"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 screen. Cheers erupted like thunder as the match began.
Mito didn't waste a second. She strode offstage, vanishing from the screens. Moments later, she returned, rolling forward a gleaming metal tray covered by a large black curtain. Her lips curled into a triumphant smile as she pushed it to her station.
"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.
"Holy crap, that looks expensive as hell!" Ike shouted without thinking, eyes bulging.
WHACK!
Sudō's fist smacked the back of his head, sending him lurching forward. "Of course it's expensive, dumbass! You don't just buy something like that at your local grocery store."
Still rubbing his skull, Ike muttered, "S-So what is it, then?"
Sudō turned toward Horikita, his brow furrowed. "Suzune, you know this stuff, right? What exactly are we looking at here?"
Horikita's eyes never left the screen. "That's Wagyu beef, I think. Judging by the cut, it's one of the highest quality available. I'd estimate its value somewhere between six hundred thousand and one million yen."
Her words landed like a bomb.
"E-EXCUSE ME?!" Ike shrieked, practically falling out of his chair. "ONE MILLION?! FOR A PIECE OF MEAT?!"
"Damn it... that's straight-up pay-to-win," Ishizaki muttered from Class C's section.
Mito inhaled deeply, her chest rising as the crowd hushed in anticipation. Then, without hesitation, she reached to her side and revealed a gleaming butcher's cleaver. Its heavy blade glinted under the lights.
And then she moved. She began her butchering.
She worked fast. Each swing of the cleaver carried precision, her wrists snapping with practiced control. What should have looked brutish instead resembled a dance.
"Whoa! Is that a butcher's cleaver she's using?" someone gasped from the stands.
"Even with that huge, unwiely thing, she's still slicing off perfect cuts! What incredible strength!" another voice followed.
The Tōtsuki crowd roared with approval, recognizing the artistry in every slice.
Meanwhile, the ANHS students sat in silence, their bafflement painted across their faces. To them, cooking was just chopping vegetables or frying something in a pan. They couldn't grasp the subtlety of what Ikumi was doing, but even they understood that this was far from easy.
Bit by bit, her efforts bore fruit. She laid one perfect, marbled cut upon a tray.
"Wooooow!"
"I've never seen such fine marbling!"
"Look at the beautiful coloring on both the meat and the fat!"
Ryuen finally broke the silence with a growl, leaning back in his chair. "These bastards make us sit through a damn cooking match but don't even hand out popcorn or chips? Are they fucking with us?"
Even the students who normally hated his crude way of speaking found themselves nodding quietly. He had a point.
Back on the broadcast, Mito had already moved on. With the seared meat sizzling in the pan, she basted it again and again in melted butter, each spoonful gliding over the caramelized crust.
"MMmmm! The rich scent of butter is filling the arena! The smell alone is enough to make me hungry!" Urara squealed, gripping her microphone tighter.
The Tōtsuki audience swayed, bliss written across their faces, intoxicated by the scent.
Ryuen's jaw slackened. "What... the fuck am I watching right now?!" he barked, caught between irritation and disbelief.
"...Are they seriously moaning over the smell of butter?" Hashimoto muttered flatly, his brows knitting.
Beside him, Morishita tilted her head, watching the screen. Even she was confused right now, and that was a telltale. "Well, when you put it that way... they do look like they're in some kind of trance."
"..." Sakayanagi Arisu blankly watched. She was lost for words. For once, she had nothing to say. Her eyes lingered on the screen. Her lips parted, as though she meant to comment, but not a single word came. Slowly, she closed her mouth again.
It was the first time the ever-poised princess of Class A had been so completely at a loss.
Elsewhere, Amikura sat with her cheeks puffed like a sulking child, throwing her hands up. "What is with them? They're acting like they've just—" She cut herself off, her words trailing, her expression heating as the implication clicked in her own head. "...Okay, never mind, I'm not finishing that sentence."
Beside her, Ichinose's composure faltered for the briefest of moments. A faint blush dusted her cheeks.
Amikura's sharp eyes caught it instantly. She leaned in, her grin turning sly. "Oya~? Honami? What exactly are you thinking right now? You've been weirdly different these past few months. Almost like... you've changed dramatically."
"I–I-it's nothing, Mako! Nothing at all!" Ichinose stammered, waving her hands quickly as her blush deepened.
Her obvious fluster only made Amikura's grin widen.
In Class D's section, most of the boys were a mess of red faces and awkward grins. After all, for them, it was practically the first time—aside from certain videos online—they'd seen a girl's face filled with pleasure.
Kushida's face warped into disgust.
"Perverts," Horikita muttered coldly beside her. Whether she meant the Tōtsuki audience, her own classmates, or both, no one could tell.
On-screen, Mito continued, sliding the sizzling beef into the oven.
Urara's bubbly voice immediately picked up again, cutting through the roar of the crowd. "Alright, everyone! Let's take a look at the other side of the stage where Yukihira is cooking."
The cameras swung to Yukihira's station. There he was, rhythmically mincing down an enormous pile of onions, his knife flashing like silver light.
"Fast!" Matsushita exclaimed, her eyes wide.
Karuizawa leaned forward, equally surprised. "And look at that... every single piece is the exact same size. That's incredible."
Horikita's expression remained composed, but her thoughts betrayed her. She begrudgingly admitted, if only to herself, his knife work is better than mine.
"Aha! Now it looks like he's bringing out his meat!" Urara declared enthusiastically.
Predictably, half the boys in Class D erupted into coughs and snickers at the phrasing.
They didn't get the chance to say anything more. Both Kushida and Horikita swiveled around at the exact same time, their synchronized glares cutting them down instantly. The boys froze, paling as though they'd just been sentenced.
Urara continued her lively commentary. "What kind of meat did he choose to pit against Mito's A5-grade Wagyu beef?!"
The ones who cared about the outcome, and not only the show, leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the screen.
What had Yukihira Sōma chosen to counter Mito Ikumi's Wagyu?
What card would he play to tip this Shokugeki in his favor?
How did he intend to stave off the looming threat of expulsion?
These questions churned in the minds of the leaders across every class.
The camera zoomed in close, first on Yukihira itself, then on the bag in his hand.
And that was when both audiences reacted in unison.
Eyes widened. Jaws dropped. Silence.
The bag.
