The Borrowed Sauce
"I stepped out, actual valis weighing down my pocket.
Orario! I'm coming!
First stop—Mama Mia."
The Hostess of Fertility was busy as always. Didn't matter what time it was.
Morning?
It felt like a hotel restaurant you'd see anywhere.
Night?
That's when the magic happened.
That's when it became a bar.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Warmth. Noise. Smell of food that actually deserved to be called food.
Anya noticed me instantly.
Of course she did.
"Heyyy, nyabie! Still kikinya?"
I sighed. "Don't adopt Mama Mia. That's creepy."
"Why not nya?" she said, tail swishing. "We are buddies, remember nya?"
"Yeah Yeah —"
That was my fault.
I shouldn't have told her to call me that. Now she uses it every time, half teasing, half serious. And it's way too cute to ignore.
"So!" she leaned in. "What you eatinya?"
"Stop nyowing," I said. "I know you can talk normally."
"Ok, ok," she said immediately. "I do that, nya."
…She absolutely did not.
"Usual?" she asked.
"Yes. One bowl."
"And?" she added, already knowing the answer.
"And that special spicy meat. Grilled."
"Coming right up, nyaaaa~~~"
She spun away before I could say anything else.
I sat back, letting the noise wash over me.
Good.
This was the right decision.
Anya.
The only person I felt comfortable letting my guard down around.
Because she's dumb.
In a good way.
No schemes. No angles. No hidden meaning behind every word. What you see is what you get, and what you get is loud, warm, and slightly annoying in a way that doesn't hurt.
You don't have to calculate around her.
That matters.
But secretly?
She's not that different from Ryu.
Not really.
Just… different flavors.
Ryu carries everything. Every mistake. Every face. Every name. She remembers so hard it looks like it hurts to breathe.
Anya?
She drops things. Let them roll away. Laughs. Moves on.
Same strength.
Different direction.
That's probably why they work in the same place.
I watched Anya move behind the counter, tail swaying, plates flying, voice bouncing off the walls like the building itself liked her.
Yeah.
Comfortable.
Then my brain betrayed me.
…Alan.
Nope.
Don't.
Don't think about him.
I stabbed a piece of bread harder than necessary.
He never directly involves himself with Anya anyway. Keeps distance. Like a wall that decided it didn't want to be climbed.
Unless—
No.
Never mind.
That line of thought goes nowhere well.
I shoved the thought aside and focused on the ambient noise instead.
"…nah, I'm telling you, "One adventurer said from the next table, voice half-muffled by bread. "Third floor felt off today."
Another snorted. "You say that every week."
"I'm serious this time. Same route, same turns. Something didn't line up."
"Dungeon shifts."
"Yeah. But not like that."
I paused mid-bite.
Didn't look. Didn't stare. Just… listened.
"Guild update?"
"Nope."
"Figures."
A chair scraped. Someone laughed it off. Conversation drifted.
Just words. Nothing official. Nothing urgent.
The kind of warning that never sounds important until it's too late.
I told myself it was normal.
Dungeon talk always sounded like that.
Always had.
I took another bite.
Chewed slower this time.
Then Anya slammed the bowl down in front of me, steam rising, spicy smell punching me right in the face.
"Eat," she said proudly. "You look less dead already."
I snorted. "That's the goal."
First bite.
Normal.
Second bite.
Also, normal.
Third bite—
Wait.
Something's building.
Fourth bite—
"AHHH—TOO SPICY!!"
I nearly jumped out of my seat, coughing, eyes watering, tongue turning into molten lava.
"What did you PUT in this?!"
Anya tilted her head. Way too innocent. Suspiciously innocent.
"Nothin' special, Nya."
"This is not 'nothing'! This is violence! This is a war crime!"
She leaned closer, whispering like it was a secret. Like she was sharing forbidden knowledge.
"It's Mama Mia secret sauce Nya."
I froze mid-cough.
"…Mama Mia's?"
"Yup!" she nodded enthusiastically, ears bouncing. "Nya asked extra spicy, Nya, so I took some from Mama Mia drawer. The special one! The locked one!"
I stared at her.
"…So, you stole from Mama Mia."
"Borrowed!" she corrected immediately, raising one finger like she was teaching me vocabulary.
"You have guts," I said honestly, voice hoarse from the spice. "Stupid ones."
"Nya's guts are the best guts!" she declared proudly.
Then—
The temperature dropped.
Not literally.
But you know that feeling when someone very dangerous enters the room and the air just... changes?
Yeah.
That.
A shadow fell over the counter.
Anya's ears flattened.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Her tail went rigid.
Her pupils dilated.
"...Nya?" she squeaked.
Mama Mia was standing right behind her.
Silent.
Looming.
Arms crossed.
The kind of presence that makes you regret every choice you've ever made, including being born.
The noise in the tavern didn't stop—nobody else noticed yet—but in our little corner of reality, time had frozen solid.
Silence.
Anya tried to smile. "H-heyyyy Mama Mia, nya! You're looking extra beautiful today—"
Mama Mia reached out.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And gripped Anya by the back of the collar, lifting her just enough that her feet barely touched the floor.
Not violent.
Not rushed.
Controlled.
The kind of control that's infinitely more terrifying than rage.
"From my drawer," Mama Mia said calmly, voice flat, "you took."
"Nya—! S-sorry!" Anya flailed, paws grasping at air. "I just wanted him to enjoy—Nya wanted to make special experience—"
Mama Mia shook her once. Just enough to rattle her bones.
"The locked drawer."
"Y-yes Nya..."
"The one with the sign."
"...which sign Nya?"
"The one that says 'ANYA: NO.'"
Oh god.
There was a sign.
Specifically, for her.
"That's... very specific," I muttered.
Mama Mia's eyes slid toward me.
I froze.
She raised an eyebrow. "You. Enjoying?"
My mouth was still on fire. My eyes were watering. My sinuses felt like they'd been scrubbed with steel wool.
I nodded weakly. "Y-yes ma'am. Very much. Best meal I've had in weeks."
It wasn't a lie.
Pain and all, it was good.
Mama Mia stared at me for three long seconds.
Then snorted.
"Idiot."
"Yes ma'am."
She turned back to Anya, who was dangling like a sad kitten. "You. Kitchen. Now."
"But Nya shift isn't—"
"NOW."
"NYYYYAAA—!"
Anya was dragged away, tail trailing behind her like a flag of defeat.
The last thing I heard was her muffled voice from the kitchen.
I sat there, sweating, mouth still on fire, watching the kitchen door swing shut.
I should've been scared.
I should've apologized.
I should've offered to pay extra.
Instead, I took another bite.
Pain. Tears. Regret.
...Worth it.
Five minutes later, Anya emerged from the kitchen.
Alive.
Unharmed.
But wearing an apron that said "I BORROWED WITHOUT ASKING" in big letters.
She caught my eye.
Grinned.
Gave me a thumbs up.
I couldn't help it.
I laughed.
Worth it.
Totally worth it.