The room shifted as students began moving toward their assigned stations.
There were two pairings that stood out. Those were unlikely combinations that statistically shouldn't have happened.
Aside from my own pairing with Kushida 2.0, Alice had been matched with her personal assistant, Kurokiba. A combination that, if anything, bordered on unfair. From what I had observed, they were easily among the most capable in this room.
Another pairing worth noting was Mito and the purple-haired girl, whose name I now came to know was Hōjō Miyoko.
I remained at my station as Kushida 2.0 approached.
"Ayanokoji-kun—!" she called out brightly, her voice carrying that same polished cheerfulness as always. "What a wonderful surprise! Looks like we're partners for this exam! I'll be in your care~"
She performed a small, playful bow, her hair bouncing with the movement.
I nodded. "Kushi—"
I stopped myself.
"—Kawashima," I corrected smoothly.
Kushi—no, Kawashima—tilted her head, confusion flickering across her expression. "Kushi...? Who?"
"Don't worry. I misspoke."
She watched me for a moment longer, clearly not convinced, before letting out a light laugh. "Well, anyway! No need to be so formal, Ayanokoji-kun. Everyone calls me Urara!" She placed a hand on her chest, her smile brightening. "It's much more pleasant that way, don't you think?"
"Mhm. I'll keep that in mind."
She pouted slightly at my neutral response.
Once everyone had settled at their stations, Sekimori set his clipboard down and scanned the room.
The conversations died instantly, without him needing to say a word.
"Now that everyone is in position," he began, "I will explain today's examination."
He gestured toward the large refrigerated storage unit at the far wall.
"Inside, you will find a variety of seafood. All are fresh and properly stored."
"Each group will prepare ten pieces of sushi. Five per student. Any variety is permitted—nigiri, maki, temaki, or otherwise—provided they meet the standards of a professional sushi establishment."
"Traditional preparations are not mandatory. You may prepare sushi styles more common outside Japan if you wish. However, professional quality is non-negotiable."
Several students relaxed slightly at the creative freedom implied.
"That said," Sekimori continued, "there are limitations. While sufficient ingredients exist for all groups, each variety is limited in quantity. If four partnerships claim all available salmon, for instance, the remaining groups will have none."
"Choose wisely."
Murmurs rippled through the room. Students began glancing toward the storage unit, mentally cataloging their preferences.
"Additionally... and this should already be clear—" Sekimori's voice took on a harder edge, "food waste will not be tolerated. Prepare only what is required for the evaluated pieces, and only as much as you are capable of consuming."
He offered no elaboration. The implications were clear to all students.
"My staff and I will evaluate each piece individually. Any piece deemed unsatisfactory will be marked accordingly."
"If a group accumulates more than three unsatisfactory pieces—"
He paused.
"—that group will be expelled."
I watched students covertly reassessing their partners, recognizing that their fates were now inextricably linked.
"Furthermore," he added, "if an individual is responsible for three unsatisfactory pieces, that individual will be expelled regardless of the group's overall result."
The pressure in the room intensified. At various other stations, less notable students wore expressions ranging from determined to terrified.
"You have ninety minutes for preparation and plating," Sekimori concluded. "Questions?"
There were none.
"Very well."
He raised his hand.
"Begin."
All at once, students surged toward the refrigerated storage like a dam had burst. Bodies shoved past bodies, elbows found ribs, and within seconds, a chaotic crowd had formed around the unit, hands reaching past each other to claim ingredients.
"Move!"
"I saw that tuna first!"
"There's only one salmon side left—!"
Alice had deployed Kurokiba as a human battering ram, his intimidating presence carving a path through the chaos while she calmly selected premium cuts, her movements efficient and precise. Within moments, they had secured top-tier ingredients and withdrawn.
Mito bulldozed through with pure physical confidence, her meat-handling instincts apparently translating to any protein acquisition scenario. She emerged clutching a salmon side triumphantly, her expression daring anyone to challenge her claim.
Meanwhile, I hadn't moved.
As the initial frenzy subsided and students began retreating with their spoils, I noticed something, or rather, someone, on the ground near the storage unit.
Kushi—no, Kawashima.
The "idol" had been reduced to just another participant the moment fear entered the equation.
So this is what happens when admiration is replaced by self-preservation.
For a brief moment, frustration flashed across her face.
I stepped toward her and extended my hand.
She blinked, clearly caught off guard, then reached out and took it.
I pulled her to her feet.
"Thank you..." Her voice was quieter than usual, lacking its broadcast energy. "Ayanokoji-kun, what are we going to do now? We're at a huge disadvantage." She gestured toward the storage unit, where only scattered remnants remained. "Everyone already grabbed the good ingredients."
"Not really," I replied. "If anything, it's the opposite."
"Opposite?" she repeated, confused.
"Take a look around. Do you notice anything?"
She stared at me for a moment, clearly not understanding. Then she turned and surveyed the room, squinting slightly as she examined the other stations.
Seeing that she hadn't grasped it yet, I offered another hint. "When you look at the ingredients the other students selected, isn't there something that stands out?"
She squinted harder, her gaze moving from station to station, cataloging what each partnership had claimed.
Then her eyes widened dramatically.
"Ahhh—!" The exclamation burst out far louder than intended.
Every head in the room turned toward us. Even the evaluating staff paused their observations.
Sekimori's nearly-closed eyes shifted in our direction. "Is there a problem?"
Kawashima's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "S-Sorry! Everything's fine!"
She quickly turned back to me and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Most of them have either tuna or salmon. Almost everyone grabbed the same things."
"Correct. Which means, first, they'll be directly competing against each other with nearly identical ingredients. And second..."
I waited.
She picked up the thread: "...those are the most common sushi ingredients. They're what every restaurant serves and what almost every customer orders. They'll grade those much more harshly because the standard of comparison is so high."
"Exactly."
I glanced toward the other stations.
"So what do you think will leave a stronger impression? The umpteenth salmon nigiri of the day, or something they weren't expecting?"
Kawashima's mouth opened slightly. Her expression had shifted entirely. The anxiety was replaced by genuine consideration.
"...That's actually really smart."
I didn't respond.
Instead, I stepped toward the refrigerator.
Kawashima quickly fell into step beside me. I felt her gaze on me as we walked. She had questions forming, but she seemed to recognize this wasn't the moment to voice them.
Inside the storage, the situation was exactly as expected.
The tuna had been picked clean. The salmon was gone as well.
Still, several high-quality and popular ingredients were left untouched.
"Yellowtail," I said, selecting a firm, glistening specimen.
"Eel."
I shifted slightly.
"Squid."
And to my surprise, still remaining, not a fish, but a crustacean: "Shrimp."
"Ehmm... Ayanokoji-kun... Isn't that too much? You know that we are getting expelled if we waste food, don't you?"
I looked at her. "I am hungry."
"..."
"You know that we are in an examination right now? And that this examination will decide our future in this school?"
"Have you forgotten my matches during the first week of school?"
"Oh. Good point."
We returned to our station.
"What are you most confident in preparing?" I asked her, to which she then thought for a moment before pointing at the yellowtail and the shrimp.
I nodded and grabbed the squid and eel for myself.
"You seem confident, Ayanokoji-kun." Kawashima tilted her head, studying me extensively. "Do your parents have a sushi restaurant? You picked those ingredients without even hesitating."
"..."
"...?"
I set the ingredients down.
"This will be my first time."
"YOUR FIRST—"
Kawashima's voice cracked. The students who had already begun their preparations stopped and turned toward us. An awkward silence followed.
I caught Alice holding up her hand to her mouth, pretending to be shocked. Then she chuckled.
Sekimori's expression didn't change. His head simply shifted toward our station.
"This is your first and final warning." His voice carried through flat. "Disrupt this examination again, and you won't even get so far as to have your sushi tested. Am I understood?"
Kawashima went rigid beside me. She bowed so deeply and so fast that her hair swung forward.
"I'm deeply sorry!"
