Then he left.
Kenta stood in the corridor holding a stack of ceramic plates.
His hands were trembling.
That night, he spoke to Maiko.
"Are we losing our jobs?"
She stared.
"Who told you that?"
"The man from Kuroda."
Maiko's expression tightened.
She reassured him that no acquisition had been approved.
But Kenta wasn't convinced.
He had heard how confidently the visitor spoke.
He had seen the expensive suit.
The black chauffeured sedan.
The certainty that somebody important had already decided what would happen.
Three days later, another unsettling incident occurred.
One of the restaurant's longtime suppliers received a request to redirect future invoices to a purchasing company associated with Kuroda International.
The message implied that new ownership arrangements were being finalized.
The supplier called Sachiko immediately.
She was furious.
"No such arrangement exists."
The supplier apologized.
But the damage was done.
Rumors began circulating.
The restaurant had been sold.
The old chef's widow was retiring.
A luxury hotel group planned to take over.
Experienced employees were being replaced.
The menu would change.
Customers began asking questions.
Some canceled reservations.
Others called to congratulate Sachiko on a sale she had never agreed to.
Amara listened to the reports with growing concern.
Then she asked Yoko Tanabe to review the communications.
Several messages were misleading.
One contained wording that could reasonably make a supplier believe Kuroda had obtained control.
Another referred to proposed employment changes as though they were approved.
Yoko prepared formal correspondence demanding that Kuroda's representatives stop communicating false or unsupported claims about the restaurant.
A response arrived from the company's legal department.
It described the messages as unfortunate misunderstandings arising from preliminary commercial discussions.
Amara wasn't satisfied.
Then Kenta approached her after a staff meeting.
He looked nervous.
"Amara-san?"
She smiled.
"Yes?"
"May I ask something?"
"Of course."
He looked down.
"Is it true that the restaurant will become a hotel dining room?"
Amara felt her stomach tighten.
"No."
He glanced toward the kitchen.
"They said the old staff would be replaced."
"Who said that?"
"The visitors."
She considered.
"Which visitors?"
Kenta described the man who had spoken with Maiko.
Amara listened carefully.
Then asked him to write down what he remembered, including the approximate date and location.
He nodded.
But before leaving, he asked one more question.
"Why do they think they can decide what happens here?"
Amara looked toward the old wooden beams.
She thought about Hiroshi.
The worn brass key.
The kitchen where she'd spent years learning.
Then she looked at the young waiter.
"Because nobody has told them they can't."
Kenta seemed confused.
She smiled faintly.
"That's going to change."
Two weeks later, Masaru Kuroda requested a private dinner.