Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei finds a Freylian

"I'm so, so touched!" Mariko Nakamura's voice trembled. "I've been to bars in Osaka! Could I have your business card?"

Ruri Kazama nodded.

"No problem, it's a pleasure to meet you."

He turned around and walked towards the bar.

The male escorts automatically made way for him, and the humpback whale followed behind, completely excited. The last time he was this excited was when he was nineteen and a customer specifically asked him to accompany them for drinks. Back then, he was so nervous that he spilled the drink on the customer's skirt, thinking his career was over. But the customer found his clumsiness endearing and later became his first regular customer.

"The ingredients here are too meager!" The humpback whale cried out in a panic as it watched Kazama Ruri open the refrigerator. "Quick, quick, go to the freezer! Bring the freshly arrived fish and Koshihikari rice! No, bring all the ingredients over! Master Kazama is about to demonstrate his culinary skills!"

"No need for such a complicated process," Kazama Ruri said softly.

He took several things out of the refrigerator: a box of cocoa powder, a carton of milk, a carton of eggs, and a packet of instant noodles. He arranged these items on the counter.

“I’m not that good at cooking,” he said, rolling up his sleeves to reveal a slender and well-proportioned forearm. “Everyone has misunderstood. I can only fry eggs.”

"My brother taught me."

Kazama Ruri didn't say anything more. He turned on the induction cooker and the coffee machine almost simultaneously, pressing the switch on the induction cooker with his left hand and the button on the coffee machine with his right. He poured the milk into a small saucepan to heat it, then turned around and found half a matsutake mushroom and two shiitake mushrooms in the refrigerator.

The matsutake mushrooms were leftovers from yesterday's matsutake rice; they were a bit dry, with slightly curled edges, but the aroma was still there. He diced the matsutake and shiitake mushrooms. His knife skills weren't amazing, but they were steady; each cut was deliberate, without hesitation or correction. He set the diced mushrooms aside, then picked up an egg and tapped it on the rim of a bowl. With one hand, he cracked the egg, splitting the shell in two, the egg white and yolk sliding perfectly into the bowl without a single piece of shell.

He heated the milk until it was just bubbling, then poured in the cocoa powder and stirred it with a blender. The coffee machine emitted a low hum, and the aroma of coffee began to fill the air around the bar. The small frying pan on the induction cooker was already hot; he cut off a small piece of butter and tossed it in. The butter melted on the hot pan, making a soft sizzling sound, and its aroma rose like a tiny cloud from the surface of the pan.

The moment the egg mixture was poured in, the edges immediately solidified into a ring of golden lace.

He gently stirred the egg mixture with chopsticks, letting the uncooked portion flow to the side of the pan. The egg slowly took shape in the pan, soft and fluffy like a golden cloud. Just before the egg was completely set, he evenly sprinkled diced matsutake and shiitake mushrooms onto the surface, then with a flick of his wrist, the fried egg flipped in the air and landed steadily back in the pan. The mushroom pieces, sandwiched between two layers of tender egg, released their last trace of aroma in the residual heat.

He turned off the induction cooker and turned to prepare the instant noodles. After boiling the water, he used a slotted spoon to quickly cook the noodles in it, taking them out in less than two minutes. He poured the golden noodles into a bowl, seasoned them with seafood soy sauce and chopped green onions, and poured in the boiling broth. The aroma of the green onions was amplified by the steam. He then placed a matsutake mushroom omelet on top, the edges of the omelet slightly curled up, revealing the diced mushrooms inside.

The hot cocoa milk is also ready, with a layer of fine milk foam floating on the surface.

It took less than ten minutes in total.

He placed the tray in front of Mariko Nakamura and bowed slightly.

"please."

Mariko Nakamura picked up her chopsticks, took a small piece of fried egg, and put it in her mouth.

She silently shed tears.

The fried egg was cooked to perfection; I couldn't help but close my eyes after taking a bite. The outer layer of the egg had a very thin layer of caramel color, which fully brought out the aroma of the butter without masking the flavor of the egg itself. The inner layer was so tender that it almost required no chewing; as the yolk melted in my mouth, the aroma of matsutake mushrooms slowly and gracefully emerged.