The room's attention drifted back to their own stations. No one dared to mock us. Whether it came from my newly acquired status amongst the students, Kawashima beside me, or simply because it was an exam, I didn't know.
Kawashima straightened up slowly. Then she turned to me.
Her cheeks puffed out. Her brows pinched together. The expression was so far removed from her usual public persona that it almost didn't register as the same person.
"This is your fault," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the full emotional payload of a scream.
"You asked a question. I gave you an honest answer."
"You could have warned me first!"
"I didn't anticipate you'd announce it to the entire room."
"That's not—" She caught herself, exhaled sharply through her nose, and reassembled her composure piece by piece.
Then she realized something. Her eyes widened, and she looked at me in horror.
"Y-you... you did the same during the Shokugeki...!"
Ah. She meant my 'little act'.
"'I have never cooked adobo before.' That's what you said back then, before you prepared it flawlessly! Did you lie back then...? It's impossible to recreate a dish that perfectly in an unfamiliar cuisine!"
"Kushi—Kawashima," I started, "just like now when I told you I haven't prepared sushi, I told the truth back then." I didn't elaborate.
She stayed quiet for a moment before her expression twisted again. "Kushi... Who?? This is the second time you mentioned that person. Who is that?? And didn't I tell you to use my first name??" Her emotions were quite turbulent today.
"A former acquaintance whom you reminded me of. Who knows, maybe you two will meet someday." I hoped I didn't curse it now.
"That doesn't answer anything!"
"It answers exactly what you asked."
"It answers nothing!"
"You asked who 'Kushi' was. I told you it was a former acquaintance."
Her eye twitched.
"You know what I meant!"
"I responded to what you asked. If you meant something different, you should have said something different."
For a moment, undisguised frustration crossed her features before it disappeared just as fast.
"Fine~" The word was sweet but brittle. "Keep your mysteries, Ayanokoji-kun. But we're going to revisit this conversation later."
I found myself reassessing the girl standing beside me.
Kawashima Urara.
I had categorized her as "Kushida 2.0" from the moment I first observed her. She wore a polished smile, projected warmth, and positioned herself as everyone's friend. The surface similarities were undeniable.
But I had been imprecise.
Kushida Kikyo was a master of singular deception. She maintained one perfect mask for all occasions, all people, and all circumstances. She pretended to be a person she wasn't. That consistency was both her strength and her limitation. Anyone who saw behind it witnessed the complete truth, because there was only one layer to penetrate.
Kawashima was different.
First, there was the public persona.
It wasn't a mystery—to anyone with basic observational skills, I hoped—that public figures, especially those who assumed the role of 'idols,' behaved differently in private than in public. This wasn't to say that their private personalities were necessarily horrible, but rather that those authentic selves wouldn't attract the same mass appeal as their carefully constructed images.
This was especially true for idols. The entire industry was built on manufactured intimacy that gave fans the illusion of being personally known and valued.
And Kawashima was no exception. Her public persona displayed professional cheerfulness and idol-like polish. That was Layer One. The broadcast smile. The melodic voice. The practiced 'cute' tilt of her head. All of those were designed to attract attention.
The complication was that most idols maintained distance from their audiences. Interactions were limited to brief handshakes at events and controlled exchanges through screens and stages. The fantasy remained intact because proximity never shattered it.
But here, Kawashima was a student like everyone else. She walked the same halls, attended the same classes, and faced the same examinations. The distance that typically protected an idol's image didn't exist.
Which brings me to her personal interactions.
And this was where my initial categorization had been flawed.
It wasn't rare for people to behave differently with different individuals. In fact, most people did exactly that. Someone might act one way with a particular friend group and completely differently with another. The contrast between how a person behaved with friends versus strangers was often stark. This was normal and human.
Kawashima simply operated on a broader spectrum than most.
With some students, she likely maintained formal politeness. Probably just warm enough to preserve her image and distant enough to avoid investment. With others, perhaps those she found more amusing or useful, she allowed glimpses of playfulness and intimacy.
None of this was unusual.
What caught my attention was how she behaved with me.
She had cycled through multiple approaches in the span of fifteen minutes, each one failing to produce the reaction she wanted.
And that was the key observation.
The reaction she wanted.
When she smiled at someone, and they smiled back, she received confirmation. When she made a joke, and someone laughed, she received acknowledgment. When she tilted her head 'cutely' and someone's cheeks flushed, she received proof that she mattered.
I had given her none of that.
And it frustrated her.
In that specific regard, she was exactly like Kushida.
Both of them needed to be seen. They needed to be acknowledged. They needed confirmation of their own existence reflected in the responses of others.
The difference was in degree and expression. Kushida's need was pathological. It was a bottomless hunger that could never be satisfied, twisted by trauma and deep desires into something dark and consuming. Kawashima's need seemed more mundane and human. The ordinary insecurity of someone who had built their identity around being noticed.
But the core was the same.
And I, by offering nothing, had become a splinter in her mind. An anomaly that didn't fit her understanding of how people worked.
Whether that would make her more interesting or simply more troublesome remained to be seen.
"Ayanokoji-kun?"
Her voice cut through my analysis. She was watching me with a tilted head and a questioning smile. The public persona, fully restored.
"You went quiet for a moment there~" She studied my expression with obvious curiosity. "Everything okay?"
"I'm fine," I said. "Let's start cooking."
"Finally~!" She clapped her hands together with performative enthusiasm. "I thought you'd never say that!"
I turned toward the ingredients we'd gathered.
There was work to be done.
𓌉◯𓇋
"Kawashima," I started.
She frowned slightly. "Urara," she corrected.
I looked at her for a moment. "Alright, Urara."
She looked content, a satisfied smile crossing her features.
"I'll prepare the rice. You can prepare the ginger, cucumber, avocado, and whatever you need for your sushi. And, if possible, make the wasabi later, when we're almost finished."
She nodded and made her way toward the ingredient storage. It seemed she trusted me more than enough, or at least recognized that arguing would waste precious time.
In this exam, apart from standing out from the others through ingredient selection, the most critical element was the rice.
Everyone here had access to the same selection of fish, sourced from the same suppliers and stored under the same conditions. The quality was about the same, so the difference had to come from elsewhere.
And there was a reason why so many sushi chefs who were masters of the art insisted that rice was the most important component of their work.
Most of the physical volume of any piece of sushi was rice. If the rice was poorly prepared, the entire piece suffered. You could have the freshest, most expensive tuna in the world, and mediocre rice would still drag it down.
The chef had limited control over the fish itself. Certainly, it was a mark of skill to distinguish good fish from bad, to recognize the subtle signs of freshness and quality. But sometimes the catch simply wasn't perfect. Sometimes the season worked against you. Sometimes the distributor's selection was merely adequate rather than exceptional.
These days, many chefs rely on trusted distributors for their deliveries. The romantic image of the sushi master personally visiting the fish market at dawn was becoming increasingly rare in practice. And certain fish depended entirely on the luck of the catch. Neither chef nor distributor could control what the ocean chose to yield on any given day.
So if you were a chef who wanted to make better sushi, the only variable truly within your control was the rice. How to cook it. How to season it. How to balance it against whatever fish was available.
I had roughly an hour to prepare it properly. This wasn't optimal, as perfect sushi rice benefited from longer resting periods, but it was more than sufficient for examination standards.
I made my way to the storage room connected to the main examination space. There, among sacks of various grains and dry goods, I found what I needed: short-grain rice.
Short-grain rice, compared to medium- or long-grain varieties, released significantly more starch during cooking, especially amylopectin, the branched starch molecule responsible for that characteristic stickiness. This was essential for sushi. The rice needed to hold together when shaped, maintain its form when picked up with chopsticks, and yet still separate cleanly in the mouth.
Long-grain rice, with its higher amylose content, would never achieve the proper texture. It would crumble and fall apart.
I returned to our station and measured three cups of rice into a deep bowl.
At the sink, I adjusted the temperature to cold before turning on the faucet.
