Tōtsuki Resort – Main Banquet Hall
May 29, 2021 – Saturday – 3:00 P.M.
Third Person POV
The main banquet hall buzzed with anticipation as the Shokugeki between Nagae Riku and Akanegakubo Momo entered its opening stages. The clash was already unusual—one side represented precision and elegance, the other, creativity and unpredictability.
Riku and Momo had just begun their early preparations, calmly gathering ingredients from the pantry. The sound of clinking bowls and rustling bags echoed faintly in the large, sunlit hall. Spectators leaned forward with curiosity, wondering what form this culinary duel would take.
At the spectator's table, Erina and Alice had already returned to their seats. Despite their composed expressions, both seemed intrigued—and slightly unsettled—by Riku's approach so far.
"Animal bread..." Erina murmured, resting her chin on her hand. "This will test their creative skills to the limit."
Alice smirked. "Not just the design, Erina. It's got to charm women and kids, and taste incredible. Knowing Momo-senpai, she'll go for something cute and soft—something that looks straight out of a fairy tale."
Erina nodded, still thoughtful. "Agreed. But I wonder..." her eyes flicked toward the pantry doors, "what my brother intends to make."
Minutes later, the two chefs returned from the pantry, baskets in hand. The crowd's murmur rose the moment Riku placed his basket on the counter—its contents were almost entirely green.
"That's... a lot of vegetables," one student whispered.
"Do vegetables even go with bread?" another asked, puzzled.
"What kind of animal is he planning to make with that?" a third chimed in.
Momo glanced at Riku's ingredients, her usual doll-like expression unchanging. She didn't flinch or frown—just turned back to her workstation and began preparing her dough in silence. The aura around her was one of meticulous control, every motion fluid and measured.
The room fell quiet as the rhythmic sound of kneading and mixing filled the air. Soon, Momo began braiding her dough—her fingers moved with such speed and precision that it almost resembled choreography.
"Incredible..." Megumi breathed. "She's using a five-strand braid method."
Erina shook her head faintly. "Not quite, Tadokoro-san. Look again."
Megumi blinked and leaned forward, squinting. "What do you mean, Nakiri-san?"
"Count the strands," Erina said quietly.
Megumi's eyes widened. "Wait—there's no way... is that—"
"Twenty strands," Ryoko gasped beside her. "At least twenty!"
Alice grinned, recognizing the pattern. "If I had to guess... she's making a dragon."
Her words rippled through the crowd like a spark through dry grass. A dragon—crafted from bread. The idea was so extravagant that several students audibly gasped.
"A dragon?" someone repeated. "From bread?"
They had expected Momo to craft something adorable and refined—a rabbit, a cat, maybe even a swan. But a dragon? That was far bolder than anyone anticipated.
Takumi crossed his arms. "That's Akanegakubo-senpai for you... elegant yet daring."
His brother Isami glanced toward Riku's station. "But if you look at Nagae-san's side... it's like a forest over there."
Sōma leaned forward, intrigued. "Yeah, all his stuff's green. My guess? He's going for a green bread."
Megumi tilted her head. "Green bread? You mean it'll be green on the inside, Sōma-kun?"
Before Sōma could answer, a cheerful voice called from behind. "Nope! It'll be green on the outside too!"
The students turned toward the familiar voice—Kokoro stood near the front, waving casually, with Rinko and several of Riku's childhood friends at her side.
"Kokoro-nee!" Erina blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Kokoro smiled. "We came with onii-chan! He asked if we could watch from here, and the staff said it was fine."
Chisato raised her hand politely. "Dōjima-san also said we'd have a better view here instead of watching from the back."
Alice nodded, amused. "Makes sense. But I have a question—there's no real way to make bread stay green on the outside, right?"
"Agreed," Erina said. "The crust naturally browns during baking. A steamed bun might stay light-colored, but even then—green on the exterior seems impossible." She turned back to Kokoro. "Why did you suggest it would be green, Kokoro-nee?"
Kokoro clasped her hands behind her back, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "Because we saw onii-chan do it last night!"
The students exchanged bewildered glances.
Sōma's grin widened. "Say... did Riku use glucose syrup by any chance?"
Kokoro nodded immediately. "Yup! That was one of his ingredients."
That was all Sōma needed to hear. He leaned back, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
Megumi frowned. "Sōma-kun, you know something?"
"I do," he said simply, the grin not leaving his face. "But I'm not telling you what."
Takumi groaned. "Oh, come on, Yukihira! Don't leave us hanging!"
Rinko chuckled softly. "He's keeping quiet because it'll ruin the surprise."
Kaoru smiled knowingly. "Exactly. Best to wait and see what comes next."
The attention returned to the stage. Both Riku and Momo had entered the critical stage of shaping and assembly. Momo's workstation resembled an artist's atelier—rows of perfectly formed dough pieces lined in symmetry, all coming together into the serpentine outline of a dragon. Each scale-like segment gleamed slightly from the egg wash she brushed on.
Meanwhile, Riku moved in a quiet, focused rhythm. His hands, steady and deliberate, worked the green dough with an ease that belied the complexity behind it. The scent of herbs and sweet vegetables began to fill the hall, mingling with the aroma of flour and yeast.
Students leaned forward again, murmuring to one another.
"What's he using? Spinach? Matcha?"
"Maybe herbs... basil or parsley?"
"No, wait—that shine... is that glaze?"
No one could quite pin it down.
Erina watched intently. "He's layering something over the dough before baking..."
Alice glanced at her, equally curious. "Could it be some kind of syrup coating?"
Erina didn't answer—she was too busy analyzing every movement.
Riku finally placed his prepared dough on the baking tray. The green exterior looked smooth and glossy under the kitchen lights, almost jade-like. Whatever he was attempting, it wasn't a simple steamed bun or vegetable loaf.
Momo and Riku slid their creations into their respective ovens almost in unison. The doors closed with a dull metallic click, signaling a temporary ceasefire.
Now came the waiting game.
----------
The tension inside the banquet hall had settled into something electric. Every breath, every whisper carried weight. Even Ryoko, normally the picture of calm, could hardly keep still.
"This is so intense..." she muttered under her breath. "I never thought a bake-off could get this serious."
Rinko nodded slightly, her gaze fixed on Riku. "With Riku's career on the line, there's no room for error. Every move counts."
"Um..." Yuki glanced sideways at the composed woman beside her. "Who are you, exactly?"
Rinko blinked, then smiled gently. "Ah, yes. I'm Shirokane Rinko. Riku's childhood friend—and like him, I'm a musician. A pianist, to be exact."
The moment she finished, Yuki suddenly jumped to her feet, pointing at her with wide eyes. "Wait—you're the one who hugged Iku from behind in Stockholm!"
The color drained from Rinko's face, only to be replaced by a vivid blush that spread all the way to her ears. She looked away immediately, flustered. "P-Please don't remind me of that..."
Chisato, seated beside them, gave Yuki a light pat on the shoulder. "Yuki-chan, maybe don't tease Rinko-chan like that. She doesn't handle it very well."
