened. "What's wrong?"
He rubbed the back of his head. "I don't actually know. The corporate group was all fine and good, but one of the head honchos wants to see you."
Kagome raised a brow, checking the miso again. "Didn't like the fish?" she assumed.
Katsuki shook his head. "Hasn't even tasted it yet."
Her hand tightened around the handle of her knife as it slid through the stalks of green onion. "Then he doesn't get to complain."
"I don't know if he was going to—"
She waved him off. "Tell him I'm busy. If he's really that bent out of shape, then he can submit something in writing."
Katsuki bowed slightly and rushed back into the dining hall. She finished with the garnishes, the line of decorated miso soups ready to go within minutes. She was just covering the last one when Katsuki returned with a stack of plates.
"The next round is ready," she called out as he placed the dirty dishes next to the dishwasher.
Shaking his hands before grabbing a tray, he started piling the bowls in a circle. "Head honcho guy says he'll wait until your shift is done," he said.
Kagome crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. "Seriously? He's that bent out of shape over a fish?"
The man shrugged. "He ate the whole thing. Plate almost looked immaculate when I got back."
"What's his complaint about then?" she pressed.
"Dunno, chef. But he's not taking no for an answer."
Throwing her hands up in the air, she grabbed the ingredients for the next course. "Fine. But I'm not coming out before cleanup is finished."
By the time she'd polished her last knife, her irritation hadn't lifted, and Kagome was in no mood to deal with anyone's shit—least of all, some entitled, self-absorbed CEO with a silver spoon shoved so far up his ass he couldn't appreciate real food.
According to Katsuki, the rest of the corporate execs' meal had gone flawlessly, and he'd tried to get the CEO to communicate why he wanted to see her, but the man refused. "I'll speak to no one but the chef," she mocked under her breath, finally taking off her apron. The restaurant didn't close for another two hours, but there were no more reservations, so her part was done.
She'd been tempted to stomp out into the dining room and throw the scraps into his lap, but since she didn't actually know what his problem was, and she tried to have as few scraps as possible, it seemed a little redundant.
Throwing her apron in the laundry pile, she ducked into her office and shut the door. The soft fragrance of pine and fresh air did much to ease her frustration, giving the illusion of being outside. It was one of the many things she missed from her youth.
As much as she griped about sleeping on the ground, the difference in air quality was unmistakable. Each breath was clean and crisp, filling her lungs with a lightness that she'd never been able to match. Camping trips were as close as she got, but since the opening of the restaurant, she'd been playing catch-up and hadn't been able to get away.
She loved her job. She loved her job. But she also loved being outside. Maybe she could host a barbecue event once things calmed down. A snort escaped as she grabbed a box of Pocky from the secret stash under her desk. It was never going to calm down. That was good, as calm meant less business. And she'd never give up her business.
Not even to corporate execs who made triple her annual salary in a month.
Grabbing her jacket, she covered her face, screaming as loud as she could. The sound was muffled by both her fabric and the shut door, but it was cathartic. Steeling herself, she popped open the Pocky—choco banana flavour today—and downed three pieces. She wasn't super into sweets, but she'd developed an addiction to the treat because of Shippou.
Her little kit had been her biggest supporter when it came to her cooking. The instant ramen was the easiest to make; a pot of hot water at camp was all they needed to get them to the next day. It was light so that she could carry multiple packages in her backpack.
The nights after she came back from the modern era always resulted in the best meals. Inuyasha never gave it a second glance, his face buried in her bag looking for the ramen, much to her chagrin. But Shippou was always willing to try her bento, even when he couldn't name the ingredients.
She wished she'd been able to thank him.
"Don't punch him. Don't punch him," she chanted to herself as she rose from her chair, mind shifting back to the man waiting for her. She didn't know why she was so on edge. She didn't even know this person. Maybe he was about to offer her a catering deal. Maybe he'd gotten impatient and had already left.
Opening her office door, she stuck another Pocky in her mouth. She waved to the staff on the other side of the kitchen, then made her way to the front. Katsuki was doing a sweep of the room, so she headed straight to the table for large parties.
"He hasn't moved since the meal ended," Katsuki called in passing, a pile of dishes in his hands.
Kagome's brows rose before she shook her head. "And he still hasn't told you what he wants?"
Katsuki shook his head. "Maybe he wants an autograph." Rolling her eyes, she braced herself for whatever this confrontation was going to entail. As she turned, Katsuki stole one of her Pocky. "Try not to set him on fire," he said. "He's a daiyoukai."
