Heihachi slapped his thighs and stood. He stretched, filling the space, and set a hand heavily on Jin's shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

"Now! Time for lunch, I should think!"

They had spent all morning and some of the afternoon selecting material and buying clothes. Jin was feeling more comfortable this time when they returned to the limousine. It didn't feel so strange, and he liked its darkened windows, and how quiet the engine was, and the way it shut out all the sounds from outside. It was cool too, and there was a little fridge with a see-through door filled with bottled cold water, though he didn't dare touch it. He turned toward the window and yawned, trying to hide it from Heihachi. He wasn't used to meeting so many people and having to talk so much.

"Tired already?"

Jin turned around quickly and shook his head. He sat properly after that, with his hands in his lap and his back straight.

When they got out the car, Jin looked about him. There were trees in every direction, leaning over well-kept roads. In the gaps between their leafy boughs, Jin could see nearby skyscrapers. He wondered if this was some kind of city park. Jin hadn't seen a city park before, but he had heard about them. The borders to this road were rounded, perfectly trimmed hedges and landscaped grounds that reminded Jin more of the Mishima Estate than any wild wood he knew.

After a few paces, a low built traditional house emerged from the trees with a façade that was all straight lines and triangles. Jin was led through its large glass doors and immediately felt like he was back in Heihachi's stately home. Immaculate wooden floors, panelled walls, minimal décor save the occasional stone vase with a careful flower arrangement within. He retreated his fingers up into his kimono, trying to make sure he didn't disrupt anything around him. The wood in the door lintels looked very old. Jin wondered if it was truly an ancient house with all those skyscrapers nearby. Maybe this one place had sat like a tiny unchanged pocket as the city grew up and up around it.

Jin wasn't listening as his grandfather exchanged pleasantries with the restaurant staff. He peered into the rooms as they were walked down a hallway. Each room had open walls onto the vistas of the park beyond, and was laid out with perfect tatami, long tables, and low chairs. The room they were shown to was at the end of the hallway. Jin exclaimed in surprise when he set foot in it. It was alive with cherry blossom. Vases down the side held large leaning branches, budding with pink blossoms, and the tables were overflowing with flutes fountaining bundles of pink and white flowers. There was even a blossoming twig laid at each placemat. Jin's hand came to his lips as he looked on in shock. It was like stepping into a cherry grove during festival season. His other hand had clasped Heihachi's sleeve he realised.

"Hm?" His grandfather asked. Jin looked up at him, slowly letting go of his sleeve. "You like the room?"

Jin looked back at it. He wasn't sure if he liked it. Everything in here was dying. It was a frozen portrait that would soon be gone. All this life cut short for a few brief meals to be enjoyed under their wilting branches.

"It is very beautiful," he told his grandfather, because that was true, even if he had more to say.

They were seated at the far end of the long table, close to the open windows, where small twisting trees looked over ponds just touched by the breeze. A butterfly drifted lazily through the trimmed foliage and came to rest in the manicured gardens. Jin had never been to a restaurant before. He had heard about them though, and knew they were just like fancier versions of the cafés in the village back home. Actually, he had been looking forward to this since he first heard he was being taken out to eat.

All his life, Jin had eaten the way his mother had – off the land, occasionally supplemented by what they'd pick up in the convenience store. There was a way of preparing the food that he had been taught: things were arranged in balance – five tastes and five colours, each complementing one another. The simplicity of each vegetable was honoured and lifted by attention to flavour and detail. They ate with the seasons and picked what grew on the mountain. Once a fortnight they pickled and preserved vegetables, and once a week they a made tofu from soy milk, or soy milk from beans, or fermented beans until they were soft and sticky and could be ground into a paste. Rice was washed for each meal, and each table was laid with deliberation. There were certain foods they abstained from: no animals or fish, and no root vegetables with strong odours. Roots went down into the earth and were the life of a plant and the structure of a soil: they were to be left alone. To eat was not separate from to prepare. And this was a part of the larger rhythm of the day – a blend of training – mind and body, foraging, bathing, long walks learning the names of the trees and the plants and the animals, and the aspects of human life that threatened them.