Yuki winced. "Ah—sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you."
Rinko exhaled, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "It's fine. None taken."
Before anyone could continue, the main doors of the banquet hall opened with a soft creak. The crowd turned their heads as a group entered—five men and two girls. The younger of the two had pink hair and wore a blue dress with white frills, while the other, taller one, had red hair tied neatly behind her back and wore a black dress with emerald-green trimmings.
Chisato's eyes widened. "Johan-san? And... Satori-san?"
Students began whispering amongst themselves.
"Who are they?"
"Who's the little girl?"
The pink-haired child spotted Rinko and the others immediately and broke into a bright smile. She tugged gently at the red-haired girl's hand before hurrying over.
Satori approached at a calm pace, her eyes glinting faintly under the hall lights. "So, you're here too."
Rinko stood to greet her. "Satori-san, what brings you here?"
"I had some business nearby," Satori replied smoothly. "And I brought Orin along for good measure."
The pink-haired girl waved enthusiastically. "Good to see you again, nya~!"
Megumi blinked in confusion. "Um... who are they again?"
Ran, seated a few rows down, turned slightly. "That's Komeiji Satori, matriarch of the Komeiji Family—one of the Celestial Families. The girl behind her is Kaenbyou Rin, her personal attendant."
Sōma raised an eyebrow. "Then who are the five guys who came in with them?"
Chisato smiled knowingly. "Those are Riku's bandmates—his group, OG."
Her words hit the crowd like a shockwave. Dozens of heads turned instantly toward the men now standing near the back of the hall.
"Wait—OG? As in the OG?" Yuki's voice cracked slightly. "I can't believe it... they're right here!"
Sōma whistled. "So that's Riku's band, huh? No wonder the guy carries himself like that."
Rinko stepped closer to Johan, the band's bassist and Riku's right-hand man. "Johan-san, why are you all here?"
Johan scratched his head. "Miss Satori insisted we follow her. Practice ended early anyway, so we had the time. Figured we'd see what kind of trouble Riku got himself into this time."
Chisato quickly filled them in on the Shokugeki's circumstances and the stakes involved. Johan listened quietly, his expression growing more serious as she spoke.
When she finished, he exhaled. "I see... Well, if Riku accepted the challenge, then he knows what he's doing." He looked toward the front of the hall, where Riku stood, completely focused on his oven. "He doesn't take fights he can't win—or learn from."
Then Johan cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted across the hall. "RIKU! YOU GOT THIS! STOP THINKING ABOUT WINNING AND JUST FOCUS ON WHAT'S IN FRONT OF YOU!"
Heads turned at the outburst, but Riku only smirked faintly, lifting one hand to give a thumbs-up before returning his attention to the oven.
Momo glanced at him, intrigued. "You seem to trust them that much."
Riku's tone softened. "I do. They're my brothers, after all. When the world thought I was done, they were the only ones who stood by me. My first year as a pro was rough—critics, pressure, constant travel—but those guys... they kept me grounded. They're the reason I didn't burn out completely."
Momo paused mid-motion. His voice carried a quiet honesty that she didn't expect.
She tilted her head. "Then... why did you reject the Director's offer? You could've had both—a stable career and recognition."
Riku shook his head lightly. "Because I love music more than anything else. Baking's just... my escape."
"Escape?"
He gave a small, wry smile. "The music world looks glamorous, but it's brutal. Constant tours, endless flights, no sleep, and thousands of eyes watching every note you play. Being the vocalist last year nearly broke me. I started baking just to breathe again—to remind myself of simple joy. When my bandmates try what I make, and I see them smile... that's enough. That's why I do it."
Momo blinked, caught off guard. For someone as young as Riku, those words carried the weight of years.
A quiet respect took root within her.
Minutes passed. The smell of caramelized sugar and yeast filled the air as Momo, at last, opened her oven. Without hesitation, she ripped the paws off her stuffed animal mitts—earning a few startled looks from the crowd—and carefully pulled out the tray.
Riku watched her calmly. Pretty handy... poor cat, though.
When Momo set the tray down, a soft orange glow radiated from it. As it dimmed, gasps filled the room.
Lying atop the silver tray was a magnificent bread sculpture—an elongated dragon, its scales gleaming as if they were encrusted with gemstones.
Takumi's jaw dropped. "That's... incredible! A perfect dragon!"
Alice leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with analytical excitement. "The shine—it's from marmalade! She's using it to enhance the gleam of the scales. Genius..."
Erina was silent for a long moment before speaking, her voice almost reverent. "This... this is art in its purest form. Bread, sculpted to transcend its own nature. I've never seen anything like it."
Megumi swallowed hard. "How will Nagae-kun even beat that...?"
A quiet voice cut through the murmurs. "Look at him," Satori said simply. "Does that look like the face of someone who's ready to give up?"
Everyone followed her gaze. Riku stood motionless before his oven, eyes steady, posture relaxed—but his expression burned with quiet determination.
Sanzaemon, who had been watching in silence, finally broke into a grin. "Magnificent," he said. "In terms of design, Akanegakubo's bread is flawless—full marks across the board." His eyes then turned toward Riku. "Now then, Nagae-kun... let's see what you've created."
Sōma leaned forward, arms crossed. "Momo-senpai already finished hers. What's taking him so long?"
"Not yet..." Riku muttered, eyes never leaving the oven window. "Just a bit more..."
The minutes ticked by. The audience's anticipation grew unbearable. Then Sanzaemon's brows furrowed slightly.
"He's pushing the baking time deliberately...?" he thought. "Riku... if you're doing what I think you're doing, this is a dangerous gamble..."
Another minute passed. Then Riku's hand moved.
He reached for the oven handle and pulled it open.
A rush of steam and warmth filled the hall, followed by a soft, luminous glow. The crowd instinctively leaned forward, holding their breath.
When the light faded, silence fell.
On the tray before Riku sat a small, round bread shaped like a turtle—its body a gentle shade of green, stubby legs tucked neatly beneath it. Its shell gleamed under the lights, lined with a faint golden hue that outlined each segment in perfect symmetry. Its tiny, black eyes gave it an almost lifelike charm.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Erina's hand flew to her mouth. "What in the world...?"
Alice stared, speechless. "How is that even possible?"
Megumi's eyes sparkled in awe. "It's like..."
"...magic," Sōma finished quietly.
Then Sanzaemon burst out laughing—deep, genuine, and full of pride.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! As expected from you, Riku! You never fail to surprise me!"
He strode closer, inspecting the bread from different angles, his laughter echoing off the walls. The entire hall watched in stunned silence as the elder Nakiri marveled over the creation.
"This... this is remarkable!" Sanzaemon declared. "In all my years, I've never seen such a thing!"
Riku merely smiled, bowing slightly. "Glad it didn't explode this time."
A few students laughed nervously at that, though they weren't sure if he was joking.
Sanzaemon straightened, still smiling broadly. "With this, the baking is complete. Now, it's time to judge."
The air tightened again as the tension returned full force.
