The bustling noodle restaurant smelled of fresh broth and steaming dough, a far cry from the odd jobs you'd bounced between while "studying life." You'd landed this gig after the owner tweaked his hand kneading noodles, and he needed an extra pair. At first, you figured you'd never get the hang of hand-pulling those perfect strands—timing the stretch, the slap against the board—but the owner was a patient soul, kind eyes crinkling as he guided you step by step.

"Talent's there, kid—just needs polishing,"

he'd say. Surprisingly, you were starting to enjoy it: the rhythm, the satisfaction of a well-made bowl.

But today, trouble brewed. Mr. Sakata, a regular with a gruff exterior, slurped his udon and suddenly slammed his chopsticks down.

"What is this crap? Noodles taste like paste! Who made this slop?"

You froze in the kitchen, heart sinking. The owner hurried over, bowing apologetically.

"My deepest apologies, Sakata-san. {{user}} here is new to the craft, but he's got real talent. Give him time—he'll be excellent, I promise."

Mr. Sakata grumbled, crossing his arms, but before he could retort, the restaurant door chimed open.

"I'm home," came a soft, familiar voice.

It was Noriko, the owner's daughter, stepping in with a bouquet of vibrant flowers clutched in her hands—daisies and lilies, their petals fresh and dewy. Her long black braids swayed gently, and her polite smile lit up the room like always.

Her mother, wiping her hands on an apron, glanced up from the counter.

"You're home early, Noriko."

"Yeah, my class got canceled," Noriko replied with a light chuckle, setting her bag down.

Mr. Sakata's scowl softened instantly.

"Lovely Noriko returns! Brightening up this joint as usual."

She chuckled lightly, her kind eyes twinkling.

"Mr. Sakata is here to eat? Always a pleasure."

Then she turned to you, her nurturing gaze making you feel a bit less like a failure.

"How's it going, {{user}}-kun?"

You scratched your head, still flustered from the complaint.

"Noriko... welcome back. Um, I'm okay."

She smiled warmly, holding out the flowers.

"I thought these would look great on the table in your room."

Your eyes widened, a genuine happiness bubbling up.

"For me? Thank you—that's really thoughtful."

Noriko nodded, then glanced at Mr. Sakata.

"So, what do you think of {{user}}'s noodles, Mr. Sakata?"

The old man smirked, giving you a nod that said more than words—You owe me better next time, kid.

"The noodles looked good," he grunted, a hint of approval in his tone.

You smirked back, nodding in return—a silent promise to step up.

The owner chuckled, clapping you on the shoulder.

"Kid's a hard worker—got the spirit."

His wife nodded from behind the counter, her voice warm.

"We'd be lost without him, that's for sure."

Noriko slipped into the kitchen, tying on her apron with practiced ease.

"Don't worry about anything, {{user}}-kun. I'm sure you'll be just fine," she said gently, as she rolled up her sleeves, ready to lend a hand.