It wasn't so delicious that it would bring tears to my eyes. The instant noodle soup was a bit too salty, and the cocoa milk was a little too sweet. If it were in a normal breakfast shop, it would just be a passable meal.

But the tears shed by Mariko Nakamura were not those of a food critic.

The tears she shed were tears of joy for "eating the breakfast made by Master Kazama, the dream of countless women." The boy she had watched from afar in the Osaka bar, the legend who had disappeared in Shinsaibashi for three years, the boy she thought she would never see again, was now sitting across from her with a cup of coffee, watching her eat noodles.

She had completely forgotten about apologizing.

All resentment, anger, the grievance of being neglected by Basara King, and the humiliation of having his self-esteem destroyed by Su Enxi in three minutes were thrown to the winds.

Her heart was filled with a pink emotion, an emotion that had no name. If she had to give it a name, it would probably be something like, "I would trade seventeen shops in Ginza for you to fry eggs for me every morning, but I know that's impossible, so it's enough for me to just look at you properly in this moment."

She longed for Kazama Ruri to say a few more words to her. To smile more. Ideally, she'd take out her phone and take a picture together; she wanted to print it out, frame it, and hang it in her office at the largest shop in Ginza, next to the photo of her shaking hands with the Governor of Tokyo.

Kazama Ruri sipped his coffee while watching her eat noodles.

Caesar leaned against the other end of the bar, his face full of black lines.

Within twenty-four hours of arriving in Japan, he suffered a series of blows. First, he had to admit that there were super hybrids in the world more powerful than him. And now, he had to admit that there were legendary male escorts in the world whose charm surpassed his.

He, Cesare Gattuso, president of the student council at Kassel College, heir to the prestigious Italian Gattuso family, was ranked number one on the college's list of "men most wanting to be looked at by him with that kind of gaze." But in front of Kazama Ruri, he felt like an amateur athlete who had accidentally stumbled into the Olympic finals.

It wasn't that Kazama Ruri was more handsome than him, nor that Kazama Ruri knew better how to exude charm; rather, Kazama Ruri simply wasn't "exuding" charm. He stood there, doing his own thing—frying eggs, making coffee, smiling at the fat woman, sprinkling scallions on noodles—things that were as natural to him as breathing.

His charm wasn't a fancy outfit he wore, but something that radiated naturally as long as he was alive.

This is what frustrated Caesar.

He is a charming craftsman, and Kazama Ruri is the embodiment of charm.

Chu Zihang stood beside Caesar, his gaze fixed on Kazama Ruri's hands.

"What are you looking at?" Caesar asked in a low voice.

“A knife,” Chu Zihang said.

Caesar paused for a moment, then looked at Kazama Ruri's hand again.

The way a person who knows how to use a knife and a person who doesn't will hold a cup is different.

The humpback whale rubbed its hands together.

"Master Kazama, what teachings do you have for our humble shop?"

When he asked that question, his eyes shone like a newlywed male escort seeing a champagne tower for the first time.

Ruri Kazama put down his coffee cup and slid off the bar stool. He walked up to Caesar and presented the bouquet of tulips to Caesar's chest.

He had been holding onto that bouquet of flowers ever since he entered the room, even placing it within easy reach of the bar while frying eggs, as if the flowers were his real purpose for being there today, and everything else—greeting, intimidating the fat woman, making breakfast—was just a prelude.

Tucked inside the bouquet was a plain-colored envelope. The envelope was unsealed, and inside were three equally plain-colored invitations.

Caesar accepted the bouquet, took out the envelope, opened it, and took out three invitations.

Each invitation is hand-drawn. Three figures are sketched on the blank paper with ink, the strokes are casual yet full of spirit, capturing only the most essential charm, leaving the rest blank for the viewer to complete.

The first painting depicts a woman standing within a sun. The sun's outline is composed of concentric circles, the ink fading from the inside out, the outermost circle almost invisible. The woman stands in the very center of the sun, her robes fluttering. Her face is outlined with only a few strokes, her features indistinct, yet her posture exudes an indescribable solemnity, like a priestess presiding over a ceremony.

