The moment Riku Kaizen stepped into the central arena, it felt like the air changed.
Gone was the easy warmth of Polaris Dorm's kitchen. Here, everything was sharpened—bright lights that cast no shadows, murmurs from the crowd hushed by anticipation, and the oppressive presence of the Elite Ten seated above like judges at an execution.
The stage was pristine, almost surgical. Twin cooking stations gleamed under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes. Towering screens on either side displayed their names, and between them, a timer hovered at zero—an hour allotted for the challenge.
Riku could feel the weight of expectation, but he carried it well. Not because he was immune to fear, but because he had decided long ago that fear would never outrun his conviction.
Across from him, Erina Nakiri took her place, chin lifted with calm authority. Dressed in her black chef's coat trimmed with gold, she radiated the elegance that had earned her the title "God Tongue." But to Riku, she was no longer a distant ideal. She was his partner.
The panel of judges for the challenge included three Elite Ten members: Rindō Kobayashi, Terunori Kuga, and Eishi Tsukasa—the First Seat himself. Alongside them sat an external culinary critic, hand-picked by Azami, and seated above them all, in a symbolic throne-like chair, was Azami Nakiri.
Azami's presence was ice incarnate. His posture, his expression, his very existence seemed to choke the warmth out of the room. His eyes scanned the arena with disdain barely hidden behind the mask of refinement.
"This challenge," he announced with calm authority, "is not merely a test of skill. It is a referendum. A choice between order and chaos. Between culinary elitism and unfocused rebellion. You will prepare a single dish—one that encapsulates your ideals. No rules. No themes. The only criterion: excellence."
Riku heard the murmurs ripple across the student crowd. Some were excited, others skeptical. But all of them were watching.
The timer lit up.
60:00
The challenge had begun.
Riku didn't hesitate. He pulled out a bundle of fresh scallions, peeled ginger, and began slicing open the vacuum-sealed bag of duck breast he'd marinated overnight. His plan wasn't revolutionary. It was personal.
He wasn't here to impress Azami.
He was here to make a statement.
Across the station, Erina moved with the grace of a dancer. She had chosen veal—young, delicate, and demanding. Already, she had begun slow-roasting bones for a reduction and laid out her flavor matrix like a blueprint.
There was no tension between them. No competition.
They were two fires burning toward the same sky.
As the timer hit the 40-minute mark, the smells began to fill the arena.
Riku's duck sizzled in a cast iron pan, the skin crisping to a golden brown. He was preparing a take on Peking duck, but layered with Japanese flavors—a rice vinegar glaze infused with umeboshi plum, yuzu zest folded into the steamed buns, and a miso-based smear infused with caramelized garlic.
What he aimed to serve was not just fusion, but clarity—culinary expression stripped of hierarchy.
Erina, meanwhile, worked like time itself answered to her. Her veal was being wrapped in thinly sliced white asparagus and flash-seared in rosemary-infused butter. A truffle and parsnip purée formed the base of her plate, with a consommé slowly reducing at her side. It was classic Erina: poised, luxurious, and impossibly precise.
And yet, if you looked closely, there were traces of something new in her execution—bolder pairings, a little less restraint in her layering. The Riku influence.
Riku tasted his sauce and added a final splash of mirin. It balanced the tartness with a soft echo of sweetness. He moved quickly, but every motion was measured.
Behind him, the crowd was beginning to lean forward. Even the Elite Ten were watching now—not with amusement, but growing curiosity.
Tsukasa leaned toward Rindō and whispered something, and she chuckled.
"I didn't expect this level of synergy," she murmured, lips twitching in a grin "They're not challenging us. They're… answering each other."
With ten minutes remaining, Riku plated his dish.
He arranged three small bao buns on a lacquered wooden board, each resting atop a thin layer of yuzu miso smear. Inside each was a slice of the duck breast, glazed and gleaming, paired with julienned cucumber and shiso leaf. On the side, a quenelle of pickled daikon and ginger offered contrast. It was simple to the eye—but the flavors told a deeper story.
A story about roots and reinvention.
Erina's plate was a visual sonnet. Her veal rested delicately in a cradle of white asparagus and baby mushrooms. The purée was painted in a crescent moon beneath it, and over the top, she poured a golden consommé that shimmered like morning light. She added a single edible violet petal for garnish.
Both dishes were complete with one minute to spare.
They stood side by side at the front of the arena, presenting not just their creations, but their convictions.
Azami gestured for the judges to begin.
Tsukasa tasted Erina's dish first.
His eyes widened—not because it was flawless, but because it wasn't restrained. There was ambition here. A breath of defiance under the silk.
"She's evolving," he murmured.
Rindō, trying Riku's duck, leaned back and gave a soft whistle "That's dangerous," she said "In the best way. It hits you in waves."
The external critic, a culinary historian named Hiroji, studied both dishes with analytical precision. But even he couldn't hide the impressed nods.
When Azami himself tried the food, a silence fell.
He tasted Erina's first. His expression betrayed nothing.
Then he bit into Riku's duck bao.
A pause.
A narrowing of the eyes.
And then he set the chopsticks down.
"You've both… strayed far from the curriculum," he said coldly.
"That's the point," Riku replied, voice steady.
Azami turned his gaze to Erina "And you, my daughter, who once upheld the standards of the Nakiri line—now find inspiration in rebellion?"
Erina stepped forward.
"I find inspiration in freedom. And in those who help me see it."
She didn't look at Riku, but the implication was clear.
The crowd erupted into hushed murmurs. Something in the atmosphere cracked open.
Azami stood, the challenge concluded "This council will deliberate," he announced.
But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
The message had already landed.
Erina and Riku walked out of the arena together.
Not as victors of a match—but as the spark of something greater.
A culinary revolution had begun.