The scent of seared monkfish still clung to Riku Kaizen's clothes the following morning as he made his way through the pristine white halls of Tōtsuki's team practice arena. Yesterday had been a productive chaos—one that somehow molded three vastly different culinary philosophies into a singular, compelling thread. Today, however, was about stress-testing their synergy under timed pressure.
It wasn't enough to have great dishes on paper.
They needed rhythm.
Ryō was already at his station, sleeves rolled up, a new knife glinting in his hand like a battle-tested weapon. Alice arrived moments later, fresh from her lab, carrying several mysterious vacuum-sealed pouches filled with opaque gels and labeled only with cryptic symbols.
The three stood in silence, a triangle of tension radiating from them. Riku tapped the digital timer on the side of the practice kitchen. The countdown began—90 minutes.
No fanfare. No words. Just movement.
Riku began by slicing blood oranges and candying the peels over a low flame, layering citrus notes that would later accentuate the depth of his chocolate terrine. His hands moved with purpose, precise and efficient. He didn't need to see what Ryō or Alice were doing—he could feel them in motion, like threads on the same loom.
Alice activated her centrifuge and started working on her molecular sphere creations—beetroot reduction with liquid smoke, suspended inside translucent flavor bubbles that burst upon contact with heat. She murmured calculations under her breath, monitoring pH balances and molecular weights, the tip of her tongue peeking out in concentration.
Ryō was a force of nature. With powerful, deliberate strokes, he butchered the fresh sea bream with no hesitation, moving into preparation of a sake-lemon marinated filet. His kitchen style didn't require finesse—it relied on confidence and instinct honed through countless repetitions.
Their prep times collided at exactly the 30-minute mark. Without needing instruction, they rotated stations for shared equipment—the blast freezer, the smoke gun, the steam oven. Not once did they bump elbows. Not once did they break flow.
They had found rhythm.
But it wasn't perfect.
At minute 74, Alice's liquid smoke spheres collapsed during plating, failing to hold their form under the kitchen's ambient heat.
"Damn," she muttered, pulling her hair back "Too thin on the alginate layer."
Riku, hands dusted with cocoa powder, didn't even glance up "Adjust the calcium chloride ratio to increase the membrane density. You've got six minutes."
She blinked "Since when did you get into molecular gastronomy?"
"I read fast," he said simply.
Alice chuckled under her breath and got back to work. She trusted him now—enough to know he wasn't bluffing.
Ryō didn't speak once, but his eyes tracked everything. He was calculating time like a hawk tracks prey, every motion built for maximal output. As he finished his plating—a sea bream sashimi torch-seared at the last moment—he looked to Riku for a split second, and the nod exchanged between them spoke louder than any approval.
Time ticked down.
00:01:32…
Riku placed the final edible gold leaf atop his dessert. The rich terrine shimmered under the ambient light, dark and luxurious with delicate veins of orange glaze.
00:00:03… 2… 1… Beep.
They stepped back.
Three dishes. Three different visions. One meal.
Alice looked at their presentation, a satisfied grin growing on her face "We just pulled off a miracle."
"No," Riku replied, wiping his hands "We just did what we're supposed to do."
Ryō folded his arms "Let's see what Erina says."
It wasn't a formal judging, but Erina Nakiri's word still carried the weight of law within the halls of Tōtsuki. When she arrived ten minutes later, dressed in a crisp blazer and skirt combo, clipboard in hand, the air shifted immediately. Silence fell over the kitchen.
Riku watched her with a steady gaze as she approached the three dishes laid before her.
Alice opened with a flourish, presenting her smoked beet spheres with citrus foam and sorrel dust "It's playful, explosive, and perfectly encapsulates the drama of opening a meal," she explained.
Erina took a single bite. The pop of the sphere, the rush of smoky sweetness followed by the acidic finish—her expression didn't give away much, but she scribbled a few notes on her clipboard.
Next was Ryō's. A more traditional plate but with his unmistakable intensity: torch-seared sea bream on kombu, with a black garlic and yuzu reduction. It hit the palate like a war drum—feral yet refined.
Erina paused longer after this one, clearing her throat "Strong. Perhaps… too strong for a second dish, but the flavors are layered."
Lastly, Riku stepped forward. "Dark chocolate terrine with ginger sable, orange zest glaze, and a smoked caramel drizzle. Sweetness anchored in bitterness."
She took a forkful and closed her eyes as she chewed, letting the layers melt one by one. When she opened her eyes again, there was a flicker of something softer in her expression.
"Excellent finish," she said, scribbling quickly "It ties the entire sequence together."
Alice beamed. Ryō gave a grunt of approval. Riku simply stood, calm and centered.
Erina stepped back and addressed them all.
"Individually, each dish would qualify as semifinal-level material. As a trio… you're not flawless, but the synergy is undeniable. The only thing that remains to be tested is consistency under pressure."
Alice nodded thoughtfully "Guess that's what the preliminaries are for."
Erina's eyes settled on Riku for a beat longer. She didn't speak, but her message was clear.
Don't slip. Not even once.
Later that evening, as Riku walked the path back to the Polar Star dormitory, he found himself accompanied by silence—a rare moment of peace after days of constant culinary warfare. The night breeze brushed against his skin, and the moonlight pooled like silver milk across the cobblestone path.
He glanced up and spotted a familiar figure seated on the stone steps of the main dorm. Erina.
She looked up from her notebook "You work them hard."
"I don't believe in luck," Riku replied, joining her on the step "Only preparation."
She tapped the cover of her notes "You're becoming more like my grandfather every day."
"That's not necessarily a compliment."
She smiled—small, barely there, but enough to soften her features "You're leading them better than I expected."
"I'm not trying to lead," he said "I just want to win. They chose to follow on their own."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the wind sway the trees in the courtyard. The stars glittered, far and unreachable, but somehow comforting.
Erina's voice broke the quiet "After the elections… what then?"
Riku glanced sideways at her "I'm not thinking that far ahead, Not yet."
She nodded, eyes distant "Good, Because the next phase… is going to be brutal."
He didn't ask what she meant.
He just stood, offered her a quiet nod, and made his way inside, the words still echoing in his mind.
Brutal.
That was fine.
He had been forged in fire.