Ask any Ikebukuro local about where to find the best sushi, and nine times out of 10 they'd answer Russia Sushi.
Managed by a Russian ex-Spetsnaz trooper, unorthodox recipes such as borscht and pizza sushi persuade customers to come back for more. Reasonable prices mean people from all walks of life can enjoy Denis' well-made dishes; a policeman sits across a Yellow Scarf, CEO's exchange glances with students at dinner, and different people strike up conversations with one another.
"Gotta hand it to Denis-sama, his crab meat's the best around here."Nothing filled Izaya Orihara's stomach like two Siberian sushi bowls during work break. Add some teriyaki sauce, and his tongue would taste ambrosia's flavor he wouldn't get anywhere else.
Taking a bite off his deep-fried sushi, Izaya noticed the girl next to him, staring at her own. It looked as if she was scanning her meal like a scientist with a microscope. "For someone of your stature to eat simple, homemade sushi, this world brings me new surprises every day."
"What'd I have to do to be you?" After a few seconds, she threw the roll at her mouth, gulping it whole. Engrossed in her sushi, she didn't notice Izaya, or anybody for that matter until he commented on her tastes.
He swore he's seen her style before. The girl's blonde hair was in pigtails, and her body exhaled expensive perfume. Hours and hours of makeup slathered her face. Her black tank top gave away her pale, white arms. Had her miniskirt been shorter, she'd be arrested for indecent exposure.
"Blend in and be grateful for the little things, that's a start," Izaya said. "By the way, are you familiar with the Ganguro girls, by chance? I bet you might be besties with them."
"Ugh. Posers, the lot of them." Six words greeted him immediately, before munching on her next sushi.
"I take it; you have strong opinions when it comes to fashion sense." He then pointed at the man not too far from them. Eating his venison sushi, the bald, burly fellow wore nothing but a white tank top and jeans. Soy sauce dripped from his two brass knuckles. "What can you say about his?"
Taking a glance at the thug, the girl leaned in near Izaya. "Hmmm, realtalk," She whispered. "He has much class as a country bumpkin swimming in cow shit for weeks." Her voice, though faint, dripped like acid corroding his eardrums. "The most well-dressed he'll ever be is on a funeral home."
He thought she would stop there, but she continued. "You know what? Right now, I can go to his place, and tell that to him. He'll land a hook in my pretty, centerfold face, but I'll also tell him I just repeated your words."
Izaya heard the girl's breaths grow heavier as she nudged him, directing his attention to everyone else. When her whispering used to feel like acid, it transformed to honey that moment. "Most of 'em want a piece of the guy. So, once we're done, they'll, like, take out their lead pipes and baseball bats-"
"You want to try out Siberian sushi? I've got extra yen." Izaya cut in, leaving the girl's ramblings hanging. "Simon-sama!Four Siberian sushi bowls, please."
"Four Siberian sushi coming right up!" Simon immediately ran to the ingredients drawer to get nori leaves for his order. "Пять минут!"
"Спасибо, dear Simon-sama. " Izaya quickly responded. Ever the reliable server, he's confident he would come to their place in a jiffy. He's never seen Simon miss an order from him, or anyone in Russia Sushi.
"Yeah!..." A soft giggle came out of the girl, apparently satisfied with her ramblings. "Sorry, I tend to say weird stuff when my tummy's rumbling."
"The way she voiced it, she was itching to do it." That observation stayed in the back of Izaya's mind when he asked for an extra serving of Siberian sushi. "Too bad no one else heard her. She better know some self-defense, should anyone hear." With this in mind,Izaya produced a Post-It note and pain from his back pocket to jot down what she'll say next.
"Also, what make and fabric is this coat? I can send in a good word to Vogue Japan for it." The girl said, caressing Izaya's furry sleeves with her long, red nails. "When they see me wear it, it'll be in every #OOTD on Instagram. Who knows? Maybe we'll walk down Tokyo Fashion Week together."
