"Sensei, how about you have some too?"
Yukima Azuma's voice cut through the low hum of the kitchen, light but steady.
The middle-aged cooking instructor blinked, momentarily surprised.
She had been staring—unintentionally, but intensely. The skill, the aroma, the seamlessness of Azuma's cooking had drawn her in before she realized it.
When he noticed, he'd offered a portion of the dish.
So polite. So natural. Even now, he still treats me with respect.
"Ah… no need," she said, flustered, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm just observing."
She turned away, trying to mask her embarrassment. But inside, her thoughts swirled.
That boy… Yukima Azuma…
At the start of the semester, his culinary talent had been promising—not quite professional, but certainly refined.
And now?
He's surpassed me.
Her chest tightened.
This was not mere admiration.
This was the pang of envy.
She had once been considered a prodigy herself. Hailed as a genius chef, she'd served at high-level diplomatic banquets. She had earned certifications most professionals only dreamed of. Yet eventually, she hit a wall.
That plateau that many chefs encounter but few overcome.
And this teenager—this boy who should still be worrying about exams and hormones—had not only caught up, but passed her by.
And he's still getting stronger…
She gazed upward toward the ceiling, her mind adrift.
Ten more years. Give him ten more years… and he'll be untouchable.
By then, she'd be looking up at him from the distance. A once-great chef watching the next generation ascend far beyond her reach.
How old would he even be then? Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?
She exhaled slowly.
Truly… people cannot be measured equally.
—
Meanwhile, Yukima Azuma, now plating the final items, was completely unaware of the inner turmoil he had caused.
If he knew, he'd probably just chuckle awkwardly and scratch his head.
After all, he didn't consider himself particularly "talented."
[System Notification: Your Cooking Skill has reached the maximum level.]
[Cooking (Lv7) → Cooking (Lv8)]
No shortcut. No cheat.
Just grind.
Hard work, repetition, discipline—grind was eternal.
( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ
"It's done. Come and eat."
He waved over his loyal companions: the two salted fish.
Eriri, who had been fidgeting impatiently for the last ten minutes, sprang up like a coiled spring.
"Finallyyyyyy~!"
She yanked a chair toward the table and practically bounced in her seat.
٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
Alya, too, was drawn in by the unmistakable aroma of the oden and tempura. Her normally stoic demeanor cracked as her stomach growled softly.
(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭
"…Itadakimasu," Eriri chirped, wasting no time.
She picked up a thick slice of daikon from the oden and took a bite—
And immediately, her eyes fluttered shut.
Her whole expression melted into bliss.
(∩˃o˂∩)♡
"So good!! It's so freaking good!!"
Alya, always skeptical of Eriri's theatrics, narrowed her eyes.
Come on. It can't be that good.
She reached for a golden shrimp tempura.
Crisp outside. Juicy inside. The moment her teeth sank into it, the crackle gave way to rich umami, a kiss of shiso, and a subtle backnote of sesame oil.
Her pupils dilated.
Her lips parted, involuntarily curling into a smile.
Her gloved hand rose to her cheek.
"Ara, ara~…"
It slipped out without warning.
( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩)
The cold, aloof Russian transfer student was gone.
In her place was a maiden who had tasted heaven.
"Это невозможно вкусно!" (It's impossibly delicious!)
"Я влюблена! Как он вообще человек?!" (I'm in love! Is he even human?!)
The words tumbled out in rapid Russian—thankfully.
Because if anyone in the classroom understood her, her pristine, untouchable image might have crumbled on the spot.
The Next Morning
Yukima Azuma arrived at the school gate only to turn right back around.
Leave request: Approved.
Kirisu Mafuyu had raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
"He's transferring to Shuchiin in two days and still asking for time off…"
Still, she knew the kind of things Azuma handled.
Instead, she swung by the admin office and quietly picked up the Shuchiin uniform package on his behalf.
Meanwhile, Azuma headed straight to a place most students would never imagine:
Laplace Corporation Headquarters.
The company's smart furniture line had recently launched.
Praise was abundant—but orders?
Not yet overwhelming.
Furniture wasn't something people replaced often. No matter how futuristic or intelligent the design, public behavior would take time to shift.