It was white. Crumpled. With red letters that practically shouted to the heavens: 'Super Cheap! Bargain Supermarket!'
Nobody dared to speak as Yukihira casually reached inside, pulling out his chosen meat.
For a fleeting second, hope still lingered. Maybe it was just a decoy bag. Maybe he'd smuggled some hidden gem inside. Surely he hadn't really...
But the camera's merciless zoom crushed those hopes.
Slapped across the wrapper was a glaring sticker: 'HALF-OFF!'
The audience collectively paled.
"..."
"..."
"..."
At ANHS, every student stared slack-jawed. Even Ryuen, usually quick to run his mouth, sat in stunned silence. The only exception was Amasawa, who was still enjoying Shiina's thighs with a grin spreading across her face.
Back in the arena, Yukihira broke the silence himself, flashing a dumb grin. "Hey, they were having a sale. It was lucky timing!"
The words detonated like a bomb.
"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!"
The Tōtsuki audience erupted into chaos. Students screamed in outrage, some hurling whatever they had on hand toward the stage. Urara yelped in panic, ducking low and shielding herself. "E-Eek! P-please stop! Don't throw things at me!"
At Yukihira's side, the boy with the ridiculous pompadour looked like he'd just watched his own funeral procession. The petite girl beside him clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles went white, her worry written plain across her face.
"He can't be serious..." Horikita's composure cracked, her voice rising. "How does he expect to win this match with such a disadvantage?!"
Ichinose, by contrast, was quiet. Her brows knit together as she watched the boy onscreen. He doesn't look shaken at all... not even a little. How? She couldn't fathom it, but that unshakable confidence gnawed at her thoughts.
And then Ryuen finally broke.
"Hah!" His laugh rang out, sharp and amused, startling his classmates. He leaned forward, his grin curling wider and wider. "That Yukihira guy's got massive balls! Imagine if he actually wins with that cheap-ass beef. Hah! That'd be disrespect on another level!"
Meanwhile, onstage, Mito's expression hardened. Whatever worry she might have had for her opponent evaporated completely.
"Hah," she scoffed. Her lips curled. "I'm through with you. Why don't you use the rest of your time to go pack your bags?"
Mito pressed on with her cooking, the cameras trailing after her every move. It was as if even the cameraman had written Yukihira off entirely, focusing only on the 'real' competitor.
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, measuring the temperature of the meat. This caused a few students to raise their brows.
Then she grabbed another knife and, with fluid precision, she began slicing the beef. Each stroke was quick and beautiful to watch.
When she finished arranging the cuts, she turned with deliberate flair, facing Yukihira across the stage.
The cameras followed her gaze, and there he was. Still at his station, still working in silence, as though her very existence didn't matter.
"What, still here, transfer student?" Her taunt was sharp, meant to pierce, but it earned no reaction.
"What's this? Did he already give up?" Ike muttered nervously, leaning forward in his seat.
Mito sneered. "You sure have gotten awfully quiet. What happened to all that big talk from three days ago?"
But Yukihira didn't look up. He didn't flinch, unbothered by her words. He didn't offer her so much as a glance.
Her smirk faltered. Irritation flickered in her eyes.
"Feh! C'mon, say something back! Pathetic wuss..."
Finally, Yukihira looked up, calm and unbothered. "There's nothing I need to say. My dish will speak for me."
"Huh?"
Yukihira 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.
"GO! GO COOK THAT FRAUD!" Ike suddenly hollered, fists pumping in the air. His outburst drew a wave of stares from nearby students.
One boy frowned. "Wait a sec—weren't you cheering for the Meat Master earlier?"
"Eh, yeah, I was," Ike admitted shamelessly, scratching his cheek. "But her smug face is starting to piss me off. Besides, rooting for the underdog's way more fun!"
A ripple of laughter spread through Class D's section. A few students actually nodded in agreement, their earlier awe at Mito starting to curdle into annoyance.
Across the cinema, Ryuen let out another booming laugh, practically doubling over in his seat. "Hah! This is gold. I didn't think watching some guy cook could be this damn entertaining." His sharp grin widened as he leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen.
It was subtle, but in that moment, Yukihira had won something rare: a sliver of Ryuen's respect.
Meanwhile, Class B's side wasn't so united. Amikura crossed her arms, puffing her cheeks. "I still think she's amazing! Did you see those slices? They were perfect!"
"But..." Shiba murmured hesitantly, "don't you think she's looking down on him a little too much? I mean... he's still standing there like it's nothing. That's kind of impressive."
Ichinose spoke softly but firmly. "Both sides are impressive in their own ways. But what matters in the end isn't arrogance or confidence. Their food will be crucial."
Her words carried through the row, though her eyes lingered on Yukihira longer than expected, thoughtful.
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.
Yukihira 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...
Ryuen, who had been cackling like a maniac only moments ago, suddenly froze. His grin slipped. For once, not even a curse left his mouth.
And he wasn't alone.
The ANHS students—hell, everyone watching, including teachers like Hoshinomiya and Chabashira—sat frozen in disbelief. Their earlier shock over the butter-moaning crowd paled in comparison to this. A girl... openly, shamelessly, touching herself in the middle of a massive arena, with cameras broadcasting it to hundreds, maybe thousands of students? And no one in Tōtsuki seemed to bat an eye.
It was surreal. Disturbing.
"God damn it," Ryuen finally hissed, breaking the silence, his voice rough with bewilderment. "Is everyone in that school out of their goddamn minds, or am I missing something here?!"
Whispers and mutters rippled through ANHS's cinema, disbelief plain on every face. Even those who usually joked or teased were dead quiet, unsure what they were even watching anymore.
Then, as the students continued to watch, disturbed, Urara's cheerful voice sounded, as if nothing had happened.
"Ladies and gentlemen, time is almost up! Please begin plating your dishes!"
Down below, both Mito and Yukihira worked with steady hands, moving into their final preparations.
The massive gong reverberated through the arena.
"TIME'S UP!"
The crowd roared as Urara lifted her mic once more.
"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..."
The camera zoomed in on Mito's donburi, the glossy marbling of the beef practically glowing under the lights. All across the arena and the cinema, gulps could be heard as mouths watered in unison.
No one could be blamed.
Ryuen's brow twitched, veins standing out on his forehead. His stomach gave a low growl, only fueling his irritation. They were summoned here right after classes, without having the chance to eat, and now they were making them watch this. One could understand his anger and the frustration of many others.
