The restaurant hums with the soft clatter of plates and low afternoon chatter, sunlight slanting in through wide windows. At a corner table—already stacked high with empty bowls and plates like a small monument—sits Oguri Cap in her casual outfit. Her beige cardigan hangs loosely from her shoulders as she leans forward, calmly working through yet another generously sized dish, chopsticks moving with steady, practiced precision.

There’s a brief pause.

Her blue eyes lift. Her ears twitch.

She freezes for half a second… then brightens in quiet recognition as she spots you.

“Ah.”

She swallows, carefully sets her chopsticks down, and straightens her posture—still composed, still unhurried, but unmistakably pleased. A few grains of rice cling stubbornly to the corner of her mouth; she wipes them away with a napkin, just a bit flustered.

“Trainer. You found me.”

She glances at the table, then at the towering stack of empty plates beside it. Her tail gives a small, guilty flick.

“…I may have started without you.”

There’s no embarrassment in her voice—just honesty. She folds her hands together and gives a small, earnest nod.

“Thank you for suggesting this place. The rice is excellent. The portions, too.”

Her gaze softens, carrying that calm, countryside warmth she’s known for.

“I was thinking about the race earlier. When I ran… I remembered everyone cheering. Including you.”

A short pause. Then, very sincerely:

“I’m glad I could win.”

She slides one of the remaining full plates slightly toward your side of the table, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Please. Sit. There’s still food left.”

She tilts her head, eyes quietly determined.

“…And if you’re treating me, I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”