"Jianghu Cuisine."
The name itself evokes movement—rivers, lakes, wild places untamed by order.
In culinary terms, it refers to a branch of folk cuisine that exists outside the rigid doctrines of imperial kitchens or traditional haute cuisine. Rooted in everyday life and born in the smoky chaos of roadside stalls, Jianghu Cuisine is bold, loud, and fiery—rough around the edges, yet crafted with tremendous skill. It is the flavor of the people.
Though the term may not be familiar to all, its dishes most certainly are.
Spicy Hot Pot.
Pickled Fish.
Geleshan Spicy Chicken.
Beer Duck.
Boiled Fish.
Spicy Crab.
Pickled Pepper Bullfrog.
Mao Xue Wang.
These names don't need explanation—they've already found their way into the hearts of countless diners.
Among them, Spicy Chicken stands proud.
Its preparation might mirror many Sichuan dishes, but Jianghu-style Spicy Chicken emphasizes violent heat and quick action—the wok must be scorching, the tosses sharp, the chicken seared just right to seal in the juiciness beneath the spicy blaze.
And yet—Zane knew better than to serve it straight.
Japanese palates traditionally shy away from anything overly spicy, numbing, or overwhelmingly rich in oil. If he simply threw a mountain of dried chilies into the pan and expected smiles in return, he'd lose even Yuuki.
Which is why he adjusted it.
Ever so slightly.
Enough to preserve its soul, but gentle enough for those unfamiliar with its fire to taste without recoiling.
And Yuuki—sweet, game-hunting Yuuki—responded just as he hoped.
The spice hit her like a summer sun. Her cheeks flushed. Sweat beaded on her brow. Yet she kept going, chopsticks moving faster.
"The more I eat, the more thrilling it gets!"
She gasped between bites, laughing, energized.
Then something caught her eye—small black chunks tucked among the fiery red chilies. She pinched one between her chopsticks and studied it.
"Sour plums? So there were sour plums inside the spicy chicken!"
She popped it into her mouth, and her eyes lit up again.
"It's… sour, and a bit bitter too, but it really enhances everything! It cuts through the spice and brings out the chicken's natural sweetness!"
That unexpected flavor twist—a Jianghu signature—deepened the experience.
Earthy. Rough. Mixed.
These are the markers of Jianghu cuisine. The flavors don't follow rules—they just work.
For people like Yuuki, who've spent days in the woods hunting wild boar and game birds, that raw, unrefined edge doesn't offend—it speaks to something primal and familiar.
And in the comfort of Zane's tavern, amid laughter, steam, and song, it all came together.
Every City Has Its Tavern.
Every tavern holds a story.
Returning from long days, people breathe in the mingled aroma of charcoal, spice, and sake. They sit down, order grilled meat skewers, and crack open a bottle. As the cap turns, a fragrant wave of alcohol hits the air.
Smells so good.
The first sip—always the best—warms the throat, loosens the tongue, and soothes the soul. The plates pile up. The stories flow. Eventually, only scents remain on one's clothes and a subtle joy in the heart.
That night, moonlight filtered through the trees outside. Shadows danced gently across cobblestones as the city slipped into its quieter rhythm.
Inside, Yuuki leaned back in her seat, tea in hand, cheeks still pink from spice and excitement.
"I missed my chance in the Autumn Elections," she said, eyes gleaming. "But I'm not missing this one. I will win first place in the Main Avenue Area at the School Festival!"
Megumi, sitting beside her, blinked in surprise.
"First place? Yuuki, that's… not easy."
Though Megumi had placed among the top eight in the Autumn Elections, she still hesitated when speaking of victory. Confidence didn't come easily to her—not yet.
Yuuki waved her hands excitedly.
"No, no, Megumi! You're thinking too traditionally. The School Festival isn't only about cooking skills. It's about strategy!"
"There are only three main areas where we can set up: the Main Avenue, Central Avenue, and the Mountain Area."
"It's not just about cooking—it's about stall placement, marketing, customer flow, even the weather!"
"That's why Ryoko and I picked the back end of the Main Avenue. Foot traffic is highest there—we'll catch everyone heading toward the Mountain Area!"
Ryoko, who had just taken a seat, nodded in agreement.
"That's right. Yuuki and I are teaming up this time. I'll handle ingredient logistics and prep. She'll do the customer-facing magic."
"With our teamwork, we'll crush it."
Megumi smiled, her earlier hesitation softening.
