Granny Setsuno's cryptic remark baffled the others, but Zed understood. In the original timeline, the Wall Penguin's saliva—imbued with generations of Century Soup consumption—had bridged the gap between human effort and nature's touch. Without it, replicating the soup required a fragment of the original Century Soup itself—a catalyst born from the Ice Hell's millennia-long embrace.
"The Century Soup isn't just ingredients," Zed explained. "It's a dance between human hands and nature's grind. Without the Ice Hell's nurture…"
Granny Setsuno's eyes narrowed. "Then we need remnants of the stolen batch." She dialed Jirou. "Jirou-chan, can you retrieve whatever Bishokukai hasn't consumed."
At the Bishokukai headquarters, an oppressive aura erupted, flattening lesser members. The air itself seemed to crystallize under Jirou's presence. Midora emerged, his crimson hair flickering like wildfire.
"Century Soup?" Midora scoffed. "Trivial."
"For you, perhaps." Jirou's smile never wavered. "But Secchan's work hinges on it."
Midora's gaze sharpened. "And why should I care?"
"Because she might perfect it." Jirou leaned closer. "Imagine—unlimited Century Soup, fueling warriors for the Food World. Perhaps, even your recruits could benefit."
A beat passed. Midora gestured, and a subordinate scurried off, returning with a crystalline vial. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, auroras trapped in amber.
"Fine, on one condition," Midora growled. "IGO shares distribution rights."
"Done."
As Midora vanished, Jirou pocketed the vial. The brothers' estrangement hung unspoken, a chasm no soup could bridge.
Granny Setsuno's Kitchen
Jirou handed over the remaining Century Soup, its faint aurora shimmering within the gourmet box. "They've kept more than expected, Secchan."
"Thank you Jirou-chan," Granny Setsuno wasted no time. A single drop of the original Century Soup cascaded into her replicated brew. Instantly, prismatic light erupted from the cauldron, painting the underground kitchen in hues of emerald and gold. The air thrummed with a crisp, glacial sweetness, as if the Ice Hell itself had breathed into the room.
"It's… complete!" Granny Setsuno's voice trembled, her eyes reflecting the swirling auroras. "Nature's touch was the missing key. Zed, your insight saved centuries of work."
Zed nodded modestly. "A guess, but one rooted in respect for ingredients."
Jirou's gaze sharpened, studying Zed. "Your Food Honor mastery—how?"
"Training, partners, and a dash of luck," Zed deflected, though the Gourmet Demon within him pulsed faintly.
The group gathered around the cauldron, bowls in hand. The Century Soup glimmered like liquid diamond, its clarity defying the complexity of its creation. Erina's God Tongue quivered; Hisako's hands shook. Even Mirajane, battle-hardened, hesitated.
"First sip's for the best taste," Granny Setsuno warned, her own bowl raised.
Zed braced himself. The moment the soup touched his lips, an explosion of flavors cascaded—glacial minerals, aged sweetness, a thousand harmonies of earth and sky. His muscles relaxed; his mind soared. Yet, unlike others whose faces twisted into euphoric grins, Zed clenched his jaw, suppressing the bliss. Control, he reminded himself.
Mirajane wasn't as restrained. A laugh bubbled from her, bright and unguarded. "It's… everything!"
Erina's God Tongue trembled. "Perfection. No—beyond perfection."