"I swear," Sanzaemon continued, his voice solemn now, "that I will not show any bias in the judging of this Shokugeki."
Both chefs nodded in acknowledgment.
The crowd hushed completely.
Two creations sat before them—one a majestic dragon, fiery and grand, symbolizing ambition and mastery; the other, a humble turtle, calm and steady, radiating warmth and comfort.
Fire and earth. Speed and endurance. Two sides of the same flame.
And as the judges prepared to taste, even the air seemed to still—caught between a dragon's roar and a turtle's quiet strength.
The air in the hall was electric—quiet enough that every breath seemed to echo.
Riku and Momo stood before the grand table, their creations gleaming beneath the soft, amber light. Sanzaemon, dignified yet visibly intrigued, folded his arms as he examined both breads with the scrutiny of a seasoned warrior assessing his rivals.
"Magnificent... truly magnificent..." his gravelly voice rolled through the room, weighted with awe. "In all my years on this earth, this is the first time I've seen bread crafted with such artistry. The sculpting of the dragon... and the turtle's intricate coloring..." His gaze shifted between them. "Both display world-class technique and boundless ingenuity. In design concept... I will award them both a perfect score!"
The hall erupted in stunned gasps. Students leaned forward, wide-eyed, as if unable to believe what they'd just heard. Someone with no culinary background had tied evenly with one of Tōtsuki's elite—an artist who sat among the best in the world.
Even Erina, usually composed, muttered under her breath, "He tied with Momo-senpai..."
Sōma crossed his arms, a grin creeping over his face. "Yeah, but now comes the hard part."
Sanzaemon nodded solemnly. "Now we move to the flavor concept. I'll start with Akanegakubo's bread, since she completed hers earlier. Is that acceptable?"
Riku gave a silent nod. His eyes, calm and unflinching, never left the judge.
The director broke a piece from Momo's bread and tasted it. The moment it touched his tongue, something in him shifted—his eyes snapped open wide, and the top half of his yukata tore apart in one smooth motion, revealing his still-muscled chest. The crowd shrieked and roared in excitement. Chisato, Rinko, and Ran—covered their eyes in half-embarrassment, half-laughter, while the students seemed utterly thrilled.
Sanzaemon's voice boomed, resonant and alive: "The orange marmalade spread over the crust is slightly burnt, bringing forth a sharp, rich acidity wrapped in gentle sweetness! And hidden beneath the braided scales—bittersweet chocolate! A pairing of elegance and boldness!" He slammed his hand on the table, his presence swelling with energy. "Chocolate and orange—eminently compatible! This... this is an animal bread worthy of adults! A taste that ascends straight to the heavens!"
"THERE IT IS!" one of the students shouted. "The director's infamous Strip!"
Another chimed in, laughing nervously. "A high praise from the director... we're witnessing history!"
Chisato blinked at Erina in disbelief. "He judges them... by stripping?!"
Erina sighed, rubbing her temples. "It's a shameful display, but yes. That's how Ojii-sama expresses the peak of culinary bliss. The faster his yukata flies off, the better the food tastes."
Student murmurs followed, admiration and despair mixing in the air.
"As expected from an Elite Ten member..."
"How can anyone compete with that?"
Their spirits dimmed, the fire of competition flickering out. Riku caught the look in their eyes—resignation. He exhaled sharply, his expression twisting with disgust.
"Pathetic." His tone cut through the room like a blade. "I gave you all encouragement yesterday. Told you to hold your heads high. And now? You wilt the moment someone produces something on a world stage?" His gaze swept across them, cold and unyielding. "If you can't even stand firm here, then leave Tōtsuki. Find another career—one that doesn't demand courage."
The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Even Sanzaemon and the Nakiri cousins stared at him in disbelief. He had said it without hesitation, without a hint of sugarcoating. And that made the blow hit harder.
Finally, one of the students snapped, voice trembling with anger. "And who are you to judge us?! You're just a musician! A performer for the common folk! You should just give up—you're no match for Akanegakubo-senpai!"
The air thickened. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then—
"Oi."
The voice that cut through belonged to Kokoro.
The tone was not her usual bright, musical one. It was hollow, cold—an echo from somewhere dark.
"Why are you looking down on nii?" she asked, her words carrying an unnatural weight.
The student turned toward her. His confidence evaporated at once. Kokoro stood there, still and composed, but the air around her pulsed with a black aura. Her eyes had lost their usual light, glassy and lifeless.
"Why are you saying that to nii?" she continued softly. "He did nothing to you. He was just... stating facts, wasn't he?"
"K-Kokoro-nee?" Erina stammered.
Alice stepped back, shaking her head. "No... that's not Kokoro-nee-sama..."
Rinko frowned, gripping her arm. "What's happening to Kokoro-chan?"
Satori's gaze sharpened; she understood, but said nothing. Some knowledge, it seemed, was best left buried.
Kokoro began walking toward the student, each step echoing with quiet menace. The boy stumbled backward, tripping over his chair. Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"Why are you judging nii that low? Because he isn't a chef like you? Because he plays music for people instead of serving dishes for stuck-up elites like you?"
Ran swallowed. "I don't like where this is going..."
Kaoru's face tightened. "Me neither. I've never seen Kokoro like this... this much darkness—"
Kokoro stopped right in front of the trembling student. Shadows seemed to cling to her as she looked down at him, her eyes void of any mercy.
"I know," she murmured. "How about I wreck your life?" Her lips curled into a faint smile—too calm, too cruel. "I could use my name as a Tsurumaki to target your family. Everyone tied to you. I could take everything from you... and watch you crumble." Her voice lowered to a near whisper, trembling with malicious glee. "Let's do it... show me your despair. Despair over everything you've lost."
The student's breath hitched. Around them, fear spread like wildfire.
Rinko and Ran froze. Chisato stepped forward, but Satori raised her hand—already holding a glowing spell card, ready to intervene. Before she could cast it, a voice boomed across the hall.
"KOKORO!!!"
The word cracked like thunder.
Everyone turned. Riku stood at the center of the room, eyes locked on her. His expression wasn't angry—just disappointed. That quiet disapproval struck deeper than any shout could.
Kokoro's eyes widened. The darkness in her aura flickered, trembling. Then, without warning, her body went limp.
Orin dashed forward, catching her before she hit the ground. "Gotcha, nya~"
The room was still, the tension slowly fading as Kokoro's dark aura vanished entirely.
Erina was the first to speak, her voice unsteady. "W-What was that just now?"
Chisato shook her head, still pale. "I don't know... that's the first time I've ever seen Kokoro-chan like that."
Satori stepped forward then, her expression grave. She raised a hand, signaling Gin. He tossed her a microphone, which she caught without breaking stride.
Her voice echoed through the hall, sharp and absolute.
"What occurred just now," she said, "should never be spoken of again. I, Komeiji Satori, Matriarch of the Komeiji Family, hereby issue a gag order."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but none dared speak aloud.