Even Sakayanagi Arisu allowed a faint crease to form between her brows.
Meanwhile, Ichinose leaned forward in her seat, eyes sparkling slightly with open admiration. "Wow... her dish is gorgeous. It almost doesn't feel real. Like something that just came out of an anime."
"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!" Urara's voice rang out, brimming with excitement.
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!"
"What a marvelous performance by Mito Ikumi!" cried Urara, her voice soaring over the roars of approval.
The crowd erupted into cheers, thunderous applause shaking the air.
"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."
"How's he supposed to win now?" Matsushita whispered, her words nearly drowned out by the cheers that rattled the cinema's walls. Her wide eyes stayed glued to the broadcast. "Did you see their faces? The judges looked like they were in heaven."
Karuizawa, arms crossed, gave a reluctant nod. "That girl's dish really did look incredible."
And yet, despite that admission, neither of them could shake a strange pull toward Yukihira. Somehow, the boy had an aura about him that made people want to root for him. It was odd, almost illogical, especially considering the Tōtsuki audience's open hostility.
From several rows back, Sudō's voice cut through the murmurs. "But wait, doesn't this seem unfair? She's got million-yen beef, and he's stuck with bargain-bin meat."
"That's probably the point," Horiktia answered. "Cooking isn't merely about the techniques. I don't know why Yukihira-kun agreed to fight with such a handicap, but he must believe he can close the gap."
Over in Class C, Amasawa was still comfortably sprawled across Shiina's lap, her magenta twin-tails spilling like silk over the other girl's thighs. She tilted her head. "Hiyori, what do you think? Is our discount-meat hero about to get crushed?"
Shiina's hand moved idly, stroking Amasawa's hair. "Hmm... maybe not. There's something in the way he carries himself. It's strange, but I get the feeling he'll win somehow."
"Ooooh, I knew it!" Amasawa chuckled, her grin spreading. "You think so too!"
Back in the arena, Urara's voice rose above the lingering applause, crisp and eager. "Next, let's have our judges taste Yukihira's dish."
The camera zoomed in as Yukihira stepped forward, tray in hand. The crowd's cheery energy shifted as they followed his every move.
Urara, mic in hand, intercepted him with a smile. "And what is the name of your dish, Yukihira-kun?"
Yukihira paused, as though the thought had only just occurred to him. "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."
Those words earned visible frowns among ANHS students. Sakayanagi Arisu, in particular, felt her grip on her cane tighten. Ever since her match against Ayanokoji had been marred by interference, she'd grown to despise unfairness in competitions meant to be fair. She didn't mind crafty tactics between rivals, but she loathed it when those who were supposed to simply judge and observe meddled. And right now, she was already souring on those two judges for showing bias before even tasting the dish. It's human to be swayed by expectations and the crowd, she thought—but a judge should do everything possible to set bias aside
But if Yukihira was rattled, he didn't show it. He only smiled, calm as ever, and with fluid motions, began setting bowls before the judges.
He lifted the lids in unison.
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."
In Class D's section, Ike was practically bouncing in his chair again, his earlier doubts gone. "C'mon, man! Show them what you've got! Make that cheap steak beat her Wagyu!"
Sudō grunted in agreement. "Yeah! Screw the odds! Make them eat their own words!"
Horikita gave both of them a look, but this time she didn't reprimand them.
The judges dug in.
And they didn't stop.
They didn't comment. Just chopsticks moving in a blur, clinking and scraping against porcelain as bite after bite vanished into their mouths.
The silence was deafening.
"H-Huh?!" Ike stammered, eyes bulging. "Aren't those, like... professional judges?! They've gotta have eaten tons of fancy food before! So how the hell can't they stop eating?!"
Even the Tōtsuki audience, usually so quick to swoon and shout, looked momentarily stunned, their voices caught in their throats. On the ANHS side, the cinema went dead quiet.
Ryuen's grin spread, a low chuckle escaping his throat. Sakayanagi allowed herself the faintest upward curl of her lips. Horikita looked amazed as she watched the scene. And Ichinose gave a small smile.
"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?"
Yukihira 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!"
Horikita's eyes widened, shock slipping through her calm expression. Pickled plum? Of all things? The thought burned in her mind. She leaned back slightly, muttering under her breath, just loud enough for Kushida beside her to hear.
"I... I never would have thought of that."
Kushida, ever quick to needle, stifled a snicker. "What's the matter, Horikita? Feeling humbled already?"
Horikita didn't answer. Her gaze was still glued to Yukihira's calm, confident face on the screen.
The judges were already halfway through the bowl. Seconds later—
"Ahhhhhh~! I finished already!" the woman in violet cried, setting her chopsticks down with a trembling hand. Her cheeks flushed as she leaned forward desperately. "Is there enough for seconds? Please, tell me there's more!"
The arena went silent.
At ANHS, several faces twisted, including Ryuen's. But compared to the chaos from earlier when that girl touched herself, they managed to suppress their shock this time.
Mito was already frozen as she was watching the judges' reactions. But then, as if to twist the knife deeper, the female judge turned to Mito herself. Her eyes brimmed 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.
Mito completely froze.
Her eyes went wide, her mouth parting slightly as if to argue, but no sound came out. Her hands trembled as she looked down at the table. That's when she saw it.
Her bowl sat before the judges, the beef all but gone... yet the rice beneath it barely touched.
In Class B's section, Kanzaki, who had been silent all this time, muttered under his breath. "...They've barely eaten her rice."
Ichinose, seated nearby, nodded gravely. "Yes. I fear the meat overshadowed the rice. Meanwhile, Yukihira-kun's dish..." She trailed off, her eyes glimmering with a mix of realization and admiration.
Sakayanagi's lips curled into a knowing smile. "I see. Yukihira-kun used her greatest strength against her. Her mastery over meat made her careless. It overshadowed the rice, leaving the donburi incomplete. He flipped her advantage on its head. Amazing." Her voice carried just enough for those closest to hear.
Horikita, on the other hand, looked utterly dumbfounded. She shook her head, her brows knitting tighter and tighter. "Why... why didn't I realize that sooner? How dumb of me..." Her voice rose slightly, sharper now. "Of course! The theme is a donburi, with meat as the main ingredient. But the heart of a donburi has always been the rice! If the rice is overshadowed, then the dish itself is fundamentally flawed!"
