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Chapter 122: Winding Stream Banquet
🕑 Added 2024-12-22 17:07:15 +0000 UTCThe vehicle arrived thirty minutes later at Kuroki, one of Tokyo's most expensive restaurants.
If the same route had been taken by taxi, Ethan and Quentin would likely have spent hundreds of dollars.
During the ride, the Suzuki sisters had been giving the two of them massages. There wasn't much else beyond that—just sitting on Ethan's lap, carefully kneading his thighs.
But the close proximity, her delicate fragrance, and the softness of her legs were enough to stir feelings in anyone.
For instance, Quentin kept cracking jokes with Ethan, trying his best to mask his unease.
When they got out of the car, with the Suzuki sisters no longer attending to them, Quentin was still reminiscing about the experience. He absentmindedly asked Ethan, "Ethan, do you think Tokyoites have good-looking feet?"
Ethan shot Quentin a look of disbelief. "Why don't you have the Suzuki sisters feature their feet in your movie?"
"Um… maybe not. But Lucy Liu might be worth considering."
Ethan shrugged. They were then escorted by Sugai Ogawa into the renowned Kuroki restaurant.
"Welcome, honored guests…" A middle-aged hostess in a black floral kimono, wooden sandals, and hair tied up in a traditional bun greeted them with a flawless smile.
She opened the door and led them down a corridor lit with warm golden hues.
The clacking of her sandals echoed crisply. Before long, they were brought to a grand private room. With a soft "whoosh," the hostess slid open a carved wooden door, bowed deeply, and invited them inside.
Ethan and Quentin stepped into the room, and Sugai Ogawa thoughtfully closed the door behind them.
However, what lay before them wasn't a dining area but a miniature garden. Green and dark-colored rocks were stacked artistically, accompanied by clusters of bamboo.
Across the room, another door was faintly ajar, and the sounds of string instruments wafted through.
"This is amazing," Quentin marveled. Ethan walked around the stones to the inner door and gave it a light push.
In the next moment, the room opened up. A thirty-square-meter space was neatly arranged with two rows of wooden tables. In the center was a long water channel. Near Ethan and Quentin's end stood a miniature pine tree and more ornamental rocks. Two chefs in white uniforms were busy at work.
As Ethan and Quentin drew closer, they noticed the channel was circular. The chefs would prepare sushi, place it on trays, and send it downstream. The water carried the dishes to the tables, where an equal number of hostesses would serve them.
"This is really something," Quentin exclaimed, his eyes wide with surprise.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. He recognized the inspiration behind this setup—it was a modern take on the Chinese tradition of winding stream banquets. He hadn't expected to see such a unique rendition today.
He had to admit, the Japanese certainly had a knack for creativity.
Looking over to the wooden tables on either side, Ethan saw the left side was empty, while two men in suits sat on the right.
One of them, a bespectacled man with gold-rimmed glasses, stood up upon seeing them. He gave a slight bow and greeted them, "Welcome, gentlemen. I am Yoshitaka Hori, president of Horipro. Please, have a seat."
Quentin imitated Tokyo etiquette, kneeling on the mat in a formal sitting position. But Ethan crossed his legs instead, making Quentin gape in astonishment. Was this also a Tokyo sitting style? It looked far more comfortable than kneeling.
Yoshitaka Hori was momentarily taken aback by Ethan's posture but quickly smiled. "It seems Mr. Ethan is not quite accustomed to our etiquette. That's understandable, given it's your first visit to Tokyo."
"Who said it's my first time in Tokyo?" Ethan responded in fluent Japanese, leaving Yoshitaka visibly surprised. Switching back to English, Ethan added, "The doctor said my knees aren't suited for kneeling."
"Ah, I see. You even speak Japanese! It seems you have a deep interest in our culture," Yoshitaka remarked, his glasses glinting in a way that hinted at cunning.
Ethan chuckled. "What fascinates me most about Tokyo is its AV industry. My Japanese comes mostly from watching those, so my vocabulary might be a bit coarse."
