Thursday
Tokyo
Advanced Nurturing High School
Far removed from student life, deep within the administrative wing of Advanced Nurturing High School, a quiet yet momentous meeting was currently unfolding.
Inside a sleek, minimalist conference room lit by the soft glow of the morning sun, two men sat across from each other at a low table, sharing tea and quiet laughter. Their appearances and presences couldn't have been more different, yet they conversed with an ease born of mutual respect.
On one side was a man in his forties, dressed in a sharp, dark suit tailored to perfection. His gray hair was neatly combed, and a pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His expression was calm, almost gentle, radiating an intellectual air and quiet grace. This was Chairman Sakayanagi, the current Chairman of Advanced Nurturing High School.
Across from him sat a figure who was every bit his opposite.
Clad in a traditional olive-colored yukata, secured with a crisp white obi, and wearing classic wooden geta sandals, the man's presence was nothing short of commanding. He was well into his sixties, perhaps older, with a body that spoke of a lifetime of discipline and strength. His arms were thick with muscle, veins just visible beneath weathered skin. A broad, imposing figure, his intense eyes and dignified bearing made the room feel smaller, even without a word spoken.
This man was Nakiri Senzaemon, the director of Tōtsuki Culinary Academy, a name that reverberated across Japan's culinary world with the weight of tradition, excellence, and ruthless standards.
Despite their stark contrast, both men laughed together over tea, their rapport surprisingly natural.
Senzaemon set his teacup down with a soft clink, his deep voice rumbling with composed curiosity.
"I must say, your institution is rather fascinating, Chairman Sakayanagi," he began, his tone casual, though his words carried weight.
Chairman Sakayanagi looked up, sensing the shift in tone. He gestured politely for Senzaemon to continue.
"On our way here," Senzaemon said, folding his arms loosely over his chest, "I couldn't help but notice the sheer number of surveillance cameras. Far too many for a mere school concerned with only campus safety."
He paused briefly, the silence between them filled only by the faint rustle of wind against the window.
"And then," he continued, "there's the location itself. A completely isolated campus, accessible only by one road. Built on an artificial island, far removed from the distractions and influences of the outside world. Quite the elaborate setup for a 'high school'."
Sakayanagi let out a quiet, measured chuckle, folding his hands neatly atop the lacquered table.
"I've heard that Tōtsuki is also no stranger to unconventional methods," he said, his tone light but curious. "An elite culinary institution famous for its intense competition, unrelenting standards, and the notion of students challenging one another in public duels to defend their cooking pride. A place where only the most tenacious thrive."
Senzaemon's shoulders rumbled with deep laughter. "You're not wrong. Tōtsuki is forged on trial and fire. We value letting our food do the talking."
A brief silence followed, the mirth fading slightly from their expressions. Senzaemon's smile relaxed, replaced by a rare seriousness as he straightened his back, the weight of his purpose finally pressing into the room.
"But," he continued, setting his cup aside with deliberate care, "let's not dance around formalities any longer. I imagine your schedule leaves little room for pleasantries."
The shift in tone was subtle, yet unmistakable. The easy atmosphere thickened ever so slightly, and even the air seemed to grow still.
Chairman Sakayanagi nodded slowly, his gaze narrowing just enough to show interest. "I take it this isn't just a courtesy visit, then?"
"No," Senzaemon confirmed, his voice low and resolute. "There's a matter I came here to discuss, something I believe could benefit both our institutions in the long term."
Sakayangi's expression grew more serious. "I'm listening."
Senzaemon leaned forward, resting his large hands on the table.
"A collaboration," he said. "Between Advanced Nurturing High School and Tōtsuki Culinary Academy."
The words hung in the air for a long moment, neither man speaking.
Finally, Sakayanagi tilted his head slightly, intrigued. "A collaboration... between our schools?"
Senzaemon nodded once, his expression unwavering. "Yes. A formal, ongoing partnership," he repeated, his voice carrying calm certainty. "There are countless possibilities to explore, mutual observation, event participation, even full crossover programs. I imagine, with how meticulously your school operates, you could devise even more nuanced applications of such a collaboration."
"I believe the synergy is natural," Senzaemon continued. "Both of our academies exist to forge greatness. You shape minds and manipulate society's systems. We cultivate through taste, technique, and competition. Different approaches, same goal."
There was a beat of silence. Then, behind his glasses, Sakayanagi's eyes narrowed, just enough to be noticed by someone as perceptive as Senzaemon.
"...You've done your homework, Director Nakiri," the Chairman said with a faint chuckle. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You're not called the 'Demon of the Culinary World' for nothing."
Senzaemon's lips twitched in a rare, satisfied smile, though he said nothing.
Sakayanagi continued, his voice even. "Very well. I accept your proposal—provisionally, of course. Our administration will require some time to evaluate the logistics. But I'm more than willing to pursue this dialogue."
He paused. Then, with a pointed glance, added, "Though I would be remiss not to ask—what sparked this idea so suddenly, Director Nakiri? A partnership of this nature does not emerge from nowhere."
His tone remained cordial, but the question was weighted. Inwardly, Sakayanagi already suspected the answer.
Senzaemon, for his part, did not hesitate. Nor did his expression shift.
He spoke a single name.
"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka."
The sound of that name dropped into the room like a stone into still water.
Even though Chairman Sakayanagi had anticipated the name might come up, hearing it spoken aloud by Senzaemon still hit like a thunderclap. The calm composure he always had slipped for a second time this day, and in that fleeting moment, Senzaemon received the last confirmation he needed.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka was indeed once a student at this institution.
Not just a former student, but one the Chairman clearly knew. Someone important enough to disturb the composure of the man who oversaw one of Japan's most elite educational institutions.
Sakayanagi let out a long, slow sigh and then chuckled, resigned. "I suppose there's no point in pretending otherwise. It seems I can't keep anything from you, Director Nakiri."
He leaned back in his seat with a wry smile.
"May I ask," he continued, "how you became aware of him?"
Without a word, Senzaemon reached into the cloth satchel beside him and retrieved two items: a slim USB drive and a neatly folded newspaper.
He placed them gently on the table between them.
Curious, Sakayanagi took the newspaper first. A small crease appeared between his brows as he unfolded it. Out of reflex, he reached for his teacup, bringing it to his lips while his eyes scanned the front page.
A second later, the tea erupted from his mouth in a sharp spray, splashing across the pristine table as he choked back surprise. It was the same article that made its rounds just yesterday at Tōtsuki, after Ayanokoji challenged the students to Shokugekis.
He didn't even reach for a napkin. Instead, he read the full article in silence, ignoring the mess. Senzaemon said nothing and watched as the man in front of him devoured the article.
When Sakayanagi finally placed the paper down, he was uncharacteristically still.
"...This was unexpected," he murmured.
"Oh?" Senzaemon's tone held mild amusement. "So he wasn't like this while under your roof, I take it?"
Sakayanagi gave a slow shake of his head. "No... not even remotely..."
