It began with a single complaint.
A simple, throwaway comment made by Dakota on an otherwise regular Thursday evening: "The sandwiches here have been a little bland lately."
Those words were enough to tear through the calm of the student hall like a divine proclamation of war.
Austin froze mid-bite, the cheese of his grilled sandwich still stretching between his mouth and plate: "What did you just say?"
Dakota: "…that the sandwiches are kinda bland?"
Austin: "My friend, I've been thinking the same exact thing."
Dakota: "Something has to be done."
Austin: "Indeed. We have to make the perfect sandwich."
Remi: "Hoho. This sounds interesting. I'm in."
Austin turned: "I knew you'd agree. Bland sandwiches are a disease."
Shinatsu: "Here we go again."
Esmarie grinned: "Sounds fun! Let's all make sandwiches then! Whoever makes the best one wins!"
Marlon leaned back in his chair, smirking: "Heh, don't complain when mine blows yours away."
Shinatsu: "Can you even make instant noodles?" She asked flatly, sipping her tea.
Marlon: "Oi."
Sota timidly raised his hand: "Um… do we have ingredients?"
Sylvie's eyes sparkled: "Leave that to me. The pantry still has plenty we can grab from."
Remi crossed her arms: "So we're actually doing this?"
Austin slammed his fist down on the table with dramatic flair: "We're not just doing this. We're going to craft the perfect sandwich, a slice of divinity itself. One that transcends bread, one that sings to the taste buds of gods!"
Erika clapped her hands excitedly: "Let's hurry up and get started!"
Yuji: "The battlefield calls once again."
Thus began Operation Perfect Sanwich, the most intense food skirmish in Hunter Academy history. Ten students. One goal. To create the culinary equivalent of enlightenment.
Sylvie inspected the bread like an art curator examining a priceless artifact: "Whole wheat gives earthy tone, white bread gives purity… but ciabatta—ciabatta gives balance."
Marlon: "Ciabatta is the worst, do not use that."
Esmarie: "Only someone lacking class would say that."
Shinatsu: "No I agree. I don't think the perfect slice can be made with that bread."
Remi smirked: "You're all missing the true foundation of greatness—brioche. Soft, golden, buttery, like the voice of an angel whispering 'you're better than everyone else.'"
Dakota: "Do you whisper to your bread?"
Remi: "No, it whispers to me."
Sylvie: "Okay, we've got turkey, ham, roast beef, chicken—"
Austin: "BACON," he cut in. "The cornerstone of civilization."
Sylvie raised an eyebrow: "Too overpowering. Balance is key."
Austin: "Well I'll be using bacon."
Marlon was already stacking slices of ham like he was building a fortress: "More. MORE. This is art through excess."
Yuji silently salted his roast beef with clinical precision, each sprinkle measured: "If you're not exact, you're wasting flavor."
Dakota quietly chose ham: "Simple and dependable."
Erika smiled faintly: "I'll use the same."
Esmarie threw lettuce like confetti.
Shinatsu: "A little less chaos, Esmarie. The sandwich needs harmony."
Sota timidly layered tomato slices like he was handling explosives: "They're slippery…"
Austin carved the tomatoes with unnecessary but necessary flourish for the situation: "The key to a great sandwich is what's inside and the confidence with which you make it!"
Dakota: "You sound like you're auditioning for a cooking anime."
Austin: "Correction: starring in one."
Here, the tension truly exploded. The pace was overwhelming.
Sylvie: "Mayonnaise."
Yuji: "Mustard."
Remi: "Mayo and mustard."
Shinatsu: "Ketchup."
Marlon: "BBQ sauce."
Austin: "Spicy aioli."
Dakota: "You're doing too much."
Sota: "I don't know which sauce to use…"
Erika: "Use whichever seems right!"
Esmarie poured a dangerous-looking mix into a small bowl: "Secret sauce."
Dakota: "What's in it?"
Esmarie winked: "Hope."