Jin had known all this would change. He had known it from that day of violence and fire and storms. He had known it when he'd got onto the ferry, and got onto the train, and first seen a city, and first seen the Mishima Estate, and first seen his grandfather. He'd been swallowing changes every day since, with his mind resolute and his heart fractured but strong. It was the small things that surprised him though – not foraging his food or preparing it, so that when it was placed before him, he felt oddly disconnected from it and had no idea what he was eating. He'd been so shocked when meat had been laid before him that he'd stared and stared and thought about crying. He hadn't cried though. He had been very, very hungry that evening, and it seemed to him that worse than eating an animal was to be ungrateful. His grandfather had given him everything, and Jin had already failed him in so many ways before that dish had even been laid before him.

He'd lain awake a lot of that night, upset and confused. Everything he had he had been graciously given, and it mattered a great deal to him to try and show his grandfather how thankful he was. His grandfather seemed to take a lot of pride in the food served in his house, and the longer Jin said nothing, the harder it felt to put in a request. At a restaurant though, Jin knew you could choose your food. He could finally have something he was used to, and not lie awake thinking about the lives of the things he'd eaten.

Jin shifted in his seat, twisting the fabric of his borrowed kimono between his fingers, but smiling none-the-less. He looked about on the table wondering where the menu might be.

"These cherry blossoms were picked and placed here just for this meal," Heihachi said, apparently assuming Jin was looking at the table décor.

Jin nodded and folded his hands in his lap. He looked up in some confusion when a sake pourer was set on the table, and two cups laid. A young woman in a beautiful kimono and enormous obi poured out fine clear liquid into the pourer. Jin stared at her. She had alighting cranes on her kimono, whose long feet reached out for a monochrome rice field, whilst mountains rolled in the distance. Jin wondered if the fields were a real place, and if the person who'd first drawn those birds had sat and watched them through the dawn to paint them just so.

"Got an eye for the ladies, eh, Jin?"

Jin turned at the sound of his name. His grandfather winked, and Jin stared at him, uncomprehending. The young woman smiled and bowed to them.

"Your food will be served shortly."

Jin's heart picked up pace.

"How do they know what we want to eat?" he dared to ask his grandfather, once the crane lady had left.

"I selected our dishes yesterday. This is high end eating, Jin. One does not simply turn up on the day and ask for a random dish. The fresh ingredients must be acquired, and all made to perfection in advance of our even arriving here. Have you drunk sake before?"

Jin's heart fell. His fists tightened under the table.

"Well?"

He realised he'd been asked a question. "Uh- no, Ojiisama."

His mother had never drunk alcohol, and it honestly held a mythological status in Jin's mind. There had been a tatami weaver in the village who drunk it all the time, and walked in a kind of wiggle, and slurred his words, and had a red nose, and swore that he couldn't weave tatami without it. Jin watched as his grandfather poured out a cup for him. He wondered if he would be transformed and walk in a wiggle, slur his words, get a red nose, and get very good at tatami weaving.

"Will it make me walk funny and get a red nose?"

"Hm, I shouldn't think so. It's only a cup. Now, raise your cup. Kanpai!"

Jin sipped it obediently.

"All in one go, Jin."

Jin did so. He pulled a face and coughed. That made his grandfather roar with laughter and slap his thighs. Jin didn't think it was all that funny. He wondered if his nose was red.

The meal that arrived was absolutely incomprehensible to Jin. He watched in silence as small dishes were set before him. One contained something that looked superficially like a mushroom, but Jin knew from the texture that it certainly wasn't. Another contained a single, small, golden ball – he had no idea what that was. One dish had a small blond cube in it, and another contained an entire shrimp, face tail and all, with some kind of sauce and scattering of herbs on top. Jin's fingers curled as he looked at the tiny dead sea creature. More and more dishes kept coming, each only containing one small item at the bottom that looked like nothing growing Jin had ever seen before. Finally, an enormous dish was brought out with fans of fish meat cut in rectangles, and overlaid on one another like spiralling rooftiles in two rows. A forest of lettuce crowned them.

Heihachi clapped his palms together, "Let's eat!"

Jin copied him, murmuring the words after him. He stared at the spread helplessly. Heihachi picked up his chopsticks, then selected a slab of fish. With a flick of his chopsticks he'd rolled it up and popped it in his mouth. His eyes went to Jin. Jin grabbed his own pair and hovered them over the different bowls, unsure what to pick. His heart was racing. His eyes kept going back to that shrimp just lying there.

