For all its vaunted prestige, the Nakiri Elite Archive was deceptively humble in appearance. Riku Kaizen stood before an ornate set of reinforced wooden doors tucked behind the east wing of the central research building. There were no golden seals or glowing signs of triumph, only a single engraved plaque etched with the words: To feed is to understand. To understand is to remember.
He had earned this.
And yet, as the doors creaked open, he couldn't shake the sensation that he was crossing into something sacred—something perhaps not meant for him.
The room beyond was vast, circular, and dimly lit, lined with shelves of aged tomes, sealed recipe scrolls, flavor maps, and experimental culinary journals dating back generations. The scent was intoxicating—parchment, spices, and the faintest trace of sandalwood incense. A staircase spiraled upward, connecting the various tiers of knowledge in concentric layers.
A slender man in a gray coat approached "You are Riku Kaizen?"
"I am."
"By authority of the Elite Ten and the Nakiri Head Office, you have been granted single-user access to Archive Tier Two for a 24-hour research window. What you read here is not to be duplicated, photographed, or recorded. Do you accept these conditions?"
Riku nodded "I do."
The man stepped aside, and with that, Riku entered the inner sanctum of culinary genius.
He passed rows of hand-written manuals with titles like Olfactory Memory Integration in Flavor Transference, Fermentation Across Climates: A Century of Tōtsuki Discoveries, and The Nakiri Doctrine of Culinary Purity. Some scrolls were sealed with crimson wax and marked For Nakiri Lineage Only. Riku respected those boundaries. He had no desire to intrude where he wasn't invited.
What he sought wasn't prestige—it was understanding.
Hours passed like minutes. He sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, poring over a collection of handwritten journals from Azami Nakiri's early years—notes from before his ideology turned rigid. Another contained Erina's own flavor evaluations from when she was only eleven. Her words were precise, almost unnervingly so. Even then, her tongue had been a razor for taste.
But it wasn't until he opened a bound volume marked Experiment X-37: Remapping Umami Through Charred Fusion that his breath caught.
It was a recipe theory authored by Mana Nakiri—Erina's mother.
He read the delicate script, her thoughts flowing like water through ink. The dish she theorized, a Five-Layered Dashi Cascade, wasn't just meant to nourish. It was designed to comfort those who had forgotten how to feel joy through food.
Her notes were raw. Personal. She had been trying to reach Erina—through cooking.
And yet, based on everything Riku had learned, it was clear the dish had never been made. Not by Mana. Not by Erina. Not by anyone.
He closed the book carefully, heart pulsing with clarity. He didn't just want to impress Erina anymore. He wanted to bridge the silence between her and the world.
And maybe—just maybe—heal something broken with flavor.
Later that evening, he returned to the dorm kitchen at Polar Star. His eyes were heavy, but his spirit was alight. The others were already in bed, their trial schedules and personal challenges keeping them from noticing his return.
He gathered ingredients with reverence—five varieties of kombu, dried bonito from Kagoshima, fire-roasted shiitake, and white miso fermented with apple skin.
The five dashi layers would be built slowly, each enhancing the other without overpowering it. A fusion of sweet, smoky, briny, earthy, and floral. He didn't want an explosion. He wanted warmth that slowly enveloped, like the memory of a lullaby.
When the broth was complete, he ladled a portion into a ceramic bowl and added a single piece of soft chashu pork, grilled on low coals and seasoned with elderflower salt.
Then, with the dish in hand, he left the dorm and made his way toward the Nakiri estate.
Getting past the estate gates wasn't easy. He was stopped twice, questioned thoroughly, and nearly turned away. But Hisako arrived just in time.
"Let him through," she said quietly. "Erina-sama will want to see him."
She didn't say why. She didn't need to.
Riku followed her across the polished marble floors of the estate, through a hallway lined with portraits of past Nakiris. He noticed Azami's among them—frozen in place with the cold dignity of someone who believed in order above all.
Erina was in the garden when he arrived, her hair tied loosely behind her, a book resting in her lap. She glanced up, eyes narrowing when she saw him.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, though her voice lacked the sharp edge it once carried.
"I know," Riku replied, carefully setting the bowl down on the small stone table between them "But I found something in the Archive. Something I think was meant for you."
Her eyes flicked to the bowl.
"What is it?"
"A dish your mother began but never completed. A cascade dashi layered through charred fusion, with notes designed to evoke emotional warmth. I… tried to recreate it."
Erina didn't move for a long moment. She stared at the broth, its surface gently steaming in the moonlight. Then, slowly, she picked up the spoon.
She tasted it.
No reaction.
Then another spoonful.
And another.
Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but something gentler. A memory, perhaps, or the echo of a voice she hadn't heard in years.
"This…" she whispered "This tastes like spring mornings. Like the first time I saw snow melt."
She put the spoon down and looked at him—not the way a rival looks at a competitor, but the way someone lost might look at a distant shore.
"How did you—?"
"I just listened," Riku said quietly "To your family. To your silence. To what the food was trying to say."
Erina exhaled slowly "You're either very foolish or very brave."
"Probably both."
She smiled faintly "Stay."
He blinked "What?"
"Sit. Just… sit with me. For a while."
Riku lowered himself to the bench beside her, the garden quiet around them, their breaths visible in the cool night air. For a time, they said nothing. But the silence wasn't hollow anymore. It was shared.
"I used to think no one could reach me," Erina said softly, her voice nearly lost in the wind "But now I wonder… maybe I just stopped believing someone would try."
Riku didn't answer with words. He simply reached out, placing his hand gently over hers.
And for once, she didn't pull away.