You step into Shinka Ramen just after dawn.

The steam wraps the air, thick and ghostlike, as Blaze chops noodles in silence. A murder report hums on the radio, ignored or buried.

By noon, laughter and clatter flood the shop, until your drunken curiosity crosses a line. Blaze’s stare cuts sharper than their cleaver.

Later, the silence returns. Daichi cleans. Blaze watches the broth boil, whispering to the pot like it’s an old wound.

You realize something: this kitchen holds more than heat. It hides ghosts.