The more she spoke, the angrier she became, not at Yukihira or Mito, but at herself. Her fists clenched on her lap as if punishing her own lack of foresight.
Beside her, Kushida opened her mouth to tease, then paused. Seeing Horikita so genuinely frustrated, so caught up in the match, she decided—for once—to leave her alone.
The rest of Class D exchanged uneasy glances. Their usually unshakable classmate was being shaken to her core by... a bowl of rice.
Meanwhile, Ryuen was having the time of his life. He leaned back in his seat, shoulders shaking, laughter spilling out uncontrollably. "Kahahaha! Look at her face! That's it, that hollow, desperate look! She's realizing it now—that she screwed up big time!"
His grin widened, his voice rough with amusement. "I don't know jack about cooking, but even I can tell from the way those judges are eating. Yukihira's already got this in the bag. That girl's done for."
The camera panned to Mito again, catching her wide, trembling eyes, her lips pressed tight in frustration. That proud arrogance from earlier had crumbled into something else entirely. Realization. Desperation.
And the contrast couldn't have been clearer.
Across from her, Yukihira simply grinned, unfazed, as though everything was unfolding exactly as he had expected.
Matsushita muttered under her breath, almost disbelieving. "No way... he actually made it work..."
Hirata smiled, relief and admiration mixing in his expression. "He's incredible."
Karuizawa merely gave a slow nod.
Onstage, Yukihira stood with his hands casually shoved into his pockets, a 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!"
"Oh, still in denial," Sakayanagi chuckled, hiding her smile behind her sleeve.
Mito's words sounded strong, but her trembling grip betrayed her.
She was clinging to pride, but the cracks were already forming.
Yukihira 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.
At that moment, Urara's voice rang clear, the tension in the arena reaching its peak.
"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 gripped the crowd, and then it erupted into chaos.
"UNBELIEVABLE! Absolutely unbelievable! Ladies and gentlemen, the winner is Yukihira Sōma!"
Yukihira 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 smile.
"YEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!"
A group of students in the crowd erupted into wild cheers. The girl who accompanied Yukihira jumped to her feet, waving her arms high. "Sōma-kun, you did it!"
Konishi threw a fist into the air, eyes gleaming with emotion. "Yeah! Yukihira! My man!"
Even in ANHS's cinema, cheers erupted. At some point, the majority had started rooting for Yukihira, not like Tōtsuki, whose scorn had been focused on him since the start. The ANHS students had only been drawn in by his persona, his reckless confidence, and his style of cooking.
"YEAH! HE DID IT!" Ike roared, clapping hard enough to sting his palms.
The sound of applause swelled, echoing through the cinema. One after another, students rose to their feet, clapping louder, until even the leaders stood and joined in.
What had begun as a mandatory broadcast they were forced to endure had become something else entirely. First, entertainment. Then excitement. And now, genuine admiration.
Many had never thought they'd find live cooking entertaining—yet here they were, swept up in the fire Yukihira had lit.
Horikita, still frustrated at herself, allowed a small, genuine smile to form as she joined in the applause. "Brilliant," she whispered softly, almost to herself.
Across the rows, Amasawa cackled, throwing her arms wide. "Hiyori, did you see that?! Just like we thought! Our discount-meat hero crushed her!"
Shiina stroked her hair, smiling faintly. "Mhm."
Ibuki, meanwhile, was stunned into silence. Since dabbling in cooking herself, she knew enough to grasp the sheer difficulty of what she'd just seen. For someone to topple an opponent wielding the finest meat with the cheapest cut available—it was beyond impressive.
Her chest stirred with something she hadn't expected. Motivation. Inspiration. And she wasn't the only one.
A spark ignited in more than a few students, even among those who'd never touched a knife themselves. They felt a strange pull, an urge to try cooking for themselves.
And among them, unbelievably, was Ryuen.
"Heh. Looks like after this, I might have to burn some points."
The words made Class C's students stiffen in unison. Their faces drained of color.
They all had the same chilling thought: their leader, Ryuen, stepping foot in a kitchen.
It was a terrifying image.
"Honami! Do you want to check out the store after this?" Amikura asked, her eyes sparkling like stars.
"Sure!" Ichinose replied with her usual warm smile. Her mood seemed to have improved, and cooking might distract her thoughts.
The students of ANHS were still buzzing, their mood high, carried on the waves of excitement. But none of them realized yet—the real shock was only seconds away.
Down on stage, Yukihira was still soaking in the applause, grinning at the cheers of his friends. Then, as if something caught his eye, he blinked. His head tilted upward. He squinted, paused—and then a grin spread wider than before.
He chuckled under his breath before laughing and lifting a hand, waving in that direction.
Naturally, it drew attention.
First from the arena crowd, then from the cinema in ANHS, and of course, from the cameraman.
The camera panned instantly to the VIP box. The very same one where Nakiri Erina had been seated earlier.
The screen filled with faces.
Nakiri herself sat there, her refined posture unchanged. Next to her stood a girl with short pink hair, her hands clasped primly. On the opposite side was another girl, with short silver hair, striking red eyes. Slightly behind them, a boy with long, dark brown hair leaned casually in the shadows.
And then...
There was him.
Towering a head above the rest was a young man with calm brown eyes and matching brown hair. Wearing a black collared shirt, his posture was relaxed. Yet, his presence radiated quiet command. Hands together, he clapped, unhurried.
The camera locked onto him.
Closer.
Closer.
Until his face filled the screen—his eyes meeting the lens directly, as if he were looking at them.
"...!"
"!!!"
Aside from a handful of clueless first-years and a few second-years, nearly every voice in the ANHS cinema died at once.
The thunderous applause that had been shaking the walls just moments ago was snuffed out as if someone had ripped the plug. Hundreds of students froze, hands still suspended mid-clap, eyes locked on the screen, mouths ajar in disbelief.
The few who didn't know the young man, like the new first-year students, were still clapping, but they faltered as the unnatural silence swept over the hall. One by one, they too stopped.
Now, the only sound left was the faint noise of the broadcast.
"AYANOKOJI?!"
Ike's voice cracked so violently that his own throat ached from his scream. He shot to his feet, finger quivering as he pointed at the giant screen. His whole body shook as if he were staring at a ghost. "Th-That's—That's really him! That's actually him!"