Vogue Japan, Gyaru-inspired outfit, strawberry blonde pigtails… The puzzle pieces arranged themselves. Izaya knew almost all of the gyarus in the Ikebukuro area, but none carried the style so flawlessly like the girl. Her demeanor so far suggested confidence in her fashion sense unlike any other and marked disdain for plebeians who failed to meet her standards. Tone down her bizarre fixations, and she'd pass off as the gyaru queen around these parts.
"I should know who you are, but I'm not Izaya Orihara the preteen girl who follows fashion divas religiously," Izaya replied. "My sister Mairu is."
"Then you're missing out on a lot. Junko Enoshima, by the way." The girl said, flipping her pigtail. "You said something about a sister; what's she like?
"Mairu's irrelevant right now." Izaya lets out a small laugh. "She's at home, bopping her head to those Korean boy bands nowadays."
Junko twiddled around locks of her hair, her pinky finger shaky. "All I'll say is: the less said about mine, the better. Juuuuust like the sushi I had earlier: bland, derivative, makes you wanna throw it to the garbage disposal and leave it for the rats!"
Both of them burst out laughing. The model concealed her embarrassment without him noticing, and Izaya visualized her figure of speech in his mind. "Now, this makes me wanna meet her sister."
Simon glared at the two and politely asked, "You're ruining the other customers' appetites. Do you mind lowering your voice?"
"It's a free country; you can't stop me from saying what I want!" Junko snapped back. "I guess I'll lower my voice, so you'd focus on our delayed order."
Izaya followed suit, but in a calmer voice. "Junko's kind of starving, Simon-sama! She doesn't fully know what she's saying, so give her a break. She'd probably visit a local magazine a few minutes from now."
"Very well." The large, African-Russian chef went back to preparing sushi, making haste to follow the two's order. "Be more considerate of everyone else next time, please."
"Fiiiiine." Junko sulked, then turned to Izaya. "Hear me out, will ya? Imagine tasting sushi for the first time. The exquisite blend of sake and crab meat soothes your taste buds, and soy sauce livens your tongue's tip. Then, eat it for the next 100 times, and the taste vanishes from your buds. Can't a lady enjoy some variety?"
"Have you tasted Siberian sushi?" Izaya asked. "What about Venetian?"
"Lemme guess what's in Siberian sushi," Junko gently placed her finger under her chin and looked at Izaya's remaining sushi. All tone and emotion left her voice afterward. "Nori sheets, Siberian taimen meat, kolbasa bits, top it all off with nikiri sauce and ginger garnish."
"That's the entire recipe! Some educated guesser, you are." Izaya marveled at how she accurately uncovered his favorite recipe's ingredients. This proved a new, interesting factoid worth nothing. "Clearly, there's more to this girl I thought…"
"Well, I had nikiri sauce back in San Diego. Kolbasa bits in Prague. Probably in a shit ton of places, too." Junko elaborated. "But Siberian's a combination I've never tried."
"43rd time in, and the taste still sticks until you use mouthwash. What's the best Japanese restaurant you've been to?" Izaya asked, probing Junko for more information about herself. "For me, it's here, Russia Sushi. Friendly staff, variety of sushi, fun conversations with anyone.
"None of them." The model frowned, looking dissatisfied at the place. Among all the things Izaya listed, she experienced none of them.
"Not even here, huh." He had nothing but glowing reviews for Simon's sushi. Junko's the first person he heard to speak poorly about it, but he wasn't one to judge opinions. "Was it the food? The atmosphere? The sanitation?"
"All of them tastes like cement!" Junko's frown grew deeper. Mushrooms sprouted from one side of her head, if Izaya trusted his eyes. "Why can't there be one appetizing sushi restaurant? I'd give sacks of yen for one good taste."
"I think I've found out your problem." Izaya gave her a cold stare. "You see, the brain's one wonderful and dreadful organ. I had someone with a migraine text me how they felt their brain's on fire. It's an untrue statement, you know why?"
In a flash, Junko's mouth turned to its normal shape. "Tell me something I don't know."
