Why Isn't It Saturday Yet? I Also Want to Eat Well at the End of the Day

I opened a small restaurant in an alley, but there was no business at all on weekdays. But every Saturday, there are always some strange guests: covered in acid rain, with ulcerated skin, hot bodies, and cold... They always have tears in their eyes over a bowl of hot soup and a plate of egg fried rice. They also say that my place is the only hope in the apocalypse, a place of respite given by the gods. Later I learned that the egg fried rice I made could dispel radiation sickness, and the chicken soup I cooked could cure a nervous breakdown. All parties almost broke their heads trying to grab a seat every Saturday. And I was just looking at my vegetable garden, worrying about picking tomorrow's shiny tomatoes. ——"I'm just a cook, I really can't save the world."