Kagome's feet froze to the floor, blood draining from her face. "What?" she whispered, but Katsuki was already halfway to the kitchen, leaving her alone in the banquet area. It couldn't even be called that, as it consisted of two large tables separated by a foldable panel in case they served more than one group at a time.
Mouth dry, she stuffed the packet of Pocky into her back pocket and smoothed out her hair, wincing when she realized what she was doing. She couldn't take what Katsuki said to heart; he had no powers whatsoever, so anyone with off-colouring could be considered a daiyoukai.
Even though youkai were fully integrated into society, there was still an air of mystery surrounding them, and it didn't help that those who had humanoid forms were usually really good-looking.
Daiyoukai were basically a myth, having faded into obscurity with the legends of their conquests.
Sighing, Kagome continued her trek to the table. It was foolish of her to get her hopes up. She needed to stay on guard. It was probably some purebred on his high horse who'd found out the restaurant was run by a human.
"I'm Chef Higurashi," she said, rolling her shoulders back. Katsuki-san told me there was a problem with your meal?" The lighting in this area was dimmer—she hated fluorescent bulbs in the first place—and since this was the only party tonight, none of the candles had been lit.
"My problem is not with the food, but with the presentation," came a low reply.
Kagome bristled, forced to clamp down on her temper—and reiki. "I beg your pardon?"
He finally got to his feet, short silver hair gleaming as he stepped into the light, and Kagome's breath caught in her throat. "One would think you would improve over five hundred years."
Everything else faded away; the din from the dining room became a low buzz, the lights blurring around the edges. Breathing became difficult, and she grabbed for the back of a chair as she forced air into her lungs, eyes never leaving his.
"Sesshoumaru?"
The slight incline of his head was the only acknowledgement, but her knees almost went out from under her. She'd been dreaming of this for years, for someone to find her. It hadn't helped that the only available real estate was in Kyoto and nowhere near the shrine, but she'd taken it as a sign to move on.
She'd changed the world enough that youkai could walk around freely. That was enough, right?
Taking another look at him, she knew it wasn't. Long, flowing locks had been shorn to his neck, bangs coiffed to one side. He'd been devastating in pale silk, but the harsh lines of his tailored suit were somehow worse, aging him in a way that only made him more hypnotizing.
He wore a tie, every button in place, and the jacket draped over one arm gave no indication of the warrior that lay beneath.
Kagome knew—knew him for what he was, for what he'd done. The jawline was harsh, the gaze harsher, but it was still him.
She gave him a helpless look, and molten gold hardened, the air around them turning cold as he closed himself off. "Why have you been hiding all this time?" he asked, teeth grinding together.
Kagome visibly flinched. Not where but why. They'd been next to nothing, even at the end. But she was an avid dreamer, and nothing could stop her mind from wandering every time he joined the fight.
"The well," she said, trying to find her voice, "it was a portal. It forced me back after wishing away the jewel." She stepped closer, hands itching to grab his collar. "It hasn't been 500 years. It's only been fifteen." She had to make him understand.
He hadn't moved, but he looked like a wild animal she'd backed into a cage. Slit pupils were thin, staring straight back at her, but she didn't back down. She couldn't.
Eventually, his hand raised, hovering, hesitating, in the space between them before the back of his knuckles brushed the side of her face. He cupped her cheek, and she held her breath as the pad of his thumb dragged across her chin and jaw.
"You are real."
Letting out a choked laugh, she caught his hand, holding it against her cheek. "So are you."
His expression softened as he stepped closer. "I have always been real."
She could smell his cologne now, though that might've just been the lingering scent of her air freshener. They were very similar. Not that she'd noticed. Or had chosen the scent specifically for that reason. "Not according to history books. You're supposed to be a figment of my imagination."
A pale brow rose. "Do you require a refresher?" he asked, voice lowering.
"Oh gods, yes," she replied. A fierce blush stained her cheeks when she realized she'd said that out loud. "That is, if you're willing."
"Anything is possible as long as you are willing to cook the fish." He was still holding her, still savouring.
Kagome finally leaned into the touch, his grip tightening when she nuzzled the inside of his wrist. "Always." He was so tense, youki licking at her heels, and she flicked her tongue out. "I've never been very good at dessert, though."
She caught a flash of ivory fang as he descended. "Allow me, then."