Austin: "Okay, nobody try this woman's sandwich."
Fifteen minutes later, the table looked like the aftermath of a culinary apocalypse. Crumbs, sauces, and vegetables were everywhere.
Sylvie's sandwich gleamed like a museum piece, with perfectly aligned layers, harmonious colors, symmetrical precision. It looked too perfect to eat.
Remo: "Beautiful. If you lose, the world has no justice."
Austin's sandwich didn't look bad at all, but it definitely wasn't going to be the perfect one: "It's called The Tower of Flavor," he declared.
Marlon's sandwich looked like it wanted to fight someone.
Esmarie's was glowing. Literally glowing.
Sota's… was a little sad. Everyone politely avoided looking at it. A for effort though.
Yuji's sandwich was minimalistic—four clean ingredients, perfect alignment: "Efficiency," he said simply.
Remi's sandwich looked comforting, like a homemade classic. Balanced, warm, nostalgic.
Dakota's was sturdy and unassuming: "It's not flashy," he said, "but it's solid."
Erika's, however radiated something else. It wasn't just neat, or artistic, or symmetrical. It was alive. Each ingredient flowed naturally into the next, like instinct guided every movement. She didn't plan. She felt the sandwich into existence. She gripped her knife. The light hit the blade, gleaming like a divine relic. Everyone watched, silent.
The knife descended.
Time seemed to stop. The air stilled. The knife glided through the sandwich with perfect resistance, not too soft, not too hard. The bread parted cleanly, and the halves separated like twin souls destined for glory.
For one heartbeat, no one breathed.
The silence broke with an audible gasp.
Sylvie: "…Erika did it," she whispered, her voice trembling with admiration. "It's… perfect."
Remi's jaw dropped: "The lettuce didn't move at all!"
Esmarie: "It's—"
Austin wiped an imaginary tear, finishing the line: "—perfect."
The slice gleamed under the afternoon sun like Excalibur reborn.
Erika smiled holding the knife: "I just… followed my heart."
Austin: "The ways of a true master. We have to save hers for last."
Remi: "Alright. Sylvie's first."
Sylvie: "Mine?"
Remi took a bite and froze: "…This is amazing."
Erika: "This is so good!"
Austin unable to wait tries his own. Unfortunately, it slightly started to fall apart. Meaning it wasn't fit for perfection.
Dakota gave him a pat on the back: "Maybe next time buddy."
Marlon's sandwich was hard to chew, so he's out of the running.
Esmarie's secret sauce made Remi's eyes water.
Esmarie: "Is it that good?!"
Remi: "Uh-huh. It's delicious!"
Esmarie: "Watch out, Erika. I'm coming for you."
The moment she turned around, Remi spit out the food into a trash can.
Sota's ketchup sandwich received a pity clap.
Yuji's sandwich was made a bit too efficiently, which made it plain. After everyone finished their tasting, it was Erika's turn.
She offered her slice without a word.
The moment Austin bit into it, silence fell across the entire hall. Even the ceiling lights seemed to dim in reverence.
Austin: "There's no mistaking it. This is the one."
The others leaned forward.
Sylvie took a bite next—and froze: "This is the best sandwich I've ever had. How did you..."
Erika scratched her head, smiling shyly: "I just made what felt right."
The group each took a bite and stared at her like she'd just performed divine alchemy.
Esmarie sank to her knees: "She's reached sandwich nirvana…"
Marlon pointed: "That—! That's cheating! You can't just feel perfection!"
Yuji crossed his arms: "No. That's talent. Pure and simple."
Dakota: "If anyone could do it, it's her."
Sylvie sighed in defeat but smiled warmly: "Of course."
Erika laughed nervously: "I-I didn't mean to. I just wanted everyone to enjoy it."
Esmarie slapped her back: "Stop being so modest girl."
Erika: "Hehe.."
Days later, rumors spread across the academy.
Whispers of a legendary sandwich that had been sliced with divine precision.
Erika's perfect sandwich.