Tomorrow Never Daikon

It was the consummate consomme. A soup as thin as the plot.

It was retirement day at the agency for Daikon. It felt like a left over, an old root from the new year. Daikon was looking forward to leaving on a quiet note, but the top dogs, the head honchos, the chefs in the kitchen, they just had to spice things up.

There stood Pork, a rough-cut piece of new meat browned with his golden tan, holding the case files. Could things get any worse? They couldn't leave good enough alone, now they had to feed the stereotypes. One's all substance, the other's all flavor. Classic oddcouple. Crap. Daikon stewed.

They'd been assigned a pretty simple case. Or so it seemed. But Daikon knew there was trouble double brewing in the Pat Chun Gourmet Soy Sauce. What was Mirin doing at the Napa Cabbage during the Spring Onion? It all seemed like a tangle of Tang Hoon...