The clatter of utensils and the hiss of boiling stock reverberated through the Polaris Dorm kitchen. Despite the usual morning bustle, there was a simmering anticipation in the air—something electric and unspoken that buzzed between Riku Kaizen and the other dorm members. It wasn't just another training session or friendly exchange of dishes. Today felt different, like the quiet before a culinary storm.
Riku stood over his station, his expression focused, hands moving with precision as he began prepping ingredients. His headband was tightly tied, his raven hair slightly damp from the steam, and the subtle tension in his shoulders betrayed his otherwise calm demeanor. Across the room, Erina Nakiri, her golden hair tied in a low ponytail, watched him silently. She wasn't part of Polaris Dorm, yet she stood like she belonged, arms crossed in thought, violet eyes narrowing as Riku's blade rhythmically struck the cutting board.
She wasn't here on a whim. Word had spread quickly after Riku's performance at the Welcome Feast. Rumors, whispers—Tōtsuki was buzzing about the dark horse who went toe-to-toe with the academy's elites and didn't blink. Erina didn't pay attention to gossip, but this was different. Riku's skill wasn't a fluke. She had tasted his food. And that alone warranted closer inspection.
"You changed your dashi base," Erina said suddenly, her voice loud enough to catch the attention of everyone else in the kitchen.
Riku didn't look up "Slightly," he replied "Aged bonito flakes this time. I wanted more umami depth for the broth."
"Bold," she commented, walking closer, arms now behind her back "Most students wouldn't risk altering such a delicate component this early in their training."
He finally looked up, his crimson eyes locking with hers "I'm not most students."
It wasn't arrogance. It was truth, simply stated. And that made it sting even more.
The others watched with bated breath, unsure whether to intervene or simply observe the unfolding tension. Megumi tugged nervously at her apron, while Ryōko paused mid-stir with her ladle hovering over a pot. Even Isshiki leaned against the counter with a knowing smile, sensing that something deeper was unfolding beneath the surface.
"I'm curious, Riku Kaizen," Erina said, her tone light but her gaze sharp "Do you ever consider restraint, or is your cooking always this… explosive?"
Riku wiped his hands and turned to face her fully "Explosions leave an impression. I'd rather be remembered than forgotten."
A moment of silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Then Erina stepped closer, within arm's reach now "Then let's make sure that impression is earned. Cook against me."
Gasps rippled through the dorm kitchen. Megumi's jaw dropped. Ryōko dropped her ladle entirely, and Isshiki let out a soft whistle.
"A Shokugeki?" Riku asked, tilting his head. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes flickered—a flame catching fire.
"Not officially," Erina said, smirking "Call it a… friendly duel. No formal wager. Just your pride on the line."
Riku's lips curled into a subtle grin "You'll forgive me if I don't go easy on you."
"Wouldn't expect anything less."
The kitchen transformed in seconds. Counters were cleared, ingredients brought out, and a line was metaphorically drawn down the center. A few upperclassmen gathered at the windows, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere. Word traveled fast at Tōtsuki, especially when it involved Erina Nakiri.
Erina rolled up her sleeves, her movements graceful but filled with purpose. She reached for duck breast and yuzu, her mind already orchestrating flavors like a symphony conductor. Riku's counter, on the other hand, was chaos in motion. He went for lamb ribs, black garlic, and a curious mix of Japanese mustard greens and fennel—unorthodox choices that left even the more seasoned spectators puzzled.
The tension was palpable. Two worlds were colliding—Erina's precision and pedigree versus Riku's fire and instinct.
As Riku seared the lamb, the kitchen filled with a deep, savory aroma. His sauce, a reduction of black garlic and mirin with just a touch of aged soy, bubbled gently on the side. Across from him, Erina delicately arranged her duck in a yuzu glaze, her plating as refined as a painting in a gallery. Neither said a word, yet their minds were locked in a dialogue more intimate than words could offer.
Time passed quickly. Plates were plated. The room fell silent as Isshiki stepped up as an unofficial judge, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious.
Erina presented her dish first: Yuzu-glazed duck breast with daikon confit and sansho dust. It looked immaculate, each element placed with surgical precision. The fragrance was citrusy, balanced, and delicate.
Riku followed: Charred lamb ribs with black garlic-soy glaze and pickled mustard greens over fennel purée. The plating was less refined, more rustic—but the smell alone made a few of the onlookers audibly gasp.
Isshiki took bites from both, taking his time, savoring each flavor with the focus of a seasoned gourmand. When he finished, he didn't speak immediately. Instead, he set down his fork and looked between them with a mix of amusement and awe.
"Erina's dish is… divine," he said "Elegant, controlled, elevated. As expected from the God Tongue."
Erina remained still, confident and composed.
"Riku's, though…" Isshiki trailed off, grinning "It's a wildfire. Bold. Daring. The flavors don't ask for permission—they demand attention. It's not perfect, but it's unforgettable."
For a moment, Erina's eyes narrowed—not in frustration, but intrigue.
Isshiki continued, "If this were an official match… I'd call it a draw."
Gasps echoed through the dorm once more. A draw against Erina Nakiri? For a first-year?
Erina turned to Riku "You're reckless."
He met her gaze evenly "You're predictable."
A pause, then she smiled—genuinely, perhaps for the first time since she arrived.
"I'll look forward to our next match," she said, turning on her heel.
Riku watched her go, the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. Something had changed between them—an invisible thread now connected their paths, stitched together by tension, admiration, and something neither of them could yet name.
As the crowd slowly dispersed and Polaris Dorm returned to its usual rhythm, Riku stood alone at his counter, wiping down his station. Isshiki walked past, clapping him lightly on the back.
"You've lit quite the flame, Riku," he said "Just be careful. A fire that burns too hot too fast… well, you know how that goes."
"I'm counting on it," Riku replied, eyes fixed on the door Erina had just walked through.