Sudō stood almost at the same time, "No... no fucking way. No fucking way that's real." His voice was raw, disbelief dripping from every word. "What the hell is he doing there?!"
A choked, broken sound split the silence from Class D's section. Karuizawa's hands flew up to cover her mouth. Her body trembled violently as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't hold it back, couldn't even hide it.
"Kei-chan!" Matsushita immediately wrapped her arms around her, pulling her close, trying to steady her. But even Matsushita's usually controlled expression was cracked, pale, and trembling. Her whispers were shaky, unconvincing even to herself. "It's okay... it's okay..."
Satō pressed close on Karuizawa's other side, her own eyes wide, flicking between the crying girl and the screen. "Kei, breathe. Just breathe, okay?"
Meanwhile, Horikita sat completely rigid. Every muscle in her body felt locked in place. Her hands clamped down on the armrests so tightly that her knuckles had turned bone white.
Her carefully constructed walls, the ones she had been desperately rebuilding ever since Kushida's vicious but honest words, shattered in an instant.
Her lips parted. Her throat was dry, the word scraping out barely above a whisper. Yet beside her, Kushida still caught it.
"Ayanokoji-kun..."
It left her like a prayer. Like a confession.
In Class B's section, the warmth of their leader cracked. Her smile from just moments before faltered.
Every head in Class B turned toward her instantly. They all knew. They all knew about her feelings toward that boy.
"Ayanokoji-kun..." The name slipped from her lips without a shred of restraint, carried by instinct rather than thought.
"Honami..." Amikura's earlier starry-eyed excitement about cooking was gone in an instant. She reached for Ichinose's hand and gripped it tight, her own face pale. "Honami, are you okay?"
But Ichinose wasn't okay.
She couldn't be.
Her heart throbbed painfully as her gaze locked on the screen. The sight of him again shattered the composure she always tried so hard to maintain.
"He looks... happy," she managed to breathe out, her voice trembling, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Around her, Class B fell into stunned silence. None of them had ever seen their leader, their radiant source of optimism, look so utterly broken.
In Class C's section, the reaction was the complete opposite. Explosive.
"That bastard!" Ryuen shot to his feet so violently that his seat, which was fixed and not movable, nearly snapped back. His grin twisted wide, his expression caught between fury and exhilaration. "That fucking monster! He really went there?! What the hell is he even doing in that place?!"
Ibuki sat frozen, staring at the screen with wide, unblinking eyes. Her voice was low. "He's really there. In the VIP section. That means..."
She was one of the first to grasp what others hadn't yet processed.
Amasawa, the moment the camera even pointed toward the VIP room, bolted from Shiina's lap and, with wide eyes, stared at the screen. Her expression turned solemn. "Senpai..."
Then, like a switch flipping, her lips curled, her tone shifting into a playful lilt. "Hehe~, so that's where you went?"
Shiina was still shocked, her hand frozen mid-motion where it had been stroking Amasawa's hair. But slowly, a small, tender smile bloomed on her face as her gaze lingered on the boy. Relief shone in her expression. She was simply happy—happy that he was doing well.
Of all the chaos, they were the first to recover.
Amasawa tilted her head, still watching the screen, but her sharp eyes swept across the cinema, drinking in the chaos around them. "Look at them," she laughed, her grin widening. "Everyone's falling apart. Again."
Shiina's voice was softer, tinged with understanding. "Can you blame them? Seeing him there forces them to confront what his leaving really meant."
In Class A's section, the atmosphere cracked like glass.
Hashimoto shot out of his seat so fast he almost stumbled. "KING?!" The word tore from his throat, sharp, frantic, filled with disbelief.
Beside him, Sakayanagi remained still. Her violet eyes, sharp as a blade, stayed locked on the figure on the screen.
Her lips parted, her words so quiet that not even those nearest could hear. "Ayanokoji-kun..."
Her gaze softened for just a heartbeat, her voice carrying something between longing and resignation.
"So this is where you've gone..."
Her eyes lingered, unblinking, drinking in every detail of him. "And you look... content."
The faculty, too, sat in stunned silence.
Chabashira-sensei's normally stern face had gone pale, her composure cracking as she whispered to herself. "How is this possible...?" Her voice trembled just slightly. "How did he...?"
Hoshinomiya, seated nearby, leaned over. "You didn't know about this?"
Chabashira's reply was flat, clipped. "No. I had no idea where he went after he left. The chairman handled everything himself."
Her eyes flicked to where Chairman Sakayanagi watched the broadcast with an expression of calm satisfaction, lips curved faintly as though this had been foreseen from the start.
"He orchestrated this," Chabashira murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "The partnership, the broadcast, this reveal... He wanted us to see this moment."
"But why?" Hoshinomiya pressed, incredulous.
Chabashira had no answer. She could only stare at the screen, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. To see her former student standing tall, radiating strength and confidence in a foreign place... it stirred both pride and a hollow ache of loss.
Back in Class D's section, Koenji slid his mirror back into his jacket with a flourish, his lips curling upward. His voice cut through the heavy silence with unusual clarity.
"It seems," he said, his brow arched, "that Ayanokoji-boy has chosen to shed his mask."
The words carried, pulling more eyes back toward the screen.
And as the initial storm of gasps and shouts began to settle, what lingered was a heavy, collective focus. Hundreds of eyes locked on the VIP box, drinking in every detail.
Ayanokoji's presence was calm, yet commanding in a way that seemed foreign to the person they had once known. There was no trace of the withdrawn, almost indifferent boy who had drifted through ANHS. Here, in this new place, he seemed at ease, as though this was where he belonged all along.
"He's changed," someone whispered hoarsely from Class D's rows. "He looks... different."
"Y-Yeah," Mii-chan stammered, her eyes unblinking. "In our class, he was so quiet, always staying in the background. But now... I don't know how to explain it. His whole aura feels different."
The others murmured agreement, their unease growing.
And then, on screen, the boy himself moved.
Ayanokoji exhaled softly. Then, with a small, unhurried motion, he raised a hand and gave Yukihira a thumbs-up.
Yukihira's grin spread ear to ear, his shoulders bouncing with a light chuckle. His lips moved without making a sound.
'I secured the meat.'
But in ANHS's cinema, that caused another wave of questions.