He reached for a bowl of soup – that looked safest to start at. He took it in his hands and sipped. A rush of relief filled him when the familiar taste of miso reached his lips. He drank it down eagerly, picking out the soft squares of silken tofu as he did. He looked over the rim of his bowl at his grandfather.

In his hands he had a shrimp. Jin watch horrified as Heihachi broke off the thing's head, then pulled off its tail, and began to deshell the created in his fingers. Jin blinked repeatedly and buried himself in the dregs of his miso soup. He picked at various other dishes, tentatively trying flavours strange and new: sweet, umami, bitter, salty, and – spicy. Jin blinked when he put a red flake in his mouth. It made his eyes swim and his tongue tingle like he'd eaten something hot. He'd never had such a strong flavour before. He touched his finger to another flake and held it out to Heihachi, fear overcome by curiosity.

"What is this?"

"Hm? Looks like chili."

"Chili…"

"Was it spicy? Hot?"

"Hot! Yes… sort of."

Heihachi peered at him. "Do you like it?"

Jin thought about that. Then he popped his finger in his mouth with the flake on and screwed up his eyes, and scrunched up his nose, and put out his tongue. Then he opened his eyes and nodded.

"Yes, I like it a lot."

The blonde cube turned out to be spicy too. Jin decided he liked that as well. It was crunchy like an apple, but hot like a red chili flake. At some point he found a dish before him that was filled with something odd and semi-circular, and covered in black spikes. Its interior looked soft, foamy, and orange. Jin looked at it for a long while before glancing up at Heihachi. Heihachi was watching him, a slash of sashimi paused en route to his mouth.

"This is a sea urchin…" Jin said slowly.

"Correct. Half-a-one, leastwise."

Jin's stomach contracted with pride at the words, even though he looked sadly at the creature before him.

"Try it," Heihachi said.

Jin hesitated. He looked at his grandfather, then back at the urchin. His chopsticks hovered over it. He tried to hold them steady and make sure none of his inner turmoil was revealed. He plucked at the urchin and caught up a pinch of its orangey insides, then looked at Heihachi. He placed the food in his mouth. It tasted strange… salty but sweet, slimy but creamy. He chewed slowly then gulped as he swallowed.

"Verdict?" Heihachi asked.

Jin's blinked and shifted in his seat. He searched for the right words to satiate his grandfather.

"I've not had anything like it before."

Heihachi's face broke into aloof amusement. Jin sighed in relief at the sight of his smile.

"Of course not. This is the very best. When you attend future such meals alongside my business colleagues, you will be familiar with everything before you. We're here today to get you acclimatised and educated. A Mishima eats well, dresses well, lives well. He is not surprised by food, because he may partake of such delicacies whenever he pleases. We must catch you up to speed, you have a lot to sample."

"Meet… business colleagues?" Jin ventured.

"Of course! Everyone will know the future heir of the Zaibatsu."

"O-… Ojiisama?"

"What?"

"I've heard it a few times, but what is a zaibatsu?"

Heihachi stared at him, then a small smile grew on his face.

"Why, the future, Jin. A family corporation, grown from nothing, and soon ours will encompass the globe. You will sit at its head some day, and look back and remember moments like this, before I raised you up, when you lived in ignorance with nothing to your name. You will look down upon the nations of the world and see them as nought next your power. Many covet the Mishima Zaibatsu, but only the worthy may rule it."

Jin's gaze had drifted during this, he was looking at the shrimp, untouched in its bowl. His thoughts had gone to the warm shallows on the beaches of Yakushima, and the way the sea heated under the sun as it slid over the white sand. He was thinking of the different seaweeds that floated their dark fronds, and the unique way each had to be harvested. He was thinking of drying them on rocks and toasting them over an open fire. He was thinking of prodding the embers, and the way the sparks jumped molten in the night air. He was thinking of the way they'd rise, until they were indistinguishable from the stars above. He was thinking of the deep violet black of night, and the pinpricks of stars and dim glow of planets, and the frosted breath of the Milky Way, that looks like the footsteps of ghosts. He was thinking of the spirits that inhabited the mountains and wandered the woods, and guided the river, and walked until dawn and rested by day, and the ceremonies throughout the seasons done to set them at ease and placate them.

"Power, Jin. That's what it's really all about. And the first thing you need is a good education to get your head in the moment, and pointed toward things that matter. From here on out, a lot's going to change for you, my boy."