When words fall short, the taste of a single dish can speak volumes.
Sometimes, the greatest culinary miracles hide in the most unassuming places.
Tucked away in the forgotten alleys of a once-vibrant gourmet district, a softly lit tavern buzzed with warmth and life. The sign above the door was worn and nearly illegible, and yet, the crowd inside spoke for itself. The aroma alone was enough to stop a passerby in their tracks—intoxicating and nostalgic, like a lost memory reborn.
As the doors swung open, the cheerful clang of pans and low chatter welcomed newcomers. A narrow hallway led to a cozy dining area, where the walls were adorned with vintage photos and hand-written menu boards. Though it couldn't rival the luxury of five-star establishments, the atmosphere was clean, honest, and effortlessly inviting.
"Welcome!" chirped Sonoka, the tavern's sous-chef, her eyes lighting up with hospitality. "Please, this way."
Zane, the head chef, soon emerged from the open kitchen—a man in his prime, his sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, a focused gleam in his eyes. His gaze swept over the guests not with aloof pride, but with sincere curiosity.
"What would you like tonight?" he asked each table personally, listening attentively. His approach wasn't just service—it was connection.
At one table, tension simmered beneath the surface. Erina Nakiri sat stiffly across from her estranged mother, Mana. It was a dinner long overdue. For years, silence and cold avoidance had replaced mother-daughter affection. Their last real exchange had ended in bitter disappointment. Today, there was no promise of reconciliation—only a shared willingness to be in the same room.
But then, the first dish arrived: shumai.
Golden brown, perfectly steamed, with translucent wrappers revealing a filling packed to bursting. Zane's take on shumai was deceptively simple—four ingredients, no more—but the balance was masterful.
Mana took a bite.
Her eyes widened.
"This…" she murmured.
The wrapper was thin but chewy, hugging a core of shrimp, bok choy, pork, and shiitake mushrooms. The flavors danced across her palate in perfect harmony—light yet rich, restrained yet decadent. Each bite was warm, gentle, and grounding.
"The proportions are flawless. The shrimp brings bounce, the pork adds depth, and the bok choy provides that fresh snap… even the mushroom umami lingers, just enough."
She took another shumai, then another, no longer speaking, just savoring. For a moment, the frost around her melted.
"Mom… you like shumai?" Erina asked cautiously.
"No. I like his cooking," Mana said softly, eyes not leaving the dish.
Erina blinked, stunned. Her mother, the woman who once scorned even her best efforts, was now genuinely enjoying food again—for the first time in years.
She remembered that day vividly—when her God Tongue mother tasted Erina's food during Azami's coup and burst out of her clothes in joy. That moment had felt like a miracle.
But now, that same miracle was happening again… only this time, through Zane.
Erina clenched her fists under the table.
It hurt—because she still hadn't earned her mother's approval herself. And yet, she couldn't deny the warmth spreading in her chest.
This was what she'd always dreamed of: seeing her mother find joy in food again.
The joy was fleeting.
Mana set her chopsticks down, wiped her mouth, and looked at Erina with solemn eyes.
"Erina… I've heard from the General Manager about what Azami did to you."
Erina froze.
Mana continued, voice thick with regret. "I never imagined… he would go so far. I left thinking the family would be safe in his hands. That even if I stepped away, he would protect you."
A pause. Then, softly: "But I was wrong."
Erina turned pale, her appetite vanishing.
"Please, don't," she whispered, trembling. "Don't talk about it."
Mana's hand reached out, hesitated mid-air, then retracted.
"If I see him again," she said coldly, "I'll divorce him."
The words hung in the air like a blade.
"I won't let him hurt you again. I won't let him taint Totsuki or the Nakiri legacy any further."
Tears welled in Erina's eyes, but she turned away before they could fall.
Outside the tavern, the celebration winds quieted. The Totsuki training camp had concluded at last.
Over 400 students had entered. Less than 200 remained.
As buses departed, laughter and tired cheers echoed into the night. Some students returned to their hometowns—like Megumi to Zhuang Hui Garden, or Soma to reopen Yukihira Diner. Others, like Alice Nakiri, disappeared into the quiet of their labs.
In a sterilized white room filled with equipment, Alice carefully measured ingredients.
500g of mineral water.
2g of sodium alginate.
80g of melon juice.
2.5g of calcium lactate.
Cool spherification bath at the ready.
Drop by drop, she created melon caviar—each pearl glistening like a gem.
She popped one into her mouth—and immediately spat it out.
"Ugh. It looks like caviar but tastes like… disappointment."
Her frustration boiled over. Alice had always been a prodigy, proud of her molecular techniques. But Erina's effortless brilliance—her natural evolution—was outpacing her.
"I'm falling behind," Alice muttered. "If I don't innovate, I'll never surpass her. I'll be forgotten."
Her eyes gleamed with renewed intensity.
"I have to evolve."
The next battlefield was in sight.
The Autumn Election.
Totsuki's most prestigious in-house competition. Unlike the training camp, where fulfilling the basic task meant survival, the Autumn Election was war. The top 60 out of 400 would battle in front of Japan's culinary elite.
The judges? Not just Totsuki instructors. Heavyweights like Leonora Nakiri—Alice's own mother—and the famed Senbongi sisters, known across the globe.
This wasn't just a student event.
It was a crucible.
Late that night, Alice's phone buzzed.
Leonora's voice rang through, light but concerned.
"Alice, the camp's over and you didn't call me once. I was worried."
Alice smiled. "Sorry, Mom. I was a bit… preoccupied."
"You weren't expelled, were you?"
"Pfft, no way. I barely scraped by."
Leonora laughed. "Even if you were, I could still pull strings. You are my daughter, after all."
But Alice shook her head. "Mom, I want to earn it on my own. Even with the Nakiri name… I need to prove that I deserve it."
There was a pause.
"That's my girl," Leonora said proudly.
"Oh, by the way… I'll be judging the Autumn Election."
Alice gasped. "What? You're coming to Japan?!"
"Of course. I'll be arriving in time for the final rounds."
Alice's heart soared.
"Finally… someone I can talk to. I've been so lonely."
Her voice trembled. "Erina barely talks to me. Ryo's always holed up in his lab. I feel like I'm on a different planet."
Leonora listened patiently.
"You've always been strong, Alice. But even strong girls need a hand sometimes. I'll be there soon."
Tears slipped down Alice's cheeks. "Thanks, Mom."
She clutched the phone tighter, a fragile hope blossoming in her chest.
Because if the Autumn Election was her next trial… she wouldn't face it alone.