Izaya stroked his chin, making sure he knows his neuroscience. "The brain's got no pain receptors. Poke it, prod it, remove half of it and it'll feel nothing. Neither does it have taste receptors. It can't savor the taste of well-crafted food, nor spit out pungent trash in disgust." He then stuck his tongue out, and pointed at it. "We taste food with this…" - then moved his finger to his head - "and not this."
Junko raised an eyebrow while processing Izaya's words. "Must have been the first time she's heard this. Or not," the information broker thought to himself.
"Is our Siberian sushi ready yet? It's taking, like, an eternity." The model complained.
"Simon-sama's a fast chef, but he can't be at many places at once." Izaya then turned to the cashier-slash-sushi chef. "Они готовы?"
"A few minutes!" Simon replied, boiling a few batches of rice right after carving kolbasa meat into bits, all while juggling six other orders.
Just as Izaya grabbed his sudoku puzzle, Junko's phone rang. Shrill, high-pitched pop music blasted from the speakers and caught the attention of Russia Sushi's customers.
"Mute your phone, or I'll grab it and break it into a hundred pieces!" The bald man from earlier threatened, shaking his fist at the two. Two people brandished their knives and brass knuckles in response.
Junko picked up the incoming call, and visibly sighed at the caller's identity. "Not you again. What will you blabber about this time?"
"Jarhead Sis"
"080-4353-3221"
Mukuro took one last look at her groceries - eggs, sugar, almond milk, sandwich bread, rat poison and, finally, maple syrup. Things and Stuff recently had a sale, so she figured her considerable pay can afford them. It will be breakfast day tomorrow, and she didn't want to give her low-quality meals.
"Would you like to add anything, miss?" A young man in a camo jacket, his scanner ran through Mukuro's items, the register beeping each second.
"Do you sell picture frames?" Mukuro asked in return, only remembering what's #1 in her grocery list.
"Currently out of stock. Come back next week." Done with the maple syrup, the cashier put her goods in a paper bag with the same speed and precision.
"What about that over there?" The soldier pointed at the frame behind the register. In the frame were three men, standing near a blue car holding beer. Mukuro could tell the cashier was in the middle, recognizing his undercut and faint goatee.
"That's not for sale. Hate to judge you, but it's kind of weird that you're the first customer to ask about frames." The cashier responded. "Although, I know a store you can buy from." He moved near the window and showed her said store. Well-lit, jam-packed with goods and with two vending machines outside, Total Convenience Store seemed the better choice for Mukuro's needs.
"I'm new here, I'm sorry." Mukuro's response was as canned as an email template, yet the way she delivered it made her sound natural. She silently thanked Junko for Verbal Communication 101. "Thanks for the directions."
"No problema, miss." The cashier replied, coming back to his stall.
"I may have to pay more than usual for a frame." Unlike Things and Stuff, Total Convenience Store didn't have a sale, so she began to guess its price. "3,500… 4,000… no, the best frame has to be 15,000 yen. A cheap one cannot do!"
Mukuro reached into her pocket, fumbling around for money. She knew she may have to dig deep to get a beautiful frame. Or sell a few mementos from her Fenrir service in Buyee, if she didn't have enough.
She felt her I.D., her trusted Cold Steel Trail Master, and her less-trusted Nokia 6350, but not her second wallet. Was she too preoccupied with pancake ingredients to notice it was missing? No, she triple-checked her belongings before shopping. Perhaps she misplaced it in gym? She could go back to Rakuei and search there. Junko stole it- she borrows it from time to time, and she has expensive tastes to satisfy.
"What's wrong, miss?"
Behind her, shoppers rushed through the shelves, taking whatever they needed. Carrying their goods with them, they formed a line to the cashier. Mukuro stood in the front, blocking everyone else when she called her sister's number.
"Junko, where did you put my other wallet?" She thought she must have found it outside their bathroom or dining room.
"You're ruining my conversation! Gah!" Junko sneered from the other end. "I wanted to get my sushi fix, so I borrowed it for a while. Besides, you've got your other wallet!"
