The cafeteria was unusually quiet that evening, the once-bustling tables now populated by only a handful of students who lingered after the day's intense culinary exhibitions. Most had retreated to their dorms, either to recover from their matches or to reflect on the explosive talent they'd witnessed from their peers.
Riku Kaizen sat in a corner booth, nursing a warm cup of barley tea while leafing through his tasting notes from the day's match. Across from him sat Ryō Kurokiba, uncharacteristically silent, arms folded and eyes narrowed at the spiral-bound pages like they had personally insulted him.
"You're not even going to gloat?" Ryō finally muttered, his voice low and gruff "You just beat one of the most disciplined chefs in our year, and now you're scribbling like a student in detention."
Riku looked up, brow raised "Takumi's not the final opponent. He's a milestone. A very skilled one, but I'm not here to celebrate every time I cross one off the list."
Ryō scoffed but didn't argue "Still, that yuba layering technique? Impressive. Not many could have pulled that off under time pressure."
Riku's fingers paused mid-turn. Coming from Ryō—someone known for his ruthless honesty—that meant something.
"Thanks," he said simply, tucking the notebook back into his bag "But you didn't come here just to compliment me."
"You're right," Ryō replied, straightening up "I came because Alice told me she wants to test something tomorrow. And we'll need your input."
Riku's eyes narrowed slightly "Another molecular experiment?"
"No. This time it's about tempo," Ryō said, an odd glint in his eye "Pacing in a multi-course meal. She wants to test whether syncing the transitions between plates to specific flavor intervals will alter perception of time."
Riku blinked "That's… oddly poetic for Alice."
"She got the idea while watching a musical," Ryō added with a resigned shrug "Said she wants to 'conduct taste like a symphony.'"
Riku chuckled despite himself "She's either brilliant or insane."
"Both," Ryō grunted "But we're on this train, so we might as well see where it goes."
The next morning found them back in the Nakiri mansion's experimental kitchen, a cathedral of polished steel and spotless white tile that gleamed under the overhead lights. Alice, radiant and energized, stood before a long table already lined with test plates, beakers of infused oils, and a digital metronome ticking steadily beside her.
Erina was there too, arms crossed as she leaned against the far counter, watching silently as Alice explained her theory.
"The human brain responds to rhythm," Alice began, pointing to a graph projected behind her. "If music can enhance emotional depth in a film, why can't tempo enhance a tasting menu? Each course will be served in a specific interval—no sooner, no later—synchronized to a sensory 'tempo' calibrated to taste, aroma, and visual presentation."
Riku glanced at Ryō, who looked like he was resisting the urge to nap standing up. Then he turned to Erina, whose brow had risen only slightly, but enough to show interest.
"This is bold," Riku admitted "But if it works…"
"It could change the very cadence of fine dining," Alice said, almost giddy.
Riku stepped forward, tying his apron "Then let's test the symphony."
What followed was unlike any cooking session Riku had ever experienced. Alice treated the kitchen like an orchestra pit, barking out cues with the urgency of a conductor. Ingredients moved to the rhythm of the metronome—precise dicing in sixteenth-note pace, searing synchronized with auditory ticks, emulsions whisked in perfect crescendos.
The courses were designed with mathematical balance. First came a ginger-laced consommé to awaken the palate, followed by a micro-salad of candied beets and goat cheese foam timed to a slower beat, then a palette-cleansing granita, and finally a main course of saffron-scented scallops over a black rice risotto that echoed the initial flavor motifs with haunting familiarity.
When Erina tasted the final dish, she paused longer than expected.
"There's something… oddly hypnotic about it," she said, placing her fork down. "It almost felt like time slowed."
Riku turned to Alice, who beamed "Told you. Temporal gastronomy. We're coining that."
Ryō mumbled something about patenting it before Erina's sharp gaze cut him off.
"But," she said, tone shifting to analytical, "not every diner will respond the same way. Some might find it too controlling. There's a fine line between orchestration and intrusion."
Alice didn't seem discouraged "We'll calibrate it. That's the beauty of data."
Riku nodded thoughtfully "But she's right. We need to build flexibility into the tempo. Taste, like music, still needs improvisation."
Erina's gaze lingered on Riku longer than usual before she finally spoke again.
"And you? What's your tempo?"
Riku hesitated, caught off-guard "My tempo?"
"Yes," she said, stepping closer "If a dish reflects the chef's soul… then what rhythm does yours beat to?"
He looked down at the scattered plates. For a moment, he was transported back—back to late nights spent alone at a secondhand stove, experimenting with scraps. No rhythm but his own heartbeat, no audience but silence.
"Slow," he said finally "Deliberate. But steady. The kind of beat that never stops."
Erina's eyes softened, but she said nothing more.
Later that night, as he walked back to the Polar Star dormitory, Riku found himself wondering if he'd been too honest. Vulnerability wasn't something he wore easily. But with Erina, it never felt like weakness. Just… clarity.
When he reached the gates, someone was waiting for him.
Sōma Yukihira.
The ever-confident redhead leaned against the railing, arms casually crossed. His eyes held the same mix of mischief and steel they always had.
"You've been making waves, Kaizen."
Riku stopped a few steps away "Wasn't trying to."
"Doesn't matter," Sōma said, pushing off the railing "Everyone's watching you now. Even her."
There was no need to ask who "her" was.
Sōma stepped forward, grin widening "Let's have a match. Not for the exhibition. Just… you and me. Tomorrow. One dish. No judges. Just taste."
Riku tilted his head "Why?"
"Because I want to see how your tempo matches mine."
Riku considered it for a long moment. Then he extended his hand.
"Deal."
As their hands met, the night air crackled with silent understanding.
The seeds of rivalry had been planted.
And the Fall Elections had just become personal.