Cold water in. The first rinse was the most important one. If you let rice sit in that starchy water even a few seconds too long, it would reabsorb those compounds, taking the off-flavors back into itself. The result would be rice that tasted dull and slightly musty, with an unpleasant undertone that no amount of seasoning could mask. I swirled it once, quickly. The water turned cloudy white almost instantly as surface starch was released from the grains. I promptly drained the now cloudy water.
I repeated the process, but this time I didn't drain immediately. Instead, I began to gently polish the grains with soft circular motions, using my palm and all five fingers curved like a claw. The key was minimal pressure. You weren't scrubbing the rice, but you were coaxing the remaining surface starch loose without damaging the grains themselves.
Broken rice absorbed water unevenly during cooking. It became mushy in some places and undercooked in others. The best sushi rice was made with grains still perfectly intact.
I repeated this process a few times. The water was still faintly cloudy on the fifth rinse.
Some chefs preferred to continue until the water ran completely clear, but over-rinsing carried its own risks. Beyond a certain point, you begin stripping away not just unwanted starch but also subtle flavors inherent to the rice itself. The result was technically clean but somehow hollow.
For me, this was the ideal stopping point.
I didn't drain the rice this time. Instead, I left it submerged, allowing the grains to soak and absorb water gradually. If I had more time, I would let it rest even longer, but now, a few minutes would have to suffice.
As I waited, I became aware of a presence beside me.
Kawashima had returned from gathering ingredients. Fresh wasabi, ginger, cucumber, and avocado were neatly arranged on her workstation, but instead of beginning her own preparation, she was watching me.
Very closely.
She leaned in, studying the bowl where the rice sat soaking, her face perhaps a few centimeters from my hands. Either she had no concept of personal space, or she was deliberately testing my reaction to her proximity.
Given what I'd observed of her behavior patterns, the latter seemed more likely.
"W-Wow," she breathed, her voice taking on an exaggerated breathy quality. "So gentle~"
"That's how I am," I answered.
She looked confused at my response, but continued to stay.
I glanced at her. Our eyes met.
She was smiling, but her eyes weren't entirely.
I turned back to the rice.
"The ingredients won't get ready themselves."
She held her position for a moment longer, perhaps hoping I would acknowledge the proximity in some way, before letting out a small huff.
"You're no fun at all, Ayanokoji-kun~!"
I didn't respond.
While the rice continued to soak, I surveyed the other stations.
The results were... concerning. For them, at least.
Several groups had apparently decided to work independently rather than as teams. I watched one pair where both members were preparing their own portions of rice with separate techniques. The lack of coordination would inevitably show in their final products. Inconsistent rice across their ten pieces would mark them as amateurs, regardless of how well they handled the fish.
And then there was Station Five.
They weren't preparing rice at all.
Don't tell me...
I exhaled quietly.
It seemed quite a few teams were already doomed to expulsion. Natural selection was happening here at Tōtsuki, right before my eyes.
Minutes passed. The rice had soaked long enough.
I drained it one final time, transferred it to a fine strainer, and set it aside. The rice needed to be completely dry before cooking.
We had more than enough time remaining. Unlike during my Shokugekis, where every second demanded something from me and multitasking was needed, here I could simply wait. Let the process complete naturally.
Hah... I am bored.
With nothing demanding my immediate attention, I let my gaze drift across the room.
Station Three: Mito and Hōjō had settled into a cold coexistence. They worked on opposite ends of their counter, communicating only through terse gestures and the occasional curt nod. Neither offered suggestions. Neither asked for help.
It wasn't teamwork, but two individuals preparing five pieces each while happening to share the same space.
Under normal circumstances, this approach would be a liability. A fractured partnership usually produced fractured results.
But Mito, and seemingly Hōjō too, it seems, weren't normal students.
Mito's knife work was precise, her butchery instincts translating surprisingly well to fish preparation. Her abilities have slightly improved. Had her defeat motivated her to improve?
Hōjō moved with a different energy. Her technique wasn't traditionally Japanese, but her fundamental skills were undeniable.
They could afford this dysfunction. Their individual abilities compensated for their lack of coordination.
Station Five: Still no rice.
The pair had apparently committed fully to their sashimi approach. Beautiful fish slices sat arranged on their cutting boards. Technically, it was excellent, and aesthetically pleasing... unfortunately, however, this was not the task.
Either they remained ignorant of the fundamental definition of sushi, or they had convinced themselves that somehow the rules didn't apply to them.
Their expulsion was a certainty.
Station Nine: Food waste was accumulating at an alarming rate.
One partner had descended into what could only be described as nervous perfectionism. She would slice a piece of fish, examine it, determine it was inadequate, and set it aside. And repeat.
A small mountain of "imperfect" cuts was growing beside her station. Each one was acceptable by any reasonable standard but somehow failing to meet whatever impossible criteria existed in her anxiety-riddled mind.
Her partner watched helplessly, clearly aware of the problem but uncertain how to intervene. He seemed nervous around the girl.
The staff had already noticed. One was making notes on her clipboard with an expression of grim anticipation.
And then there was Station Two.
Alice had apparently reached some form of impasse with Kurokiba. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at their assembled ingredients with an expression of profound frustration.
"The presentation needs to be more dynamic, Ryō-kun!"
"It's sushi. It sits on a plate."
"But it could sit on a plate more interestingly!"
"No."
"You're not even trying to understand my vision!"
"...It's not supposed to be a tower."
"It would be a BEAUTIFUL tower!"
"Towers collapse."
"Not if we balance them properly!"
"We're making food."
Alice let out a sound of pure exasperation. "You have NO, absolutely NO appreciation for artistry!"
"I want to pass this exam."
"We can do both!"
"Not with towers."
Kurokiba reached for his bandana.
The gesture was subtle, but Alice caught it immediately.
"Ryō-kun." Her voice dropped several octaves. "Don't."
Hmm?
His hand paused.
"Then stop suggesting towers."
"Fine! No towers! But can we at least—"
"No."
"You don't even know what I was going to say!"
"I don't need to."
Alice deflated slightly, her grand ambitions crumbling against the wall of Kurokiba's pragmatism. For a moment, she simply stood there, pouting at her ingredients as if they had personally betrayed her.
Then she happened to glance in my direction.
Her expression shifted instantly, the frustration melting into something teasing.
"Ayanokoji-kun~!" she called out, loud enough for half the room to hear. "Are you watching me? I'm flattered!"
I didn't respond.
"Ne, ne, are you taking notes? Learning from the master?" She struck a pose that was entirely inappropriate for a cooking examination, one hand behind her head, hip cocked at an angle. "I can give you private lessons later if you want~"
"Alice-sama." Kurokiba interjected flatly. "Focus."
"I am focused! I'm focused on something very important right now!"
"Your 'important matter' won't matter if we fail this exam."
"We won't fail, Ryō-kun!"
"We will fail if you keep shouting across the room instead of preparing ingredients."
Sekimori was already watching them.
Alice huffed dramatically, her shoulders sagging with exaggerated defeat. But she returned to her work, though not before shooting me one more glance and mouthing something that looked suspiciously like "we'll talk later."
Beside me, Urara had observed the entire exchange.
"She really seems to like you, doesn't she~?" Her tone was light, conversational. But something sharper lurked beneath the surface.
"She finds me interesting. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes."
Urara hummed thoughtfully, returning to her ginger preparation. Her knife strokes had become slightly more aggressive than before.
"And what about you?" she asked, not looking up from her work.
"What about me?"
"Do you find her interesting?"
"Yes."
Urara's knife paused mid-stroke. She glanced at me with an expression I couldn't quite categorize. Then she smiled and resumed her work.
The smile didn't reach her eyes.
I observed this without comment.
The rice had drained sufficiently.
I turned back to my work.
I placed the rice into a donabe, a traditional Japanese clay pot. The clay's porous nature allowed it to absorb and release steam gradually, producing rice with superior texture compared to metal cookware.