"Well then," Senzaemon said, leaning slightly forward, "perhaps the video will be even more enlightening."
He gestured toward the USB drive.
Intrigued, perhaps a bit too much for a man of his age, Sakayanagi didn't waste a second. He retrieved a laptop from a nearby drawer, plugged the device in, and connected it to the sleek projector mounted overhead. A single file blinked on the screen: AK92_Year_Entrance_Speech.mp4
He clicked on play.
The projector hummed to life, casting the video across the far wall.
"Good morning. I'll keep this short."
That familiar voice immediately commanded the Chairman's attention.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka appeared on screen. He stood before a full crowd, no notes in hand, posture straight, eyes calm.
As the speech unfolded, Sakayanagi's eyes never left the screen.
The camera panned across the crowd during parts of the video. Students who were leaning in, frozen, or enraged by his words. Instructors exchanging glances. Even the upper echelons of Tōtsuki's administration, many of whom were clearly caught off-guard by what had been delivered.
Then the final words came:
"That's all I have to say. Enjoy the rest of the ceremony. To those who plan to remain standing by next year... I'll be waiting."
The screen faded to black.
For a moment, silence reigned in the room.
And then, suddenly and without warning, Chairman Sakayanagi erupted into laughter. A genuine, booming laugh that echoed off the conference walls. Not derisive or mocking, but deeply amused and tinged with wonder.
Senzaemon waited patiently for it to fade.
When the Chairman finally calmed, he wiped his glasses with the corner of his sleeve and exhaled slowly.
"Well... when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn't expect to be handed something like that," he said, still smiling. "For that, I thank you, Director Nakiri. This has been a delightful surprise."
Senzaemon's lips curved into a knowing grin. "I take it the video met your standards?"
"Exceeded them," Sakayanagi admitted. "He's no longer hiding behind the curtain. He's stepped onto the stage."
Senzaemon rose to his feet with a steady motion. He extended his hand across the table with firm purpose.
"As much as I'd enjoy continuing this conversation, Chairman Sak—no, Narimori, if you don't mind—I'm afraid I must return to Tōtsuki."
Chairman Sakayanagi stood as well, taking the offered hand in a steady grip. "I understand completely," Sakayanagi replied with a small smile. "And of course, I take no issue with the familiarity. Though, may I ask—am I permitted to call you Sanzaemon from now on?"
"Permitted?" Senzaemon gave a booming laugh. "I would've insisted on it even if you hadn't asked."
The two shared a final shake, then began moving toward the door that led out of the conference room.
As they reached the threshold, Senzaemon paused. He reached into the sleeve of his yukata and retrieved a phone, his large fingers surprisingly deft as he typed something onto the screen. With a final tap, he sent it off.
A moment later, a soft chime came from Sakayanagi's pocket. The Chairman blinked, mildly surprised. He pulled out his own phone and scanned the incoming message.
His brows lifted.
"...Are you sure about this?"
Senzaemon nodded without hesitation. "Absolutely. It was I who initiated this partnership, after all. It only makes sense that I offer the first gesture of good faith."
Sakayanagi's gaze lingered on the message, reading it once more for clarity.
Attached were secure credentials, a passcode, and internal permissions that granted full access to Tōtsuki's official media board, including broadcasts, announcements, and so on.
"This is no small thing," Sakayanagi said quietly, eyes still scanning the screen. "With this, I can monitor everything that takes place at Tōtsuki. Curriculum, broadcasts, and even student affairs in real time. You're offering me complete transparency."
Senzaemon offered a calm nod, "Transparency is the foundation of trust, Narimori. A partnership born from calculation won't last very long."
Sakayanagi exhaled, glancing once more at the message before locking his phone and slipping it back into his inner coat pocket. "You do realize what you've just given me, don't you?"
"I do," Senzaemon replied, his voice steady. "And I give it without reservation. Use it however you wish. If I may suggest, tomorrow might be a fitting opportunity to take your first step."
He gestured with a nod toward the folded newspaper on the table, the same one that had caught Sakayanagi off guard just minutes earlier. The Chairman's gaze followed instinctively, his eyes narrowing slightly in comprehension.
A faint smile played across Sakayanagi's lips. "Hmm... Yes, I can see how this might stir things up. This could certainly be entertaining."
"Feel free to contact me whenever necessary, Narimori. And the next time you find yourself with some free time, you should visit Tōtsuki. I will make sure that there will be good food, and who knows, if the time allows it, I will introduce you to my granddaughters." A proud smile appeared on his face when he mentioned his granddaughters.
With a final nod of mutual understanding, Senzaemon turned and made his way down the corridor, footsteps echoing softly across the polished floor.
Sakayanagi remained still for a moment, watching as the formidable man disappeared from view. Then, turning back to his office, he stepped inside and closed the door gently behind him, already composing tomorrow's announcement in his mind.
Because tomorrow...
Tomorrow, the students of Advanced Nurturing High School—especially those familiar with the name Ayanokoji Kiyotaka—would be in for a shock.
𓌉◯𓇋
Friday
Tokyo
Tōtsuki Culinary Academy
The air around campus buzzed with anticipation. It was Friday, the day that had seized the attention of the entire student body. For the first time in recent memory, two transfer students had created too much chaos before the first week even passed. Yukihira Sōma and Ayanokoji Kiyotaka. Their names were on everyone's lips.
And today, they would step into the famous Shokugeki Arena, not to simply watch, but to compete in it.
Whispers and speculation sounded through the halls throughout the day. During classes, in the breaks, all discussions came back to the same thing: the Shokugekis of today. It was rare enough for first-years to participate in formal Shokugekis so soon... but to do so in their first week was almost unheard of.
Nakiri Erina was an exception to that, and even that was an unfair comparison when considering the fact that she isn't a transfer student and has already been part of Tōtsuki since middle school.
After school, the mass migration began. Students poured toward Cooking Building #3. The building itself was a fusion of ancient aesthetics and modern utility. Its sweeping rooflines and ornate detailing hinted at classical temple architecture, but within, it was a state-of-the-art culinary battlefield.
Rows of seating wrapped around the expansive central arena. From the lowest tier to the gallery seats above, the hall was quickly filling to near capacity. Staff, students, upperclassmen, and even members of the administration were present.
The first event on the schedule: Yukihira Sōma vs. Mito Ikumi.
Theme: Donburi (rice bowl)
Main ingredient: Meat
The outcome, many whispered, was already clear. Mito Ikumi—dubbed "The Meat Master"—was known for her absolute dominance in all things beef-related. Some said Yukihira had walked into his own slaughter.
But in the competitor's prep room, the tone was far more relaxed.
Four people huddled in the waiting room. The walls were lined with racks of tools, spices, and cooking implements, while several fresh ingredient boxes sat stacked nearby.
"I gathered all the ingredients and tools you listed," said Konishi, slightly out of breath. "Everything you asked for is here."
"Perfect!" Sōma grinned, checking the items casually. "Thanks, man."