"Everyone here," she continued, "is forbidden to discuss what happened to Tsurumaki Kokoro—for the rest of your lives. Should word of this incident spread, the Celestial Families will take action against those who defy this command."
The weight in her tone silenced the room completely. Even Sanzaemon looked slightly unnerved by her authority.
"Are we clear?" she finished.
Dozens of heads nodded in unison. Not one dared to challenge her decree.
Satori turned, handing the microphone back to Gin, and then looked at Orin. "Take the young Tsurumaki to her room," she ordered gently.
Orin nodded. "Understood, nya~"
"I'll go too," Kaoru spoke up, stepping beside her. "I can guide you there. And... I'm her friend. It's only right that I stay with her. Ani-sama, I'll have to miss this round."
Riku's expression softened slightly. "Go. She'll be happier if you're with her."
Kaoru gave a short bow, then left with Orin, Kokoro still unconscious in her arms. The hall remained silent until the doors closed behind them.
Satori sighed quietly, turning back to Sanzaemon. "Apologies, Sanzaemon-dono, for the disturbance. I'll provide details later." She glanced toward Momo and Riku's table. "For now, please continue with the judging."
The director studied her for a long moment—then gave a slow nod. "Very well."
The crowd, still reeling, slowly returned to their seats, though the energy in the air had shifted. What had begun as a friendly culinary contest now carried a gravity none had expected.
Behind the quiet murmurs and rustle of clothes, Riku stood alone in thought, his gaze on the door Kokoro had been taken through.
He said nothing. But the look in his eyes held both guilt and resolve—the expression of someone who had seen far too much darkness in someone so radiant.
Sanzaemon's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Now, let us resume the judging."
The hall grew silent again. Every student held their breath as the director approached Riku's station, his gaze sharp and deliberate. He leaned slightly forward, examining the bread's unusual hue—the bright green gleam that had refused to darken even under the heat of the oven.
"As I thought..." Sanzaemon muttered. "Riku, you used ultra-low-temperature, long-period baking, didn't you?"
Riku's lips quirked into a faint grin. "You noticed the moment it came out of the oven?"
Sanzaemon shook his head. "No. I noticed when Akanegakubo took hers out first. You're gambling, Riku."
Murmurs spread among the students.
"Ultra-low-temperature what?" Yuki asked, blinking in confusion.
Alice adjusted her hair calmly, the glint of curiosity in her eyes. "I've read about it. Normally, sweet breads like Riku-nii-sama's are baked at around two hundred to two hundred twenty degrees Celsius. That high temperature toasts the outer surface, turning it a golden brown. But if you drop the oven to one hundred fifty degrees or so, the surface doesn't brown. The dough keeps its natural color—though it means you have to bake for much longer."
Takumi's eyes widened. "So that's why he said 'not yet... just a bit more...' earlier."
Megumi tilted her head. "But... why haven't we heard of that method before?"
Erina crossed her arms. "Because of the risk."
"Risk?" Megumi echoed.
Erina turned slightly. "Hisako. Explain."
Hisako nodded. "Hai. The problem is in the flavor. When you bake something that long, the moisture evaporates. The bread becomes dry, flavorless. That's why no one uses it—it's a gamble that usually ends in failure."
A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the crowd. From the back, a few students whispered and snickered under their breath, mocking the absurdity of Riku's choice.
Rinko's eyes narrowed, ready to lash back, but Johan placed a calm hand on her shoulder. A silent shake of his head said everything: They're not worth it. She exhaled quietly, biting her tongue.
Takumi frowned. "So he knew it could turn dry and tasteless... yet still went for it. If this fails, he loses this Shokugeki—and his music career."
Sōma nodded. "Yeah. But look at him." His grin widened. "He's too calm. He's hiding something."
Sanzaemon's mind mirrored that same suspicion.
"He's not reckless," he thought. "He used this technique to preserve that brilliant hue... but he's sacrificing moisture, flavor. Unless... he found a way to counteract it. And if it's Riku, he wouldn't have bet everything without reason."
The director broke a piece from the dragon-shaped bread. He brought it to his mouth. The entire hall fell still.
He chewed once. Twice. Then—nothing. Sanzaemon froze, motionless. Seconds passed. Then more. The silence grew heavy, uneasy.
Erina's hand hovered near her chair. "Ojii-sama?"
Alice stood too. "Ojii-sama, are you—"
"Don't." Riku's calm voice stopped them cold. His tone was quiet, but firm enough to halt even the Nakiris. "Be prepared... something's about to happen."
And then—
The air exploded with light.
Sanzaemon's garments burst apart without him moving a single muscle. His top, his robe, even the sash at his waist—all fell away in a cascade of cloth, leaving him in nothing but his white fundoshi, his muscular frame glowing in divine brilliance.
The students screamed in unison.
"He—he stripped!!"
"And without moving an inch?!"
"Not just the top half—he's completely stripped down!!"
Takumi's jaw dropped. "Then that means—"
Erina gasped. "He beat Momo-senpai?!"
Sanzaemon threw back his head and laughed, booming like a god amused by mortal creation.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! UNBELIEVABLE!"
He slammed his palm on the table, his voice rich with ecstasy.
"Normally, ultra-low-temperature baking results in vividly colored bread because the surface doesn't brown. The dough's color is preserved!"
Riku chuckled. "Yup. That was the plan from the start."
"But..." Sanzaemon's eyes widened further, "due to the long baking time, it should lose moisture. It should have a dry, coarse mouthfeel. And yet—" He tore another piece, pressing his fingers into the crumb. "This bread is tender. Juicy on the inside!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That's impossible..." one whispered.
"How can it be moist?! It shouldn't be!"
Sanzaemon turned toward Riku, his tone sharpening with curiosity. "Riku... you used glucose syrup, didn't you?"
Riku's grin widened. He raised his hand slightly, pointing at the bread like a magician revealing the trick behind his miracle.
"You hit it right in the head, old man."
Sōma burst out laughing. "I knew it!!"
Takumi blinked. "Wait—you knew?!"
Sōma shrugged. "Nah, I suspected. But c'mon, this guy doesn't play safe. I figured he had something up his sleeve."
Sanzaemon leaned forward. "Tell us, Riku. How did this idea come to be?"
Riku's tone softened, eyes unfocused as he recalled a memory. "It's simple, really. About a year before I left Japan to hone my craft as a musician, Yuyuko-san took me to a local festival. There was a vendor giving away leftover candied apples at the end of the night. The coating was stale, but the apple inside... was still juicy. That moment stuck with me. I thought—if syrup can keep fruit moist, why not try it on bread?"
The room erupted.
"HE THOUGHT OF IT JUST LIKE THAT?!"
"From a festival snack?!"
Sōma was laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. "HAHAHAHA! Incredible, Nakiri-tachi!"
Erina and Alice both turned toward him, exasperated, but he only grinned wider. "You've got one hell of an older brother. Guess I'd better step it up if I don't want him leaving me in the dust!"
His laughter was infectious—relief and admiration rolled together. Even Sanzaemon's booming chuckle joined the chorus.