Water went in next. I used a 1:1.1 ratio, slightly more water than rice by volume.
I set the donabe over medium-high heat and turned my attention to the seasoning mixture.
Into a small saucepan, I added rice vinegar first. Then I added sugar and salt in careful proportions. Finally, I reached for a piece of kombu I had retrieved from the storage earlier.
Kombu was a type of kelp that contained a high concentration of glutamic acid, the compound responsible for umami. Adding it to the vinegar mixture would deepen the flavor profile of the finished rice, lending it a subtle savory undertone.
I placed the kombu into the mixture and set the saucepan over low heat.
The mixture needed to warm slowly, allowing the sugar and salt to dissolve completely while the kombu released its compounds into the liquid. If you rush this step, you run the risk of burning it or making the vinegar harsh and the kombu bitter.
I stirred gently, watching the granules disappear into the liquid.
Behind me, I heard the donabe beginning to rumble. There were small bubbles in the water, and it was getting close to boiling.
I reduced the heat immediately, bringing it to the lowest setting. From this point, the rice would steam gently for fifteen minutes.
The vinegar mixture continued to warm. The kombu had begun to soften, its edges unfurling slightly in the liquid.
Time passed.
I removed the kombu before it could impart any bitterness. The mixture itself continued warming until the sugar and salt had fully integrated, then I removed it from the heat and set it aside to cool.
The rice still needed more time.
"Urara."
She looked up from her cutting board, where she had almost finished all her preparation.
"You can start grating the wasabi now and begin preparing your fish." I paused. "Speaking of which, have you decided what you're going to make?"
"Happy that you asked~!" She nodded cheerfully, setting down her knife.
"With the yellowtail, I'm going to prepare one hamachi nigiri and one hamachi negi hosomaki." She ticked off the items on her fingers. "Then, with the shrimp, I'm going for a standard ebi nigiri. With the remaining shrimp, I'm going to fry them for ebi tempura uramaki. And for the last piece, I'm trying something more Western-style—a California roll variation."
If executed well, those five represented an excellent spread. Raw fish, raw crustacean, fried crustacean. Nigiri, hosomaki, and uramaki. Traditional and Western styles. She was covering multiple categories rather than a single approach.
It was a strategic choice. One that could impress judges looking for range, or backfire if any individual element fell short.
"Good selection," I said.
Her eyes widened slightly. Apparently, she hadn't expected approval.
"R-Really? You think so?"
I nodded.
She beamed, her earlier sulkiness forgotten.
With her choices established, I had a clearer picture of what I should prepare.
"Can you fry extra shrimp?" I asked. "Enough for an additional roll."
Urara looked slightly confused. "Sure, but why? I thought you were using the squid and eel."
"I want to create a roll with both eel and shrimp. Luckily, there's no restriction stating I can only use ingredients I personally selected."
"Ah, that's right." Her expression shifted to curiosity. "So which pieces are you going to prepare?"
"You'll see soon enough. But first, I need the wasabi."
"Hmph!" She turned away with exaggerated sulkiness. "Keep your secrets then!"
Despite the theatrical protest, she immediately set to work.
The rice still needed a few more minutes. I watched as Urara began the wasabi preparation.
The wasabi root sat before her, and I watched as she cut away the top with a clean stroke. Then she began peeling, the knife angled away from her body, removing only the rough outer skin without wasting any of the precious flesh beneath.
Her technique was good.
She reached for the oroshigane, a traditional Japanese grater. Unlike Western-style graters, the oroshigane features a surface of fine, sharkskin-like texture that produces an almost paste-like consistency. Perfect for wasabi, where the goal was to rupture as many cell walls as possible and release the volatile compounds that gave it heat and aroma.
In Western countries, what was often sold as 'wasabi' was nothing of the sort. It was merely horseradish dyed green, a pale imitation that shared only the general concept of 'spicy condiment' with the real thing. True wasabi was expensive, delicate, and lost its potency within minutes of grating.
That was precisely why I had instructed her to grate it only now, when we were approaching assembly. She likely understood this herself, but confirmation never hurt.
Urara positioned the root at the stem tip and began grating in wide, circular motions, maximizing surface contact and maintaining even pressure. The pale green paste accumulated on the grater's surface, releasing that distinctive, sharp, clean fragrance into the air.
After building up a sufficient amount, she used her finger to gently gather the wasabi, sliding it carefully down the grater's surface onto her index finger. She deposited the portion onto a small plate and reached to begin another batch.
Then she noticed me watching.
A flush crept across her cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her face in exaggerated embarrassment.
"I can't concentrate when you stare so intensely at me, Ayanokoji-kun~..."
She held the pose for a beat, then turned back with a teasing smile.
"Of course, if you want, you can continue to watch~"
I turned away without comment.
Behind me, barely audible: "Tch."
I paused.
"Hm?"
"Hm~?" Her voice was innocent, questioning.
I glanced back. She was smiling sweetly, as if nothing had happened.
"Did you say something?"
"Not at all~" She returned to her grating with renewed focus. "You must be hearing things, Ayanokoji-kun."
My mental timer ran out. The rice was ready.
I removed the pot from the heat and let it rest, still covered. The residual heat would continue the cooking process for another few minutes, allowing the grains to reach their final texture without becoming overdone.
The examination continued around us. At other stations, students worked with varying degrees of competence and panic. The clock on the wall showed thirty minutes remaining.
More than enough time.
When the resting period concluded, I removed the lid.
Steam billowed upward, carrying the clean, starchy aroma of properly cooked rice. The grains were perfect.
I transferred the rice to a wooden hangiri bowl. Then I grabbed the shamoji paddle, a large flat spoon used to stir and serve rice. I wetted it with the vinegar mixture so the rice wouldn't stick to its surface. Then, the seasoning mixture went in gradually, while my other hand worked the shamoji paddle.
I used cutting motions. I never stirred.
The paddle sliced through the rice at angles, folding portions over, turning the mass, ensuring even distribution of the seasoning without crushing the delicate grains.
Simultaneously, I began fanning with my now free hand, using a paper plate in the absence of a proper uchiwa. The rapid air movement accelerated cooling, helping the vinegar mixture absorb while creating the characteristic glossy sheen of properly prepared sushi rice.
Cut. Fold. Turn. Fan. Cut. Fold. Turn. Fan. Cut. Fold. Turn. Fan. Cut. Fold. Turn. Fan.
I repeated it over and over again. Without a pause, each movement flowed into the next.
Then I became aware of a presence behind me.
Then another.
I didn't pause in my work, but I noted the shift in the room's attention.
"Continue," a voice said quietly. One of the staff evaluators. "We're observing."
Sigh... can't even prepare rice peacefully.
I felt all the attention of the room on me. It was inevitable. As the first staff member stepped in to watch, more gathered, and this naturally attracted the other students' attention.
I continued without acknowledging the audience. The rhythm remained constant, and the rice was reaching its optimal temperature as the mixture was spread throughout.
The glossy sheen had developed perfectly. The vinegar had integrated completely.
I set the completed rice aside and covered it with a damp kitchen towel. This would prevent the surface from drying while allowing the rice to cool to working temperature.
To my annoyance, the staff still hadn't dispersed.
"Continue with your preparation," one of the female staff said. Her tone left no room for negotiation.
I retrieved the eel from its packaging. It was already filleted and portioned, which saved me considerable work.
Now came the cooking process that would transform raw eel into the lacquered, caramelized delicacy that defined quality unagi sushi. Unlike the other pieces, aside from the tempura shrimp, this would be the only one where the fish would be cooked.
And this had a deeper reason beyond mere variety.
Eels often contained parasites of one form or another, and many of these could cause serious gastrointestinal issues, paralysis, and, in extreme cases, death. The blood of freshwater eels was also mildly toxic when raw. Only through proper cooking could you prevent contracting these illnesses and neutralize the toxins.
Hmm... if I were to serve them raw unagi, would they complete their role as judges and consume it, or would they directly expel me?
Should I test it?
