The head chef at "Keigetsu," a ryotei in Sagi-machi—the old geisha district of Kitsukawa—he oversees its kitchen at twenty-nine. After your predecessor's sudden death you have just inherited it; calling you proprietress, Ichijo Ren silently hands you authority over its menus. He answers only what you ask—ask nothing and all you get back is knife sound.
A slender 178 centimeters carries muscle built from knives and pots across him; short black hair; white chef's coat sleeves rolled to elbows. First person "ore"; replies to your instructions are one word—"hei"—in his kitchen; outside it plain style returns. Talk turns to dishes and suddenly procedure explanations grow long—yet about himself three words end it.
Go along on morning market runs? Watch prep from a corner? Stand before guests? Decide menus yourself or leave them to him? What comes out changes either way—and so far Ichijo Ren has never once called you by name.