Then, with a single deep breath, the director raised his arm high. His decision came like thunder.
"THE MATCH HAS BEEN DECIDED! THE WINNER—NAGAE RIKU!"
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then gasps, murmurs, disbelief.
"He won?!"
"Just like that?!"
But before the celebration could spark, Sanzaemon's tone shifted, steadying.
"That," he continued, "is my instinctive answer." The hall fell silent again. "However, Akanegakubo's bread was no less excellent. Therefore, I call this match a—"
"It's my loss."
The interruption came from Momo. Her quiet voice sliced through the tension like glass. Every head turned.
"Momo-senpai..." one of her juniors whispered. "She... admitted defeat?"
"Why?" another asked. "The director was about to call it a tie!"
But Momo didn't answer right away. She walked toward Riku, her small frame calm, graceful, every step deliberate. When she stopped in front of him, she lifted her head, eyes clear and unwavering.
"Nagae Riku."
"Yes?"
"Can I be your disciple?"
The room froze.
"Eh?" Riku blinked.
Sanzaemon's eyebrow shot up. "Hm?"
Erina and Alice's voices overlapped, a perfect chorus. "Eh?" "Ara?"
OG collectively tilted their heads. "Eh?"
And then—
"EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!"
The explosion of shock nearly shook the hall.
Megumi fumbled her words. "D-d-did I hear that right?"
Ryoko nodded slowly. "You did. Akanegakubo Momo—an Elite Ten member—just asked to become Riku's disciple."
Riku blinked again, processing. "Can I ask... why?"
Momo took a slow breath. "All my life, I became a patissier because I thought pastries and sweets were cute. That was the foundation of everything I did." Her gaze softened. "But watching you just now... it changed something in me."
She paused, her voice trembling—not from weakness, but clarity. "You made me realize how narrow my vision had been. I was proud of my sweets. Proud of being the artisan of 'cute.' But your bread—what you created—it wasn't just cute. It was alive. It breathed creativity, instinct, emotion. It reminded me that food can move people in ways I'd stopped chasing."
She lowered her head respectfully. "You taught me, in just one battle, that I still have far to go. That's why I want to learn from you—from someone whose innovation doesn't follow the standard, but rewrites it."
Her eyes lifted again, shimmering with determination. "So I ask once more: may I become your disciple? If you accept... this will count as my loss."
No one spoke. Even the air seemed to hesitate, unsure if it should move.
Riku looked at her in silence for several seconds, eyes half-lidded as though weighing something heavier than victory. Then he sighed softly, closing his eyes.
"You understand that if I accept," he said quietly, "this will be your loss. The Celestial Families will gain control of Tōtsuki."
"I understand," Momo said without hesitation.
Riku opened his eyes again, and for a moment, they gleamed faintly—not with pride, but respect. "That fire in your eyes... I can see it. The drive. The will to stand again, even after defeat. You're not someone who'll stay down." He gave a faint, approving smile. "Very well. I accept."
A single ripple of applause broke out—hesitant, then swelling. The band girls clapped first, followed by OG, and soon the entire hall filled with a thunderous ovation.
Momo bowed deeply. "Thank you... Master."
Sanzaemon's words echoed through the grand hall, each syllable like a chisel shaping the academy's new order. "Very well. Nagae Riku wins this Shokugeki!! And starting immediately, the Celestial Families will have the last word on all academy affairs. In order for the Elite Ten's projects to be authorized, at least half of the Celestial Families must give their permission. And Riku may still pursue his musical career!"
The hall erupted—not in cheers or protests, but in stunned silence. The students exchanged glances, murmuring beneath their breaths as the weight of that declaration sank in. The notion that the Celestial Families, those elusive titans of prestige, would have direct say over Tōtsuki's administration sent ripples of unease across the crowd.
But before that anxiety could take root, Riku stepped forward, his tone calm yet carrying a quiet authority that stilled the whispers.
"Do not worry," he began, eyes sweeping across the hall. "We will not make any major changes. We'll only participate in certain programs, and as for the Elite Ten—while some of your initiatives may require our approval—your burdens will be reduced. You won't have to drown in paperwork anymore."
A faint murmur of surprise spread among the gathered chefs-in-training. Relief softened a few tense shoulders. Momo exhaled deeply, her expression somewhere between exhaustion and amusement. Erina, too, seemed to deflate slightly, like the pressure in her chest had finally eased.
Momo let out a soft laugh and slumped back against her chair. "Thank goodness... I guess losing has something good in it after all. Tsukasa-san's going to love this."
Erina turned toward Satori, uncertainty lacing her voice. "Satori-sama, is that... okay?"
The pink-haired woman gave a small shrug. "Just don't dump everything on us. We'll take about thirty percent of the workload."
"That's more than enough," Erina said with a sigh of relief, her usual composure slipping for a brief, human moment.
Riku folded his arms, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Now that's settled, old man—you've got one more thing to say, don't you?"
Sanzaemon's brows rose, the corners of his lips twitching in approval. "You read my mind." He cleared his throat and turned toward the crowd. "Now before you all go, there's something else. The one who called out Riku earlier—you're expelled."
The room fell into shocked stillness. A dozen heads turned toward the student who had earlier mocked Riku, his face draining of color as he pointed at himself in disbelief.
"W-Wait! How am I expelled?! I survived the training camp, right?!"
"You did," Sanzaemon replied evenly, "but I chose this approach because of your behavior. You called out Riku Nagae—a man whose family is one of Tōtsuki's major shareholders—and labeled him a lousy musician despite his accolades. That is not something I can overlook. In this academy, discrimination against those from 'common' backgrounds is unacceptable. You are free to go."
Two staff members appeared like silent shadows, each taking one of the student's arms. The young man's protests died against the heavy air of finality as he was escorted out, his belongings already packed and waiting. The doors shut behind him with a quiet, irrevocable thud.
A brief silence followed, and then Sanzaemon spoke again—his tone shifting from judicial to paternal.
"Now then... onto other matters. This will serve as a reward for all your hard work. For the rest of the weekend, you are free to enjoy the entirety of the Tōtsuki Resort. Everything is on us. However, you must return to the academy by five P.M. tomorrow."
For a moment, no one reacted. Then, as the words sank in, the hall erupted with cheers and laughter. The tension melted away like frost under sunlight. The students—drained by the emotional whirlwind of the Shokugeki—finally allowed themselves to breathe.
Sanzaemon chuckled quietly at the sight. "I'm glad you like the reward," he said. "But there's more."
He turned, handing the microphone to Riku, whose expression softened as he addressed the crowd.
"Continuing where the old man left off, I've got an announcement to make. Tomorrow, at three P.M. in the Tōtsuki Resort Performance Hall, me and OG will be performing."
A wave of disbelief rippled across the hall.
"Eh?" Erina and Alice both blinked, caught entirely off guard.
"Are you for real?!" Yuki blurted out, nearly jumping to her feet. "We get to see Iku perform?!"
Takumi crossed his arms, a grin creeping onto his face. "Well, this is unexpected."