I quickly discarded the intrusive thought and looked at Urara.
"Urara. The unagi sauce."
She looked up from her own preparations, where the shrimps were sizzling in the tempura oil, and slid a small container across the counter toward me.
"Here you go~"
She wasn't fazed by the audience surrounding us, focusing back on her task with practiced ease. I noticed the evaluating staff nod approvingly at her composure.
I concentrated back on my own work.
Unagi sauce was a reduction of soy sauce, mirin, sugar, and sake. It would be crucial for any piece where unagi was involved, providing that characteristic sweet-savory glaze.
Earlier, I had grabbed a small portable charcoal grill, a konro grill, which would finally come in use now. Charcoal provided more consistent heat than gas, and the subtle smokiness it imparted complemented the eel's rich flavor.
I retrieved bamboo skewers and threaded them through each eel portion. Three skewers per piece, inserted in parallel lines. These skewers served multiple purposes: they prevented the eel from curling during cooking, ensured even heat distribution across the flesh, and provided stability for repeated sauce applications.
I placed the skewered portions over the flames, skin-side down.
The first layer of sauce went on with a brush. The liquid sizzled on contact, caramelizing almost instantly. The Maillard reaction had begun its work as amino acids and sugars were combining under heat to create complex flavor compounds and that distinctive brown coloring.
I waited, letting the heat do its work, before flipping the eel. The flesh side now faced the flames. I applied another round of sauce.
The key to proper unagi was patience and repetition. Each layer of sauce was built upon the last, creating depth of flavor and that distinctive lacquered appearance.
I flipped once more and applied another round of sauce.
The aroma intensified with each pass. I noticed several students nearby had stopped working entirely, their expressions shifting toward something almost hungry. Even the staff evaluators seemed affected, though they maintained their professional composure.
The surface had developed properly now. The glaze was uniform, catching the light with a lacquered sheen.
I removed the eel from the grill and set it aside to rest. The residual heat would continue the cooking process, and the brief rest would allow the juices to redistribute throughout the flesh.
Now I turned my attention to the squid.
The ika sat on my cutting board, still whole and uncleaned. Unlike the pre-filleted eel, this required full preparation from the beginning.
I grasped the body firmly in one hand and the head in the other. A single pull separated the two. The head came away, bringing the internal organs with it. The ink sac remained intact—a ruptured ink sac would have stained the flesh and required extensive cleaning.
Next, I reached inside the body cavity and located the gladius, the transparent, feather-shaped internal shell made of chitin. It slid out easily with a gentle tug.
The fins came next. I peeled them away from the body, starting from the tip and working toward the base. The membrane connecting them to the mantle separated cleanly with proper technique.
Now came the outer membrane, the thin, purplish-red skin that covered the exterior. This needed to be removed for proper sushi. Otherwise, if left on, it would create an unpleasant chewy texture and affect both appearance and taste.
I made a small incision at the edge and began peeling. The membrane came away in sheets, revealing the pristine white flesh beneath. I worked carefully, ensuring complete removal without damaging the underlying meat.
With the exterior cleaned, I made a lengthwise incision down the body and spread it flat, exposing the inner surface. This, too, had a thin membrane that needed removal.
Finally, I rinsed the cleaned squid under cold running water, ensuring no residual viscera or membrane remained. The flesh was now pure white, firm to the touch, and ready for the next step.
I patted it dry with paper towels. Excess moisture was the enemy of clean cuts.
The squid lay flat on my cutting board, inner surface facing up. Now came the scoring.
From the wall behind me, I retrieved the yanagiba, a long, thin knife designed for precise work. For squid, the scoring pattern was critical. It served both functional and aesthetic purposes. The cuts would help the flesh curl attractively when placed on warm rice, allow soy sauce and wasabi to adhere properly, and, most importantly, break up the muscle fibers to prevent that rubbery chewiness that plagued poorly prepared ika.
I positioned the blade at a forty-five-degree angle to the flesh and made the first cut. It was a shallow cut. My goal wasn't to cut through entirely, but deep enough to score through the muscle fibers.
I made the second cut parallel to the first, approximately three millimeters apart.
I repeated this step over and over again till I worked my way across the entire surface, creating a series of parallel lines.
"So fast, yet so precise...!" one examiner breathed.
"Incredible!" another added.
From beside me, Urara chuckled softly. "Seeing it for the second time still impresses me."
I was about to rotate the squid for the perpendicular cuts when one of the examiners spoke up.
"Do your parents own a sushi restaurant? And since when have you started handling a knife?"
I ignored the first question and directly answered the second.
"Since I was a small child."
I didn't really lie. He hadn't specified when I started using a knife for cooking.
"Mhm... just like I thought, then—"
THUD!
"AHHHH👹 AYYYYYAAAA👹HAAAAAAAAYAAAAA👹HAAAAAA👹"
A demonic scream of pain interrupted the questioning. All heads turned toward Station Seven, where a student was clutching his foot, hopping on one leg, his face contorted in agony. A heavy cast-iron pan lay on the floor directly beside him.
His partner stood frozen, hands still extended from where she had apparently lost her grip.
"I-I'm so sorry! It slipped! The handle was oily and—"
"MY FOOT! MY FOOT IS BROKEN!"
"It's probably not broken—"
"I CAN'T FEEL MY TOES!"
The girl knelt down and grabbed hold of the cast-iron pan. She stood, and just then, the pan slid out of her hand again.
Her eyes widened. She tried to grab it with her other hand.
It slipped out just like a slippery eel, and this only worsened the trajectory.
From my perspective, it seemed like slow motion. The cast-iron pan was approaching the hopping student, whose eyes weren't focused on what was happening around him but on his foot, still held in his hand.
Just then, the pan hit his other leg.
"AYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA👹HAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"
A second, even louder scream erupted from his throat. With his second foot now injured and the other still clutched in his hand, he had no support left. He plunged to the ground, where his screams grew even louder.
Wow.
I was genuinely amazed. How could someone scream like that? Not even the children in the White Room had screamed as loudly when they broke down one by one, nor had Yamauchi when his incredible career at ANHS came to its incredible end.
The girl panicked, bowing down to try to help the boy, but he simply flung her hand away and continued his demonic wailing.
Urara looked at me. I looked at her.
A grin grew on her face, one she couldn't quite suppress. The scene had amused her, despite the unholy sounds emanating from the fallen student.
The other students had stopped their preparations, shocked by the spectacle.
"Bro, are you still alive?"
"Someone call a doctor!"
"Is his foot actually broken?"
"Both of them now, probably..."
From Station Two, Alice laughed out loud, holding her stomach and wiping a tear from her eye. Kurokiba watched silently beside her, expression unchanged.
At least this removed the attention of the staff in front of me, as they rushed toward the injured student.
The boy was helped toward the exit, still howling, while his partner stood alone at their station. She was pale and shaking, clearly unsure of what to do now. Her examination was effectively over.
Meanwhile, I rotated the squid ninety degrees and began the second set of cuts.
I completed the diamond pattern and began portioning.
Beside me, Urara had finished her tempura shrimp and moved on to the yellowtail preparation. Her hand was shaking, but not from anxiety.
She was holding in her laughter.
It was difficult, but she managed it. After all, it wouldn't be a good look for the school idol to display sadism openly.
"Fifteen minutes remaining," Sekimori announced.
This woke up every student whose mind was still lingering on the accident that had just unfolded.
The students now moved with urgent precision. Those already struggling descended into visible panic.
"How are you progressing?" I asked.
"Almost ready for assembly~" She didn't look up, focused on slicing the hamachi. "You?"
"The same."
"Then let's finish this."
I wet my hands with tezu and began assembly.
First piece: Unagi Nigiri.
I picked up twenty grams of rice, measured by feel. The ball formed between my palms. A gentle press created the initial shape. Then, I elongated the rice, creating that slightly tapered oval with a gentle curve on top.
The rice needed to be firm enough to hold together and loose enough that individual grains could still be distinguished in the mouth. Too compressed, and it became dense and gummy. Too loose and it fell apart when lifted.