"Yukihira, dude, did you get any sleep? I know you were practicing the sauce until morning."
"Hm? Oh, I'm fine!" he replied, stretching his arms slightly.
In the corner, Tadokoro Megumi wrung her hands anxiously, eyes darting between Sōma and the tunnel leading to the main stage. "Eeek! L-L-Look at all the people out there! D-Don't get nervous now, Sōma. Y-You h-have to stay c-calm, okay?"
"A-At times like this... y-you can d-draw the kanji for p-person on your palm and then—"
"Why don't you go ahead and do it for me, Megumi." Sōma nonchalantly said.
"A-Aren't you the teeniest little bit nervous? You'll be cooking in front of all those people. Even just thinking about it makes me shiver." Her voice trembled, and tiny beads of moisture formed in the corners of her eyes.
Sōma gave a light smile. "Not at all! This here... is nothing compared to cooking for customers, with the weight of the restaurant's name riding on my back. This doesn't scare me in the least."
As he finished speaking, the lights in the main arena dimmed slightly, only to be replaced by a spotlight at center stage. A girl with long, black hair tied with a vibrant red ribbon stepped into the light. She wore a traditional Tōtsuki uniform with a striking red armband labeled 'Shokugeki' proudly wrapped around her upper left arm, marking her as today's official emcee.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting, everyone!" her voice rang through the speakers, high-pitched and bursting with over-the-top energy.
Immediately, a wave of cheers exploded from the male portion of the crowd.
"URARA-CHAN!!"
In the preparation room, the sound of cheering reached them clearly.
"We have now received word from the Shokugeki Administration Department validating this Shokugeki as official! In a few moments, the battle will begin!♥️" She gave a theatrical wink and posed with a heart gesture, drawing another cheer from her fans in the stands.
"Three judges have been appointed. Today's theme will be a donburi bowl, and the main ingredient will be meat! Now, from the east and west corners... contestants, take your places!
"Her voice is irritating."
The room fell into a small moment of silence.
Sōma blinked, then turned toward the source of the voice, grinning. "That's the first thing you've said, and that's what comes out?" he laughed.
Konishi added, "Yeah, you better not say that too loud out there, or they'll drag you onto the stage just to shout you down. But honestly... I kinda agree."
"Kiyotaka-kun, that's not very kind," Megumi scolded lightly, hands still fidgeting nervously. "You shouldn't say stuff like that about people."
Kiyotaka stepped closer, extending his fist toward Sōma. "Anyways, don't humiliate her too much," he said dryly.
Sōma returned the gesture with a bump of his own fist. "You got it. I will secure our meat supply for the dorm."
With that exchange, Sōma turned on his heel and headed toward the tunnel. Megumi and Konishi quickly fell into step behind him.
"And now, from the west side!" Urara's voice echoed dramatically across the stadium. "Please welcome the challenger... Yukihira Sōma!"
"BOOOOOOO!"
"WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
"DROP DEAD, TRANSFER TRASH!"
The chorus of jeers thundered across the arena the instant Sōma stepped onto the stage.
"What? Is the crowd giving him a greater welcome than Ikumi Mito?!" Urara's voice quivered with disbelief, struggling to maintain her peppy tone. "What an... intense reaction from the audience! No—it's booing! Yukihira Sōma's entrance is being booed heartily by the crowd!"
Several loud overlapping voices rang out in succession.
"Hey, you stupid transfer student! Those were some big insults you threw around at the entrance ceremony!"
"Hah! He's up against Mito. It's obvious how this'll end. I can't wait to see his face the second his expulsion is confirmed!"
Back on the stage, Konishi's eyes widened at the overwhelming uproar. He swallowed.
"Whoa, whoa! What's up with this huge crowd, man?" he muttered, beads of sweat forming on his temple. "My own Shokugeki against the Noodle Stand Society was in front of, what, three dudes and some stray dogs? We didn't even get an emcee!"
Megumi, standing beside him, was visibly pale, trembling like a leaf. Her fingers clutched the hem of her blazer, unable to form any words.
Konishi leaned in, whispering harshly, "Dude! You've only been here a few days! What did you do to get them this riled up?!"
Sōma casually tapped a finger to his chin. "Beats me. I've been totally normal, honestly."
The only person who could've corrected Sōma right now, Megumi, was not in a state to muster a response. The atmosphere made the girl completely unable to function beyond normal living conditions, like breathing.
Urara's voice cut through the loud crowd. "Okay, ladies and gentlemen! Let's go over the terms of this Shokugeki!"
The arena dimmed slightly once again, the large overhead monitor displaying the conditions of the duel:
If Mito Ikumi wins:
→ The Donburi Research Society will be officially disbanded.
→ Yukihira Sōma will be expelled from Tōtsuki Academy.
If Yukihira Sōma wins:
→ Mito Ikumi must join the Donburi Research Society.
→ She will also be required to provide meat to the Polar Star Dormitory on a monthly basis.
A wave of gasps rolled through the crowd.
In one section of the bleachers, the residents of Polar Star Dormitory, minus Isshiki, who was somewhere else, watched with wide eyes.
They had no idea these were the terms. None of them had known Sōma did all this.
Yūki sniffled, wiping her eyes quickly with her sleeve. "Ufu... Sōma-kun is fighting for us..."
Sakaki gave a firm nod. "All the more reason to cheer him on with everything we've got!"
Back on the arena floor, Yukihira Sōma and Mito Ikumi stood face to face beneath the blinding spotlight.
"Yo, transfer student," Mito called out, her voice loud enough to carry over the murmurs of the crowd. She stepped forward confidently, striking a bold pose. "Looks like this'll be the last chance we ever talk. Got any last words before you're booted out of Tōtsuki?"
Her outfit had changed since their last encounter, now even more daring than before. She wore tight-cut, fringed shorts that accentuated her figure and a revealing bikini top that left little to the imagination. Thick leather wristbands wrapped around her forearms, giving her a fierce look.
She smirked, lips curling in challenge. Her previous irritation had vanished, replaced with smug confidence.
Sōma, unfazed, simply grinned back and began unwrapping the familiar white headband from around his arm.
"Last words?" he echoed. "Nah. You and I are gonna be able to talk plenty once you're part of the Donburi Research Society."
Mito's confident grin faltered slightly, her brows drawing together. Her eyes narrowed.
But before she could respond, a wave of chatter rippled through the arena.
"L-Look! Is that—?"
"M-Miss Erina!"
"The God Tongue is here?! At this Shokugeki?!"
"She actually showed up in person?! Why? What is she doing at this insignificant Shokugeki?"
"Is it because Mito is part of her faction? But still, that's unheard of..."
"Holy crap! Even Nakiri herself is here! What's with all this attention?!" Konishi exclaimed, confusion filling his mind.
Up in one of the arena's exclusive VIP viewing rooms, Nakiri Erina had taken her seat, legs crossed elegantly as she watched the arena with regal poise. She hadn't said a word, but her presence alone was enough to silence entire rows.