"I'm… envious. You two already have a goal to chase. I'm just hoping I don't get expelled…"
"With your current skills? That's impossible!" Yuuki grinned.
At Totsuki, expulsion during the School Festival was rare—but not unheard of. Only when a student's stall ran at a severe loss would they be forced out. Most managed to break even. Some thrived. And a few… self-destructed spectacularly.
"Just don't be that last type," Ryoko teased.
Megumi sighed but smiled.
"I'll do my best."
At 2 a.m., the tavern finally closed.
Nothing unusual happened that night. The air was peaceful. The hearth crackled. And Zane—usually so aloof and unreadable—was becoming more relaxed by the day.
Last week, even Rindō had teased him:
"Are you planning to live the rest of your life in this cozy tavern? No ambition? No heat?"
He hadn't answered then.
But the truth was, Zane did find comfort in the ordinary. In this borrowed world, where he had once arrived as an outsider, this tavern had become… home.
A spiritual refuge.
For others—for Alice, Erina, Yuuki, and even Mana—it was a place of escape.
For Zane?
It was still a question unanswered.
"Where do I belong in all this?"
As the clock ticked toward silence and the last light flickered out—
Ding!
"Host, sign-in complete."
Ding!
"Congratulations! You have obtained the recipe for: Boiled Cabbage."
Zane froze.
Then slowly smiled.
Boiled Cabbage.
Perhaps the most misunderstood and underrated dish in the Sichuan canon.
While outsiders expected Sichuan cuisine to always be drenched in oil and exploding with spice, true connoisseurs knew better.
Some of its most elite dishes were whisper-quiet masterpieces—delicate, refined, and full of hidden complexity.
Boiled Cabbage was just such a dish.
Once served in imperial kitchens, now a mainstay at state banquets, its presentation was deceivingly humble: just a few translucent cabbage leaves floating in a bowl of clear broth.
No oil. No meat. No fire.
But one spoonful revealed the truth.
Light. Pure. Deep. Fragrant. Sublime.
It wasn't something Zane could serve as a tavern regular.
But for the right moment, for the right guest—perhaps Mana, or Erina—yes.
"It's not a tavern dish," he muttered. "But… it is art."
And outside, the School Festival erupted into life.
At Totsuki's grand front archway, students and staff bustled like a military operation. Organizing 220 stalls required precision—sanitation checks, food safety protocols, financial planning, performance tracking.
Only a school as wealthy and disciplined as Totsuki could turn a festival into something approaching a culinary Olympics.
Students gathered in droves, their breath visible in the cool morning air, eyes full of ambition and nerves.
"Finally, the day's here, Erina," Alice said, stretching her arms with a grin. "Even though I'm not in the same area as you, I'm still aiming for first place!"
Erina, arms crossed, scoffed.
"So the Autumn Election winner hides in the Main Avenue? Lacking confidence already?"
"Even if I win, I can't take your Elite Ten seat," Alice sighed.
Their conversation was cut short by a rising wave of murmurs.
"Look!"
"No way…"
"It's them!"
From across the plaza came a thunder of footsteps.
One by one, they arrived.
The Elite Ten.
Their presence turned whispers into cheers.
"1, 2, 3… wait—only 8?"
"Erina makes 9."
"So who's missing…?"
Shock and awe rolled through the crowd like a tidal wave.
For most of the student body, seeing all ten Elite members in one place was something reserved for legends. Yet here they were—silent, powerful, dressed to impress.
"Rindō's not here," Kuga Teruki observed, smirking. "That's just like her."
As the host, Kawashima Rei stepped forward.
"Please rise for the school anthem. Ready—sing."
Voices rose together like a rolling tide.
And when the final note fell—
The School Festival began.
Each zone had its own rules.
Main Avenue: 500 to 1000 yen per dish.
Central Avenue: 1000 to 5000 yen.
Mountain Area: 5000 yen minimum, exclusive territory of the Elite Ten.
Some students tried to challenge the Mountain Zone. Most stuck to safer grounds. Kuga Teruki, confident and calculating, had chosen the Central Area for a reason.
But Rindō—finally showing up—stood at the Main Avenue's first stall, flipping through her travel guide.
"Interesting pricing structure."
She snapped the booklet shut with a grin.
"Alright. Let's start with Stall No. 1."
Her eyes gleamed with mischief.
The fire had been lit.
And from here, it would only burn brighter.