Chapter 3: Fried Chicken Is Nice.

Walking for a while more, he finally came across the place of interest. Located in between what seemed to be a stamp shop and some rundown antique shop of some sort. The area was a little grimy and dusty, but a bright orange light stretched from the certain old greasy spoon in between.

Its walls were falling apart, with the building made from messy beige plaster. A large smudged window sat to the side, letting one stare into the establishment. It was a simple setup, with wrought-plastic chairs and tables stacked to the side, along with many paper menus taped to the side of the left wall. The lights were simple lightbulb fixtures that glowed a deep homey orange, and a small standard white counter sat to the side, a plump old lady in an apron counting away.

Above, on a faded orange tarp hanging from the open entrance, it read:

[Leaping-Deer Family Restaurant]

(A/N: Naming sense.)

Takeo entered through the doorway, his nose immediately assaulted by the scent of sesame oil and sizzling fried chicken. The place was packed with many different people. To the side, three old men laughed and chattered as they drank from glasses of soju. A small family sat quietly in the corner, the children glued to their tablets, and a young couple lovingly clasped each other's hands as they ate.

Taking an open seat near the door, he shifted on the small plastic stool, his elbows propped against the table. Looking up at the menu, he muttered a bit, flipping aside his ponytail. After contemplating for a bit, Takeo walked up to the counter.

"Umm… Can I have the three-piece Sesame Fried Chicken basket? Also a bowl of rice please." Reaching into his breast pocket, Takeo took out a cheap cloth wallet. Jacob, while extremely irritating and seemingly lazy, had surprisingly remembered to give him some money.

Putting that aside, the being had been pretty considerate as to many things. Jacob had given Takeo a small shelter, some funds, along with a few other things. It was all very convenient, and he was grateful.

Walking back to his seat, there wasn't really much else to do. On the wall, an old television was holstered with what seemed to be a copious amount of ducktape. It was broadcasting some random car crashes and such.

Takeo reached into his pocket, taking out a sleek black phone. Turning it on, he scrolled through social media listlessly, absently drifting off into another plane of consciousness. Thumb flicking about, he looked through countless posts. There were ones about Shiba Inus, some about Idols, and quite a few about vacationing spots and food.

In no time, about ten minutes had passed when a waiter walked over. Slamming down a strewn basket and a steaming bowl of rice, the waiter, a tall ragtag guy with dyed-brown hair and rough skin smiled.

"Please enjoy!"

Bowing slightly, the waiter walked away, and Takeo nodded in thanks. Putting away his phone, he wiped some drool from his face as he stared down in delight. The chicken pieces were large and golden-brown, covered in flaky sesame seeds, the outer skin crispy and oozing with meaty juices. He breathed in through his nose, smelling the fresh scent of fried chicken.

To the side, a bowl of rice sat. Steam rose into the air, curling up into the orange light above, with each white grain a beautiful sheen to it. Not too dry, yet not too soggy either. Takeo felt that he was a good judge of rice, and he felt like this one was pretty nice.

Silently clapping his hands together, he nodded in respect, before commencing his semi-oily yet delicious dinner. Raising a pair of dark wooden chopsticks, he clasped the chicken, the crunchy breading crumbling a bit as he lifted part of a piece up to his mouth. Each piece was about as large as your average-sized croquette, which made it a pretty good deal, in Takeo's opinion.

*Crunch!*

His teeth bit into the chicken, and immediately, he was assaulted by a whole new sea of flavor. There was the fragrant delectable taste of chicken, accented by fresh thyme and powerful sesame seeds, along with a tint of salt. The outer skin was satisfyingly crunchy, breaded to absolute perfection, and the tender flavor-filled flesh was juicy and filling.

Taking a bite of rice, the grains were soft and almost flavor-less, but they did much to help accent the fried chicken. Digging into the meal with much satisfaction, a wide smile across his face, one couldn't differentiate him from any old student.

As he dined, a few murmurs arose as a strange teen walked into the diner. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Takeo blinked, cheeks puffed up and chewing. This was no normal person…. That, he definitely knew.

Slowly strolling into the diner, the kid was obviously not your run-of-the-mill high school student. With each wide-open step he took, and with that slouched posture, the person's whole being radiated arrogance. A tall teen he was, with healthily tinted skin and a compact muscular build. Wearing a tight-fitting maroon school uniform alongside blue jeans, he had a sharp military crew cut, his smooth hair a light grey. Black piercings were embedded in his ears, alongside two plain steel rings on his left hand.

His nose was long, and he had pretty intense cheekbones. The "arrogant" one possessed narrow stormy grey eyes that much accented his hair. His lips were small, and he had a natural childish grin. Putting aside his already strange appearance, this grey-haired guy held what seemed to be an ornate wooden cane in hand, as he hobbled over to the table next to Takeo.

Looking at the teen's calloused, chipped hands, along with a few scratches and bruises along his neck and face, Takeo immediately knew this guy was a decent fighter. Many strong fighters had the ability to estimate and calculate the power of certain individuals, let it be by instinct, or simply by appearance.

This man was definitely weaker than Takeo. Along with what the transmigrator estimated, as a person who qualified to be a "Highschool's Strongest". On the old Earth, the Yankees of Japan were pretty unorganized and such for the most part, but they all classified people to different titles. A very unstable and untrustworthy system.

Ignoring the teen, who had conspicuously settled himself there, ordering what seemed to be an iced tea alongside some side dishes, Takeo went back to his food, voraciously devouring it. He tried to savor it slowly and such, but he couldn't resist the temptation to shovel all of the food into his mouth. That was why he sometimes had indigestion…..

*Bang!*

As he made his way through the last of the fried chicken, suddenly, the door slammed open violently beside him. Milky gold eyes tensing a little in annoyance, Takeo growled as he looked aside. Entering the shop, what seemed to be a small crew of thugs had arrived.

They mostly wore the same uniform as grey-haired cane dude, a maroon coat alongside vivid blue jeans. The reason Takeo could tell that they were thugs, was because they all seemed to be sporting crazed wild hairstyles, held wooden planks and baseball bats in hand, and all had an expression like they were having diarrhea on their faces. Classic.

Giving them an annoyed side-eye, Takeo continued to eat, the rest of the customers becoming a little uneasy in the face of this sudden intrusion. Whispers and tenseness filled the air, and the plump old lady behind the counter smiled uneasily.

At the front of the thugs, was a more…. Noticeable outstanding delinquent, as in he stuck out from the rest. Broad-shouldered, with tanned skin and a decent-looking face, the guy had large plain-brown eyes, alongside a prominent nose, and a ragged black pompadour. He wore a glittering metal chain along his neck, and a provoking scowl across his face, displaying surprisingly clean teeth.

He looked like what Takeo would call, a "stereotypical head thug". With those large vein-filled hands and strong back muscles, he could assume this thug was probably a boxer. Perhaps a traditional one?

The group lumbered over beside him, their backs hunched, and expressions contorted angrily. Straightening out his ponytail, Takeo watched in interest as one of the more balding high school thugs slammed his fist on a table.

"Hey, you!" He growled at the cane-wielding teen, who looked up sleepily.

"What's up?" Spreading out his arms dramatically, the sole teen was quite relaxed, not really bothered by the whole situation.

Veins snapping, the blading teen growled, cracking his knuckles as the rest of the thugs behind reared up, arms out.