The other two VIP boxes, meanwhile, had their glass frosted. Whoever was inside didn't want to be seen.
Down on the floor, Mito followed the direction of the crowd's attention. Her eyes landed on Erina, and for a moment, her chest swelled with pride and pressure all at once.
Erina-sama... she thought, her fist tightening. She came to see me.
Sōma caught the look in her eyes but said nothing.
And then—
"Contestants, to your kitchens, please!" Urara's voice rang out again, cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Here we go, folks! All eyes are on this Shokugeki!"
"The loser will lose everything! The tongue will decide it all! Let the Shokugeki...
BEGIN!"
A loud gong reverberated throughout the hall, and a countdown timer flared to life on the massive monitor screen above the arena. Cheers erupted like thunder as the split-screen display showed both competitors.
On one side: Mito Ikumi—intense, fired up, and showing her trademark assets for the camera.
On the other side: Yukihira Sōma—his expression unusually calm, almost stoic. Gone was the playful grin he typically wore in the kitchen; in its place was quiet focus. He was locked in.
Now...
It was time to cook.
𓌉◯𓇋
I watched as Sōma, Megumi, and Konishi disappeared into the tunnel, fading into thunderous applause, or rather booing now, that shook the arena.
I, on the other hand, had more than an hour before my own match. Strangely enough, the rules barred any contestant from stepping onto the stage if it wasn't yet their designated match time. That meant, unlike Megumi and Konishi, I couldn't accompany Sōma, not even as a bystander.
Watching from a grainy little monitor in the prep room? Not ideal.
Deciding I had no interest in wasting time staring at a flickering screen, I left the preparation area and weaved through the maze-like corridors behind the arena. My destination: somewhere I could actually see what was going on.
The venue was packed to the brim. I slipped through the backstage and into one of the upper walkways, the roar of the crowd guiding my path. Thankfully, no one noticed me, either too distracted by Kushida 2.0 or simply too focused on the spectacle.
From where I stood, I could even see my dorm mates in the stands. Unfortunately, there wasn't a single empty seat to be found. Standing there awkwardly with nowhere to settle didn't sound like the best way to spend the next hour.
Sigh... Do I really have to head back to that room?
Then, suddenly, loud conversations erupted.
"WHOA!"
"Is that—?!"
The atmosphere shifted, and the energy of the crowd seemed to rise even further. I followed their collective gaze across the arena.
Oh?
So she was here.
I didn't need to ask why. It was obvious. Better than nothing, I supposed.
Without breaking stride, I adjusted my path and made my way toward the VIP boxes.
As I climbed the steps toward the area, a strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck. The familiar feeling of being observed. Not just casually looked at, but watched.
And not by one person. But at least two, if not more.
It wasn't paranoia. It was an instinct, deeply embedded alertness honed through years of training and surveillance.
That quiet certainty when someone's gaze cuts through a crowd and lands squarely on you.
Still, I ignored it and continued on my path.
Without knocking, I opened the door to the central VIP suite.
Inside sat Nakiri Erina.
Next to her stood Arato Hisako, clutching a clipboard to her chest with both hands.
As the door opened behind them, both girls turned in unison.
The moment Hisako recognized me, her eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately stepped forward, positioning herself between me and Nakiri in a protective stance.
"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka?! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, voice sharp with alarm.
Right at that instant, the arena's massive gong echoed throughout the hall. The ground beneath us almost seemed to pulse with its vibration.
"Let the Shokugeki... BEGIN!" came Kushida 2.0's voice, amplified through the arena's speakers in perfect sync with the timing of the bell.
The match had officially started.
But here in the VIP suite, another kind of tension now lingered in the air.
Hisako's eyes remained locked on me, wary, as if I were some kind of criminal. Nakiri, however, while surprised, didn't seem worried. She simply studied me.
"I don't recall inviting anyone in," she said crisply, legs crossed as she sat in the luxurious central seat, the high-backed chair angled perfectly toward the arena's center. A delicate porcelain teacup rested in her hand.
I closed the door behind me without a word and stepped into the suite. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and freshly steeped tea, far more tranquil than the noise outside its walls.
"If you want me to leave, just say the word," I said calmly, watching her expression.
Nakiri held my gaze for a moment, her eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation. Then she let out a quiet sigh and gave a small wave of her hand, not in dismissal, but in allowing me to stay.
Hisako's expression twitched in surprise. She blinked twice, clearly thrown off. She had fully expected Nakiri to reject me without hesitation. Her gaze flickered back to Nakiri, silently questioning her decision. But receiving no further comment, she slowly returned to her post beside Nakiri, albeit with a bit more stiffness in her posture.
I stepped forward without another word and took position near the expansive glass wall, standing to Nakiri's left. From here, the entire arena sprawled out in perfect view beneath us.
Below, the camera had zoomed in on Mito as she made her entrance. With a confident smile, she rolled in a gleaming metal tray covered by a large black curtain.
"Hey, transfer student!" her voice rang out, perfectly caught and echoed by the arena's acoustics. "Let me show you an ingredient a small-timer like you will never get to handle! This is the ultimate meat!"
With one move, she yanked away the cover.
Suspended above the tray was an entire rack of beef, heavy, glistening with the delicate look of the highest grade. A true A5 Wagyu.
Mito paused for effect, breathing in the reverence of the moment. Then, in one smooth motion, she produced a butcher's cleaver from her side. It was the same blade she had used to hack off a chunk of Konishi's hair.
Now, though, her movements held none of that reckless fury. They were measured.
With a grace born of countless hours of practice, Mito began her butchering.
She worked fast, yet with almost surgical precision. Her arms adjusted their strength from cut to cut, altering angles with micro-adjustments that would go unnoticed by most. Her feet pivoted and shifted subtly, ensuring balance through each motion. The cleaver glided through sinew and fat with just enough force to separate but not damage.
The audience was mesmerized, and so was I.
Every single detail, every twitch of her wrist, the spacing between her feet, the tension in her shoulders, was logged into my memory. I mapped her stance, analyzed the direction of each slice, and how she segmented the muscle groups. Each movement was stored and overlaid with my own knowledge of anatomy and culinary techniques.
Finally, she finished.
A thick, immaculate cut of meat, its surface glistening. The marbling was even and intricate, perfect with white lines of fat weaving through the ruby-red flesh. She laid it down on the tray gently, as though presenting a piece of fine art.
I closed my eyes and began internally reconstructing the entire process, step by step. Comparing it with the technical breakdowns in my mind, charts, diagrams, and muscle groups. Where she deviated, where she improved, where her instincts guided her better than any textbook.
When I opened my eyes again, I caught Nakiri watching me from the corner of her eye.
"You seem remarkably interested for someone not involved in this match," she said, her voice light but edged with curiosity.
"There is much to learn, obviously," I replied evenly. "It would be a waste not to take advantage of the opportunity."