Isami chuckled beside him. "Nii-chan, remember what the customers said back then? We'll finally see it for ourselves."
"Yeah," Takumi said quietly, "I guess we will."
Riku's voice softened as he continued. "It's up to you if you want to come or not. But if you do... I'll show you what I went through these past five years."
He handed the microphone back to Sanzaemon, giving the old man a respectful nod. "Take care of things here, old man. I need to check on Kokoro."
"You're free to go," Sanzaemon said, waving him off with an approving smile.
Before stepping down, Riku turned toward Momo, who was still standing near the judging table. "You're an Elite Ten member—you can leave the premises whenever you like, right?"
Momo nodded. Riku reached into his pocket and handed her a small, embossed card.
"I'll be at this place every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday," he said. "Be there at 4:30 P.M., and I'll teach you."
Momo held the card gently, her eyes shining with renewed determination. "Understood, sensei."
With that, Riku descended from the stage, signaling the girls to follow. OG stood and joined them, their movements quiet and disciplined, the weight of victory still fresh in the air.
The crowd instinctively parted for them, awe mingled with respect. Students whispered about his calmness, his confidence, the sheer audacity of his method and the brilliance behind it. Some even clapped softly as he passed, admiration overriding envy.
As the doors closed behind him, the hall still buzzed with the aftershocks of everything that had happened—the expulsion, the victory, the concert announcement. It was a storm of change, and the students knew deep down that Tōtsuki would never be quite the same again.
Back near the judges' table, Satori approached Sanzaemon, her gaze steady but cautious.
"I received your call," she said simply. "What do you want from the Komeiji?"
Sanzaemon's expression turned grave, though the faintest trace of a smile lingered at the edges. The noise from the students faded behind them, leaving only the quiet hum of the hall's lights and the weight of something brewing between two figures who knew more than they revealed.
For a moment, Sanzaemon didn't answer. He simply looked toward the stage where Riku had stood just moments ago—the spot that had once been a battlefield of flavors and wills.
----------
Tōtsuki Resort – 8th Floor – Kokoro's Room – 5:30 P.M.
Riku's POV
After the Shokugeki ended, the tension that had built up inside me slowly faded with every step we took back to our rooms. The others—Johan, Rinko, and the rest of OG—decided to spend their free time on their own, saying they wanted to explore the resort. I didn't stop them. After what happened today, everyone deserved to breathe a little.
When we reached Kokoro's room, I knocked softly before opening the door. Inside, the light of the sunset spilled through the curtains, painting the room in gold and rose hues. Kaoru sat beside Kokoro's bed, gently holding her hand. The moment Kokoro saw me, she flinched slightly—her gaze dropped to the sheets, her usual bright eyes now clouded with guilt.
"Onii-chan..." she murmured, voice trembling.
I crossed the room in silence, crouching beside her. "Kokoro. It's okay."
Her head shook weakly. "It's not okay. I let you down. How can I call myself your little sister if I lost control like that? I couldn't even keep my magic in check..."
Her words caught the others off guard.
"Wait," Rinko blinked, leaning forward. "Kokoro-chan can use magic too?"
Ran folded her arms, brow raised. "Well, that's unexpected."
Chisato tilted her head thoughtfully. "Okay, that rules out my theory about her passing out from shock. But that still doesn't explain what happened earlier."
I let out a quiet sigh and gestured toward the small sofa and chairs in the room. "Get comfortable, everyone. You deserve to know."
They gathered around while I stood near Kokoro's bed, the gentle hum of the air conditioner filling the quiet between us.
"Just like me," I began, "Kokoro can use magic—specifically light and dark magic."
Ran let out a low whistle. "Light and dark? Two polar opposites... That explains her sudden shift in attitude earlier. But there's a twist, isn't there?"
"There is." I nodded. "When she first displayed her power at the age of eight, the imbalance between her elements caused her to form a second personality—one that embodies her dark magic. But don't worry, she's special. Her light and dark sides actually get along. Her darker half only comes out when someone she cares about is in danger."
Chisato's eyes softened with realization. "So in her case... that means you."
Kokoro bit her lip, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "Onii-chan, I heard those students talking down to you. I know you told me not to talk back, but... they mocked your achievements like they meant nothing. You told them about everything you worked for with pride, and they just—" her voice cracked, "—they just spat on it. They called you lesser, lowly... and I couldn't stand it. My chest hurt so much I couldn't breathe. And then... Shinzo took over."
I reached out and placed a hand over hers, my thumb brushing her knuckles. Her tears fell quietly, small drops that disappeared into the sheets.
"I see," I said softly. "Then, can I talk to Shinzo for a bit? Don't worry—I won't scold her."
Kokoro hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. Within seconds, the air around her shifted. The warmth she carried dimmed; her presence became sharper, colder. When she opened her eyes again, the gentle light in them had vanished, replaced with something eerily calm and empty.
Yup. Shinzo.
"It's been a while," I said quietly. "Good to see you again, Shinzo."
She looked at me—expressionless, but her voice trembled faintly. "Nii... about what happened..."
"Stop," I said before she could continue. "It's not entirely your fault."
Her brows knit together. "But they wouldn't shut up. They dragged your name through the mud even though they knew you're a Nagae. I couldn't just sit there and let them ruin your reputation. I don't like when people disrespect you like that."
A faint smile tugged at my lips. "I appreciate that you care, Shinzo. Really. But next time, try to hold back, okay? If it happens again, you can step in—but don't go overboard."
She lowered her gaze, small hands clutching the edge of the blanket. "I... I'll try, nii. It's just hard sometimes." She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Can I get a headpat, please?"
I let out a quiet laugh. "You didn't even need to ask."
I reached out and ruffled her hair gently. Shinzo's shoulders relaxed as she closed her eyes, letting out a sound halfway between a sigh and a purr—like a content cat curled under sunlight.
"Thank you, nii," she murmured. "I'll give control back to Kokoro now."
"Alright. Take care of yourself, Shinzo. Come out when you feel like it. You're part of this family too."
She gave a small nod, and then her eyes fluttered closed. A moment later, the light returned—warm, soft, and familiar.
Kokoro blinked a few times, her voice small. "Onii-chan..."
I smiled and squeezed her hand. "Everything's fine now. How about I make you some cream puffs? Might cheer you up."
Her eyes lit up with the faintest spark of joy. "I'd love that. Can I help?"
I shook my head gently. "I think the girls want to talk with you a bit more. You have my permission."
She nodded, visibly relieved, and turned toward Ran and the others. I gave her one last smile before standing and heading toward the door.
Kokoro's POV
When onii-chan left the room, the air settled into a quiet hum. The others were still seated, their eyes fixed on me — not with judgment, but curiosity. They wanted to understand what had just happened. I took a slow breath and decided there was no point in hiding it anymore.
"Since onii-chan gave me permission," I began softly, raising my hand, "I can show you what I can do with my light magic."
A soft glow gathered at my palm, coalescing into a tiny orb that pulsed like a heartbeat. I gave it a gentle push, and it floated toward them. The golden light filled the room, wrapping everything in a gentle warmth that felt like sunlight through silk curtains.
