Is DeepL any better than Google Translate?

Chapter 4: Untitled

"Hey, how long are we going to be here?"

　She asks the boy sitting across from her with a blank stare.

　The two of them are at a certain yakiniku restaurant.

　It is a common chain restaurant with a very simple interior.

　They are seated at a table by the window - on the tabletop are small ceramic jars filled with seasoning salt, pepper, and sauce.

　The table is large enough to seat five or six people, and as is expected of a yakiniku restaurant, there is a charcoal stove on the table.

　It was a small, narrow restaurant on the fifth floor of a building.

　It was raining outside, raindrops falling on the windowpanes, a curtain of rain spreading like waves through the windowpanes.

　She was just now glaring at the world below through the fogged up window glass, as if she was looking at the world from a high place.

　Umbrella flowers bloomed at the intersection.

　Mating pairs of people flock together.

　--It was trivial.

　Eventually she got bored with the view and within five minutes, she was back to grabbing small pieces of pre-cooked meat with tongs and putting them on the fire.

　Someone had told me that a man and a woman who go out to eat yakiniku together have a very close relationship.

　There was no one else in the restaurant except the two of us.

　The waitress had probably retreated to the kitchen in the back of the restaurant, but she hadn't come out to the counter for at least thirty minutes after placing a plate of meat on their table.

　The sound of sparks bursting into flame.

　The white flesh, dripping with blood, was slowly but surely transforming into a charred brown.

　His memories explode and disappear like bubbles in a cider.

　Memories of fun times, laughing together, painful times...

　All the memories evaporated with the sound of cooking meat, and were sucked into the exhaust vent that stretched over the top of the seven rings.

　It's like a lie.

"Are you listening?"

　She asks again.

　He collapsed onto his back, his two lightless eyes set like blackened marbles.

　She sprinkled the meat with the right amount of salt and began to eat.

　As usual, he did not speak.

　His tongue darted out of his mouth without effort, like a dog out on a hot day, while she pecked away at the grilled meat without breaking a sweat.

　No sound.

　Strictly speaking, I can only hear the occasional annoying female waiter's voice mixed in with the sound of the meat cooking.

　--This is strange.

　An electric light that was about to go out flickered on and off, illuminating the not-so-bright interior unreliably.

　Why isn't he talking?

　She hadn't realized that being unresponsive would push her this far.

　But when her partner doesn't respond, it's a different story.

"Um... you don't like me?"

　She asks in a pleading, anxious voice, and he ignores her and remains silent.

"I'm having dinner with you right now. I'm having dinner with you right now. It doesn't make sense that there are only two of us at a dinner party and only one of us is talking, so please say something. ...... And if you don't, I ......"

　I'm not sure what to say.

　It's just one word.

"I'm going to miss you.

　Her bright red lips move up and down, left and right, in and out, freely.

　Even after she finishes, she continues to slurp up chunks of burnt meat.

　She was also cooking the meat she had ordered on her plate.

　She continued to eat without breaking a sweat, even though the heat was so hot that it threatened to burn her clothes.

　When it was time to eat, she roughly poked the meat on the wire mesh with her chopsticks and took a bite.

　A rough, sandy taste danced on my tongue, as if my mouth had been filled with gravel.

　I knew it tasted bad.

　The thing I had been eating earlier tasted more like tofu.

　Without hesitation, she spat out the food on the table.

　I heard the sound of something watery slapping against the table.

　The sound of something wet slapping against the table, and the small sound of her vomiting...

　She covered her mouth with the paper provided.

　She wiped her mouth with the paper provided and looked again at her vomit.

　The flesh spattered with saliva on the wood grain of the table resembled the phlegm you get when you have a cold.

　I decided to call someone on the intercom.

　It was no longer interesting to her that she was living just to maintain her life activity, it was just like masturbation.

　However, for her, being alive is deeply connected to eating.

　In other words, this boy was the supreme menu.

　By the time the waitress arrived, it was already too late for anything.

"Sir, what can I do for you?

　As soon as the female waitress saw the boy's horrible condition, she started screaming.

　She ran over and became the first witness, except for her, the pathetic assailant.

"The boy's skull cracked open.

　The boy's skull was cracked open and his brains were popping out.

　The boy, splattered with brain plasma, was propped up on the table.

　The blood that splattered like red paint on the table created an unrealistic sense of reality.

　It was a daydream scene that could only be described as a scream.

　What spurred her on was the fact that she was standing right in front of the boy, calm and unconcerned, roasting and eating his lifeless brain.