"What... relationship do these two even have?" one student whispered, the question spreading like a spark on dry grass. "Yukihira looks way too happy to see him. Are they... friends?"
The word friends hit like a hammer blow.
In the Class D rows, Akito stiffened. Hasebe's lips pressed together, trembling. Yukimura's face went pale. The three of them exchanged glances.
Friends.
The word was carved deep.
All of this might have seemed like it was a long time since Ayanokoji was shown on the screen, but in truth, barely seconds had passed.
"Ooooh?" Urara's voice burst through the speakers, far too giddy for the weight of the moment for the students in ANHS. "What's this? The other transfer student spotted in the VIP booth with Nakiri Erina and Nakiri Alice? Could it be? Could it be that—ah, it looks like he's leaving!"
The camera followed smoothly, catching the moment as Ayanokoji stepped toward the door of the VIP booth. His hand touched the handle, pushed it open, and then he vanished from sight.
The image of his exit was what finally snapped the crowd back to life.
"W-Wait... other transfer student?! You mean... he's actually enrolled at Tōtsuki?! He's not just some guest, but actually a student?!"
"He's one of them?!"
"How?! When?!"
The whispers, frantic and disbelieving, rippled across the cinema like a wave breaking.
And then—
"THAT BASTARD IS COOKING NOW?!"
Ryuen's roar exploded from Class C's section, rattling every ear in the hall. His voice was so loud, so violent, that it drowned out all the murmurs at once. His fists slammed down on the armrests of his seat with a thundering crack.
"ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME?!" He shot forward, veins bulging on his forehead, teeth bared in a feral grin that was equal parts rage and disbelief. "HE LEFT THIS SCHOOL—TO GO COOK?!"
He dragged both hands through his hair, laughing manically between his furious shouts. "ARGHHHHH! UNBELIEVABLE!"
The eruption silenced the cinema once again. Every student and every teacher turned to stare at Class C's leader as he raged like a caged animal.
This was the first time anyone had ever seen Ryuen lose control like that. His violence was no secret, and he regularly made use of it, but it was controlled. But right now, it was different. He was raging, unrestrained, losing control over himself.
"So Kiyotaka-kun is cooking now." Hirata's voice cut the silence. His lips curled into a smile. "How random," he said, laughing, though the sound came out strained, as his eyes flickered toward Karuizawa, still trembling in shock.
Hasebe twisted around, staring at the two boys beside her. "Wait, did either of you know Kiyotaka could cook?" She addressed Ayanokoji not as 'Kiyopon' nor as 'Ayanokoji'.
Akito shook his head quickly. "No."
Yukimura's lips pressed together. "So he hid that from us too...?" His mutter was quiet, but the look he received from Hasabe snapped him into silence.
Kushida turned to Horikita. "He could cook? Why didn't he ever say anything, especially back when Ibuki's cooking was such a mess? He could've given her some tips." A sadistic chuckle slipped from her lips before her gaze sharpened, pinning Horikita. "Do you know something, Horikita?"
The girl in question took a moment to recover before her gaze paled. "H-He couldn't," she said, her voice coming out louder than she intended.
"What?" Kushida's brows arched.
Horikita's knuckles whitened against her armrest. "Ayanokoji-kun couldn't cook. I had to teach him. Back in our second year."
Gasps followed, stunned faces turning her way.
"Wait—you taught him?" Yukimura frowned. "Why would you even teach him?"
"Is that really important right now?!" Horikita snapped, her patience fraying. She exhaled sharply, steadying her tone. "It was for our first-year exams. Remember when Sudō needed a partner? There was that girl in Class A, and she demanded a homemade meal. Sudō couldn't do it. Someone had to cook, and Ayanokoji was the only option left. I taught him the basics."
Murmurs rippled through the rows. Memories resurfaced, vague but undeniable.
Horikita's voice softened, though frustration laced her words. "He wasn't good. His cooking was barely passable at best. I don't know if he kept practicing after that, but to leap from a clumsy beginner to someone being a student at Tōtsuki... that isn't something I can picture. It shouldn't be possible."
Disbelief spread through the students who heard those words. Students from other classes were also quiet, carefully listening.
Matsushita, her arms still around Kei, gently tapped her shoulder. "Kei-chan... do you know something?"
Karuizawa sniffled, wiping at her eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded. "Mhm... I knew Horikita-san had taught him. So... a while ago, I asked Kiyotaka to make me an omelette."
Her lips trembled as she smiled faintly through the tears. "I was really happy. Because he made it for me."
But as the gazes pressed heavier on her, she faltered, her honesty spilling out. "If I'm being truthful... it wasn't amazing. It was kind of... flawed. Not creamy enough, a little burnt..." Her hands clenched against her skirt. "But that didn't matter to me. Because it was Kiyotaka who cooked it."
Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to finish. "To me, it was special. But... objectively... it wasn't anything that could stand against chefs like Mito-san or Yukihira-kun."
Matsushita's lips tightened. "So what you're really saying is... he can't win there. Not against students on that level."
Karuizawa hesitated, then lowered her head, nodding reluctantly.
Horikita's voice followed, analytical. "I agree. I've cooked enough to know that culinary skills require a deep foundation. Years of discipline. To rise from nothing to Tōtsuki's standards in a few months? It defies reason." Her brow furrowed, her voice quieter now, almost uneasy. "I don't know what Ayanokoji-kun is after... or why he chose that school of all places."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Koenji smirked at all the frantic speculation, amused but unwilling to lower himself into what he deemed chatter of the 'footfolk'. He leaned back, perfectly content to let them theorise.
The next voice to cut through the hall came from Class B. Kanzaki's calm, measured tone carried across the cinema. "But wait... if his cooking skills were that limited, then how did he even manage to enroll there? From what we've seen, that academy doesn't look forgiving toward incompetence."
That made many heads turn. Even Ryuen's snarling had gone quiet, his burning glare fixed on the screen.
Then, from Class A's section, Sakayanagi's voice rose. "Perhaps," she started, "we're operating under false assumptions."
The shift in attention was instant. Every eye turned towards her.
"W-What do you mean, princess?" Hashimoto asked hesitantly, gathering the courage to voice what others were thinking.
Her eyes flicked toward him, then back to the screen. "We assume Ayanokoji-kun's position at Tōtsuki rests solely on culinary ability. But consider what we just witnessed. He wasn't seated with the students, but he was in the VIP box among those seemingly influential figures."