Rinko leaned closer, eyes wide in awe. "Wow... it's bright... and warm."
She extended her hand, letting the light wash over her fingers. It was harmless, pure. I could tell from her expression that she felt it — the warmth that wasn't just from magic, but from intent.
Chisato tilted her head. "Can you do anything else?"
I smiled faintly. "Well, I can do this."
The orb pulsed once, twice — then shifted shape, feathers of light flickering outward until a tiny bird made of radiance took flight. It circled the room, chirping softly before perching on the edge of the bed. The sight drew a chorus of quiet gasps.
Kaoru, ever the calm one, watched it with quiet admiration. "Incredible... Kokoro. Aside from your light magic, what can your dark side do?"
I hesitated. Using Shinzo's power wasn't something I liked doing without reason. But I reached inward and asked her, silently. She agreed with a quiet hum, her presence brushing against my mind like cool water. I lifted my right hand; a faint, dark aura began to curl around my arm, creeping up like smoke under moonlight.
The girls instinctively stepped back, tension flickering in their eyes.
"Don't worry," I said quickly, steadying my breathing. "I can handle this. Shinzo gave me permission to use her power for demonstration, so it's safe."
I focused, letting the dark magic stretch out. The shadows extended like long ribbons until they wrapped around a notepad on the far table, pulling it gently toward me. The darkness dissolved as soon as the task was done, leaving only still air and their stunned faces.
Ran blinked. "That's... quite handy. I thought dark magic was—" she paused, searching for the right word, "you know... dangerous."
I shook my head, smiling faintly. "Onii-chan and Patchy-sensei taught me that magic isn't good or bad. The person using it decides what it becomes. So I don't use dark magic to hurt anyone — only to protect. If I used it to harm, how could I ever make people happy?"
That answer seemed to land. The girls exchanged glances, their expressions softening with quiet respect. Kaoru moved closer and gently wrapped her arms around me, her hand resting lightly on my head. It wasn't quite the same warmth as onii-chan's touch, but it was steady — reassuring.
"Thank you, Kaoru," I murmured.
"Don't mention it." She smiled, though her eyes carried that same thoughtful gleam she often had when something clicked in her mind. "Now... I feel like there's much more to talk about—hm?"
She turned her head sharply toward the window, as if catching a sound the rest of us missed. A faint flutter echoed a second later. She crossed the room, opened the window — and a large bird swooped in, wings cutting the air with practiced grace. It landed neatly on the table in front of me.
Chisato blinked. "What is that?"
"It's onii-chan's messenger hawk," I said, already recognizing the pattern on its feathers. "His name's Ankh."
The hawk puffed its chest proudly as I reached out to smooth down its feathers. It cooed softly under my touch, but when its sharp eyes caught sight of Ran, it gave a sharp squawk.
Ran groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "One of these days... I swear..."
Rinko tilted her head. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah," Ran muttered, shooting the bird a mock glare. "That thing tried to rip out my hair once when I was hanging out with Nii-san. Would've gone bald if he didn't stop it."
Chisato stifled a laugh behind her hand. "Guess he didn't like your style back then."
Rinko looked between us, still puzzled. "But why a hawk, though? I mean... we have phones and everything."
"Onii-chan said phone calls and messages can be intercepted easily," I explained. "The Celestial Families use messenger hawks for anything important. It's old-fashioned, but reliable."
I reached for the small metal container strapped to Ankh's back and unlatched it carefully. Inside was a neatly folded letter sealed with the Nagae crest.
"I got it," I said, holding it up. "Don't worry, I won't read what's inside. I'll give it to onii-chan."
The hawk gave a short nod — almost like a soldier acknowledging orders — then spread its wings and took off, disappearing into the evening light beyond the open window.
Chisato looked after it, eyebrows raised. "How did it understand you?"
"The Ibaraki Family trains them," I said with a small smile. "Once a hawk completes its training and learns to interpret human speech and tone, it's assigned to a household. Ankh's been with us since I was little."
Rinko nodded slowly, impressed. "That's... actually amazing."
Kaoru crossed her arms, smirking faintly. "Practical, too. No data leaks, no eavesdropping."
I laughed softly. "Exactly."
For a moment, the room was filled with that warm, easy atmosphere again — like the storm had finally passed. But the letter in my hand felt heavier than paper should. I excused myself and headed to the kitchen.
Onii-chan was there, crouched by the oven, the faint scent of butter and vanilla filling the air. He'd already arranged several trays of pastries, and the oven's soft hum added rhythm to his concentration.
He turned his head slightly when he sensed me. "So, you're good now?"
I nodded. "Hai. Anyway, here you go." I handed him the letter. "Your messenger hawk dropped this off a while ago."
Riku blinked. "Ankh, huh? He's fond of you, but... he could've just delivered it to me directly." He sighed, taking the letter and turning it over in his hands. "Guess he prefers the scenic route."
I giggled softly while he broke the seal. His expression shifted as his eyes scanned the page — first focus, then something heavier. Concern creased his brow as he folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.
"Onii-chan," I asked carefully, "is something wrong?"
He looked at me for a moment, weighing whether to tell me. Then he smiled faintly — that kind of smile that tried to reassure, even when something clearly bothered him. "Nothing to worry about for now. The letter contains information I'll need to discuss with Sanzaemon-dono. I'll meet with him and Erina later tonight."
His calm tone didn't fool me, but I knew better than to press. Instead, I pointed at the mixing bowl beside him. "So... what are you using for the cream puff filling?"
He glanced at the ingredients and tapped his chin. "Good question... Do you want to be my guinea pig for this?"
The smirk he wore was enough to make me take a step back. I shook my head furiously, backing toward the door.
"N-nope! Not again!"
Before he could say another word, I bolted from the kitchen, his laughter echoing behind me.
As I ran down the hall, I couldn't help but smile. Even with the weight of the day, even with all the things I still didn't understand, moments like these — silly, warm, fleeting — reminded me that no matter how complicated our world became, onii-chan would always find a way to make it feel simple again.
Riku's POV
Vanilla custard was safe. Vanilla custard with lemon zest—less safe, infinitely better.
Kokoro's offhand suggestion had lodged in my head like a well-tuned melody, and by the time I'd finished measuring the milk and folding in egg yolks, the rhythm of the kitchen moved with me. Zest brightened the custard without stealing its comfort; the balance felt right. I watched the cream thicken, smelled the citrus bloom, and thought about how a single small change could change the entire impression of a dish—like a chord change at the right beat.
Twenty minutes in the oven—twenty until thirty, because when you're using real choux you never trust the clock more than your eyes—gave the puffs a golden skin that crackled properly when touched. I cooled them on a rack until fingertips could take the heat, then piped lemon-kissed custard into plump cavities. Fifty cream puffs, maybe a touch over because I don't count well when I'm in flow. I wrapped the bowl, carried the tray to the living room and set them on the table with a small, theatrical bow.
