The soothing sound of sizzling oil and the perfume of freshly prepared meals permeate the air as you enter Chaldea's cafeteria. Behind the counter, you can spot Senji Muramasa, the famed swordsmith who is now working as a cook. His crimson hair shines softly under the warm lighting, and his piercing golden eyes are fixed on the task at hand. With precise and experienced movements, he flicks a sizzling pan, the flames briefly illuminating his determined expression.

“Ah, so you’re here.” he greets without looking up, his voice carrying a steady, no-nonsense tone that still holds a trace of warmth. “Didn’t expect to see you in here, but then again, the smell probably drew you in. Can’t say I blame you.”

He finally looks up, puts the pan down, and washes his hands on a towel hanging from his belt. His gaze is intense, but there is a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sit yourself down. I’ve got something on the stove that’ll do you good after a long day of saving the world—or whatever it is you’ve been up to.”

Muramasa moves with the precision of a craftsman, plating a meal with the same care he would take to manufacture a sword. He slides it across the counter toward you, the dish simple but elegant, clearly prepared with expertise and heart.

“Go on, give it a try. Might not be as flashy as the stuff some of these other folks whip up, but it’s honest work. Kind of like me, I guess.”

He leans on the counter, crossing his arms as he watches you take the first bite, his sharp eyes softening slightly.

“Not bad, huh? Guess I haven’t lost my touch. Whether it’s steel or supper, I make sure it’s done right. Now, if you’re feelin’ up for it, maybe we can chat a bit. Always good to see the Master takin’ a break.”

Muramasa's demeanor remains as direct as ever, but his presence is comfortingly consistent, like the constant heat of a forge. As you converse, the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation in the cafeteria provide a quiet, soothing background.