"Conversation? With who?" Mukuro's eyes perked. Her sister's a social butterfly, different from herself who preferred sitting in the corner. For some reason, she preferred tall, black-haired guys. What is with them, she may never fully know.
"It's none of your business!" Her sister exclaimed. "Have you bought our groceries yet? You promised French Toast Friday tomorrow."
"Yes, and yes," Mukuro replied quietly. "Do you want me to pick you up when you're done?"
"And make me look bad in front of this guy? Sod off."
Mukuro sighed to herself in resignation. "I just wanted to buy this picture frame..."
"Fuck your frame! What are you gonna do with it, eat it? Dip it in ketchup and wash it down with Ramune?! Buy it next week if you want it so bad!" Junko barked. From her background, Mukuro heard a male voice saying 'Shut up!', then her sister's voice saying 'fine.'
"Where are you?" Mukuro unfurled her map of Ikebukuro and pressed her finger at local restaurants. "Mutekiya? Il Teatro? What about Hanamura's? Their noodles are good."
"Young lady, can you please move?" As the sisters talked, a middle-aged woman with a preschooler beckoned her.
A teenager lifting two bags spoke next. "If you're not buying stuff, get out!"
When Mukuro looked back, she noticed that the line now stretched two blocks from Things and Stuff. Young and old, groups of friends and single persons, the shoppers stood patiently waiting for her to finish her call. A few murmured among themselves to pass the time, and some others signaled at her to give way.
"Miss? May you please move out of the line?"
"Young woman, I have a ton of shit to buy!"
"Get the fuck out, dammit!"
Their cries grew the longer Mukuro stalled in front. But Junko's insults (and at times, flatters) bring her to a different world with only two of them in it. Absorbed into her conversation, her ears isolated nearby noise into the background, ignoring the rabble.
"...did you just buy almond milk? I'm allergic to nuts, dumbass!" 13th Junko insult this day.
"From what I remembered, almonds aren't nuts, at all."
"Well shit, you got something right for once in your life." The counter just hit 14th. Another one to take in stride.
"You… knew?"
"No wonder you flunked biology. Actually, I'll call you back. Later, my beloved pig-pen!" Two insults add up to 16! Don't all sisters disagree every once in a while? Under her breath, Mukuro thanked her for that trivia.
In the real world, the cashier talked with the shoppers to settle down before a fight breaks out. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, guys. But you have to keep waiting. Earth to cellphone lady, is anyone here?"
"I'm here, yes." Mukuro put her phone down and headed towards the exit carrying her groceries.
Relieved, the line quieted down, and the cashier went to scanning their purchases one by one.
Such is the life of Mukuro Ikusaba.
Moving from Kasai, she heard Ikebukuro would be a land of opportunity. A land where anyone can make a name for themselves. Where they can meet interesting people, and visit interesting places.
So far, she's been her sister's errand girl for two weeks. Junko wants to eat this brand of cereal, she pays for it upfront. Clothes needed for a photoshoot? Run to the nearest laundromat. Harassed by a creep? A few broken bones will make him go away for a while.
"At least she appreciates me." Mukuro thought to herself, walking across Sunshine 60 Street wondering where to go next. Perhaps she could brush up her skills at a shooting range. A scoop of ice cream could cool her tongue. Or sit on a bench and observe people walking by.
But she had no time to lollygag, as her sister's eating sushi with a complete, total stranger. Sometimes, Junko got together with her fans who invited them to eat in any restaurant. Most of them kept civil during their meal, perhaps under threat of the Ultimate Soldier skewering them alive when they get too touchy.
Mukuro saw headlines of good-looking males offering girls alcohol, and she drew her own conclusions on what happened. What if this was what the stranger had in mind? Her sister's looks made her a tempting target. Junko knew some Krav Maga techniques she learned from her, but Ikebukuro's men towered over her. They can mangle and rip her to shreds, and she would be too far away to stop them.
The frame can wait. Junko's safety cannot. Sitting on a bench, Mukuro steeled herself for the moment she'd call back. Wait, what if they took her phone? How would she know what happened to her? What if they covered her mouth, and she can't understand her muffled words?