Still, the smart washing machines were flying off shelves.
And the buzz was building.
Laplace's brand had potential. But it needed more than features and specs.
It needed credibility. Prestige. Visibility.
It needed strategic allies.
And that's why Azuma had taken the day off.
"Good morning, Hinatsuru-san."
Hinatsuru Akina, dressed in a crimson kimono with a business-cut overcoat, smiled at him—a rare warmth flickering in her otherwise composed gaze.
Even women who rarely smile will bloom… if the person standing before them is worthy.
"Thank you for coming," she replied. "Ai-chan keeps saying she misses her shishou."
Azuma's face twitched.
Still calling me that, huh…
After the summer vacation, Hinatsuru Ai had been called home.
She was, after all, still an elementary schooler.
But the memory of that apprenticeship ceremony…
Azuma shuddered slightly.
The red kimono embroidered in gold thread. The incense. The chant.
That was not a ceremony. That was a horror movie.
༼;´༎ຶ ༎ຶ༽
Coughing to shift the mood, Azuma gestured.
"Let's get to the main matter."
Hinatsuru Akina's expression turned serious. She retrieved a sleek folder and handed it over.
"Please review this."
Inside: detailed ledgers of Hinatsuru Ryokan's national and international network.
Properties. Guest metrics. Brand projections.
Azuma's eyebrows rose as he read.
…This exceeds even my best-case estimates.
Japan's tourism was in a slump—yet Hinatsuru Ryokans were packed.
They weren't thriving because of external trends.
They were thriving because they were Hinatsuru.
Akina smiled slightly at his reaction.
"So… what do you think?"
Azuma didn't offer any empty flattery.
"It's impressive. Truly."
She leaned in.
"Laplace Corporation specializes in intelligent furniture. Would you consider a collaboration?"
Azuma nodded.
Of course I've considered it. A high-end ryokan like Hinatsuru showcasing our furniture would be priceless advertising.
But he answered truthfully.
"Laplace's current scale isn't enough to warrant an equal partnership."
"I intended to approach you after the next expansion cycle—when we can stand shoulder to shoulder."
"Until then, I didn't want to ask for favors or mix business with Ai-chan's mentorship."
Akina paused, once again struck by this young man's maturity.
He's still a teenager. And yet…
How many adults would've rushed to leverage connections? How many CEOs started their business with such restraint?
But instead of continuing the chess game—
She moved her piece straight to checkmate.
"President Yukima," she said formally now, "I would like to purchase Laplace furniture for all Hinatsuru Ryokan branches. Name your price."
Silence.
Then, Azuma reached for the office phone.
"Yukino, bring the Type-A contract."
A moment later—
Yukinoshita Yukino stepped into the room with a leather folder.
Azuma stood.
"This is Laplace Corporation's Japan Branch Director, Yukinoshita Yukino."
The two women exchanged greetings.
Yukino handed the contract over.
Hinatsuru Akina began reading—expression growing increasingly impressed.
Not just a simple bulk sale.
This was a smart hybrid deal:
The Hinatsuru family would receive a tailored batch of Laplace furniture for their ryokan rooms.
In exchange, they would receive a limited shareholding in Laplace Corporation.
After a long moment, Akina signed—without hesitation.
She set the pen down, then looked up, smiling faintly.
He anticipated all of this.
From the moment I said I wanted to visit… he knew what I was coming for.
And he already had the contract prepared.
This wasn't just talent.
This was foresight. Strategy. Composure.
No wonder my daughter idolizes him.
And now, Hinatsuru Ryokan had formally boarded the Laplace ship.
Few knew just how selective the company had been with shares.
Only three external parties held Laplace stock besides Azuma himself:
Hayasaka Nao, from an early promise.
Eriri, through the Sawamura family's investment.
And now, Hinatsuru Akina.
Their presence meant more than just numbers.
They were Laplace's foundational triangle.
And as she slid the contract back, Akina offered one more move.
"President Yukima, have you ever had dealings with the person in charge of Hyakubami Daily?"
Azuma paused, surprised.
Now that's a name I wasn't expecting.