The tension in the air was unmistakable.
Though Tōtsuki Academy bustled as it always did—with students darting between classes, chefs-in-training hauling trays of exotic ingredients, and the scent of culinary ambition saturating every hallway—beneath that familiar chaos, a silent storm brewed.
Riku Kaizen could feel it.
Ever since his visit to the Nakiri estate, his days had taken on a different rhythm. Conversations halted when he entered a room. Teachers now paid closer attention during his practicals. Fellow students either avoided his gaze or studied him with poorly disguised envy. The shift was subtle, but steady.
He'd earned their attention. Now, he had to survive it.
It started that afternoon with an unexpected visit during Advanced Gastronomy.
He had just finished presenting a reconstructed Mediterranean dish—a charred eggplant mille-feuille layered with creamy goat cheese and a whisper of smoked paprika, plated with a saffron and fennel reduction—when the door swung open.
The instructor blinked, startled, as the figure strode in with commanding ease.
"Sorry to intrude," the young woman said coolly "I'm just here to observe."
All eyes turned. Students whispered among themselves.
That wasn't just any student.
Rindou Kobayashi.
Second Seat of the Elite Ten.
She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her predator-like smile aimed directly at Riku. With her wild, tousled hair and unmistakable air of unpredictability, she was the kind of chef who made people nervous even before she picked up a knife.
Riku met her gaze and bowed slightly "Kobayashi-senpai."
"Relax," she said, waving her hand "I'm not here to chew you out. I've just been hearing a lot of talk about you, Kaizen-kun. Thought I'd see what the hype's about."
The instructor offered a strained smile "You're welcome to stay, of course…"
"Appreciate it," she said, strolling over to Riku's counter. She picked up a spare fork and stabbed a sliver of the mille-feuille.
She chewed.
Then smirked.
"Not bad. Pretty bold pairing for a second-year."
"Thank you."
"But," she added, licking her lips, "flavor's only half the battle at Tōtsuki. The rest is nerve. And you're not gonna last long unless you prove you can cook under pressure. Publicly."
Riku kept his voice steady "Is this a challenge, Senpai?"
"Not yet." She leaned in slightly, eyes sharp with amusement "But it might be. Let's call it… a taste test for now."
Later that evening, Riku returned to Polar Star, the usual warmth of the dorm replaced by tense murmurs.
He found Megumi and Soma huddled near the staircase, faces tight with concern. Isshiki stood nearby, towel draped around his shoulders, gaze more serious than usual.
"You saw Rindou today?" Isshiki asked.
Riku nodded "Briefly."
"She doesn't 'briefly' anything," Soma said, arms crossed "If she came looking for you, it means she's already sizing you up for a Shokugeki."
"I figured."
"She's not like Tsukasa," Megumi added quietly "She doesn't follow rules. She twists them to her advantage. And she's relentless when she finds someone interesting."
"Like a shark," Isshiki said "With a spatula."
Despite the tension, Riku smiled faintly "Then I'll make sure not to bleed in the water."
But inwardly, he knew the stakes had risen once again.
Rindou wouldn't strike randomly. If she was watching, others were, too. The Elite Ten didn't waste energy unless something—or someone—threatened the balance they maintained.
He was the disturbance.
And now, everyone was sharpening their knives.
Two days passed before the challenge came.
It arrived not through the usual formal channels, but handwritten—slipped under his door like an invitation to a secret duel.
"Riku Kaizen, Let's see what you can really do. No audience. No theatrics. Just you, me, and the flames.
Kitchen C-13. Midnight. Bring something wild."
—R.K."
He read it twice.
"Something wild," he murmured.
And then he understood.
Rindou Kobayashi was a specialist in exotic ingredients. She once crafted a three-course meal using crocodile, ants, and jellyfish. Her Shokugeki style was unpredictable, unorthodox, and always visceral.
To face her, he'd have to match her madness with method.
Riku packed his satchel carefully, selecting ingredients not for their elegance, but for their potential to surprise: fermented shark, yuzu kosho, black garlic purée, and wild boar loin—smuggled in from his grandfather's preserved stash, hidden deep in the freezer of Polar Star.
He left the dorm quietly.
Kitchen C-13 was dimly lit, bathed in pale fluorescent light. The air smelled of iron and oil. Rindou stood waiting, arms folded, grinning like a predator in her element.
"Took you long enough," she said.
"No rules?"
"No rules. Just food."
The two chefs took their places.
No audience. No judges. Just the crackle of flame and the roar of instinct.
Riku moved with purpose, slicing the boar loin into medallions and searing them in rendered duck fat. He used the black garlic purée to build a sweet, fermented base, layering the plate with pickled lotus root and finishing with a smoked dashi foam infused with dried chrysanthemum.
Across the station, Rindou diced something unidentifiable—deep red, almost translucent—and flash-seared it in wasabi oil. The scent was both inviting and aggressive, like a dare laced with seduction.
They worked in silence.
A dance of contrast. Order and chaos. Flame and restraint.
An hour later, both plates were complete.
Riku presented his dish first: "Wild Boar Medallions with Fermented Garlic and Chrysanthemum Dashi."
Rindou took a bite, eyes flicking up toward him "Unexpectedly grounded. Like biting into a storm and finding calm in the center."
She set her fork down "Not bad."
Then she slid her plate toward him.
He tasted it without hesitation.
It hit his tongue like a spark—bright, acidic, raw. A ceviche of fire-roasted mantis shrimp marinated in passionfruit vinegar, balanced by a coconut-milk gel and dusted with dried crickets for crunch.
He blinked. Then laughed.
"That's insane."
"Isn't it great?" she beamed.
They sat down together on the stainless-steel counters, plates between them.
"Why no audience?" he asked.
"Because this wasn't a Shokugeki," she said "It was a message."
"What kind?"
"You're not ready yet," she said "But you will be. And when that happens, I want to be first in line to break you."
Riku smirked "I'll make sure not to disappoint."
She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her coat "You're interesting, Kaizen. Just don't get swallowed by the attention. Totsuki chews people up when they stop cooking from the gut."
As she walked out into the cold night, her voice echoed faintly.
"Keep your fire weird. It suits you."
Back at Polar Star, Riku slipped quietly into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He leaned against the counter, exhaustion tugging at his limbs.
And then, from behind him—
"You smell like burnt garlic and insanity," came Erina's voice, dry but amused.
He turned, startled.
She stood at the door, arms folded, golden eyes glinting.
"You were with her, weren't you?"
He didn't lie "Yeah."
"Did she challenge you?"
"Something like that."
Erina stepped closer "And?"
"I held my own."
She studied his face for a moment longer.
Then, without warning, she reached out and brushed a smudge of black garlic from his cheek.
"You're a fool," she said softly "But you're my fool."
He grinned, despite the chaos behind his eyes.
And for the first time in days, the rumors, the pressure, the politics—they all fell away.
If only for a moment.