Chapter 179: Is There Such a Move?
The sprawling gymnasium of Totsuki Culinary Academy was a cathedral of physical discipline, usually reserved for the athletic clubs or the few culinary students who understood that stamina was just as vital as knife skills in a professional kitchen.
The high ceilings amplified every sound, turning the rhythmic bouncing of a basketball into a heartbeat that echoed through the vast, empty space.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Ren moved across the polished hardwood floor with a fluid grace that belied the power coiling within his muscles. He was alone on this half of the court, the orange sphere feeling familiar and rough against his palm. He wasn't using any supernatural abilities or cultivation techniques; he was simply enjoying the raw, kinetic pleasure of the sport.
He drove towards the paint, his sneakers chirping sharply against the varnish. With a sudden explosion of force, he launched himself into the air. Gravity seemed to lose its hold on him for a split second as he soared, the rim coming level with his eyes.
Wham!
The ball was slammed through the hoop with a thunderous impact that rattled the backboard. The net snapped up, whipping through the air with a satisfying swish.
Ren landed softly, absorbing the impact with his knees, his breath rhythm remaining perfectly steady. Just as he caught the rebounding ball, the sound of approaching footsteps and a spirited, resonant voice cut through the lingering echoes of his dunk.
"Good shot!"
Ren didn't need to look back to know the owner of that voice possessed a strong spirit. The aura radiating from the newcomer was sharp, disciplined, and brimming with confidence. He turned around slowly, spinning the basketball on his index finger.
Standing near the sideline was a group of girls clad in Totsuki's athletic jerseys. Leading them was a striking young woman with short, plum-colored hair that framed a face defined by determination. She held a basketball under one arm, her posture erect and commanding. Her physique was notably more athletic than the average student—her shoulders were broad, her arms toned, hinting at a strength honed not just by sports, but by the rigorous, heavy lifting required in a specific type of kitchen.
This was Hojo Miyoko, the heiress to the Hojo Tower Chinese Restaurant.
[Akarin's Note: Hojo Miyoko is a character from Food Wars! known for her expertise in Chinese cuisine and her impressive physical strength, specifically in handling heavy iron woks.]
Hojo Miyoko's gaze was fixed solely on Ren. She had completely ignored Erina and Hisako, who were practicing passing drills on the far side of the court. To Hojo, they were just blurry figures in the background, likely beginners. Her attention was captivated by the perfect form of the dunk she had just witnessed.
"You have excellent form," Hojo said, stepping forward with a confident smile. She looked him up and down, assessing him like an opponent in a ring. "I haven't seen you around before. Judging by your height and build... are you a second-year? Or perhaps a third-year senior?"
Ren stopped the ball and tucked it against his hip. He smiled, shaking his head. "I'm not a student here."
Hojo blinked, her eyebrows knitting together slightly. "Not a student? You're not going to tell me you're a teacher, are you? You look too young."
"Of course I'm not a teacher either," Ren lied smoothly, enjoying the confusion. "I'm just a passing Restaurant Shopkeeper who wandered in."
"A shopkeeper?" Hojo frowned, her analytical mind trying to process this information. "Then how did you get past security into the..."
"Eh? Wait a second..."
Behind Hojo, one of her teammates, a girl with a ponytail named Yuko, squinted at Ren. She nudged the girl beside her. "Hey, doesn't he look familiar?"
"Yeah... yeah, he really does," the other girl whispered back, her eyes widening. "That silver hair... and that face... isn't that the guest lecturer from a while back?"
"But isn't he a teacher? Oh! Right, I heard he was just filling in temporarily..."
Hojo turned her head sharply, looking at her murmuring teammates. "Yuko, what are you talking about? 'Looks familiar'? Do you know this Shopkeeper?"
Yuko nodded frantically, then stepped forward tentatively, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and nervousness. "Um... excuse me... are you Ren-sensei?"
Hearing the name "Ren-sensei," Hojo's body visibly stiffened. She whipped her head back to look at the young man. This casual, basketball-spinning guy was the legendary figure the entire campus had been buzzing about? The man who supposedly tamed the Elite Ten?
Just as the tension was building, a loose basketball rolled across the court, coming to a stop near Ren's feet.
"Shopkeeper Ren!"
Nakiri Erina jogged over, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink from her practice. She wore a pristine white and purple jersey that highlighted her figure, her long blonde hair tied back in a rare ponytail. She stopped in front of Ren, completely disregarding the hierarchy that usually governed social interactions at Totsuki.
"Shopkeeper Ren, what are you doing?" Erina asked, her tone familiar, almost bordering on casual complaint. "You said you'd show us the proper form."
The reaction from Hojo's team was instantaneous and collective.
"E-Erina-sama?!"