I placed the first rice base down and reached for the unagi.
A portion of the grilled eel went on top, still warm. A thin strip of nori wrapped around the center, binding fish to rice in the traditional style.
I placed it on the presentation plate.
Second piece: Ika Nigiri.
I repeated the same step with the rice. Then the squid slice went on top, diamond pattern facing upward. A small dot of wasabi between fish and rice added aromatic heat without overwhelming the delicate flavor.
Third piece: Unagi Temaki.
This required a different approach. Temaki were hand rolls meant to be eaten shortly after assembly.
I took a half-sheet of nori in my left hand, positioning it at an angle. Rice went into the corner, followed by a thin smear of wasabi.
For the fillings, I added a strip of grilled unagi, thin cucumber slices that were prepared by Urara earlier, and a drizzle of unagi sauce.
I curled the nori around the filling into a cone shape, the bottom forming a tight point while the top remained open, displaying the contents.
I placed it on the plate at an angle where it wouldn't fall apart if picked up.
Fourth piece: Spicy Ika Uramaki.
I laid nori on the makisu, rough side up. Rice went down in an even layer. For this roll, I added a light coating of white sesame seeds to the rice surface.
Then I flipped the entire assembly. The rice side was now down, nori facing up. This was the uramaki technique, where rice formed the exterior rather than the interior.
Along the center of the nori, I added thinly sliced raw squid, not the scored portions, but plain thin slices reserved for this purpose. Then, cucumber strips and a line of spicy mayonnaise.
I started rolling, applying even pressure throughout.
I coated the exterior with additional sesame seeds, pressing them gently into the rice.
Then I grabbed the knife, wiped it clean, and cut through smoothly. After each cut, I wiped the blade again, which was essential for clean edges through sticky rice. Six pieces lay before me.
I selected the most visually appealing one and placed it on the plate.
Fifth piece: Unagi Ebi Tempura Roll.
Nori on makisu. Rice layer on top. Then, just like previously, I flipped for the uramaki presentation.
I looked at Urara, and she, already in the middle of her own assembly, nodded without me needing to say any words. She handed me one tempura shrimp.
I laid down the tempura shrimp lengthwise, the tail extending beyond the nori's edge for visual impact. Then, thin avocado slices, and finally a drizzle of unagi sauce.
This time when I rolled, I applied less pressure. This roll was heavier and had more content, and especially because of the delicate tempura, I needed to be gentler. Too much force and the crispy coating would crumble. Too loose and the roll would fall apart.
I continued, and the roll took shape.
The exterior received a coating of black sesame seeds for visual contrast.
Then I cut. Again, six pieces.
But I wasn't finished.
I took the remaining grilled unagi and sliced it into thin strips. Carefully, I placed a piece on top of each uramaki slice. The warm eel adhered to the rice exterior.
Finally, I applied a drizzle of unagi sauce over the top, creating a glossy finish that tied the visual presentation together.
I selected the best piece and placed it on the plate.
With that, I was finished.
Beside me, Urara was completing her final piece, the California Roll.
The Western-influenced creation that had become ubiquitous outside Japan. She added shrimp, avocado, and cucumber, then rolled.
But instead of regular sesame seeds, she coated the exterior in tobiko, flying fish roe. The tiny orange spheres added color, texture, and a subtle pop of brininess.
"Finished," she announced, stepping back.
I surveyed her five pieces. Competent execution across multiple styles. No obvious flaws. The variety she had promised was evident.
"Good work," I said.
"Thank you~!" She beamed again.
Compliments truly were like a spell for her.
She added her pieces to the plate, and now there were ten pieces in total. Five from each of us.
I retrieved a smaller rectangular plate and prepared the accompaniments.
Fresh wasabi that Urara had prepared. I formed it into a small, neat mound.
Then I added ginger, which would serve to cleanse the palate between pieces.
Next, I poured soy sauce into a small sauce dish.
And finally, a second small dish containing sweet chili sauce. This would be perfect for the tempura.
I arranged both plates at the front of our station.
A few minutes later.
"Time is up," Sekimori announced. "Step away from your stations."
The room fell silent. Students retreated from their stations, some with visible relief, others with poorly concealed dread.
The evaluation process would proceed differently than one might expect.
Excluding Sekimori, the ten judges were split into two groups of five. The first group was responsible for Stations One through Twelve, while the second group handled Stations Thirteen through Twenty-Five.
In theory, this meant the second team would have had to sample ten more pieces overall. In practice, however, that imbalance never became an issue, since one group was expelled before it could even begin the exam.
Each judge would taste two pieces per station, one from each partner, meaning five judges were required to evaluate all ten pieces from a single group. With twenty-four active stations under this arrangement, each judge ended up tasting roughly twenty-four pieces over the course of the evaluation.
For professionals used to long and demanding tasting sessions, this was a perfectly manageable workload.
Furthermore, the judges within each group would separate and evaluate different stations simultaneously. One at Station One, another at Station Two, and so on. This approach served multiple purposes: efficiency, fairness, and the ability to make direct comparisons between groups without the bias that might emerge from sequential evaluation.
Sekimori himself would observe the entire process, intervening only to taste pieces that caught his interest.
A clever system.
I observed Sekimori as the judges took their positions. Despite standing at the front of the room throughout the examination, his attention had been constant, almost omniscient. While other evaluators had focused on specific stations or become distracted by incidents like the cast-iron pan catastrophe, Sekimori's nearly-closed eyes had swept across all groups continuously.
He had seen everything.
The first rotation of judges approached their assigned stations.
A woman in her thirties stopped before our station.
Urara stood beside me. Her earlier playfulness was replaced by nervous anticipation. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers intertwined tightly.
The judge examined our plates without touching anything at first. Her gaze moved across the arrangement, from the ten sushi pieces to the accompaniment plate with its wasabi, ginger, soy sauce, and sweet chili sauce.
Then, she picked up Urara's ebi nigiri with her hands. She lightly dipped the shrimp side into the soy sauce before placing the whole piece in her mouth.
The evaluation was meant to proceed silently. No feedback, no reactions until all pieces had been consumed. These judges were professionals, personally employed by Sekimori. They had tasted thousands of sushi pieces in their careers.
Their poker faces should handle this.
Or at least, I hoped so with every fiber of my being.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flavor. She chewed slowly before swallowing.
And, indeed, she managed not to give away much at all.
She scribbled something on her clipboard, then reached toward my side of the plate and selected my unagi nigiri.
This time, when she placed the sushi in her mouth, her chewing paused for a moment, just for a fraction of a second, but she continued. She opened her eyes, made another notation on her clipboard, and moved on to the next station.
Thank the gods.
The second judge arrived moments later. A younger woman, perhaps late twenties, with sharp features and an eager demeanor. She selected Urara's ebi tempura uramaki.
When she ate Urara's piece, her face remained neutral, though she wrote quite a lengthy remark on her clipboard. Then she turned to my remaining pieces.
She chose the ika nigiri.
She placed it in her mouth. Made the first chew—
"Ahh~"
Her eyes flew open, suddenly wide. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.
The sound had already escaped.
In the quiet examination room, every head turned toward our station. Sekimori, the other judges, and the students—all attention converged on the young woman who was now visibly flustered, a pink flush creeping up her neck.
Sekimori quietly shook his head and sighed.
The female judge's blush deepened. She hurriedly finished her examination, scribbling notes with slightly trembling hands, before retreating to a safe distance.
But the damage was done.
Within moments, three more judges approached our station simultaneously, the remaining evaluators from our assigned group. They arrived from different directions and exchanged meaningful glances with each other.
After witnessing their colleague's reaction, how could they not be curious?
Each selected one piece from Urara's side first. They ate and wrote their notes.
Then they turned to my remaining pieces.
The temaki. The spicy ika uramaki. And the unagi ebi tempura roll.
Two sets of chopsticks reached for the unagi ebi tempura roll at the same moment.
