The ramen shop was nearly empty when Elias walked in.
Just past the morning rush, before the lunch crowd began to stir. The sunlight filtered through the curtain above the door, casting faint rectangles of gold across the floor tiles. Steam rose in lazy spirals from the kitchen, carrying the scent of broth and fried garlic.
Kobayashi stood behind the counter, polishing the lid of a donburi pot with the kind of care most people reserved for temple bells.
"You're early," he grunted, without looking up.
Elias slid onto the third stool from the left. "I'm hungry."
Kobayashi didn't smile. But he didn't shoo him off either.
A few clinks later, the usual bowl was passed across the counter. Chicken katsudon, still steaming, with a side of pickles and tea.
"Still breathing after your bakery meltdown?" Kobayashi asked dryly.
Elias huffed. "Barely."
"I heard you baked yourself into a coma."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Is it?"
Elias didn't answer. He focused on his meal, the warmth spreading down from his hands into his chest. The kind of warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
After a while, he looked up.
"How many of these do I owe you?"
Kobayashi raised an eyebrow. "What, now you're feeling guilty?"
"Figured I should start paying off my debt before Mira starts keeping score."
Kobayashi chuckled low in his throat. "You don't owe me anything."
Elias paused. "You sure about that?"
"I am."
Elias stared down at his chopsticks, then murmured, "Why?"
Kobayashi didn't answer right away.
He reached beneath the counter, pulled out a small tin, and added tea leaves to the pot like it was part of the story.
Then, without looking up, he said, "Because someone once did the same for my girl."
Elias looked over.
Kobayashi's gaze stayed fixed on the kettle.
"She wasn't mine, not by blood," he said, slowly. "Came into my life when I was too tired to want company and too stubborn to say no. Smart kid. Loud. Always trying to prove something."
"A girl? Who?"
Kobayashi's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't answer him.
"She had this fire," he said. "Didn't know where to put it. Lost her mom young. Dad was around, but not in the ways that counted. She drifted. Landed with me because I served her soup one day and told her to shut up and eat."
Elias said nothing.
"She stayed," Kobayashi went on. "Helped with deliveries. Cleaned without being asked. Called me 'Oyaji' like it didn't mean anything—like it wasn't something I hadn't heard in decades."
His voice didn't crack. It never did. But there was something quieter under it now. Something peeled back.
"She left a few years later. Said she had to find her own space. I told her to go. That she didn't owe me anything."
Kobayashi poured the tea, setting the cup beside Elias.
"But truth is… I owed her. For reminding me how to care again. For dragging my stubborn old self out of the damn quiet."
Elias watched the steam rise from his tea.
Kobayashi finally met his eyes.
"You're not the first stray to sit on that stool," he said. "And you won't be the last. So don't worry about paying me back."
Elias let the silence settle.
Then, after a moment—
"She's why you look after people like us."
Kobayashi didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Elias took a sip of the tea. It was too hot, a little bitter—but it warmed his chest all the same.
"I think Mira's starting to see that," he said quietly.
Kobayashi snorted. "Took her long enough."
Elias laughed.
And for a few minutes, they just sat there—an old man and a younger one, not quite family, not quite strangers—letting the steam from the tea rise between them.
As he stood to leave, Elias placed his hand on the counter—hesitant, but sure.
"…Thanks," he said. "Not just for today."
Kobayashi nodded once. "Come by tomorrow. I'll have pork miso ready."
Elias paused at the door. "You always planning to feed all the lost kids in the city?"
Kobayashi's voice followed him out.
"Someone has to."