As Nakiri opened her mouth to respond, the soft click of the door behind us interrupted her.
All three of us turned around.
The door parted, and in walked Nakiri Alice with her trademark playful grin already stretching across her lips. Striding confidently into the suite, she moved like she owned the room.
"Ara~ Erina, it's been a while," Alice cooed, voice teasing and smug. "Originally, I had planned to meet you under different circumstances. But when I saw Ayanokoji-kun heading into your suite, well—how could I resist?" Behind her walked the boy whom I also saw last time.
Her eyes locked on me, clearly enjoying the situation.
"Alice?!" Nakiri was more surprised than when I had walked in earlier. Her shock wasn't just surprise, but it also carried a sharp edge, like a blade drawn in reflex. The air between them turned tense in an instant, stiff enough to cut.
Hisako stepped in, once again shielding Nakiri just like she did earlier from me. "Alice Ojou-sama, may I ask what you're doing here?"
Despite the polite title, the tone was far from courteous.
Alice waved dismissively. "No need for the formalities, Secretary-chan. We're just here to watch the match. Things are always more exciting with a bigger crowd, right?"
Then, she turned her attention back to me.
"Ayanokoji-kun, I imagine you're terribly confused right now."
"Not rea—"
"Right, exactly! You are!" she chirped, cutting me off with a gleeful smile, completely ignoring what I was trying to say.
"Erina and I are cousins, you know," she began, shifting into storytelling mode. "We even lived together when we were little, until I was about five.
At this, Erina let out a barely audible sigh. She was already fed up with this entire situation.
"My father married my mother, who's Danish, and then moved to Denmark, where he founded and based Nakiri International. Nakiri International researches new cutting-edge culinary techniques based on sciences like molecular gastronomy. It even has a neuroscience department to investigate how the senses of smell and taste work. In other words, it is an organization wholly dedicated to scientific research on all facets of gourmet cuisine!"
"I lived with them from when I was five until fourteen. Then I came—"
"Wait! Are you even listening, Ayanokoji-kun?!"
During her explanation, halfway through, I turned toward the arena again, continuing to watch the match.
She pouted and began lightly smacking me on the back with her fists, the kind of exaggerated gesture that could only come from someone who enjoyed getting a rise out of people.
A sudden chuckle came from the side.
"Pfft—" It was Nakiri.
We all turned toward her. She tried to stifle it with a cough, her cheeks tinged slightly pink. "Ahem... You two seem quite familiar. Do you know each other?"
Alice was quick to answer, stepping forward with a little twirl. "Of course! Ayanokoji-kun and I are class partners! We've already done all sorts of things together~"
I gave her a side glance. That phrasing...
Just like in class.
"Anyway," she said, shifting gears, "I came back to beat Erina in every way imaginable. I'll take the top spot in Tōtsuki and make it mine. That's the plan."
She pointed dramatically at Erina, who didn't flinch.
"Ha!" Erina shot back, her usual composure flaring with sudden competitive heat. "A chef who obsesses over new toys and techniques won't defeat my refined, traditional gourmet. True taste doesn't rely on gimmicks."
Then she turned to me. "Isn't that right, Ayanokoji-kun? You saw my cooking."
Why was I being dragged into this?
"Hm?" I muttered.
"Don't play dumb," she pressed. "I saw you clapping during my Shokugeki. Don't act surprised."
So that had drawn attention... In hindsight, maybe I should've kept my hands in my pockets.
"Well," I said evenly, "I wouldn't say anything definitive yet. I haven't seen Alice's cooking."
"Oho~!" Alice laughed, tilting her head. "You're quite bold, calling me by my first name like that. But I'll allow it!"
"Should I start calling you 'Nakiri' instead and let you guess who I meant?"
"Enough flirting," Nakiri said, voice sharp as ice.
"Hmph! Still as mean and spiteful as ever, I see!" Alice huffed with exaggerated offense, folding her arms with a dramatic flourish. "I still remember that time you took my toy when I was three. And when I was four and you told me the cake I baked for your birthday was gross. And when I was five you—"
"Wh-What does any of that have to do with this?!"
Alice ignored her protest and clapped her hands together, cheerful again in an instant. "Anyway! I wanted to introduce someone!"
She spun on her heel and extended both arms with the flair of a magician unveiling her final trick. "Ta-da~!"
Behind her stood the tall boy from last time. He had a strong build, long, unkempt black-brown hair, and sharp crimson eyes that glowed despite his current lazy posture. He didn't look particularly thrilled to be here, or even awake, for that matter.
"This is Kurokiba Ryō, my aide," Alice declared, placing heavy emphasis on the last word. Her eyes flicked to Hisako with a mischievous glint. "Say hello, Ryō-kun."
She spoke to him like she was introducing a pet more than a person.
Kurokiba blinked once, then sluggishly raised a hand in a half-hearted wave.
"...Uh... Hello..." he muttered, barely loud enough to hear.
Hisako stiffened. "Your aide?" she asked, perplexed.
Alice beamed. "He's very obedient! Most of the time." She grinned slyly.
That earned her a sidelong glance from Kurokiba, who looked like he might fall asleep standing up if left alone long enough.
Nakiri sighed, massaging her temple. "And what, exactly, is the purpose of this introduction? Other than creating a circus in here?"
"Just thought it'd be polite," Alice said innocently. "Since you had Ayanokoji-kun sneak in first, I figured we'd crash the party together. Equality, right?"
"You're the one causing chaos," Nakiri snapped. "He, at least, was quiet!"
"I did knock," Alice countered, even though she very much had not.
"You kicked the door open!"
"It's called charisma~ teehee!" Alice chimed, tapping her forehead with her fist, winking with one eye, and poking her tongue out playfully. The gesture was exaggerated, almost cartoonish, and only served to irritate Nakiri further.
But before another volley of complaints could be fired, the air in the booth subtly shifted.
A wave of rich, intoxicating aroma rolled through the ventilation system. A decadent mixture of sizzling fat and butter began to fill the suite, a scent so indulgent it momentarily silenced everyone. It was the kind of fragrance that promised satisfaction before a single bite had even been taken.
We all turned toward the glass.
On the arena floor, Mito was in the middle of searing her prized cut of A5 Wagyu. Her pan hissed with heat, and she bathed the meat in a bubbling pool of melted butter, tilting the pan and spooning the liquid over the surface with rhythmic, almost reverent care. The glistening foam caramelized the edges as she worked, building a rich crust, an edible barrier designed to lock in the meat's juices.
Then, with practiced efficiency, she transferred the steak onto a wire rack and slid it into a preheated oven. Her expression was composed, yet determined. She knew exactly what she was doing.
A beat passed. Then Alice turned to me, a glint in her eye.
"And?" she asked, her tone light but pointed. "Who do you think will win, Ayanokoji-kun?"
The others didn't speak, but I could feel all their eyes on me—Nakiri's sharp and assessing, Hisako's curiosity, Alice's gleaming with amusement, and even Kurokiba's half-lidded stare twitching slightly as if roused by the question.
