Chapter 1: New Umami

Miyako Takahashi had spent her life in pursuit of the finest flavors the world had to offer.

Born into an aristocratic family, she had the wealth to dine at Michelin-starred restaurants across Paris, London, and New York.

But unlike her family, who reveled in lavish estates and entourages of servants, Miyako and her husband, Haruto, preferred a quiet, simple life.

They had chosen a modest three-story home in Tokyo, a retreat from the excess that defined their upbringing.

Haruto, heir to a prestigious business empire, found no passion in stock markets or boardroom meetings.

Instead, he was devoted to philately, the art of collecting rare stamps.

He dedicated the third floor of their home to his vast stamp collection and an extensive library of books he loved to read, and to the vast stamps he had collected for years.

He could lose himself for hours examining the intricate details of vintage envelopes, his fingers tracing faded postmarks like a scholar uncovering history’s whispers.

Miyako often watched him, fascinated by his enthusiasm, yet utterly baffled by how deeply he cared for tiny squares of paper.

Their marriage was filled with love and passion, yet there was one minor complication, Haruto was a fast finisher.

Despite his best efforts in bed, endurance was not his strong suit.

However, what he lacked in longevity, he made up for in sheer talent.

His tongue played Miyako like Jimi Hendrix played the guitar, coaxing symphonies of pleasure from her body.

What could have been a frustration was, instead, an amusing quirk they both accepted with laughter.

One evening, after an especially enthusiastic session, Haruto climaxed suddenly.

Miyako, caught off guard, inhaled at the wrong moment.

A warm, unexpected sensation slid down her throat, sending her into a coughing fit.

Desperate to clear her airways, she reached blindly for the nearest drink, her half-finished glass of orange juice. She took a gulp, and then…

Her breath caught for a different reason.

She started analyzing it like a wine connoisseur, the flavors collided in her mouth, an intricate dance of citrus tang and unexpected salinity.

She didn't find it unpleasant.

She found it intriguing.

She swallowed, puzzled yet exhilarated.

Was it an anomaly?

A trick of the mind?

Or had she, by complete accident, discovered a new umami?

The next morning, Miyako stood in the kitchen preparing breakfast.

She reached for the coffee creamer, only to realize they were out.

She then sat at the breakfast table, sipping her black coffee and flipping through the newspaper.

As she turned the page, Haruto shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

His pajama pants did little to hide the towering issue at hand.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

Miyako barely looked up.

It was the same every morning.

But this time, as she stared at her coffee, an idea flickered in her mind.

She folded the newspaper and set it aside. "Wait a second."

Haruto blinked groggily. "What?"

"Come here."

Still half-asleep, he stepped forward.

Before he could react, she hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged his pants down.

"What the hell—?" He jolted awake. "At least let me wash my face first!"

"It’s not like it’s gonna take all morning," she teased, eyes twinkling.

His lips twitched. "What did you just say?"

"Just kidding," she laughed, pressing a playful kiss against his fully awake penis before glancing up at him.

Then, her voice dropped slightly. "Hey…"

Haruto swallowed. "Just do it already," he muttered, looking away.

She smiled and leaned in, getting to work with two hands.

It didn’t take long—his breath hitched, his body tensed, and with a groan, she made him released straight into her coffee mug.

She made a small mess, with drops of coffee and semen landing on the table and her clothes.

She removed the ones that landed on her face with her finger and put them back into the coffee cup, mixing everything together with the same finger before licking it.

Haruto, pulled up his pants and frowned at her.

"What are you doing?"

"Thanks for the food." She then took a sip and then smacked her lips.

The result was astonishing.

The bitterness of the coffee mellowed, its complexity heightened by the unexpected addition.

Every note—nutty, earthy, robust—was now deeper, richer.

It was unlike anything she had ever tasted.

She let it settle on her tongue before swallowing.

"I was out of creamer," she said matter-of-factly.

Haruto stared at her, "Thank you for using me as a cow." He said sarcastically.

She took another sip. "I’ve never tasted coffee like this before."

"What are you complaining about? I just helped release the tension."

Miyako no longer needed to buy creamer after that.

Each morning, she continued the ritual, fascinated by how the flavor changed with Haruto’s diet.

One day, after a dinner of oysters and red wine, the taste took on a creamy, velvety depth.

Another day, after a meal of spicy ramen, it carried a subtle exotic kick.

One morning, she met with her friends at their usual café.

They gathered at their favorite table...

"He's never going to leave his wife," Yuki sighed, swirling her tea absentmindedly. "I’m an idiot for still hoping."

The other three groaned.

They didn't want to see Yuki in that situation, but there was nothing they could do.

"You have to move on, Yuki," Aiko said gently. "Find someone who loves you as much as you love them."

"Yeah," Rina added, "Someone who doesn’t have a whole other family waiting for him at home."

Yuki gave a sad laugh. "Easier said than done."

The conversation shifted to work drama and annoying coworkers, but Miyako barely contributed.

She was preoccupied, sipping from her thermos of homemade coffee.

The taste was richer today—velvety, almost decadent.

Yuki, sitting next to her, caught a whiff. "Wow, that smells amazing. Let me try."

Miyako tensed. "Oh, uh… it has alcohol in it."

Yuki narrowed her eyes. "Since when do you drink in the morning?"

"It’s just a little," Miyako said quickly.

Yuki snatched the thermos before Miyako could protest and took a sip.

Her eyes widened. "This is so good. What kind of alcohol is in it?"

Miyako hesitated. "…Spirits."

There was a long pause as Yuki sat there, still holding the thermos.

She blinked, as if seeing clearly for the first time. ‘Why the hell have I been putting up with this?’

Then, without warning, she pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker.

"Hey," came a man’s voice.

"It’s over," Yuki said flatly.

A stunned silence fell over the table.

The man stammered something incoherent before Yuki hung up and set her phone down like she’d just deleted an app she didn’t need anymore.

The friends gawked at her.

Aiko was the first to break the silence. "What just happened?"

"I don’t know," Yuki said, dazed. "I drank the coffee, and suddenly, I realized how stupid I was for staying with him."

Three pair of eyes slowly turned toward Miyako.

Rina leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Where did you get that coffee?"

Miyako’s heart pounded. "I… I made it at home. It’s kind of a homemade recipe I discovered a few days ago."

For Aiko, it was a moment of realization, like someone had just uncovered the formula for fire.

"Oh my god. You guys, I think Miyako just made a discovery."

Miyako swallowed. "What… what kind of discovery?"

"Your coffee can help people get out of toxic relationships!" Aiko exclaimed. "I need to taste it!"

The thermos was passed around.

They all took sips, savoring the warmth, the depth of flavor.

Then Aiko leaned in, eyes sparkling. "Miyako… you can’t keep this to yourself. You’ve found the cure for toxic relationships. You have to use it to help people."

Miyako looked down at her cup, hands trembling slightly, thinking "Have I really just brewed something that could change people's lives?"