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墨書 Inktalez
That evening, the sky was overcast, as if a heavy layer of clouds pressed down from above. The office lights flickered intermittently, giving the impression that they were about to fail. The clock on the wall pointed to five o'clock, and just as I was about to grab my coat and head home, a low cough reached my ears, as if someone were reminding me to pay attention.
"Kostan, you don't have any special plans tonight, do you?"
I turned to see Leiflo standing at the door. He was tall, with a slight belly that made his suit fit uncomfortably. A mysterious smile always lingered on his face, as if he knew secrets that others did not. He was not only my boss but also a highly influential figure in the company; no one would easily refuse him.
"I don't have anything special planned, Mr. Leiflo," I replied.
He stepped inside, his tone softening a bit. "I want to take you somewhere tonight—a very special restaurant. It's not a place just anyone can enter. What do you say? Would you like to join me?"
His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement, and although I felt a bit puzzled, I nodded in agreement. "Of course, I'd be honored."
We walked out of the office together. Outside, the sky had darkened further, and the wind blew coldly from the alley, making me instinctively pull my collar up. As we walked, Leiflo spoke enthusiastically about the restaurant—mentioning food, tradition, and atmosphere. I struggled to fully grasp what he was saying, but his passion was palpable.
We passed through several old streets that I usually avoided; the buildings looked aged and cramped, like a group of elderly people huddled together for warmth. Finally, he stopped in front of an unremarkable building and turned to me with a smile.
"We're here—this is Spero Restaurant," he said.
I looked up at a dark brown wall made of stone and gravel. There was no sign hanging out front, nor any lights illuminating the entrance. Only a window barred with iron grates revealed a faint orange glow behind thick curtains.
"Oh my," I said, "this place looks more like a cellar than a restaurant."
"You need to understand," Leiflo's tone grew serious, "Spero is not an ordinary place. It doesn't cater to trends or put on airs. It only cares about one thing—real flavor and genuine experience."
The way he spoke made it seem almost sacred, leaving me momentarily at a loss for words.
"I mean... it looks a bit like somewhere vampires would open," I tried to joke.
Leiflo shot me a glance that sent a chill down my spine, as if I had offended something he held dear.
"It still uses gas lamps for lighting; there might really be cobwebs in the corners, but you'll experience true culinary delights and authentic service."
With that, he led me down a slippery stone staircase. The ground was made of old stones that echoed slightly underfoot, as if whispers were coming from the shadows. We reached the door where he brushed his hand against the wall and pulled an old doorbell hidden within it.
The sound of metal clashing echoed from inside before the door slowly creaked open, revealing a blurred face peering through the gap. The features were indistinct, but I could see an unsettlingly bright smile glimmering in the light.
"Mr. Leiflo and a guest."
The man nodded and stepped aside to let us pass. I followed Leiflo inside, and the two doors closed behind us, shutting out all sound and light from the outside.
We entered a small foyer, where a massive mirror stretched from the floor to the ceiling. I saw my reflection standing there in my work suit, a look of confusion on my face.
I whispered to Leiflo, "The atmosphere here... feels a bit strange."
He smiled as if he had anticipated my reaction. "You'll get used to it in time; you'll be grateful I brought you here."
We were led to a small table for two near the corner. The restaurant was not large, with fewer than ten tables arranged at a respectful distance from one another, as if designed to allow each customer to quietly immerse themselves in their own world. The lighting came from several flickering gas lamps, casting a warm glow that created shifting shadows on the walls, as if unseen things were quietly moving, waiting for us to let our guard down.
As I looked around, I suddenly realized something odd—there were no female customers present.
"Is it... not welcoming to women here?" I asked in a lowered voice.
Leiflo remained composed, his eyes flickering. "It's not that they're unwelcome," he said, "but they often don't come back for a second visit." A peculiar smile crept onto his lips. "I've seen it once. A gentleman brought his partner here, and she sat for over an hour without any server acknowledging her. The atmosphere became awkward and cold, and eventually, they left in haste and never returned."
I chuckled softly, though my smile carried a hint of hesitation. "That sounds like... quite an unforgettable experience."
At that moment, a waiter appeared silently at our table. Dressed in a neat uniform, his silver hair glowed softly under the gaslight, and his features were so refined they seemed almost unreal, like a character stepped out of a classic black-and-white film. He simply smiled, his tone respectful yet calm: "Please wait a moment, gentlemen," before quietly departing.
"Don't we get to order?" I asked in confusion.
"There is no menu here," Leiflo replied. "They serve only one dish each day; everyone eats the same thing. You don't need to make choices or have any complaints."
"What if I don't like it?"
He smiled slightly, his tone firm. "You will like it. Even if you have reservations at first, in the end, you'll find it impossible to resist."
His tone felt less like a reassurance and more like a command. This made me a bit uneasy, but at the same time, it sparked an inexplicable curiosity within me. This place was filled with oddities, yet its air of mystery was hard to resist.
Before long, the same server appeared again, carrying two exquisite porcelain bowls filled with steaming soup. The broth was nearly transparent, as light as plain water.
I scooped up a spoonful and brought it to my lips; the taste was very mild, almost devoid of salt. Instinctively, I reached out for condiments on the table, only to find it completely bare.
"Are you looking for salt?" Leiflo chuckled lightly. "Every first-time visitor does. But here, there is no salt, no pepper, not even any seasoning."
"So... nothing at all?" I was taken aback.
"This restaurant believes that true flavor should come from the ingredients themselves, not be masked by seasoning," he paused, his gaze meaningful. "When you are willing to take your time and savor it slowly, you'll discover that your palate is far more sensitive than you think."
Skeptically, I continued sipping the soup. Strangely enough, each spoonful seemed to have more flavor than the last, as if my tongue had truly become more attuned. The taste was not a strong spice but rather a delicate and profound sensation, like an instinct awakening within me.
I set down my spoon and looked up at him, saying, "I have to admit, this soup... is actually quite good."
Leiflo smiled faintly, a look of knowing satisfaction in his eyes. "I knew you would say that."
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