The judges looked at each other in a brief standoff.
"If your stomach can handle it," I said, "I can make another one after the exam."
They glanced at me with visible gratitude. One of them redirected to the temaki instead.
They all ate.
No moans this time. But their poker faces didn't hold. Expressions of unmistakable satisfaction spread across their features despite their best efforts.
They nodded, made their final notations, and departed to continue their evaluations elsewhere.
And just like that, our judgment was finished.
Urara and I exchanged looks. She seemed to be in disbelief, shaking her head slowly.
"That was..." she trailed off. "That was something."
I nodded.
Time passed.
Then another commotion arose.
The young female judge, the most inexperienced among the staff, had apparently not learned her lesson. When she approached Station Two, where Alice and Kurokiba's presentation awaited, she let out not one but two audible reactions.
Once for Alice's piece. Once for Kurokiba's.
Oh?
She received pointed looks from her colleagues again, but those who had already evaluated Station Two gave her understanding nods. That was simply the quality Alice and Kurokiba had produced.
Alice's dynamic hadn't affected their individual excellence.
Ten minutes passed.
The staff reconvened in their respective groups, exchanging words and comparing notes. I noticed them frequently glancing toward either our station or Alice's station.
Finally, they approached us as a collective.
And with them came Sekimori.
The staff parted, making space, and Sekimori positioned himself directly before our station.
He studied our work surface and then looked at me.
"If you had to present me one single piece that would be the best representation of your abilities," he said slowly, "which one would you choose?"
I didn't answer with words.
Instead, I reached for the ohitsu where the remaining rice was stored. I wet my hands with tezu and began forming a new piece.
Just like earlier, twenty grams of rice. Shaped, elongated, and curved.
I picked up a small amount of wasabi on my pointer finger. With the same hand, I selected one of the remaining scored squid portions and applied the wasabi to its underside in a single motion.
I placed the squid on the rice.
I set the completed piece on the plate.
"This one."
The entire process had taken less than ten seconds.
The staff's eyes widened visibly. One judge's jaw actually dropped.
Sekimori remained still.
He nodded once, then picked up the piece and ate it.
He didn't give any audible reactions, and he didn't lose his composure, but a smile appeared on his face.
"Very well done."
He turned as if to leave, then stopped.
"I am searching for personnel for my restaurant."
The words were quiet, but they rang in this examination room.
In my peripheral vision, I saw the staff's eyes widen so dramatically they seemed in danger of falling from their sockets. The students who had been watching, and by now, most of them were, erupted in shocked murmurs.
"What?!"
"Sekimori-san is inviting a first-year student to work at his restaurant?!"
Urara grabbed my sleeve. "You should accept this, Ayanokoji-kun! This is a once-in-a-lifetime—"
I raised my hand, stopping her.
"Thank you for the offer," I said, meeting Sekimori's gaze directly. "But I'm afraid I must decline. I haven't yet decided which cuisine I will focus on, and I don't know whether it will be Japanese cuisine, let alone sushi specifically."
"What?!" One of the staff members reacted with visible shock. "You mean to say sushi isn't your specialty? But earlier, when I asked about your background..."
"I only answered one part of your question. My parents don't own a sushi restaurant. In fact, they don't run any restaurant at all."
As far as I knew.
I had hoped, for my own sanity, that that man hadn't opened a restaurant in his current state of madness. Though I was slowly starting to understand what he had meant back then...
Sekimori laughed.
The sound was unexpected, and it seemed to surprise everyone present. The stern, nearly expressionless master sushi chef was laughing. The staff members were exchanging bewildered glances.
"You mean to say," Sekimori managed between chuckles, "that you have no background in Japanese cuisine whatsoever and you prepared sushi at this level?"
"Yes."
He laughed again, louder this time.
"Great. Fantastic." He shook his head, still smiling. "Very well, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka. My offer will remain open. If there comes a day when you are interested, you are welcome to visit—even if you only want to observe."
I nodded. "I appreciate that."
He and the staff began to disperse, but one judge turned back.
"Oh, almost forgot." He looked between me and Urara. "You two pass. All pieces were satisfactory."
Then he turned and followed the others toward the next station, ready to deliver verdicts to the remaining students.
Urara let out a breath she'd apparently been holding throughout the entire exchange.
"We passed!" she exclaimed, her nervousness cracking into genuine relief. "We actually passed!"
"That was always the most likely outcome."
"Stop being so—" She cut herself off, then thrust her hand toward me, palm open. "High-five!"
I looked at her hand.
"What?"
"High-five! It's what teammates do when they succeed!"
"Is it?" I feigned ignorance.
"Yes! I saw you do it with Yukihira-kun before your Shokugeki! So you know how!"
Ahh. Already caught on. What a bummer.
She kept her hand extended, her expression shifting from excited to stubborn. "I'm not putting my hand down until you do it."
I raised my hand and completed the gesture with minimal enthusiasm.
The resulting slap echoed slightly in the now-quiet examination room.
"There!" Urara beamed triumphantly. "Was that so hard?"
"Yes."
She laughed, almost genuinely, nothing like her broadcast persona, and finally lowered her hand.
With our evaluation complete, I turned my attention to the rest of the room.
The judges had moved on to deliver their verdicts to the remaining stations. Some students sagged with relief. Others crumbled under the weight of failure.
Station Two: Alice and Kurokiba received their verdict with predictable results.
"Pass. All pieces are of exceptional quality."
Alice didn't look surprised. This result was exactly as she had expected.
Kurokiba stood impassively beside her.
"See, Ryō-kun? I told you we wouldn't fail!"
"We also didn't build towers."
"The towers would have been BETTER!"
"The towers would have collapsed."
I looked away.
Station Three: Mito and Hōjō.
"Pass. One piece unsatisfactory."
"Which one?!" both demanded simultaneously, then glared at each other.
"The evaluation is complete. You pass overall."
Their argument continued as the judges moved on.
Station Five: The sashimi duo.
"The assignment was sushi. You prepared sashimi. These are fundamentally different things." The judge's voice carried across the room. "Did neither of you notice that every other station was cooking rice?"
"But—but sashimi is served at sushi restaurants—"
"Sashimi is not sushi. The distinction is definitional. Expelled. Both of you."
Station Seven: The cast-iron pan casualty.
The girl stood alone at her station. Her partner had been removed for medical attention earlier.
"Insufficient pieces. Quality below standard. Expelled."
She accepted the verdict with hollow eyes.
Station Nine: The food waste disaster.
"Food waste was explicitly stated as an evaluation criterion. This—" the judge gestured at the mountain of discarded fish"—demonstrates catastrophic failure in that regard. Expelled. Both of you."
Station after station.
Pass. Pass. Expelled. Pass. Expelled. Expelled. Pass.
One station even produced a split verdict. The team passed, but one partner was individually expelled for three unsatisfactory pieces.
"Your partner's work was acceptable. Yours was not."
The expelled student slumped while his partner stood awkwardly, unsure whether to console or celebrate.
When the final verdict had been delivered, Sekimori addressed the room.
"The evaluation is complete. Of the fifty students who began this examination, twenty-one have been expelled. Twenty-nine remain."
"Those who passed will proceed. Those who failed will pack their belongings and make their way to the lobby."
"What you experienced today was merely the beginning. Rest well. You will need it."
He exited without further comment.
Now I could finally still my hunger.
I motioned to one of the staff members from earlier and placed the promised piece into his hand. His face lit up at once, delight plain in his expression. With a grateful nod, he turned and departed.
Now, with the remaining rice and ingredients, I prepared several more pieces of sushi. The movements were automatic now.
Urara looked at me, and I gestured toward the spread.
She nodded excitedly.
"Finally, a break!"
We dove in and enjoyed the sushi while the other students began to quietly leave the room. Only a few remained now, gathering their belongings or processing their verdicts.
The ika was good. The rice had held its texture well despite the time that had passed. The unagi retained its warmth.
"Ne, Ayanokoji-kun."
