The moment Ryo removed his headband, a hushed silence swept through the stadium. The symbolism was clear—his match had concluded, and so had Hisako's.
"Whew…"
His wild, untamed gaze softened as he exhaled slowly, his energy dissipating with his breath.
"It wasn't an easy win."
Ryo's eyes turned to the stage, where Hisako still knelt, shoulders trembling, the devastation plain across her face.
He took a step forward and, in a voice calm yet cutting, began to speak—not out of cruelty, but conviction.
"Following the right person can take you far. But if all you do is trot behind like a little dog wagging its tail, waiting for orders, you'll never get anywhere on your own."
His words were blunt knives, slicing cleanly through pretense.
"You'll end up like this—curled up in someone else's shadow, dependent on her success to justify your existence."
He glanced down at her, gaze unwavering.
"Yes, it's true—when your master thrives, you get to bask in the glow, share in the fruits of her achievements. But what happens when she falls? What then?"
"No…"
Tears streamed down Hisako's cheeks as her fingers dug into the floor. "Lady Erina would never—never lose…"
But even as she said it, doubt crept into her heart like a chill. Because deep down, she knew—she'd never truly walked her own path. She'd always followed, content to remain behind the one she revered.
"I know what it's like," Ryo continued, "People used to call me Alice's lackey. They thought I was just another sidekick riding her coattails."
He paused, voice turning sharp.
"But the truth is—I surpassed her long ago."
That declaration made even the judges glance up.
"You've idolized Erina so much you can't see her flaws. You've copied her philosophy blindly without ever questioning it. That's not growth—it's stagnation."
He narrowed his eyes.
"In the kitchen, it's kill or be killed. Only the strongest survive. If you're not competing, you're already falling behind."
His final words struck like thunder.
"Living in someone's shadow makes you a ghost."
Hisako's breath hitched.
Was he right?
Was I really wrong…?
"Ara, Ryo, still running your mouth?"
A sharp voice cut through the moment. Alice Nakiri stood by the judge's table, arms crossed, a vein twitching on her forehead.
"A few years ago, sure, you were ahead," she said coldly. "But now? You'd be lucky to keep up."
Ryo walked past her slowly, pausing with a smirk.
"I hope you beat Megumi," he said softly. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh?" Alice raised an eyebrow.
"Before I surpass Erina, I'll become Autumn Selection Champion," Ryo declared. "If you stand in my way—I'll crush you."
The tension was palpable.
Alice's expression shifted—not with fear, but anticipation.
"Fine," she said, eyes gleaming. "Let's see who ends up bleeding in the finals."
Ryo gave a lazy wave and walked off, the room still buzzing with his ferocity.
On the stage, Hisako remained on her knees, dazed.
"Hisako!"
Erina rushed toward her, heart clenching at the sight.
The moment Hisako met her eyes, something inside her snapped. She stood, wiped her tears roughly, and bit her lip.
"Lady Erina… I'm sorry."
"No!" Erina grabbed her arms. "You have nothing to be sorry for!"
But Hisako shook her head.
"I've only brought shame to you. I followed you blindly, believing I was helping—but I've never once thought about surpassing you."
Erina's breath caught.
"I can't be your secretary anymore," Hisako said through trembling lips. "I… I need to find who I really am. Not just who I am to you."
And with that, she turned and walked away, tears streaking down her face, Erina frozen behind her.
"Hisako… I…"
A hollow silence followed her footsteps. Something important had been severed—and the pain was immediate.
"Let her go," came a calm voice.
Leonora Nakiri walked over, her presence gentle yet commanding.
"She's never known failure before. This loss might be the wake-up call she needs to carve her own path."
"But…" Erina looked down, her fists clenched. "I'm scared. What if she gets lost?"
"She won't."
Leonora's gaze softened. "And if she does, she'll find her way to the tavern. That place is… special. You'll see."
There was a quiet understanding in her voice—one Erina couldn't grasp yet.
Flour-based foods are beloved across cultures. From Italian pastas to Chinese buns, French bread to Japanese noodles, the world had no shortage of ways to worship wheat.
Today's theme: noodles.
After a one-hour rest, the next quarterfinal battle began: Megumi Tadokoro vs. Alice Nakiri.
Tokyo—city of infinite cuisine.
Despite not originating many dishes, it had become the crossroads of culinary influence. You could find flawless French desserts, Korean BBQ, Szechuan stir-fries, and delicate kaiseki meals on the same street.
Yet even Tokyo had blind spots.
One such blind spot?
Kagawa-style udon.
Thick, white, and soft—these noodles were rarely found outside their birthplace. But today, one girl from the northeast was about to make them shine.
Megumi's movements were quiet and practiced. Her blade sliced beef into paper-thin cuts. Her fingers marinated it with soy sauce, cornstarch, and sake. Her boiling pot hissed as she blanched bok choy and broccoli, each leaf vibrant and crisp.
No shaking hands.
No fumbling.
Just unwavering calm.
"She's not the same girl from Group B," someone whispered. "She's… composed."
"She's frighteningly calm," Leonora murmured, eyes on the girl.
Meanwhile, Alice stood at her station, a syringe in one hand and coconut milk in the other.
She wasn't making noodles—she was creating them.
Coconut milk met melted cheese. Carrageenan gel activated under precise heat. With a syringe, she squeezed the mixture into ice water.
Strings of faux noodles formed—creamy, springy, perfect illusions.
Then came tofu, flavored and reshaped until it resembled braised beef.
Traditional vs. molecular.
East vs. West.
Intuition vs. innovation.
The audience buzzed with excitement.
"I thought Megumi was a side character."
"But she's holding her own."
"She's from the bottom of the class, right?"
"Wasn't she the one who gutted a monkfish?"
"Yeah, that girl's something else."
Time passed.
The dishes were ready.
Megumi presented hers first: wide, flat udon on a cold bamboo tray. Pale, porcelain-like noodles glistened in the light. A fried tofu pouch—golden and crisp—rested on top. Green onions added color. The dipping broth seemed plain, but the aroma said otherwise—bonito, sardines, mackerel, kombu, all layered perfectly.
A hush fell over the judges.
"Inaniwa udon, cold style," Leonora whispered. "She used salted water to strengthen the gluten… and added rice flour for texture."
They took a bite.
Slurp.
Slurp.
Slurp.
Chewy, cold, smooth—each noodle danced on the tongue. The umami broth warmed them from the inside.
"I thought this local stuff wouldn't suit my taste," Senzaemon said. "But it's… invigorating!"
Rip!
Clothes exploded.
Gasps echoed through the audience.
"She made the Director burst?!"
"That's insane!"
"This girl used to get Ds!"
Megumi bowed slightly, cheeks pink.
Alice stepped up next.
"Braised beef noodles?" one judge questioned, confused.
But the smell was hypnotic—creamy, savory, complex.
Senzaemon raised a spoon.
Slurped.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Rip!
Clothes flew once more.
Everyone gawked.
"Alice too?!"
Two back-to-back explosions. The crowd could hardly keep up.
"This is madness."
"The bottom-ranked student versus Nakiri royalty, and they're neck and neck!"
In this clash of noodles, tradition met science—and neither yielded.
And the battle had only just begun.