Her gaze sharpened. "A status like that is not earned simply by cooking skills. At least, not in the very first week of school. Which means..." she trailed, her smile curving. "...there are other ways to become indispensable at such an institution."
Ryuen let out a laugh. "So what you are saying is that he found another way to the top? Is he playing politics or what? Getting his way to the top in a cooking institution without even being able to cook?"
"It's possible," Sakayanagi replied smoothly. "Though I suspect the truth is more complicated."
In the Class B section, Ichinose finally found her voice again. "He looked confident," she said quietly, her words barely audible but somehow carrying to nearby students. "When the camera showed him, he didn't look nervous or out of place. He looked... like he belonged there."
Kanzaki's eyes narrowed. "Ichinose. What do you think?"
Her fist clenched against her knees. "I'm thinking... maybe we never knew Ayanokoji-kun at all. Maybe there were sides of him he never showed us."
The words rippled outward, a wave of unease spreading across the cinema. If that was true, how much had any of them really understood him?
Kanzaki, still deep in thought, spoke again. "If Tōtsuki is as elite as it appears, maybe they don't just need chefs. Maybe they need strategists, managers, people who can handle logistics, or the business side. Someone like Ayanokoji could excel there without ever touching a knife."
His reasoning wasn't dismissed. Students mulled it over, whispering.
"That... actually sounds plausible," Matsushita admitted, frowning.
"But then why," Sudō cut in, confused, "was he sitting with the actual chefs?"
Horikita answered. "If he's in some sort of support role, working with the administration or directly with top students, then naturally he'd be granted access to restricted areas."
For the first time since Ayanokoji appeared, a tentative explanation began to circulate.
"So he's not competing as a chef?" someone asked.
"Probably not in the traditional sense," Hirata replied, his voice thoughtful. "But I don't think Kiyotaka-kun would half-heartedly involve himself. If he's there, he's learning to cook too."
The murmurs shifted, the theory catching traction. Relief mixed with confusion as students clung to the idea that perhaps, just perhaps, their former classmate wasn't standing shoulder-to-shoulder with culinary prodigies but doing something else entirely.
And then—
Amasawa's laugh rang out, cutting through the fragile consensus like a knife. Her grin was wicked, her words deliberately loud.
"Really now? That's the conclusion you've reached, senpais?"
All eyes turned toward her.
"Let me remind you," she said, tilting her head playfully, though her tone was cold, sharp. "That boy Yukihira Sōma. You saw how close he was with senpai, didn't you? He's a transfer student too. The announcer even introduced them as such. And yet, Yukihira was despised by the crowd, written off as nothing special. If Senpai is the same, then your neat little theory falls apart."
Her red eyes glimmered with mischief. "They addressed him as a transfer student too. That announcer girl was surprised to see him with these girls, Nakiri Erina and Nakiri Alice. If he wasn't a chef, why would they react that way?"
Her grin widened as her gaze swept slowly across the leaders of each class—Horikita, Ichinose, Ryuen, and Sakayanagi.
"So tell me, my dear senpais..." she whizzed, dragging out the word with mocking sweetness. "...how did you reach such a flimsy conclusion? You're all starting to disappoint me."
Her words lingered, mocking not just the leaders but the entire student body of ANHS.
The leaders' reactions to Amasawa's jab varied, but they were not positive, yet, in that moment, they all realized. They had been grasping at straws, making excuses. And Amasawa had shredded their flimsy reasoning with cruel precision.
The air grew heavier.
Then, a calm void cut through the silence.
"I can see that the broadcast has given you much to consider," Chairman Sakayanagi said, his tone carrying an edge of dry amusement. "However, I should mention, the broadcast is not yet concluded. Tōtsuki has graciously agreed to share something else. Something that may be of... particular interest to you."
His words dropped like stones into water, ripples of realization and confirmation spread across the hall. Dozens of students stiffened as the implication sank in.
And then—perfectly on cue—Urara's bubbly voice burst from the speakers, somehow even more charged than before.
"Waaaah~! With that spectacular clash between Yukihira and Mito now behind us, it's time to move on to the second half of today's spectacle!"
The camera swung back to the stage, capturing Urara nearly bouncing on her toes with excitement.
"We have just received word from the Shokugeki Administration Department! They have officially validated the following battles as sanctioned Shokugeki!"
Her arm shot skyward.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Get ready, because we are about to witness seven consecutive Shokugeki, all featuring a single competitor standing alone against the challenge!"
The Tōtsuki students weren't too shocked; after all, they came specifically because of the news.
But the students at ANHS weren't aware.
"WHAT?!" A collective shout echoed from all sorts of people. Amikura, Shibata, Hashimoto, Sudō, Ike, and many, many more students reacted in shock.
Horikita's voice cracked. "S-Seven matches? Consecutive?!"
Ryuen threw his head back and howled with laughter. "Hahahaha! Seven in a row? Why the hell didn't he pull this crap back when he was here?!"
Ibuki's voice was quieter, more hesitant. "...We still don't know if it's Ayanokoji." Her words sounded hollow even as she said them.
Ryuen turned on her with a savage grin. "Ibuki. Do you even believe that yourself?"
Her silence was her answer.
From Class D, Sudō's voice rose. "Suzune, you know the most about cooking out of all of us. How hard or how impressive is that really?"
Horikita's lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes never left the screen, but she spoke, her voice clipped and heavy.
"It's... far harder than you all realize."
"Physically, it's more than exhausting. Not only the constant chopping and stirring, but also being in constant motion under heat. Even a single proper meal can take half an hour, sometimes hours. Repeat that seven times, and you're looking at three, four hours of nonstop cooking."
Her fingers curled tightly around her armrest.
"And that's not even the worst part. The mental strain is worse. He will be under constant pressure to not just finish the dishes, but to perfect them. No mistakes are allowed. Not a single slip. One burnt sauce, one misstep, and he will lose."
Sweat prickled her forehead as she went on, her voice low but intense.
"And if the themes vary drastically... then it's going to be nearly impossible. Each dish could require completely different techniques. Muscle memory or instinct could ruin you. To switch gears seven times in a row without faltering... you'd need encyclopedic knowledge of recipes, years of experience, and flawless adaptability."