The exclamation rang out in perfect, terrified unison. It wasn't just a sound; it was a collective shudder shared by the five girls standing behind Hojo. Their eyes bulged, and their jaws practically hit the floor. The "Ice Queen," the untouchable possessor of the God Tongue, was jogging around a basketball court and speaking to a man with the tone of a close friend? It was like seeing a unicorn ordering a latte.
Erina turned her head at the sound of her name. She blinked, her amethyst eyes focusing on the group. "Oh." She nodded politely. "I remember you... your name seems to be... Hojo Miyoko? I believe Kuga-senpai has been persistently trying to recruit you for his Chinese Cuisine Research Society, hasn't he?"
Hojo Miyoko nodded slowly, still processing the surreal scene. "Yes, Erina-sama."
Hojo didn't typically care for the company of men—she found most of them at Totsuki to be arrogant and dismissive of women—but she didn't inherently dislike them either. What she respected above all else was strength. Erina was the embodiment of strength in the culinary world; a powerful, successful woman who stood at the apex. Seeing Erina treat this man with such deference... it forced Hojo to recalibrate her assessment of him instantly.
Ren reached out and gently tapped the top of Erina's head. "Don't keep Hisako waiting too long. I'll teach you how to pass the ball properly in a bit. Go on."
"Oh! Okay!"
With a bright nod that would have given the school's fan club a heart attack, Erina turned and ran back to Hisako.
The girls behind Hojo looked as if they had seen a ghost. Was that really the arrogant Erina? Although rumors said she had softened recently, this was beyond "softened"—this was a complete personality transplant!
However, Hojo Miyoko's focus had shifted entirely. She dismissed her teammates with a wave of her hand. "You all go start warm-ups."
As her team scattered, whispering furiously, Hojo turned back to Ren, her eyes burning with an intense light. She took a step closer.
"You... you really are Ren-sensei?!" she demanded, her voice rising with excitement. "The Ren-sensei who made the Elite Ten chase after you for a day of classes? The one who crushed the concept of impossible cuisine?"
Ren smiled, spinning the ball again. "I'm not a teacher anymore. I was just a substitute for a day. Now, I'm just a Restaurant owner."
"That's a tacit admission," Hojo muttered, her excitement growing. "Teacher Ren... no, Shopkeeper Ren! Where is your Restaurant located? I must visit."
Ren thought for a moment, tilting his head. "You know the busiest commercial street in the city center, right?"
Hojo nodded eagerly. "Yes, I know it well."
"Then it's simple," Ren grinned. "My shop is on the desolate, quiet street directly adjacent to that one."
"Eh?"
Hojo Miyoko froze. The excitement on her face cracked, replaced by confusion. "The... the street next to it?"
She knew that area. Everyone did. It was a commercial dead zone. The foot traffic from the main street never bled over there. It was dark, quiet, and frankly, a terrible location for any business relying on customers.
Hojo frowned, her pragmatic chef's mind taking over. "Shopkeeper Ren, are you making a fool of me? No competent restaurateur would open a shop there. It's business suicide."
"It is a blessing for a Restaurant to have visitors," Ren quoted softly, his expression serene. "Why would I make a fool of someone who might become my customer?"
"But..." Hojo crossed her arms, her muscular biceps flexing slightly. "The location implies a lack of ambition. You..."
"Cuisine doesn't necessarily need a bustling storefront to prove its strength," Ren interrupted gently. "I run a night restaurant. I chose that location precisely because I look forward to what kind of interesting customers—like yourself—will find their way to me in that environment. My cuisine isn't for making money. It's for feeding the hungry."
He turned seamlessly and, without looking at the basket, flicked his wrist. The ball arced high into the air and sank through the hoop with a perfect swish.
Hojo Miyoko stared at the swinging net, then back at Ren. A blush of admiration colored her cheeks. "Shopkeeper Ren... if I have the chance, I'd like to visit your shop."
"You are welcome anytime."
Hojo hesitated. She looked down at her hands—hands that were calloused from gripping heavy iron handles. She bit her lip, wrestling with a question that had plagued her for years.
"Shopkeeper Ren," she began, her voice lower, more vulnerable. "Your culinary skills are rumored to be god-tier, and you're proficient in all cuisines. So, I want to ask you a question."
"About cuisine?"
"Sort of."
"Just ask. No need to be so formal."
Hojo took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Shopkeeper Ren, do you think there's any difference between male and female chefs? Specifically... do you believe women are inferior in the kitchen?"
Ren blinked. He looked at the girl standing before him, radiating intensity and hidden pain. He knew the stigma, especially in traditional Chinese kitchens where the sheer weight of the equipment was used as an excuse to exclude women.
"Difference? No difference," Ren answered instantly, his tone breezy. "What difference could there be? At most, it's a matter of base stamina, but that can be trained. If I had to say there's a difference, there's one minor thing..."