I didn't hesitate.
"Yukihira Sōma," I answered plainly.
Hisako blinked in surprise. "That quickly? You're sure?"
"I am."
Nakiri studied me for a few moments. "You've analyzed them both?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And your reasoning?" Alice added, folding her arms with a sly smile, like a cat toying with a mouse.
I met Alice's curious stare evenly, then glanced once toward the arena, where the judges were still watching each step intently.
"This is just based on their personalities and the knowledge I have about them, how they think, and what they value in their cooking."
They were all listening now.
"Mito's technique is impeccable. Her cooking is visually flawless. The meat she's working with is one of the finest cuts of beef available," I began. "But with that, she's isolated the dish's strength to a single element. She's betting everything on the quality of the beef. It's just a performance of luxury. The rice and the sauce, they will just exist to exist, not shine on their own."
Nakiri's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "So, you're saying it lacks cohesion?"
I nodded, "The dish will be carried by the beef alone. That works for a steak course. But this is a donburi. The moment you serve everything in one bowl, the composition changes. Harmony plays a major role."
"And Yukihira-kun?" Hisako asked, arms still tense.
"He serves dishes like someone who's served thousands of hungry people and knows what it means when the food doesn't connect," I replied. "He treats every single component in his dish as equal in importance. That mindset is in everything he does. His personality wouldn't allow him to just rely on one thing."
Alice tilted her head, "So he's thinking of the whole picture, while Mito is banking on impact."
"Yes. It's not primarily about which dish looks better or uses the most expensive ingredients, but which one actually works as a donburi. And I don't think Mito understands that difference yet."
I let my gaze slide over to Nakiri, just long enough to be deliberate. "After all, she still sees donburi as low-tier food. B-grade cuisine."
A faint jolt rippled through Nakiri's posture. She flinched, just barely, at hearing her own past words reflected at her.
"Hmph!" she huffed, voice tighter than usual. "We'll see whether your observations amount to anything more than empty speculation." The regal, composed Nakiri has momentarily vanished, replaced by someone slightly more petulant, like a noble child caught in the wrong.
I turned back toward the arena, watching as Sōma hacked down a bunch of onions and spread them all across a tray.
"If I'm wrong," I said flatly, still watching the screen, "and Sōma loses... I'll withdraw from Tōtsuki myself. No need for anyone to expel me."
"Excuse me?!" Hisako nearly shouted, her voice laced with disbelief. "You'll what?!"
"Are you completely insane?!" Nakiri snapped, her voice cracked under the force of genuine shock.
Across the room, Alice stared at me, wide-eyed. Even Kurokiba, who until now had been lazily standing, raised an eyebrow and stared directly at me, his expression sharpening.
I didn't comment on any of their reaction. My attention stayed on the match.
On the scene, Sōma reached for a familiar plastic bag. The camera zoomed in: 'Super Cheap! Bargain Supermarket Sen Dai' was printed across the front in bold red letters.
A collective murmur spread through the crowd.
Then he pulled out a simple plastic packaging of refrigerated supermarket beef, complete with a bright red "HALF OFF" sticker planted on the packaging.
The entire audience fell into stunned silence. Even here, in the VIP box, the air stilled. No one spoke. No one moved.
Everyone was simply staring, wide-eyed, completely dumbfounded.
And then, completely unfazed, Sōma gave a relaxed shrug and grinned. "Hey, they were having a sale. It was lucky timing!"
That did something to me.
It started low, deep in my chest, a subtle tremor in the diaphragm, almost like a cough held back. Then air surged upward, catching in my throat. My lips twitched. My lungs expanded again. The sound came without planning, without resistance.
A breath. A puff. And then, a short, dry chuckle.
And finally, laughter.
I had laughed?
It was only when the crowd outside exploded in disbelief—"You can't be serious!!!"—that I snapped out of it. I noticed everyone in the room staring at me.
Alice's eyes were the widest, brimming with open shock. Hisako looked confused, and even Nakri was surprised, her lips slightly parted as her gaze fixed on me.
Alice recovered first.
She crossed her arms with an exaggerated huff and gave a dramatic pout. "Mou~! I've been trying forever to pull even the tiniest reaction out of you, and nothing! But Yukihira-kun and his meat have you cracking up like it's the funniest thing you've ever seen?"
Good lord, that phrasing, again...
Hisako's face flushed deep red, her eyes darting to the floor as her mind clearly spiraled into all the wrong conclusions. She clutched her clipboard tighter, her posture stiffening.
"A-Alice Ojou-sama... p-please refrain from speaking like that in public!" she stammered.
Meanwhile, Nakiri let out a long, weary sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers. Her tone was more tired than angry.
"Alice... just stop talking. You're still a Nakiri, and every time you say something like that, I feel our family reputation crumble a little more."
Alice blinked innocently, then tilted her head with a teasing smirk. "Ehh? But isn't it more fun this way?" she sang. "You're always so uptight, Erina. Loosen up~ or else, you'll never get a boyfriend."
Nakiri shot her cousin a glare that could cut marble.
On the other side, Hisako was still trying to process everything, her eyes bouncing between the arena and me. "I... I don't understand. Yukihira-kun just pulled out budget supermarket beef. There's no way he can win with that, right?"
"No way?" I repeated softly, my eyes drifting back to the stage.
On the floor, Sōma had already begun searing his steak.
"You can mask quality," I continued. "You can drown imperfections in heavy sauce, over-seasoning, or texture. But Yukihira's not doing that. He's acknowledging the beef's limits and cooking with them, not against them. That's the difference."
Kurokiba, who had remained mostly silent until now, finally spoke.
"...He's cooking like a street chef."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" Hisako asked cautiously.
Kurokiba's eyes were now more focused, sharper. "I've seen chefs like him before. Back in the markets near the docks. Guys who work off scraps. They don't pretend the ingredients are better than they are. They just understand them better than anyone else. It's not showy. It's dirty, fast, real cooking. Cooking that feeds people."
His voice held conviction. It caught Alice off guard. She glanced at him, surprised by his tone.
Nakiri frowned slightly but didn't refute it.
Down in the arena, as Yukihira's pan sizzled with the modest supermarket beef, Mito shot him a look dripping with disdain.
"Hah! I'm through with you. Why don't you use the rest of your time to go pack your bags?" Her voice rang through the arena, crisp and clear, thanks to the arena's amplification system.
Mito turned away and approached the oven. She opened it and retrieved the A5 Wagyu steak. The aroma alone seemed to ripple through the audience.
I wondered how this would taste, but well, soon enough, there will be tons of opportunities to try it.
She reached for a stainless steel probe and carefully inserted it into the center of the meat. After a few moments, she withdrew it and brought the tip lightly to her lips.
Her expression bloomed into satisfaction. "All right!"
With swift movements, she wrapped the meat in aluminum foil and placed it gently to the side. This would allow residual heat to redistribute the juices evenly throughout the cut. Furthermore, it would avoid bleeding the moment she slices into it.