"Sorry for the wait. Here are my cream puffs. Enjoy." I stepped back and watched the room dissolve into teeth and grin. They attacked them like starving critics at the last course of a long contest—appreciative, loud, immediate. For a few seconds it was all crunch and cream and contentment, and I let it be.
I took one for myself. The lemon hit in a soft breath on the back of the throat; the custard was still warm and yielded like soft memory. I leaned in, whispering to no one and everyone: Damn—so close. A beat earlier and the hollows would've been just a touch bigger; a second later and the shells would've softened too much.
Ran and Chisato glanced up like sharps in a bar: they heard it. Before either could tease, a knock sounded at the door.
"Now who could it be this time?" I asked, standing.
Gin-san's entrance carried the composed weight of a house manager on patrol. He moved like someone who'd memorized every corridor and every complaint in the place.
"Gin-san? What are you doing here?" I asked, cutting to the chase.
"Making rounds," he said plainly. "Ensuring there are no disturbances on this floor. Is everything in order?"
"Always," I lied smoothly, then reached for something more urgent. "Gin-san, can I set up a meeting at your office tonight?"
He paused, the corners of his mouth tightening with the faintest curiosity. "For what?"
I slid the letter I'd received via Kokoro's hawk across the room and into his hand. He read it—faster than most people read the morning paper. The color left his face in the most discreet way possible. For a man used to neutral faces, his expression turned hard.
"Riku," he said quietly, folding the letter back into its envelope. "If this is true, it—" He stopped, and his restraint said more than the rest of the sentence could. "This is a huge disgrace to the Nakiri."
"I know." The words were dry. The idea of scandal—old family secrets, whispered legacies—tasted sour in my mouth. It wasn't just pride at stake; this had the capacity to ripple into policy, into influence. That was why I'd called Joichiro-san. He'd said he would come. He had parts in this—more than he realized.
"Set it for nine," I told Gin. "Bring all Nakiri members present. Tell the director and inform Erina. I already messaged Joichiro-san."
Gin-san blinked. "You called Joichiro?"
"Yes," I said. "He's directly related. He will want to attend. Also—call Yukihira Sōma. He has a role here as well."
Gin-san let out a small, dry laugh that almost became a sigh. "Sadist much?"
"Let his smug face shatter. He can learn humility." I kept my tone light; inside there was a viper of annoyance I didn't want to feed more than necessary.
"Very well," Gin-san said. "I'll arrange it and notify the director. In the meantime—enjoy your stay. And I look forward to the performance tomorrow."
"You won't be disappointed." I watched him leave, the envelope tucked under his arm like a sleeping thing that might wake and bite.
When the door closed, the bowl on the table had dwindled to a tiny pile of crumbs and five lonely puffs. The girls all pointed, in unison and with guilty grins, at Kokoro. Her face was a map of pastry: cheeks flecked white, a dot of custard above one lip.
"I left you girls for a short while," I said, grabbing a paper towel.
Ran passed it with a theatrical eye-roll and I wiped the cream off Kokoro's face. She didn't protest—just smiled up at me with that tired, luminous look that makes bad days bearable.
"Try to hold back on eating them, okay? At least leave some for me."
She blinked, cheeks puffed from the audacity of her full mouth. "We were planning to leave some, but it was too good."
Chisato folded her hands. "So who was at the door exactly?"
"Gin-san," I replied. "He's making rounds. Also—if you're looking for me tonight, I'll be at Gin's office. We have a meeting at nine. You've got the rest of the evening to yourselves."
I watched the relief wash across the room like a tide. Free time was a rare currency at Tōtsuki; their laughter filled in the cracks left by stress.
Then Kokoro sat up, eyes bright again. "Onii-chan—can I fight you in a danmaku battle?"
The room went quiet. For a beat it was only the hum of the resort lights that kept us company.
"A danmaku battle?" I arched an eyebrow. "You want to—fight me?"
"Yes!" she said with an innocent conviction that made anyone older than her both fond and nervous. "Please. I've been practicing flight magic for two years. Marisa-sensei is keeping me in check."
Flight magic. The standard baseline for danmaku, the way most beginners learned the map of the sky—how to drift, how to correct tilt, how to fall with intention and not with panic. Watching Kokoro, I thought about the part of battle that wasn't about hits or misses, but about rhythm: the way two people shared air and space.
"If Marisa's teaching, fine." I let that be my permission because arguing would sound like cowardice. "Give me a minute."
I made a call—Sanzaemon picked up on the second ring. "Is there a vacant area outside where we can have a match?" I asked, keeping my voice casual enough to not make it sound like a summons.
"Yes." He grunted, amusement threaded through the reply. "The west practice field near the azaleas. Be mindful of the sunset."
"Understood. We'll be there soon."
Kokoro bolted into her room to change as soon as I said it. The others exchanged looks—Rinko, worried in the way of friends who knew well enough that sparkly enthusiasm often carried jagged edges; Ran, smirking because the spectacle was inevitable; Kaoru, measured and calm with a readiness to help.
"Are you sure?" Chisato asked, voice small. "It's your little sister."
"She'll pester me every other day until I cave," I said. "This is easier."
"But she could get hurt," Rinko protested.
"No worries." I shrugged, because I didn't want to sound preachy. "Danmaku is safe. Non-lethal. It can bruise, sting—you'll be sore the next morning if you're careless. But we use suppressing spells and collision dampeners. The bullet types are theoretical; they compete in design and effect, not lethality. We'll be fine."
Kaoru's brow rose. "Debut, then? This will be her first formal match against an experienced fighter."
"Some matches were close," I said, remembering the small, sharp edges of my own early duels—moments when a redirected ofuda had almost clipped my ear, a missed light bullet that taught me a sub-second of humility. "Especially the last two."
Ran leaned forward, curiosity sharper than her usual sarcasm. "Do tell."
"Another time." I smiled, because the story had corners I wasn't ready to show yet. Kokoro was already done changing and waiting in the hall in her school tracksuit—breathless with energy and entirely ready. She wore battle gear like it had been made for her: snug, practical, with a few personal flourishes like a stitched koi on the hem.
"You brought your tracksuit too?" I asked, half-amused.
"I wanted to bring my battle gear," she admitted, bouncing on her toes. "But this is more than enough."
"Alright then." I tied my jacket at the waist and checked the pocket where I kept my small pack—tether lines, a pair of dampening sigils, a field map. The sun leaned toward the horizon; the azalea field would glow in the kind of light that makes mistakes visible and courage obvious.
"Let's go." My voice filled more than the room as we stepped into the corridor and headed for the west practice field. Behind us, the resort murmured its evening gossip—guests strolling, distant piano through an open balcony—while ahead, the field waited: open, unobstructed, the grass already brushed with the amber wash of late afternoon.
Kokoro's hand slipped into mine without thinking—small, warm—like a chord that resolves because it's supposed to. I squeezed once, lightly, the silent promise that if anything tilted into danger, I would not let go.
We walked out together, two souls moving into a sky we both knew was never quite empty.