She drew in a breath, her voice faltering. "...And Ayanokoji-kun... he wasn't at this level. Not when I knew him. He could barely cook a passable dish. To do this—" her words caught. "It borders on the impossible."
The students were surprised by Horikita's analysis, but it was logical. Of course it would be difficult. Their faces went pale, especially those who knew Ayanokoji.
And then Urara's voice returned, bright as a bell, oblivious to the dread settling over ANHS.
"Our challenger will face seven different opponents, each with a completely unique theme to push his skills to the absolute limit! Now, allow me to introduce the themes that will decide these matches!"
The screen split into seven panels, each filling with a different culinary category.
Gasps and sharp intakes of breath echoed through the cinema.
Coupled with Horikita's dire explanation, the revelation landed like a hammer blow.
On the screen, seven panels lined up neatly, each flashing with bold lettering.
Philippine Cuisine / Ramen / Stew / Pastries / Rice / Middle Eastern Cuisine / Dessert
Students stared at the screen as if the words themselves mocked them.
Even Urara's bubbly cadence, normally impossible to ignore, faded into background noise, her energetic introductions drowned out by the thunder of anxious thoughts.
Horikita's explanation still lingered in their minds like an echo. Impossible. Seven consecutive matches, all with different cuisines, requiring completely separate sets of techniques and knowledge.
Then Urara's voice cut sharply back into focus:
"Then, the terms are simple! Our challenger must win all seven matches to claim victory! But if he loses even one—just one match—he will face immediate expulsion from Tōtsuki Academy!"
A cold shiver ran down spines across the cinema.
"Expulsion... for losing even one out of seven?" Ichinose's voice trembled, her composure gone. She could hardly force the words out.
From Class C's section, Ryuen's grin had returned, but it was tight, strained, and uncertain. His eyes burned at the screen, unreadable. That bastard never moved without a plan. Never gambled unless he was sure. So why? Why now?
The same thought flickered behind Sakayanagi's violet eyes. She tilted her head, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her cane. He wasn't reckless. He wasn't a fool. Which meant that this challenge must serve some deeper purpose. But what?
And then Urara dropped the final hammer.
"And should our challenger achieve the near impossible, winning all seven Shokugeki..." She paused for dramatic flair, the crowd at Tōtsuki buzzing faintly in anticipation. "...then he will earn 150,000 yen monthly per opponent for the rest of their enrollment! That's over one million yen in total, every single month!"
"The money doesn't matter," Karuizawa's voice cracked through the silence, raw and emotional. Tears threatened to return as she clutched at Matsushita's sleeve. "If he loses even once... he loses everything. Why would he take such a risk?!"
Her plea wasn't rhetorical. It carried into the silence like a desperate question everyone wanted answered.
And yet, none of them could answer it.
The faces of every class leader—Horikita, Ichinose, Ryuen, and Sakayanagi—remained locked on the screen, tension written across their features.
Urara's voice rang out again, clear and bubbling with energy.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce our competitors for the first match!"
The stage lights swept dramatically, illuminating one side of the arena.
"From the west corner, we have Okumura Tomio!"
A tall boy strode confidently onto the stage, his posture radiating bravado. His lips curled with the smugness of someone convinced of his own superiority. It was the boy who took the lead in the group that mocked Yukihira and Ayanokoji.
His reception wasn't spectacular; the applause was polite at best. Compared to the cheers Mito received, this was sad. Clearly, in the eyes of the audience, he was just a random student. Still, he confidently walked forward, planting himself firmly at the center of the stage, waiting to face his opponent.
And then, instinctively, his head turned toward the opposite tunnel.
There, half-shrouded in shadow, a pair of calm brown eyes looked back at him.
The moment their gazes locked, Okumura's breath caught. His bravado wavered, his body betraying him as his foot slid back half a step. He couldn't explain it, but those eyes felt suffocating.
"And now, from the east corner!" Urara paused for maximum drama. "The transfer student who has declared battle against seven opponents in a row!"
The camera zoomed in on the dark tunnel, anticipation at its peak.
"—Ayanokoji Kiyotaka!"
The arena lights flared as he stepped forward.
It wasn't an exaggerated entrance, just a simple walk, like he was strolling through a hallway instead of walking onto the stage where hundreds of pairs of eyes watched his every move.
His expression was calm. His presence, overwhelming.
Even though Chairman Sakayanagi, that killjoy, had already spoiled or at least hinted that Ayanokoji would be stepping into the arena, hearing it and seeing it with their own eyes were two entirely different things.
The reality hit harder than any words.
The boy who, back at ANHS, barely seemed interested in anything beyond the bare minimum, who most of them had never even seen cook, was now standing on a stage in one of the world's most prestigious culinary academies, about to take on seven opponents back-to-back across wildly different themes.
They couldn't believe it.
Horikita's lips parted, her earlier analysis reverberating painfully in her head. Impossible... how? How will he do it...
Ichinose clutched at her chest so tightly her knuckles whitened, her heartbeat rattling against her ribs. Her lips moved silently, a whispered prayer meant for no one but herself. Please... please succeed, Ayanokoji-kun.
Ryuen's grin spread like wildfire, feral and manic. His laugh cut through the heavy silence, rough and wild. "Hahahaha! That bastard really went and did it! Let's see! Let's see!" His voice trembled with exhilaration, eyes burning with thrill.
Sakayanagi's gaze never left him, tracking his every step. A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Ayanokoji-kun..." she whispered, her voice low, almost intimate, as though speaking to him alone despite the noise around. "So this is the stage you've chosen to stand on."
The tension was suffocating, both in Tōtsuki and here in the cinema of ANHS.
Neither Tōtsuki nor ANHS realized it yet—
—that what they were about to witness would be less a competition and more a public execution...
— End of Interlude I (Part Two) —
***
A/N: Good lord, I don't want any more...
Interlude - Part Three will arrive after Chapter 12 (14 on Webnovel?): Public Execution.
By next week, my semester exams will be finally over, but immediately after that, I will be on vacation for two weeks.
I will try my best to get you Chapter 12 (14) out before that, but I can't promise anything, so in the worst case, the next chapter will only come out in four weeks—well, hopefully I will somehow manage to bring out a chapter before that...
Anyway, I am done with reactions for now, lol. I hope that you have enjoyed these two chapters!
Thank you for your support!