Hojo leaned in, bracing herself for a critique. "What?"
Ren pointed to her hair. "Typically, girls have longer hair, so they might get hair in their dishes if they aren't careful. That's about it. Although, boys with long hair also have this issue. Hojo-san, you should pay attention to hair care. Hygiene is paramount."
Hojo Miyoko was stunned. She stood there, mouth slightly agape, processing the sheer absurdity of his answer. He didn't talk about 'fire power' or 'wrist strength' or 'emotional fragility.' He talked about hair nets.
A bubble of laughter rose in her chest, and she couldn't suppress it. "Pfft—Hahaha!"
She laughed, the tension in her shoulders melting away. It was such a liberating answer.
Ren smiled, catching the rebound from his previous shot. He tossed the ball to her. She caught it with a solid thwack.
"Want to play a couple of rounds?" Ren challenged, a playful glint in his eyes.
Hojo's competitive spirit flared up instantly. She gripped the ball, feeling the texture. "Of course! Shopkeeper Ren, don't think I'll go easy on you just because you're a legendary chef. Basketball is a different beast."
"Oh? Is that so?" Ren crouched into a defensive stance, beckoning her with one hand. "Then I'm really looking forward to it."
Seeing that a 1v1 match was starting, Erina and Hisako stopped their passing drill. The other girls on the court also stopped, gathering around the half-court line to watch.
"Start!"
Hojo didn't hesitate. She exploded into motion, driving hard to Ren's right. She was fast—surprisingly so. Her training with heavy woks had given her a powerful core and explosive leg strength. She dribbled low and hard, trying to use her shoulder to create space.
Ren moved like water. He didn't meet her force with force; he simply slid his feet, cutting off her angle with frustrating ease.
Hojo gritted her teeth. He's fast!
She spun, executing a sharp pivot to switch directions, aiming for a layup. But the moment the ball left her fingertips, a hand appeared out of nowhere. Ren didn't even jump; he just reached up and plucked the ball out of the air as if he were picking an apple from a tree.
"Block!" someone shouted from the sidelines.
"My turn," Ren said.
He checked the ball to her, and the roles reversed. Ren dribbled. The sound of the ball hitting the floor was a rapid-fire machine gun—tat-tat-tat-tat. He moved with a rhythm that was impossible to predict. He crossed over left, then right, his body swaying like a pendulum.
Hojo tried to keep up, her eyes wide, her sneakers screeching as she shuffled desperately. But Ren was a blur. He faked a drive, causing Hojo to stumble backward, and then calmly stepped back for a jumper.
Swish.
The game continued. Minutes turned into ten, then twenty.
Hojo Miyoko was relentless. She was sweating profusely, her jersey clinging to her skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She used every ounce of her strength, trying to post him up, trying to outrun him, trying to muscle her way to the basket.
But Ren was a wall. A soft, insurmountable wall. He barely seemed to be sweating. He blocked her shots gently, stole the ball with surgical precision, and scored with a variety of moves—dunks, hooks, fadeaways—that looked like he was dancing rather than competing.
Finally, after a failed attempt to drive past him where she ended up tripping over her own feet from exhaustion, Hojo collapsed onto the floor, sitting with her legs splayed out, panting heavily.
"I... I yield..." she gasped, wiping sweat from her forehead.
She looked up at Ren. He stood over her, not with arrogance, but with a hand extended to help her up. He looked perfectly fine, his breathing indistinguishable from when he started.
"Shopkeeper Ren," Hojo wheezed, taking his hand and pulling herself up. "You... you really are a monster..."
"Eh? Is that so?" Ren laughed, patting her on the shoulder. "There's still a long way to go, Hojo-san. Both in basketball and in cuisine. But your foundation is excellent. Your lower body strength is impressive—perfect for controlling a high flame."
"Keep up the good work," he added.
Hojo Miyoko stared at him. She looked at his calm face, then remembered his words about gender, and felt the overwhelming gap in their abilities. It wasn't just skill; it was a state of being.
She clenched her fists. The admiration she had felt earlier solidified into a burning resolve.
After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath, bowed deeply at a perfect ninety-degree angle, and shouted in a voice that echoed through the entire gym.
"Shopkeeper Ren! If possible! Please take me as your disciple!"
The gym went silent.
Ren blinked.
Hisako dropped the ball she was holding.
And Erina... Erina froze. Her eyes widened, darting between Hojo and Ren. A complex mix of emotions flashed across her face—shock, followed by a pinch of territorial annoyance, and finally, a dawn of realization.
Disciple? Erina thought, looking at Hojo's bowed back. So... that's a move you can make?
Erina looked at Ren with a complicated mindset. To ask so boldly... perhaps she had been too passive? This move... Master... it had a certain ring to it.
[Akarin Note:
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