We all watched in silence as she unwrapped the foil after a few minutes and began to slice.
Her cuts were clean and gentle. The inner flesh glistened with moisture, rosy, tender, and unmarred by overcooking or rough handling. Her movements were confident, but not rushed.
Nakiri turned to Hisako.
"Hisako," she said quietly, "what do you think it is that boosts her cooking the most?"
Hisako tapped her chin in thought. "Erm... her strength, which lets her handle even bone-in meat as she will?"
"A valid point," Nakiri replied, but her tone suggested it was only part of the truth. She turned her gaze toward me. "Ayanokoji-kun. What about you?"
"Her knife skills and anatomical knowledge are superb," I said. "Her strength is great and honed through practice. But those are things anyone can achieve with training."
I paused, watching Mito angle her wrist slightly to feel the grain of the meat through the blade.
"What can't be trained so easily," I continued, "is her sensitivity. That's her real talent."
"Her sensitivity?" Hisako asked, puzzled.
"Not just in her lips, which she just used earlier to gauge the steak's internal temperature. That ability can be replaced by a thermometer. But the sensitivity in her hands. That's not something you can simply replicate."
The way Mito's finger adjusted the pressure of her grip to match the meat's muscle resistance. The way her palm shifted instinctively to support the underside of each cut. The precise angle of her thumb keeping the slices uniform without tearing fibers.
"That's not something you learn from a textbook," I said. "It's the kind of control that only comes from an instinctual bond with the ingredient itself."
Still, for all her refinement and instinct, there was one thing Mito hadn't realized.
She wasn't the only one who knew how to make a dish connect.
As she finished slicing her prized cut, she turned toward Sōma with a ridiculing grin.
"What, still here, transfer student?" she sneered, one hand on her hip. "You sure have gotten awfully quiet over there. What happened to all that big talk of three days ago?"
Sōma didn't react. He didn't look up, nor did he flinch. He didn't offer even the slightest hint of acknowledgement.
That only annoyed her.
"Feh! C'mon, say something back! Pathetic wuss..."
Finally, Sōma looked up, calm and unbothered. "There's nothing I need to say. My dish will speak for me."
"Huh?"
Sōma glanced at her briefly, then raised a single finger to his lips.
"Besides," he said casually, "...it's common knowledge in the industry that you can't trust the skills of a chef who talks too much in the kitchen."
He held the gesture a moment longer, his expression unchanging.
Mito's face turned a shade of crimson. "What?! You...! Are you trying to insult me?!"
At that moment, a sharp sizzle echoed through the arena.
Sōma flipped the contents of his pan with a smooth motion. The rich, golden aroma of deeply caramelized onions surged into the air.
The scent was savory and mouthwatering. Even Mito, who had just been shouting a moment ago, blinked at the sudden rush of flavor in the air. She stiffened, her expression faltering, and then she touched herself?
From where we stood, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Sōma's approach wasn't flashy, but every step had a purpose. And the picture was becoming clearer.
At that, Nakiri clicked her tongue softly.
Hisako turned toward her, noting the subtle shift in her expression. "Erina-sama? What is it?"
Nakiri didn't answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the match, her brows furrowed in reluctant recognition.
Finally, she exhaled, the slightest hint of frustration woven into her breath. "...Ayanokoji-kun was right."
Hisako blinked. "Eh?"
"Mito-san will lose."
A moment of silence passed in the booth.
Alice, who had been smiling moments ago, tilted her head thoughtfully, her grin easing.
"I suppose this match might be more entertaining than I thought," she said quietly.
As time passed, Kushida 2.0's voice sounded again. "Ladies and gentlemen, time is almost up! Please begin plating your dishes!"
Down below, Mito and Sōma moved into the final stages of their prep.
Then, the massive gong rang through the arena, signaling the end.
"TIME'S UP!"
"Now begins the judging phase! Contestants, please present your dishes!"
"We will begin with Mito Ikumi. Please present your dish!"
The crowd leaned forward, anticipation thick in the air.
With graceful composure, Mito stepped forward, tray in hand.
She presented the tray, setting down a plate before each judge.
"It's an A5 Wagyu Rôti Don," she announced, her voice clear and brimming with pride.
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.
"Oooh..."
"My," remarked the first judge, a graceful woman clad in a violet yukata, her hair swept into a loose bun secured by an ornate hairpin. She leaned in to admire the presentation. "The slices of beef are arranged like flower petals. I never thought to see such a lovely donburi bowl."
"Let the judging begin."
At once, the three judges dug in, carefully scooping a bit of beef and rice. They tasted, and then came the reactions.
"Mmnn... it's so wonderfully rich, it nearly made my legs give out!" the woman in violet exclaimed, fanning herself with her sleeve.
"This! That powerful, intensely rich flavor is the true greatness of A5 beef," said the second judge. "And this cut was roasted taking into consideration the angle of the heat!"
The third judge took a second, larger bite. "Don't forget the rice under the beef petals! Steamed in butter and the beef's own grease, this garlic rice is exquisite. I could probably eat three whole bowls of it just by itself!"
"It's a dish so seductively delicious it's almost sensual!"
Kushida 2.0's voice rang out across the arena, carrying the energy of the moment. "What a marvelous performance by Mito Ikumi!"
The audience broke into applause. Cheers rang out from several sections.
"She's got this in the bag."
"There's no way that supermarket beef is going to compete."
"I can't wait to see that transfer student's face when he loses."
I gave a small internal sigh, keeping my expression neutral.
At least this time, the judges didn't go flying out of their seats or didn't look like they had just reached their climax.
Kushida 2.0's voice echoed once again through the arena.
"Next, let's have our judges taste Yukihira's dish."
Every eye in the arena followed Sōma as he approached the judges' table, tray in hands, his steps steady and relaxed.
Kushida 2.0 approached him with her mic in hand, flashing her polished media smile. "And what is the name of your dish, Yukihira-kun?"
Sōma paused, as if just remembering. "Ah, right... I guess I'll call it Yukihira-style Chaliapin Steak Don."
"Chaliapin steak, eh?" the second judge remarked flatly. "So it's cheap meat tenderized by onions. Let me be blunt. This after that masterpiece of a dish?"
"Haha! Yeah," the third judge chuckled. "Honestly, I'd like to go home with the taste of A5 beef still on my tongue."
So, they haven't even tasted it, and they've already made up their minds.
They hadn't noticed it yet—the flaw in Mito's dish. Or maybe they were too enamored by the luxury of it to care.
Sōma didn't respond to their dismissive remarks. He simply smiled and set the bowl down before them. With a smooth motion, he lifted the lid.
Steam rose into the air. The scent was rich and savory, intoxicating in its own right. Atop the steaming white rice lay a perfectly browned steak, sliced and resting beneath a glossy sauce loaded with deeply caramelized onions.
The presentation was simple, yet undeniably appealing.
