Aozaki Aoko Case File

Credits: Shadow260802

Aoko sat at a table one seat away from the priest who was devouring his meal, his mouth gleaming with chili oil.

Just as Aoko was wondering if Kirei Kotomine came here every day to eat mapo tofu, the restaurant owner (who was also the chef) approached her with a menu in hand.

Aoko took the menu, flipped through it for a moment, and noticed that the amount of red on the pages was unusually overwhelming.

"Hm, I'll have a serving of twice-cooked pork, spicy chicken, some rice, and a large iced cola."

"Got it—twice-cooked pork, spicy chicken, rice, and a large iced cola," the owner, Batsu, quickly jotted down Aoko's order in her notebook.

Aoko glanced again at the Mapo Priest and found him slightly trembling as he continued eating his mapo tofu.

Was this… the kind of pain that brings pleasure?!

After a short wait, the owner brought over Aoko's food. She thanked her and eagerly picked up her chopsticks to begin eating.

In her current life, Aoko didn't eat spicy food often (since both Touko and Alice disliked it), but in her memories of a past life, she had been someone who loved spicy food. So, when she saw the bright red dishes, she couldn't help but swallow in anticipation.

Aoko placed a slice of twice-cooked pork into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully, and then took a small bite of rice. She nodded to herself. It's delicious.

Aoko was quite satisfied with the flavor of the dishes. The taste of the twice-cooked pork was authentic, and the spiciness was just right… or so she thought!

The spice level was much higher than it appeared—one of those slow-building, lingering types of spiciness that only hit you after careful savoring.

Sweat started to bead on Aoko's forehead, but her pace didn't slow down. It was, perhaps, a common trait among spicy food lovers.

Capsaicin, scientifically speaking, can stimulate the nerves, creating pain signals that are sent directly to the brain, which in turn releases endorphins.

In layman's terms, this is the so-called pleasant suffering theory—the idea that people enjoy the dangerous sensations of spiciness in a safe environment, resulting in a rush of pleasure. It's no wonder that people who love adventure also tend to enjoy spicy food.

The two only diners in the small restaurant, separated by a single table, were in remarkably similar situations: drenched in sweat but never stopping their chopsticks or spoons.

Kirei Kotomine, who had arrived before Aoko, had just about finished his meal. He carefully wiped the chili oil from the corners of his mouth with a napkin and then used a handkerchief to dry the sweat on his forehead. When he looked up, he noticed Aoko eating with gusto.

Kirei, who deeply understood the spiciness of this restaurant's food, knew that its regular patrons were anything but ordinary food enthusiasts. Every single customer here had to harbor a nearly obsessive passion for spicy food.

He immediately recognized the woman before him as the Master of Saber, Aoko Aozaki, the Newest Magician. But even for someone of her stature, could she truly enjoy this kind of food?

Kirei's fondness for spicy food was simple—he relished the pain. That pain allowed him, a fundamentally hollow person, to experience a fleeting sense of being alive.

But what about this Magician? Was it a simple love for spicy food?

No, that couldn't be it. Kirei was certain that the spiciness of this restaurant's food had long surpassed the realm of enjoyment and entered the territory of punishment. Yet, the woman before him seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. This was something he simply couldn't comprehend.

Kirei suddenly found himself grappling with a philosophical dilemma. He stared blankly at Aoko's eating motions, as though pondering some bizarre existential question like, "Is pain what defines me?"

However, Aoko paid no attention to the potentially masochistic priest. She was fully immersed in the fiery ocean of spiciness, even discreetly using healing magic to soothe her mouth, which was slightly injured from consuming so much chili.

After a fierce battle, Aoko finished all her food, exhaled a satisfied breath, and gulped down her large iced cola.

What is happiness? This is happiness—simple and pure.

As Aoko was about to pay and leave, a voice called out to her.

"...Miss Aozaki, do you enjoy this kind of food?" Kirei asked.

"Father Kotomine, that's an odd question," Aoko turned around and replied. "If I didn't like it, why would I come here to eat?"

"Even though the spiciness is such that it only brings pain," Kirei frowned, "why would you still enjoy it?"

"That's a simple question, Father Kotomine," Aoko answered decisively. "It's about comparison."

"Comparison?" Kirei asked, puzzled. "How so?"

"The essence of this cuisine lies in amplifying the freshness of other ingredients through pain," Aoko explained casually. "In other words, it's about 'comparing' the pain of the spice with the natural flavors of the food."

"A person feels unhappy because they haven't found the right point of reference," Aoko said, wagging her finger. "All human pleasure is relative—that's the principle of comparison, Father Kotomine."

Kirei said nothing, but it was evident that he was deeply shaken by Aoko's twisted logic.

Reflecting on his own life, had Kirei ever found that point of comparison that could make him feel happy?

While Kirei was lost in thought, Aoko turned and left the restaurant. After all, she had no interest in teaching an unhinged man the meaning of pleasure.