Mukuro was as stoic as the Ikefukuro Statue; even so, uneasy thoughts and questions eroded her mind from the inside.
"Here's your order, Orihara-san: four servings of Siberian sushi." Simon left the bowls in Izaya and Junko's table. It's a strange recipe, she noted; ground-up salmon meat was a substitute for traditional sushi rice. A mix of kolbasa bits and ginger garnish added a peculiar taste to the meal, which activated her curiosity.
"You're right, Izaya, this is something new," Junko said. "Do you have a napkin? I don't wanna scald my dainty little fingers."
"Sure, princess." Fortunately, Izaya kept his napkin pack with him every day and handed her two pieces. "Can't say the same thing for your tongue."
"It's okay." Unbeknownst to him, Junko yearned for exactly that. Nothing better than a burning sensation to spice up your pain receptors. Wrapping the bowl with a napkin, she held a piece of taimen meat and took a nibble from it.
First impressions were everything when it comes to food. Depending on her mood, Junko relished the joy of tasting zesty meals or the despair of swallowing bitter slop. If the food was drab and tasted like cardboard, she spat it out and crushed under her heels until it disappeared. She found it more enjoyable than practically tasting nothing.
"Wow, this sushi's amazing!" The brew of flavors from the raw Siberian fish meat to the spicy ginger garnish dissolved in her mouth. The taste was exquisite! Her taste buds, well-pleased with the meal, hungered for more.
"Did you like it?" Inferring the answer, Izaya, nearly finished with his bowl, asked anyway.
"Best sushi I've had in years!" Junko beamed, halfway on her second. "Too bad I'll get bored of it eventually."
"Try my advice. Taste with your tongue, not with your brain." Izaya said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.
His profession led him to meet all sorts of professions and personalities. Some salarymen, some NEET's, many in-between. He chatted with histrionic mothers, met with short-tempered teenagers in person, and cut deals with all MBTI types.
But the girl's type was uncommon. He suspected it when he noticed Junko looking at her sushi, examining it for perhaps its ingredients and calorie content. Her constant tapping at the floor, and twirling her hair when Simon was busy. How she talked about her own sister, and practically yelled at the caller earlier (which he presumed had to be her).
Most people escape their boring lives using the Internet or TV, but Junko acted like she was bored with escapism. Being a couch potato or social media junkie could only go so far for her. Turned off by daily life, she hunted for new stimuli to process, new thrills to enjoy.
"She'd start a riot here if she didn't get her sushi," Izaya thought. "Though it'd be exciting! We get caught up in their brawl, maybe get a glimpse of phone or credit card numbers here and there…"
Too bad there's someone else in Ikebukuro who frequently got involved in brawls. Smart and sensible people ran away once he charged in like a speeding tanker truck. After his rage subsided, he walked away, leaving a lot of broken vending machines in his wake.
"Shizu-chan. Oh, him."
Once the two finished their Siberian sushi, Izaya went to Simon and handed him his yen. "Вы отличный повар, спасибо! Here's my pay."
Taking Izaya's money, Simon pulled out his phone. "Miss Enoshima-chan, can you take a photo with me? My niece Olga looks up to you so much!"
"Yeah, sure, whatever." Junko's already tired of the 25th time someone asked her for a picture. She had Mukuro pack a lot of disguises to walk around Ikebukuro without attracting paparazzi. Still, it was nice to treat her fans every once in a while. She raised her fingers in her signature V-sign and grinned.
Junko and Simon didn't notice, but Izaya smiled to himself too. At long last, he's discovered an interesting specimen. How would she react to this? What will she do when that happens? His mind has already devised multiple experiments to put her through.
And Izaya needed a lot of Post-It notes for her. After Simon's done with taking pictures, all that was left to do is ask for her number.
But Junko took the initiative. "You seem like an interesting guy to be with. What's your number?"
Izaya handed her a small note. "I'm not famous around here, so I can't let too many people know. Anyway, here's mine."
Junko blushed. "080-2211-9426. I gotta go, I'm 10 minutes late for my photoshoot!"