Yoshitaka's smile froze briefly. While the AV industry was globally recognized, Tokyoites still felt a sense of shame about it.
This peculiar sense of shame was deeply ingrained in their society. It stemmed from their reluctance to trouble others or create negative impressions. As a result, they internalized many of their emotions.
Over time, this led to excessive politeness for minor favors while remaining stubbornly inflexible when faced with major issues—a paradoxical mix of gratitude and obstinacy.
But what truly embarrassed Yoshitaka was that Horipro was an entertainment agency. Ethan's persistent mentions of AV inadvertently linked it to his profession.
Still, Yoshitaka quickly recovered, flashing another smile. "Mr. Ethan has quite the sense of humor. If you're interested, I can have a full set mailed to you as a parting gift."
"That would be nice. I'd love to collect various series," Ethan replied, placing his hands on his knees. "But let's get to business first. Until I'm sure this isn't a Hongmen Banquet, I won't accept any gifts."
Yoshitaka's expression stiffened again, realizing he was being led by the nose in this conversation.
Meanwhile, Quentin, seated next to Ethan, subtly gave him a thumbs-up under the table, mouthing, "Impressive."
Despite the extravagant setting, nothing substantial had been gained so far. The Japanese certainly excelled in formalities, paying meticulous attention even to the smallest details.
While others might call it the spirit of craftsmanship, Ethan saw it as hollow, superficial capitalism.
From his time in Tokyo, he had learned about Horipro—a once-prominent agency known for its roster of famous actresses like Momoe Yamaguchi. The company had even gone public and collaborated with TV stations for talent shows.
However, their recent dramas starring top-tier talents had unexpectedly flopped, leading to a dip in stock prices.
Perhaps this was why they had approached Ethan and Quentin.
Understanding their intentions, Ethan decided to remain silent, watching the performance unfold.
"Please, don't be hasty, Mr. Ethan and Mr. Quentin. You must savor Mr. Otsuka's exquisite dishes," Yoshitaka said, clapping lightly. The central water channel began to flow, and the chefs placed freshly prepared sushi onto the trays.
The hostesses in front of Ethan and Quentin promptly picked up the trays and served the dishes.
As Ethan accepted the chopsticks handed to him by the hostess, he caught a glimpse of her face. He suddenly realized he had seen her somewhere before.
After a moment of thought, it struck him just as she handed him the chopsticks.
"Kyoko Fukada?"
"Pardon me?" Kyoko Fukada looked at Ethan in surprise, not expecting him to recognize her.
Ethan smirked. The lovely woman before him, with her big, charming eyes and adorable looks, was none other than Kyoko Fukada, often nicknamed "Chubby Kyoko" due to her curvy figure and sultry photo books.
Her identity explained the extravagance.
"Do you know me?" Kyoko asked again, smiling as she adjusted her red kimono, which revealed just enough to be enticing.
"I've seen your photos before," Ethan replied nonchalantly.
Kyoko chuckled. "It's an honor, Mr. Ethan. I must say, you're very handsome."
Ethan smiled back, taking the chopsticks and sampling the sushi.
The fish was fresh, its texture springy in his mouth.
However, after trying several pieces, he found the flavors monotonous. Most of the sushi was unseasoned, relying on light grilling or simple condiments like freshly grated wasabi or soy-based sauces.
The chef's skills, in Ethan's opinion, were mediocre. He had tasted sushi from highly acclaimed establishments that far surpassed this.
It puzzled him why Kuroki would employ such an ordinary chef—it seemed like a waste of quality ingredients.
Still, the focus of the evening wasn't the food. Quentin, meanwhile, appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself, completely oblivious to the chef's shortcomings.
Traditional Japanese banquets like omakase were always slow-paced. After an hour, the chefs had only used half of the ingredients.
As Ethan and Quentin awaited the next dish, Chef Otsuka suddenly removed his hat, revealing his bald head.
Setting down his knife, he massaged his shoulders and remarked, "What a tiring day. Kuroda, please invite Mr. Kuroki to host the rest of the banquet. I'd like to speak with our guests."
