The morning air at Tōtsuki bore the crispness of early autumn—cool, tinged with the scent of falling leaves and distant bonfires. It was the kind of weather that wrapped around you like a shawl, coaxing out introspection whether you wanted it or not.
For Riku Kaizen, the calm outside clashed starkly with the storm steadily building inside him.
After the previous day's test run, he should have felt elated, confident even. The dishes had landed. The team had functioned. And Erina had even smiled—genuinely. But something kept gnawing at the back of his mind. A sense of imbalance, subtle yet unmistakable, like a forgotten ingredient that should have been in the broth all along.
He stood alone in the training kitchen early that morning, long before Alice or Ryō would arrive. The lights above him hummed softly, casting gentle shadows across the marble counters and gleaming utensils. He wasn't here to experiment or refine a dish. He was here to listen—to the silence, to his thoughts, to the pulse of pressure tightening around his ribs.
He pulled out a fresh notebook, flipping past the neatly categorized tabs labeled "Flavor Pairings," "Technique," and "Profiles." His hand paused on a blank page before he wrote two words:
Preliminary Targets.
A sigh left his chest as he jotted down the names he could reasonably expect to face: Hisako Arato. Takumi Aldini. Akira Hayama. Megumi Tadokoro. And, of course, the elephant in the room—Sōma Yukihira.
His pen hovered over Sōma's name. The transfer student had been a wild variable from day one, crashing through traditions with unshakable confidence and reckless creativity. Riku respected him, even liked him, but he also understood something that many underestimated—beneath Sōma's cocky charm was someone built for pressure. Someone who thrived in the storm.
Just like himself.
"Plotting your enemies already?"
The familiar voice broke his focus. He didn't need to turn around to recognize Alice Nakiri, leaning against the doorframe with a mischievous smile and a steaming cup of tea in hand.
"I prefer the term 'strategic awareness,'" Riku replied dryly, closing the notebook.
Alice approached, setting her tea down before hopping up to sit on the counter like it was her personal throne. Her platinum hair was tied up in a lazy bun, and her lab coat flared slightly behind her like a cape.
"You know, you really should consider resting before we burn out," she said, swinging her legs idly "Ryō and I aren't exactly easy teammates."
"Neither are you predictable," he said, finally allowing a small smirk "But I think that's your greatest strength."
Alice studied him for a moment before speaking again, her tone more thoughtful this time.
"You're not just trying to win, are you? You're trying to prove something."
Riku's smile faded as he turned to face the window, watching the early sun crest over the trees.
"I don't know if I ever stopped proving things. To myself, mostly."
A beat of silence passed between them, heavy and telling. Then, to his surprise, Alice slid off the counter and lightly punched his shoulder.
"Just make sure you don't lose sight of the fun in all this. That's where true creativity hides."
He watched her leave the room, a strange warmth rising in his chest. It was difficult to admit, but Alice's words struck something in him.
He'd been so focused on control—on precision—that he was starting to lose the spark that had brought him to Tōtsuki in the first place.
Maybe he needed a reminder.
Later that afternoon, Erina called an impromptu gathering in the auditorium hall, where many of the Fall Elections candidates were seated in scattered clusters. Most were stunned to see the God Tongue standing at the podium rather than Dean Nakiri or one of the professors.
Erina's presence commanded attention without effort. Dressed in her academy blazer, arms folded behind her back, she exuded an authority few dared challenge.
"The Fall Elections will commence in two weeks," she announced "Until then, we will be holding a series of internal exhibitions. Not official shokugekis—but close enough to simulate the tournament environment. Anyone can issue a challenge. The top eight scorers will be seeded accordingly."
Murmurs erupted across the room. This was unexpected, especially so close to the actual event.
Erina continued, her gaze sharp "You want to be champions? Then act like it. Show us what you're capable of when the heat rises."
As the room buzzed with rising anticipation, Riku's eyes met Erina's. She gave no visible reaction, but he could read the message between her words.
She wanted blood on the kitchen floor. She wanted fire before the storm.
He was ready.
The next day, the pairings were posted. Riku scanned the board until he found his name.
Riku Kaizen vs Takumi Aldini.
Perfect.
If there was one opponent who matched Riku in precision, in methodical intensity, it was the proud Italian. Takumi's dishes were rooted in legacy and family tradition, but his modern flair gave him an edge that few in their class could deny.
Alice peered over his shoulder and whistled softly. "That's going to be a beautiful match. Hope neither of you hold back."
"I don't plan to," Riku muttered.
"You never do," came another voice—one he hadn't heard in days.
He turned.
Erina stood behind him, her arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"I hope you're not taking this lightly," she said.
Riku shook his head "I've been waiting for a true test."
Erina studied him for a long moment before speaking again, her voice softer this time.
"Takumi is skilled. But you have something he doesn't."
"What's that?"
"A reason that goes deeper than pride."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
As she walked away, the weight of her words lingered in the air, leaving Riku standing still, caught between adrenaline and something dangerously close to anticipation.
The exhibition match was scheduled for the evening, under the high floodlights of the campus rooftop culinary arena. A crowd had gathered—students, alumni, even a few teachers, curious to see two of Tōtsuki's brightest clash before the real battle began.
Riku stood at his station, hands gloved, ingredients arrayed with surgical precision. Across from him, Takumi Aldini adjusted his white chef's jacket and held his mezzaluna blade like a holy relic.
Erina stepped forward as judge, flanked by Hisako and Dojima.
"You may begin," she announced.
The bell rang.
And the kitchen exploded into motion.
Riku moved like a conductor, orchestrating flavors with precision and purpose. He had chosen to prepare a dish rooted in Japanese kaiseki philosophy—light, seasonal, and deeply emotional. His key ingredient: yuba—delicate tofu skin, transformed into layered textures.
Takumi countered with an Italian classic—ravioli, but elevated with squid ink, pecorino foam, and saffron oil. Each fold of his pasta was done with care bordering on reverence.
The tension was palpable. Neither looked at the other. There was no banter, no taunts, just unwavering focus.
Minutes bled into each other, the scents of citrus zest, seared tofu, charred eggplant, and sage butter wafting through the air.
And then, just as the timer began its final countdown, both raised their hands.
"Done."
Erina's judgment was swift, decisive, and merciless.
She tasted Takumi's first. Her eyes fluttered at the richness of the squid ink against the sharp pecorino, the saffron threading a golden harmony through it all.
Then she tried Riku's.
A single bite. A pause.
Then another bite—longer this time.
When she looked up, her expression was calm, almost serene.
"Both were exceptional," she said "But one told a story."
She turned to Riku.
"You win."
Takumi took the loss with grace, shaking Riku's hand without resentment.
As the crowd applauded, Riku stood there, feeling the tightness in his chest finally begin to loosen. He didn't need validation—but it was satisfying to know that all the sleepless hours, the endless calculations, the suppressed doubts—had led to this.
As he stepped away from the station, Erina intercepted him.
"You're ready," she said.
Riku met her gaze, and for once, he didn't feel the need to respond.
He simply nodded.