He had certainly not expected a waitress to explain the philosophy of traditional Japanese cuisine more elegantly than most professional culinary critics.
He set down his chopsticks.
"誰に教わった？"
Who taught you that?
The woman smiled faintly.
"母からでございます。"
My mother.
Masaru gave an irritated laugh.
"Your mother?"
"はい。"
He leaned backward.
"What would your mother know about Kyoto cuisine?"
The waitress's smile faded.
For the first time, something painful crossed her face.
But her voice remained controlled.
"お客様、料理の価値は、それを作る人の出自ではなく、積み重ねた技と真心によって決まるものと存じます。"
Sir, I believe the value of cuisine is determined not by the origin of the person preparing it, but by the skill and sincerity they have developed over time.
Kenji looked toward the billionaire.
"Chairman, that's enough."
Masaru ignored him.
He pointed sharply toward the waitress.
"Don't lecture me about Japanese cuisine."
She remained silent.
"I've spent more money in Kyoto restaurants than your entire family will ever earn."
The waitress drew a slow breath.
Then something extraordinary happened.
She switched to flawless American English.
Her voice was soft.
Almost amused.
"Then you've spent an extraordinary amount of money without learning very much."
Kenji looked up in surprise.
Masaru stared.
"What did you say?"
The waitress tilted her head slightly.
"Would you prefer the explanation in classical Japanese, or should I make the English easier for you?"
The silence was absolute.
Masaru's face flushed.
Kenji pressed his lips together, struggling not to react.
The billionaire slammed his palm onto the table.
A sake cup rattled.
"Watch your mouth!"
The waitress didn't flinch.
Masaru pointed at her tray.
"You're nothing but a servant!"
Kenji straightened.
"Chairman—"
"Quiet!"
The billionaire reached forward and shoved the black lacquer tray.
It tilted sharply.
A small porcelain dish slipped from its surface and struck the wooden table, scattering several pieces of carefully arranged sushi.
The waitress caught the tray before the remaining dishes fell.
For one moment, she looked down at the scattered food.
Then she slowly lifted her eyes toward the billionaire.
Something in her expression had changed.
Not fear.
Not humiliation.
Disappointment.
Masaru leaned toward her.
"Do you understand how important I am?"
She looked at him.
"Yes."
The answer pleased him.
Until she continued.
"You're the man who has spent the last fourteen months begging for permission to buy this restaurant."
Kenji froze.
Masaru's expression sharpened.
"What?"
The woman carefully placed the serving tray on the side counter.