Shun let his gaze rest on Terunori for a moment, then smiled lightly. "Terunori-senpai, if I'm not mistaken, barging over to your opponent's station during a shokugeki—and tasting their food without permission—is a violation, right?"
His voice wasn't loud, but plenty in the hall heard it.
Like a bucket of cold water, the words snapped Terunori out of his angered daze—and brought the crowd back to their senses as well.
Right—!
Shokugeki rules are strict; what Terunori just pulled was a serious breach.
All eyes swung to Rie on MC duty and to the judges.
Rie clearly hadn't faced a mess like this; her face went pale, her mic hand trembling.
She glanced at stony-faced Terunori, then at expressionless Shun—then looked pleadingly to the judges' table.
"Um… Terunori-senpai, that behavior just now…" Her voice was barely a mosquito's buzz.
A beat later, Senzaemon spoke—one rumble and the entire hall fell silent.
"Terunori, return to your station. Your conduct was a violation. Considering the cause and that you caused no material damage to your opponent's food, we will not pursue it this time. Repeat it, and you lose by default. Shun, your view?"
He even asked Shun directly.
If Shun wanted to press it, the rules allowed an outright decision.
But Senzaemon knew Shun wouldn't…
Without looking up, Shun answered, "It's fine. Let's just satisfy Terunori-senpai's curiosity. But I suggest you stop wasting thought on the wrong things and focus on your own dish, or the loss might be… harsh."
Terunori had a thousand questions and a furnace of anger, but he could only choke it down.
He shot Shun a venomous glare, ground his teeth, and stalked back to his station—furious, but forced calm.
The atmosphere tightened; tension braided with a thread of respect.
Stares toward Shun changed. The transfer student didn't just have a miraculous ingredient and terrifying knife work—he showed no interest in exploiting an Elite Ten's misstep.
That kind of poise wasn't common.
"An Elite Ten violating shokugeki rules… rare."
"But Shun didn't even press it. That's… magnanimous."
"Same recipe, different tofu, different chef… what's the taste going to be?"
"I'm getting curious. I really can't call the outcome now!"
"Same. I thought Terunori-senpai had it in the bag—now… not so sure."
The buzz shifted—from near-unanimous faith in Terunori's crush win to an eager uncertainty.
Polar Star's row clenched their fists, eyes locked on the floor.
At the judges' table, Erina's eyes glittered with complicated light.
What Shun just did made her reassess him again.
One could even say Grandfather had been lenient to Terunori—but Shun chose not to press it.
Erina also felt the intentional weight in Senzaemon's deep gaze.
At the ranges—
Terunori forced his breath steady.
He swore inwardly: he would throw everything at this and break his opponent.
If he won, no one would care about what happened.
Winners write the story.
His eyes hardened; he burned away every stray thought, pouring himself wholly into the final phase.
He no longer looked Shun's way; his lifetime of practice flowed into his wok.
In his hands, the spatula was a weapon; each toss swung like a last stand.
The flame roared; the spice perfume grew fierce and domineering, as if to set the Moon Banquet Hall ablaze.
His aura was that of a battlefield general—aggressive, lethal, one strike to finish.
Shun was the opposite—contained, still, unfathomable.
His movements were precise, fluent, light as breath.
No wasted sounds, no flamboyant flourishes. Each lift-and-fall carried a strange rhythm.
His focus braided with the ingredients, with the flame, even with the air around him.
It wasn't coldness—it was total control and quiet confidence, a muga—a selfless state—where all spirit is poured into the cooking.
Time slid by; both sides hit their endgame.
"Time is up—please present your dishes!" Rie's voice finally cut the taut hush.
Shun and Terunori finished on time, lidding their bowls to keep the goodness in.
By order of completion, Terunori presented first.
He personally set his Mirage Mapo Tofu before the three judges.
"Please—my special Jasper · Mirage Mapo Tofu."
His voice boomed with the pride and unquestionable force of an Elite Ten.
He believed in this dish.
You could say he poured his lifetime into it.
As the attendant "chrome dome" lifted the lid—an invisible shockwave seemed to roll out.
An aggressive ma-la bloom—like a volcano finally venting—erupted in an instant!
The force of it swept the judges' table and even the front rows.
The scent was concentrated, scalding, and overbearingly bold; the glossy red sauce trembled like lava in the bowl.
Snow-white Jasper Tofu and golden-crisp soy mince flickered within—sight and smell combining to strike like thunder.
This was Terunori's Mirage Mapo Tofu—color, aroma, and taste all honed to a razor's edge.
As expected from Tōtsuki's Sichuan specialist in the Elite Ten.
…
(End of Chapter)
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