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
"Ugh." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "Okay, can I ask you something else?"
"Go ahead."
She hesitated, fidgeting with her sleeve. Something in her demeanor had shifted. It was less of a performance and more genuine uncertainty.
"This is going to sound strange, but..."
I waited patiently, continuing to enjoy the sushi.
"Could it be that, you know..."
"...?"
"Are you... maybe..."
She took a breath.
"Are you gay, Ayanokoji-kun?"
Cough... Cough
I cleared my throat as the sushi went down the wrong pipe.
I stared at her.
Of all the possible conclusions—
"OH MY GOD, SHE ASKED IT!"
Alice materialized beside us with the sudden inevitability of a natural disaster, her grin threatening to split her face. Kurokiba trailed behind her, wearing the expression of a man who had long since accepted his fate.
"I've been wondering the same thing for WEEKS!" Alice declared, loud enough to draw attention from the few remaining students.
"You too?!" Urara's eyes widened.
"The evidence is OVERWHELMING!" Alice began counting on her fingers. "FIRST: he shows zero reaction to any form of flirtation. SECOND: he barely looks at women regardless of how attractive they are. THIRD, and this is the critical point! The ONLY time, and I REPEAT, THE ONLY TIME I have EVER seen him display genuine human emotion was when Yukihira-kun showed his MEAT!"
I accepted my fate and closed my eyes.
She couldn't have said it any worse.
My new high school life was done and dusted. It crumbled away in front of me, and I couldn't stop it. It was over. The time to drop out had come.
"What?" A new voice appeared, filled with horror and shock. I opened my eyes to find Mito frozen mid-step. "Ayanokoji and Yukihira?"
"He LAUGHED, Mito-san! Actually LAUGHED! Because of his MEAT!" Alice clutched her chest dramatically. "Meanwhile, I've tried EVERYTHING to get a reaction! EVERYTHING! And NOTHING!"
She didn't even use a nickname with Mito this time, only making the situation worse.
"He won't even look at me!" Urara added, gesturing in frustration. "I spent the entire exam trying to get his attention! Any attention! And he just... ignores me!"
Mito's expression worsened. "So you swing that way, huh?" Then she quietly muttered, "So I've got a rival now..."
"..." Rarely, if ever, was I dumbstruck and without words, but this was such a moment.
Hōjō, who was a few steps behind Mito, paused with raised eyebrows. "Perhaps he simply has standards that extend beyond surface charm."
Urara's head snapped toward her. "Excuse me?!"
"I'm merely observing that desperation is rarely attractive." Hōjō's tone was cool. "Some individuals are simply immune to obvious tactics."
"My tactics are not obvious!"
"They were visible from across the room."
"THEY WERE NOT—"
"They absolutely were," Mito confirmed. "I saw the hair flip thing at least four times."
"The hair flip works!"
"Apparently not on everyone," Hōjō noted.
"Ryō-kun!" Alice grabbed her assistant's arm. "Support my hypothesis! Tell them about how Ayanokoji-kun only shows emotion around Yukihira-kun!"
Kurokiba's expression remained flat. "I'd rather not be involved in this conversation."
"Too late! You're involved! Testify!"
"...He did laugh at the meat."
You too? Not even correcting the whole meat thing?
I will remember that.
"SEE?!"
Sigh.
"I'm not gay."
"That's exactly what someone who was gay would say!"
"It's also what someone who wasn't gay would say," Hōjō observed.
Alice clasped her hands together, eyes blazing with misplaced determination. "Don't worry, Ayanokoji-kun! We'll be behind you every step of the way as you pursue Yukihira-kun! These days, same-sex relationships are far more accepted than they used to be!"
"We absolutely will not!" Mito burst out, only to freeze a second later as she realized she'd raised her voice.
Urara paid the interruption no mind and nodded with full enthusiasm. "Exactly! Love is love, okay? You don't have to keep it a secret!"
Alice moved in closer, her expression turning unexpectedly sincere. "Ayanokoji-kun, there's no need to feel ashamed. Emotions can be complicated."
"..."
Urara, who had been watching this exchange with growing amusement and enthusiasm, suddenly started laughing. The sound was different from her normal laugh. It was more genuine.
"This is insane," she managed between laughs. "This entire conversation is insane. We're standing here debating whether a boy is gay because he won't flirt back."
"That's an incredible realization," I said with clear sarcasm.
"You're impossible!"
Hōjō made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. "This is unexpectedly entertaining."
Alice had begun making notes on her phone, nodding along as she typed.
"Okay," Alice announced, putting away her phone. "New hypothesis. Ayanokoji-kun isn't gay. He's simply incapable of normal human emotional response."
"Also incorrect."
"Then WHAT ARE YOU?!"
"A first-year student at Tōtsuki Culinary Academy."
"That's not an answer!"
"It's an accurate description of my current status."
"It explains nothing!"
Alice looked at Urara. Urara looked at Alice.
Something unspoken passed between them.
"Kawashima-san," Alice said, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "I believe we should combine forces."
"I was thinking the same thing."
"This mystery must be solved."
"Absolutely."
"He can't deflect both of us forever."
"No one is that evasive."
"Then we're agreed?"
"We're agreed."
They turned to face me with identical expressions of determined analysis.
"Ayanokoji-kun," Alice said sweetly. "You should know that Kawashima-san and I are going to figure you out."
"We're going to discover what makes you tick," Urara added.
"Every secret. Every deflection. And every carefully constructed wall."
"We'll find the cracks."
"We'll exploit them."
"And when we finally understand you—"
"—you won't see it coming."
They high-fived without looking, their eyes never leaving mine.
Kurokiba had reached the door. He paused, glancing back at me.
"Good luck," he said flatly. "You'll need it."
He left without waiting for a response.
Mito shook her head slowly. "I almost feel sorry for you, Ayanokoji." She paused. "No, scratch that. You deserve it."
She left with a laugh.
"Troublesome," I muttered.
"TROUBLESOME?!" Alice shrieked. "I'll show you troublesome!"
"Alice-san, we should strategize first," Urara interrupted smoothly.
"You're right, you're right." Alice took a breath, visibly calming herself.
"Exactly. We'll be systematic."
"Thorough."
"Relentless."
"Patient."
"Persistent."
They were still planning as they walked toward the exit, voices fading but enthusiasm undiminished.
Dear universe... what have I done to deserve this fate?
At least there wasn't anyone from ANHS here. Especially not Amasawa.
Hōjō lingered a moment longer.
"You've made interesting enemies," she observed.
"I wouldn't say enemies. They're... motivated."
"There's a difference in this case?"
"Enemies want to destroy you. They simply want to understand me."
"And if they succeed?"
I considered the question.
"Who knows?"
Then they'll be the first.
She looked at me for another moment, something unreadable in her expression, before she too headed for the exit.
The examination was over. We had passed, and the training camp would continue.
And apparently, I had acquired a joint investigation committee dedicated to unraveling my psychological composition.
I gathered my things and left the room.
The door closed behind me.
Day One of the Tōtsuki Institute Friendship and Team-Building Cooking Camp was complete...
...or was it?
***
A/N: Well, well, well, hello everyone. This chapter took me quite some time, far longer than I wanted to, but it feels good to be back. And yes, I know some of you skimmed through the cooking scene, despite the absurd amount of time and painful research that went into it. That's right—I'm looking at you!
Hah... I really missed Sōma and the main cast in this one. I just hope you didn't find the chapter as boring or exhausting to read as I found it to write.
At last, the next chapter will be the final part of the reaction: 'Interlude I: That Bastard Is Cooking Now?!'
I'll probably have to split the reaction again, but like last time, both parts will be published simultaneously.
I'm not giving any time estimates this time, since that backfired spectacularly last time. What was supposed to be released within the same month somehow turned into four months. Still, it shouldn't take too long this time.
In the meantime, feel free to check out my other fic, Warm Welcome (COTE x One Piece). If you like One Piece, I think you will enjoy it!
See you soon!