The rising sun filtered softly through the eastern windows of the Polaris Dorm, its light catching on the steam that curled from the stovetops in the communal kitchen. The scent of toasted miso and simmering dashi lingered in the air—warm, welcoming, but undercut with the tension of anticipation.
Riku Kaizen stood at the prep station with his sleeves rolled up, his dark hair damp from the morning shower, the bandana around his head tied with the precision of a man heading into battle.
Today wasn't just another day at Totsuki. Today, Riku would face off against Takumi Aldini in a public Shokugeki—an exhibition match organized for the upcoming Autumn Elections.
Though the match wouldn't affect their standings directly, the eyes of their classmates, teachers, and judges would be on them, watching every move they made. Riku understood that such a duel would be more than just culinary spectacle—it was a statement. And he couldn't afford to be anything but extraordinary.
Behind him, a familiar presence approached "You're early," came a crisp, commanding voice.
He turned, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips "So are you."
Erina Nakiri stood with her arms crossed, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, violet eyes sharp and unreadable. She had never shown overt favoritism to anyone, let alone to someone like him, but over the weeks, something subtle had shifted between them. The space that once felt icy now thrummed with restrained warmth—measured, cautious, but real.
"I wanted to see if you were nervous," she said, tilting her chin upward ever so slightly "You're facing Takumi, after all. He's not exactly easy to outcook."
"I know that," Riku replied as he diced an onion with meticulous speed, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his knife echoing through the kitchen "But that's why I'm taking this seriously. I want this to be the kind of match that makes everyone stop and pay attention."
Erina watched him for a moment, the edge of a smirk forming on her lips "You've come a long way since the first time we met. I still remember the dish you made during the entrance exam—rough edges, far from refined, but undeniably bold."
He raised a brow "Is that your way of saying you liked it?"
"It's my way of saying you were reckless and lucky," she retorted, though her tone lacked bite.
He laughed "I'll take that as a compliment. From you, that's practically high praise."
They stood in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind that only came from familiarity forged through fire. It was Erina who broke it first.
"Do you have a strategy for today?" she asked.
"I'm going with something he wouldn't expect," Riku said as he began kneading dough with practiced ease "Takumi's sharp. He focuses on Italian cuisine, but his fundamentals are rock solid. If I try to go head-to-head with his strengths, I'll lose. So I'm leaning into my roots. I'm making something inspired by my family's street stall—grilled yuzu chicken with soba noodles and a citrus miso glaze."
Erina arched a brow "Street food? That's…unorthodox."
"That's kind of my thing," he said with a grin "But it's more than that. I've refined the sauce, aged the miso myself, and adjusted the citrus ratios to balance umami and acidity. This isn't just nostalgia—it's evolution."
She didn't reply right away, but there was a flicker in her eyes—pride, perhaps, or maybe something deeper.
"You'd better not lose," she finally said, voice low "If you do, I'll never hear the end of it from Hisako. She insists I'm spending too much time around you."
"Are you?" he asked, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
Her gaze didn't waver "If I am, it's because you're proving yourself worthy of that time."
The words hit him harder than expected, and for a brief moment, the pressure of the day seemed to dissolve in the heat radiating between them.
By the time Riku arrived at the arena, the stands were already full. Students leaned forward in their seats with excitement, some cheering for Aldini, others for the rising dark horse that Riku had become. Beside the judges' table stood Dojima, arms crossed, watching them like a hawk.
Takumi offered a respectful nod as they approached the cooking stations "I've been looking forward to this," he said, rolling up his sleeves "I've heard the rumors about your growth. I wanted to see it for myself."
"Then I hope I don't disappoint," Riku replied.
The countdown began.
Ten seconds.
Riku centered himself, breathing deep. This wasn't just about victory. It was about making his mark.
Three…two…one—
Begin.
Riku sprang into motion, moving with precision and intensity. He sliced chicken thighs, marinated them in a yuzu-based concoction he'd perfected through endless experimentation, and set them to grill over a charcoal flame he'd carefully prepared for even heat. The smell was intoxicating—smoky, citrusy, with a bite of sweetness from caramelizing sugars.
His soba noodles were hand-cut, boiled to perfection, and immediately rinsed in ice water to preserve their texture. His citrus miso glaze simmered on a low flame, thickening into a golden sheen that clung to the spoon like liquid sunshine.
Across from him, Takumi worked with equal skill, preparing a handmade gnocchi in truffle cream sauce with seared scallops. The aroma of browned butter and the earthy sharpness of truffle wafted through the air. It was a masterclass in elegance—refined, classical, devastatingly precise.
But Riku didn't falter. He plated with care, placing the chicken atop a nest of soba, then finishing it with the glaze, garnishes of pickled daikon, and a sprinkling of toasted sesame.
Time.
The dishes were presented, and the judges—Dojima, Hinako, and Senzaemon—tasted both with reverence. Their reactions were visceral. Dojima closed his eyes, savoring the burst of brightness and smoke in Riku's dish. Hinako clapped excitedly, spinning in her seat.
Then came the deliberation.
Takumi had brought class and refinement. But Riku had brought soul. His dish wasn't just food—it was a story told in flavors.
When the votes were cast, it was unanimous.
Riku Kaizen had won.
The arena exploded with applause.
As he turned to leave, Takumi offered his hand "You've earned my respect," he said simply.
Riku shook it firmly "Likewise."
Backstage, Erina was waiting. She said nothing at first, merely meeting his eyes. Then she stepped forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint."
His heart thudded "Does that mean I've earned another compliment?"
"Don't push it," she said—but her smile betrayed her.