Served with a Side of Trouble

Qustions without clear answers

The kitchen timer showed 6:58 AM as Luca made his final adjustments to the breakfast presentation. He'd been up since 5:30, prepping components for the traditional Japanese breakfast Julian had unexpectedly requested. The miso soup simmered gently, its aroma mingling with the steamed rice and the delicate scent of the tamagoyaki he'd just sliced into perfectly even portions.

Luca arranged the components with practiced precision on the lacquered tray he'd found tucked away in a cabinet—clearly part of the estate's extensive collection of serving pieces for every conceivable cuisine. Small dishes of pickled vegetables, carefully arranged nori, and a portion of grilled fish completed the presentation. Not entirely traditional, but as authentic as he could manage with the ingredients available on short notice.

He glanced at the clock again—6:59. Julian would be in the morning room now, precisely on time as he had been every morning this past week.

Luca straightened his chef's coat, still crisp despite the early morning of cooking. Fatigue pulled at him after his late night of competition research, but he pushed it aside with practiced discipline. Professional kitchens operated on energy management, not the luxury of adequate sleep.

Lifting the tray, Luca moved with deliberate care through the service corridor toward the morning room. The weight of the various dishes was substantial, requiring the same controlled movements he'd learned carrying full trays through crowded restaurant floors early in his career.

As the grandfather clock began to chime seven, Luca rounded the corner into the morning room. Julian sat at his customary place, posture perfect, attention focused on aligning the silver beside his plate with geometric precision. The morning light caught in his still-damp blond hair, the slight flush in his complexion suggesting he'd recently showered.

"Good morning, Mr. Deveraux," Luca said, maintaining professional formality despite this being their fifth consecutive morning interaction. "Japanese breakfast, as requested."

Julian looked up, those green eyes sharpening with interest that he quickly tempered into his usual studied indifference. "Good morning, Reyes."

Luca approached the table, setting the lacquered tray down before carefully transferring each component to its place on the table. First the rice, positioned to Julian's right. Then the miso soup in its traditional bowl. The tamagoyaki on its rectangular plate, positioned with the most visually appealing cut facing Julian. Each small dish of sides arranged according to traditional presentation principles.

Julian observed the process with greater attention than he usually afforded meal service, Luca noticed. His gaze tracked each dish as it was placed, lingering on the tamagoyaki with particular interest.

"Traditional Japanese breakfast includes rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki—which is a rolled omelet—pickled vegetables, and nori," Luca explained, completing the presentation. "The proportions and specific components vary by region and household, but these elements form the foundation."

Julian nodded slightly, his expression revealing nothing beyond polite acknowledgment. Yet something in his focused attention suggested more than casual interest. He studied the arrangement for a moment before lifting his chopsticks—correctly, Luca noted with mild surprise—and taking a small portion of the tamagoyaki.

Luca watched Julian's reaction from the periphery of his vision while maintaining a professional stance slightly removed from the table. The subtle widening of Julian's eyes as he tasted the layered omelet was brief but unmistakable—genuine appreciation before the mask of indifference slipped back into place.

"The technique is quite precise," Julian commented, setting down his chopsticks to taste the miso soup. "Each layer individually cooked before being incorporated into the roll."