The two previously skeptical judges blinked. One audibly gulped.
"W-Well... it does look tastier than I expected."
"Yeah... quite appetizing, actually."
Then they dug in.
And didn't stop.
They didn't comment. Didn't hesitate. Just bite after bite after bite, the sound of chopsticks clicking and clinking rapid and unbroken.
"W-What's going on?!" the second judge finally gasped. "I-I can't stop myself! It goes without saying that the meat is tender, but the generous helping of minced onions on top just whets the appetite further!"
The third judge was nodding rapidly, his eyes wide with realization. "And this full-bodied flavor... red wine? After searing the steak, he must have added red wine to the remaining meat juices and caramelized the onions in the resulting sauce! Not only that, the sauce was beautifully thickened with potato starch! It wraps around both the meat and the rice so perfectly, it's amazing! And tying it all together is the flavor of scorched soy sauce!"
"Even char was used as a seasoning to deepen the flavor!"
The three of them were entranced. The bowl pulled them in, bite after bite.
"He made this special, unforgettable sauce, building upon the onions that are so critical to a true Chaliapin steak! Both the meat and the sauce have strong, solid flavors, yet the more I eat, the hungrier I get. In fact, it almost feels like I could eat this bowl endlessly! Why?
The woman in the violet yukata suddenly gasped. "Wait... what's that crisp finish at the end of each bite? It resets the palate perfectly. What is that?"
Sōma raised a hand and grinned, pulling a small jar from his coat pocket.
"That'd be the rice," he said. "I mixed in some of my homemade pickled plum paste."
"Pickled... plum?!"
"Aha! So that's it! That brisk aftertaste that encourages another bite is pickled plum!"
The judges were already halfway through the bowl. Seconds later—
"Ahhhhhh~! I finished already!" the woman cried. "Is there enough for seconds? Please tell me there's more!"
"..."
She turned toward Mito, eyes still brimming with emotion. "Your Rôti Don was an exquisite dish, dear, but this is the bowl that makes me want more!"
A hush fell over the crowd.
I saw Mito freeze, her eyes wide. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
She looked down at the judges' table, and that is when she finally noticed.
Her bowl was untouched past the beef. The rice... barely eaten.
Even the judge who claimed earlier he could eat three bowls of it hadn't finished half of one.
From beside me, Alice let out a high-pitched wheeze and collapsed into the nearest seat, clutching her sides.
"Pfft—Hahahahaha! Her face! Oh my god, look at her! And after he said he could eat three bowls of her rice! He didn't even finish one! I'm dying—!"
Hisako looked on in stunned silence.
Nakiri crossed her arms. "Tch. He completely reversed the momentum... with supermarket beef."
Sōma stood with his hands in his pockets, that familiar, cocky grin tugging at his lips. "I've wondered what you'd do with the rice ever since I heard Konishi say you'd probably use marbled Wagyu beef for your meat choice."
Mito stiffened, her eyes flickering with unease.
"See, Wagyu beef has a pretty powerful flavor. If you went and gave the rice a strong flavor too, of course they'd clash.
He looked at her evenly, not a hint of mockery in his tone, just the simple truth.
"Your dish may have looked like a donburi, but it really wasn't one.
"It's just like the captain said. When it comes down to it, a true donburi bowl is 'complete in one bowl'!
Mito's face twisted, frustration creeping back into her voice.
"Rrrgh—sh-shut up! That's just cheap talk! Your crappy meat can't compare to my top-quality A5 beef!"
She was clinging to pride, but the cracks were already forming.
Sōma shrugged. "If you still don't believe it... then don't take my word for it."
He stepped forward and handed her the bowl along with a pair of chopsticks.
"Why not listen to what this bowl has to say?"
Mito stared at him, stunned. Her hand hovered for a moment. Then, slowly, as if pulled by something beyond her own will, she accepted the bowl.
She took one bite.
And then another.
And another.
Her movements lost all hesitation. Her brows trembled. Her grip tightened around the chopsticks. Tears began to well up at the corners of her eyes as she continued eating, faster and faster.
She couldn't stop.
Finally, the bowl was empty.
She sat there, eyes wide, breath shallow.
Kushida 2.0's voice rang out once more, signaling the final moment.
"Judges—your verdict, if you please! Let us have your votes!"
All three judges reached down and pressed their decision buttons simultaneously.
The giant monitor lit up with a bold, blazing display:
WINNER: YUKIHIRA SŌMA
A beat of stunned silence passed through the arena.
Then Kushida 2.0's voice exploded through the speakers:
"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! Ladies and gentlemen, the winner is Yukihira Sōma!"
Sōma reached up and untied his headband in one smooth motion, just like he did on the first day of Chapelle's class.
"It was nothing," he said with a grin.
For a long moment, the arena was silent, utter disbelief hanging in the air like a thick fog.
Then—
"YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"
The silence shattered into roaring cheers from the stands as the students of the Polar Star Dormitory erupted with joy.
"Sōma, you did it!" Megumi shouted, her hand shooting up as she cheered with unrestrained joy.
Konishi threw a fist into the air, eyes gleaming with emotion. "Yeah! Yukihira! My man!"
Meanwhile, Mito had collapsed to her knees.
She slowly lifted her gaze toward the VIP box—and that's when she saw us: me, Nakiri, Alice, and Kurokiba. Her eyes widened in stunned disbelief, locking onto me in particular.
Despite the booth's clear glass, no one had really looked up until now.
I began to applaud, slow and steady.
Sōma, tracking Mito's line of sight, looked up as well. He blinked once, then squinted slightly, as if unsure he was seeing correctly.
Then, a grin broke across his face, and he let out a small laugh before casually waving in our direction.
That gesture immediately drew the arena's attention.
A second later, the massive arena monitor lit up with the feed from our VIP booth and then zoomed in on me.
Of course it did.
I let out a quiet sigh... then gave Sōma a thumbs-up.
From the speakers, Kushida 2.0's voice chimed in, sounding far too excited. "Oooh? What's this? The other transfer student spotted in the VIP booth with Nakiri Erina and Nakiri Alice? Could it be—"
I tuned her out.
Without another glance at the crowd, I turned away from the glass and headed for the door.
Now it was my turn to perform on that stage.
***
A/N: This chapter turned out to be longer than I initially expected, but well, I hope you enjoyed it!
I have decided, for the time being, to skip the 10.5 Chapter. Even though I have written about 6k words, it still wasn't finished, and the chapter also felt kind of out of place. It wouldn't exactly fit the story and would even seem a bit weird. For now, I will leave it in my drafts, and maybe when I have the time, I will return to it. Right now, however, my focus lies on Ayanokoji's match, or rather matches.
In a maximum of two chapters, we will be finished with the Shokugekis, as well as the reaction from our dear students at ANHS. After we are finished with that, the training camp arc will start.
Anyway, thank you for your support once again. I am always amazed by the reception from you guys. Hopefully it won't be too long before you hear from me again, but until then, have a good one :)