After over an hour of talking on the phone, Alice reluctantly hung up. Her eyes lingered on the darkened screen before she let out a soft sigh and turned back to the countertop filled with ingredients and notes. Her fingers brushed against a sphere of failed caviar, its fragile membrane having collapsed—just like her confidence.
Solidifying water: such a deceptively simple goal.
The most basic method was freezing, but doing it at room temperature—around 15℃—required more finesse. It wasn't just about making water solid. It was about controlling its behavior. Think of jelly, or the popping boba in bubble tea. These weren't just snacks—they were examples of halting the natural flow of water through techniques like gelation or reverse spherification.
Gelatin, agar-agar, sodium alginate, calcium chloride… molecular gastronomy had transformed such materials into tools of innovation. From fruit juice caviar to edible spheres that burst in your mouth, this field had revolutionized modern cuisine.
And yet…
"It's still not right," Alice murmured under her breath, watching the spheres fail to hold their shape.
Zane's words echoed in her mind: "Technique is nothing without flavor."
Her lips tightened. "Yes… I was too focused on the spectacle."
"No matter how well I make caviar from fruit juice, it will always taste like fruit. And if someone else uses real caviar, then… what's the point?"
A pang of self-doubt stabbed at her chest. Was she always going to fall short of Erina's level?
She clenched her fists. "Zane… if it were you, what would you use to make caviar? What ingredients would surprise people and taste amazing?"
Frustrated and weary, Alice slumped against the counter. Her drive hadn't faded, but the direction had. She needed inspiration. A spark.
"Alice, already diving back into experiments?"
A soft, familiar voice cut through her thoughts. She turned, startled.
At the door stood a graceful woman in her thirties, with long, silky silver hair and porcelain skin. Her elegant posture and gentle eyes exuded a timeless nobility—one Alice knew intimately.
"Mom?"
Leonora Nakiri smiled warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with affection. "I came early for the Autumn Selection. I figured my daughter might need some emotional support."
"Wha—? You came all this way just for me?" Alice blinked rapidly before rushing forward and wrapping her arms around her mother. "Mom, you really are the best!"
Leonora chuckled, holding her daughter close. "Come now, tell me everything. How's life at Totsuki? How was the training camp?"
As the sky outside dimmed into dusk, the kitchen became a haven of stories and laughter. Alice recounted the harsh trials, fierce rivals, and new friendships she'd forged along the way. Leonora listened attentively, nodding and smiling, pride swelling in her chest.
But then her expression shifted. "You haven't mentioned the tavern."
Alice's breath caught. "Zane's Tavern?"
She glanced away, cheeks flushing slightly. "There's not much to say. I've only been there twice."
Leonora raised an eyebrow. "Only twice? You spoke of him so highly on the phone. I assumed you two were close."
"N-no! We're not that close! We've only met once—or maybe twice, depending on how you count it."
Leonora let out a knowing laugh. "Sometimes, even a single meeting can stir the heart. You're young, Alice. It's natural."
Then, in a more playful tone, "To be honest, I visited the tavern myself. Zane is exactly the kind of man who leaves an impression. If I were twenty years younger…"
"Mom!"
"What? I'm just saying!"
Leonora winked, teasing. But Alice looked down, the faintest image of Zane flashing through her mind.
"…I don't have time for romance. I need to focus on my cooking," she said firmly, though her voice lacked conviction.
Leonora smiled softly. "Then let's get inspired. How about dinner at Zane's Tavern tonight?"
Alice hesitated—then nodded. "Sure. It's been a while."
A good bowl of ramen represents all the beauty in life.
This quote from director Juzo Itami echoed in Soma Yukihira's mind as he stood in the kitchen of the Polar Star Dorm, presenting his newest creation to senior Rindo Kobayashi and the reserved ramen master, Tosuke Megishima.
A wide bowl sat in front of them—thick black garlic tonkotsu dipping noodles, crowned with a hefty slice of charred chashu.
"Here it is! Yukihira-style Two-Bladed Tsukemen!"
Despite the bombastic name, Megishima remained composed. He inspected the golden-yellow noodles and the separate bowl of rich pork-bonito broth, flecked with black garlic oil.
He dipped the noodles into the soup and took a bite.
The contrast struck him immediately. The noodles retained their chewy texture, not softened by excessive heat. The chashu was firm yet tender, imbued with smoky depth. Sweet pork belly added a counterpoint, while bamboo shoots brought an invigorating edge. The black garlic oil tied everything together with its earthy, umami-laden punch.
"The broth is thick but well-balanced," Megishima murmured. "Not too salty or sweet. But it lacks… something intangible."
He tilted his head. "If we were comparing this to Lanzhou beef noodles from China, these tsukemen are far heavier in flavor."
He slurped again, then nodded.
"Still, this is impressive. You've grown since the training camp."
Soma grinned. "You really think so, senpai?"
Megishima gave him a rare smile. "Keep honing your edge."
Elsewhere, in the back kitchen of Zane's Tavern, Joichiro Yukihira was busy crafting a bowl of ramen that defied borders.
First, he sautéed shrimp shells until fragrant, adding homemade laksa paste and coconut milk. The vibrant aroma of Southeast Asia filled the air. Into the bubbling soup, he dropped fresh shrimp, rice noodles, tofu puffs, and herbs.
In the serving bowl, he laid down crisp bean sprouts. The steaming broth poured over them, gently cooking them with residual heat. He finished it off with soft-boiled eggs, fish cakes, and a sprinkle of fresh coriander.
"Laksa ramen," Joichiro announced, sliding the bowl across the counter.
Megishima leaned in, nose twitching at the complex fragrance—sweet, spicy, nutty, and floral all at once.
"There are 18 spices in the broth," Joichiro added casually. "Want to guess?"
"Eighteen?!"
Soma blinked in disbelief. "Old man, that's overkill! Won't it drown out the ingredients?"
Joichiro just smiled knowingly. "Try it."
Megishima did—and his eyes widened.
Despite the intensity of the broth, every element retained its identity. The bean sprouts were crisp. The shrimp tasted fresh and slightly sweet. The egg melted in his mouth. And the broth—though brimming with flavor—was gentle, soothing. Coconut milk carried and smoothed the spice, preventing it from becoming harsh.
"Tamarind, red chili, lemongrass… and something nutty I can't place. But nothing is overpowering."
Joichiro nodded. "Coconut milk binds the chaos into harmony."
"This is… Japanese ramen using Southeast Asian flavors and Chinese aromatics," Megishima said, astonished. "It transcends borders."
The winner was clear: Joichiro's ramen surpassed them all.
"Creative as always, old man," Megishima said, sighing in admiration.
Back at the Yukihira Diner, Joichiro patted his son's shoulder. "That makes 499 losses now, huh?"
Soma bristled. "No way! That was only 498!"
"Haha! I'm rounding up."
Their father-son battles continued as always, each loss shaping Soma's skills. He wasn't discouraged—he was driven. His ability to stand tall after hundreds of defeats was the secret to his strength.
No obstacle could keep him down for long.
"Eizan," Megishima said later that night, "there's a saying in China: 'There's always a higher mountain, a greater person.'"
"That's what Joichiro's ramen reminded me of."
"My skills are decent, but the world is vast. There's still so much more to learn."
He looked down at the remnants of the laksa ramen, the last sip of broth shimmering with richness.
"But even Joichiro admits it—the one who truly changed the game is the man behind Zane's Tavern."