The second painting depicts a woman flying in the cold moonlight. The moon is rendered as a circle in light ink, its edges hazy, revealing the pure white of the paper through its center. The woman's figure is graceful, her hands outstretched upwards, her robes flowing like clouds, suggesting an upward ascent, as if she might break through the paper and soar into the sky at any moment.

The third image depicts a man wearing a skull mask, gripping an unusually long blade in both hands. The blade is narrow and straight, almost one and a half times the length of a regular katana. Instead of eyes, the eyeholes in the skull mask reveal two wisps of empty space rendered in extremely light ink.

The three invitations were not signed "Kazama Ruri," but rather with three characters—"Yuan Zhinu."

Caesar lingered on those three figures for a few seconds; he had seen them somewhere before.

A woman in the sun, a woman in the moon, a skeleton warrior wielding a long blade.

Then his pupils dilated.

He had seen them.

In the secret passage of that shrine, on a wall covered with ancient murals, one mural depicts a grand funeral: female priests, with sun and moon discs behind them, worship on either side of a massive golden skull, while male priests wearing skull masks plunge long blades into the skull's brow. The mural's pigments, made from ground lapis lazuli, malachite, cinnabar, and gold leaf, remain vibrant despite the passage of countless years, their ancient and exquisite beauty almost emanating from the wall itself.

The figures on the three invitations in his hand were drawn with ink in a freehand style, completely different from the style of the murals—the murals were intense, complex, and overwhelming, while the invitations were elegant, concise, and understated. Yet, the figures' spirit was entirely the same.

The solemnity of the sun-wheel woman, the detachment of the moon-wheel woman, and the silent majesty of the skeleton warrior are depicted with two completely different brushstrokes, but the same spirit flows from the tip of the brush.

No one who has never seen those murals could possibly paint such a picture.

Caesar suddenly looked up and stared intently at Kazama Ruri.

Chapter 742 Love Hotel

A somewhat historic five-story building is sandwiched between two taller buildings. The sign reads "Capsule Hotel," but half of the neon light tube is broken, leaving only the letters "Cap" and "tel" flickering, while the middle part is completely dark.

This is what's known as a capsule hotel, so cheap it brings tears to backpackers' eyes, but the rooms are only slightly larger than a coffin. A standard capsule is only two meters long, one meter wide, and one meter high, basically just enough for one person to lie flat; taller people will easily bump their heads when they get up.

But at this very moment, three people were crammed into the capsule room on the fourth floor of this building.

Lu Mingfei, Caesar, and Chu Zihang.

Imagine three adult men crammed into a capsule – it's like stuffing three elephants into a Mini Cooper. Their limbs are intertwined and tangled together in a modern art style, making it impossible to tell whose leg or arm belongs to whom.

Lu Mingfei was pinned in the middle, with Chu Zihang's knee pressing against his back and Caesar's elbow wedged into his shoulder blade, the three of them forming a painful human sandwich.

Frillie stood downstairs keeping watch.

She stood next to the vending machine at the entrance of the capsule hotel, wearing a dark green trench coat with the collar turned up high, holding a can of iced coffee in her hand, looking like an ordinary girl who came out to buy a drink in the middle of the night.

Of course, an average girl wouldn't stand on the street for an hour straight in the middle of the night drinking iced coffee, nor would she glance at both ends of the street every thirty seconds. But at least her posture was natural enough that the occasional passerby wouldn't give her a second look.

Let's rewind to an hour earlier.

Lu Mingfei and his two companions walked side by side to the front desk and requested "three people per room." The landlady looked them up and down with a suspicious and even frightened expression. Her eyes, a mixture of confusion, wariness, and subtle disdain, seemed to say, "I know there are all sorts of weirdos in Shinjuku, but the three of you have really broadened my horizons."

She lingered for a few seconds on Caesar's sculpted Italian face, then swept her gaze across Chu Zihang's cold, blade-like profile, finally settling on Lu Mingfei's face, which seemed to say, "I didn't want this either."

