The day after the practical exam, the dorm cafeteria buzzed with activity. Plates clattered, laughter filled the air, and the scent of spices and grilled meat hung heavy like a comforting blanket.
Yet, Riku Kaizen sat alone by the window, a book open in one hand and a steaming cup of hojicha in the other.
It wasn't that he didn't want to socialize. He just preferred stillness over empty noise.
Still, peace never lasted long at Tōtsuki.
"Yo, Kaizen!" a familiar voice called.
Riku looked up to see Megumi Tadokoro waving nervously, a tray in her hands "Mind if I sit here?"
He gestured to the empty seat across from him "Of course not."
She placed her tray down gently and smiled "Your dish yesterday… it was amazing. I—I couldn't stop thinking about that broth!"
Riku chuckled softly "Thank you. I spent weeks perfecting the flavor balance."
She leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity "Are you trained in French cuisine?"
"Not formally," he replied "But I lived in Provence for a year. The aromas stayed with me."
"Wow," Megumi said, awestruck "You've really been all over, huh?"
He nodded slowly "My training was… unconventional."
Before she could ask more, the doors slammed open and Soma Yukihira strolled in, flanked by Ryō Kurokiba and Akira Hayama—the so-called "wildcards" of the Polar Star Dorm.
Soma spotted them and smirked "Well, well. If it isn't the rising star."
Riku set down his tea calmly "Yukihira."
"You made quite the impression on Erina," Soma said, sliding into a seat beside them "That's not easy."
Riku's eyes glinted "I didn't cook to impress. I cooked to express."
"Ooh, poetic," Ryō muttered, arms crossed.
Akira nodded "You cook with intuition. That's rare."
"Maybe we should test him," Ryō added "See how that intuition holds in battle."
Megumi panicked "Wait—are you guys challenging him to a Shokugeki?!"
Soma grinned "Not yet. Just curious. But I've got a feeling we'll end up across the kitchen from each other sooner or later."
"I look forward to it," Riku replied.
And he meant it.
Later that afternoon, Riku found himself in the school's botanical greenhouse, inspecting herb growth under filtered sunlight. He often came here when he needed quiet—or clarity.
That's when he heard the soft sound of heels against the stone path.
He turned, already knowing who it was.
Erina Nakiri.
She stood just past the basil section, a folder under one arm, wearing a pristine white blazer and an unreadable expression.
"This is unexpected," Riku said.
"I wanted to speak with you," she replied.
Riku closed the gap between them, waiting.
Erina didn't meet his gaze at first. Instead, she took a deep breath "Your technique. Your execution. It's not just good—it's masterful."
"You flatter me."
"I'm not," she said "I'm curious."
Riku tilted his head "About what?"
"Where did you really learn to cook like this? You said you learned 'everywhere and nowhere,' but that's too vague. Who trained you? What's your background?"
Riku looked at her for a long moment. Then said, "There was a man. A chef with no restaurant, no name. I met him when I was sixteen, wandering through Osaka."
Erina frowned "A nameless chef?"
"He cooked only for strangers. No recipes. No apprentices. He taught me that cooking wasn't about applause. It was about connection." Riku's voice softened "His lessons changed me."
Something shifted in Erina's gaze.
She saw the boy behind the stoic shell. A wandering soul. A seeker.
"You… remind me of my grandfather," she said at last "He believed food could heal people. That it should."
"I believe the same," Riku said "Even if it burns me in the process."
For a moment, silence lingered.
Then Erina did something uncharacteristic—she smiled. Not her usual smirk of superiority, but a genuine, soft smile.
"You're hard to dislike, Riku Kaizen."
"And yet you've managed so far," he teased gently.
Her eyes sparkled "Not for long, perhaps."
That night, Erina returned to her dorm room in a state of strange unrest. She stared out the window, moonlight flooding her room.
Something about Riku unsettled her. He didn't fight for attention. He didn't chase recognition. He cooked like every plate was a quiet confession.
And worse—
He made her want to understand it.
To understand him.
Back at Polar Star, Riku prepared dinner for himself—nothing extravagant. Just soba noodles with ginger broth and seared duck slices. He was halfway through slicing green onions when a knock came at his door.
He opened it.
Hisako Arato.
"Good evening," she said stiffly.
"Good evening," Riku replied, puzzled.
Hisako straightened her blazer "I'm here on behalf of Erina-sama. She has invited you to join her for dinner tomorrow evening. At her private chamber."
Riku blinked.
A dinner invitation? From Erina Nakiri?
He nodded "Tell her I'd be honored."
Hisako hesitated "I don't know what you're playing at, Kaizen—but Erina-sama isn't someone to toy with."
"I'm not playing," Riku said "And I don't toy with people. Especially not her."
Hisako narrowed her eyes, then gave a stiff nod and left.
Riku closed the door, staring at the floor for a moment.
A dinner with Erina.
This wasn't just another event.
It was the beginning of something deeper.
And he would meet it head-on.
Meanwhile, from the shadows of a nearby stairwell, Azami Nakiri observed through a narrow lens, his eyes narrowing.
So this was the boy.
The anomaly.
The variable he hadn't accounted for.
He smiled darkly.
"Let's see how brightly your flame burns… before I extinguish it."