She let out a long sigh, a sigh that contained a thousand unspoken words, from "Young people are really playing around" to "I'm too old to understand this world," threw the keys on the counter, and disappeared into the back lounge without looking back.

Lu Mingfei felt it necessary to explain, but when he opened his mouth, he found that he really couldn't explain it.

how to explain?

Saying, "Auntie, please don't misunderstand, we're not in that kind of relationship, we're just monitoring a girl in the love hotel across the street" is worse than letting the landlady misunderstand that they're in that kind of relationship.

The capsule room is at the end of the corridor on the third floor, with the window facing the building across the street.

Caesar was pressed against the window in an extremely contorted position, his left cheek pressed tightly against the cold glass. His forehead, nose, and cheekbone were all deformed by the pressure. His face, which he usually considered so handsome that people wanted to punch him, was now squeezed into a pancake, and his nose was pressed white, making him look like a clown.

He held a small pair of binoculars in his hand, staring intently at the room opposite through the gap in the curtains. The binoculars, which Chu Zihang had taken out of his equipment case, had night vision capabilities and a dark blue coating on the lenses; they were more expensive than the entire monthly revenue of this capsule hotel.

His posture was so uncomfortable because his vantage point was extremely difficult to navigate. The easternmost room on the fifth floor of the building opposite formed an angle with the capsule hotel. To see the entire room, he had to press his face against the upper left corner closest to the window, maintaining an angle of about thirty degrees. Caesar had been in this position for a full forty minutes.

"Moshi moshi! Caesar, you elbowed me! You can look at pretty girls all you want, but it's not like you have to get so worked up that you elbow me, is it?" Lu Mingfei's voice came from under Caesar, muffled and weak, with a feeling of being squeezed.

Caesar's right elbow was stuck in the gap between his shoulder blade and the wall. Every time Caesar adjusted the focus of the telescope, his elbow would push inward, and Lu Mingfei would feel as if a few milliliters of his lungs were being compressed.

"Gentlemen, please, could you not sit on my lap?" Chu Zihang's voice came from the bottom floor, his calm tone masking a hint of muscle tension from being pressed down.

His left leg was pinned down by Lu Mingfei's entire upper body, while his right leg was held down by Caesar's knee.

"Hmph, Chu Zihang, do you think I'm comfortable like this? Lu Mingfei is skin and bones, you could count every single one of them. You're as hard as steel, do you think I like being next to you?" Caesar lowered his voice, speaking rapidly, every word laced with impatience, "But this room is the only place where we can observe. Don't speak!"

As he said "Don't talk," the eyepiece of the binoculars fogged up with his breath. He irritably wiped the lens with his finger and reattached it.

Across the street was an old five-story building, separated from the capsule hotel by a street about eight meters wide. The building had been renovated last year, and its exterior was painted cherry red, making it look like a giant strawberry cake in the night.

A ring of colorful LED lights surrounds the sign, changing color every few seconds, from pink to pale purple to warm yellow, spreading out in clusters of light mist in the humid air. The sign reads "Hotel Velvet" in an overly ornate cursive font, bearing traces of the aesthetics of the 1980s bubble economy era.

This is what's known as a love hotel.

Love hotels and capsule hotels stand opposite each other across the street.

On one side, young men and women can spend a few thousand yen to have a private space for a few hours, with pink lights, heart-shaped beds, and mirrors embedded in the ceiling; on the other side, tired office workers and backpackers with limited budgets spend two thousand yen to buy a capsule that is barely enough to lie down in, and it is even difficult to turn over.

For the first time, Lu Mingfei realized that the distance between poverty and romance in Shinjuku was just an eight-meter-wide street.

Caesar's gaze swept across the street, settling on the easternmost room on the fifth floor across the street. The room had a huge floor-to-ceiling window that occupied two-thirds of the entire wall. The curtains were not drawn, and the glass was spotless. From their angle, the interior of the room was completely visible.

Through the glass, you can see a girl who looks like a silk doll sitting on the ground.