The day after the opening ceremony arrived with a sharper chill in the air—though Riku Kaizen couldn't tell if it was the morning breeze or the glares following him across the courtyard.
Rumors had already begun to swirl. The transfer student who dared stand up to Erina Nakiri. The street chef who called her palette "lacking." Everyone knew his name now, and none of it was complimentary.
He walked with his hands in his pockets, black coat brushing against his legs, his crimson eyes fixed on the path ahead.
"You must enjoy painting a target on your back" a smooth voice said from behind.
Riku didn't turn "Let me guess, You're here to warn me about Erina's wrath."
"Not exactly" Soma Yukihira fell into step beside him, hands behind his head, wearing that easygoing smirk "I'm here to see how long you survive."
Riku quirked a brow "You don't seem like the type to care."
"I don't," Soma said with a shrug "But if you're crazy enough to make her mad, you're either an idiot—or you've got some serious fire. I like that."
Riku offered a faint smile "You don't seem afraid of her either."
"Why would I be? She's just another chef."
That made Riku stop walking. He turned to face Soma, eyes narrowing with a hint of curiosity "Most people don't see her that way."
Soma grinned "Then most people aren't aiming high enough."
Before Riku could reply, a sharp click of heels on stone echoed behind them. The crowd of students parted like curtains before royalty.
Erina Nakiri approached in full confidence, her violet eyes sharp, a clipboard in her hand, and her signature white chef's coat pristine.
Sōma raised an eyebrow "Speak of the devil."
"And she appears," Riku muttered.
"Kaizen Riku," Erina said, voice cool as ice "You have been summoned to the Research Kitchen 3-C. Now."
He crossed his arms "Summoned?"
"Think of it as… a taste test," she said, a smirk playing on her lips.
Sōma looked between them and chuckled "This should be good."
Research Kitchen 3-C was quieter than Riku expected. The stainless steel countertops gleamed under fluorescent lights, cooking stations lined with top-tier equipment. A single spotlight shone over one workstation.
Erina leaned against a prep table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"You said I was being tested," Riku said as he walked in.
"I said you'd be tasted," Erina corrected "You insulted my palette in front of the entire academy. Let's see if your food is worth the arrogance."
Riku rolled his neck, his jaw tightening "And what are the stakes?"
"If your dish impresses me… I might consider you a speck above mediocre," she said "But if it fails… I'll ensure you're expelled before the month ends."
There was no laughter in her voice. Only promise.
Riku stepped toward the station "Fine."
Erina stepped back and folded her arms "You have thirty minutes. Impress me."
He moved like a phantom. Silent, focused, controlled. The knives in his hands danced over vegetables with precision, his movements efficient but not robotic. Flames flared under the pan as he seared a marinated cut of beef—simple ingredients elevated by memory, technique, and heart.
Erina watched quietly. No assistants. No distractions.
He plated the dish without flourish—just a clean white plate with beef tataki glazed in ponzu soy reduction, paired with daikon radish ribbons and yuzu zest.
"A street recipe," she noted.
"A family one," he replied, sliding it toward her.
She narrowed her eyes and took the first bite.
Silence.
Then, her eyes widened—just barely, but it was there. The citrus hit her first, bright and refreshing, but the beef followed with a smoky depth, melting across her tongue. There was something intimate in the flavor, something nostalgic and raw.
She lowered her fork.
Riku waited.
"It's not bad," she said finally.
He smirked "That all?"
Erina turned, setting the plate aside "You're still reckless. Unrefined in presentation. But… I won't be filing an expulsion request."
Riku blinked "That's your version of a compliment?"
"Don't push your luck," she said, hiding the faintest blush behind her clipboard "You still have a long way to go."
Riku took a step forward "Then I'll keep cooking. Until you can't ignore me."
Her breath caught for just a moment—but she quickly composed herself "Don't mistake my attention for affection."
"Too late," he said, and walked out, leaving her stunned in the quiet kitchen.
That night, Riku sat alone on the dorm rooftop, overlooking the glittering city below. He lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it—just watched the ember flicker.
He could still taste the adrenaline from the cook-off. Still see the surprise on her face. It wasn't just victory—it was progress.
The door to the rooftop creaked.
"I had a feeling you'd be up here," said a voice.
He turned—Erina again. She wore a long coat over her academy uniform, hair loose around her shoulders.
"Don't you have better places to be?" he asked.
She approached the ledge, standing beside him "I don't know why you're here, Riku Kaizen. Or what your goal is. But you're not like the others."
"Is that a good thing?"
"I haven't decided," she said softly.
He glanced at her "Then let me help you decide."
She looked at him sharply, but he wasn't smiling anymore.
"I came to Totsuki because my grandfather believed I had something worth giving. Not just food—but something more. Something that speaks to people who've forgotten what real cooking tastes like."
Erina looked away "You talk like you're saving the world."
"No," Riku said, eyes returning to the city "Just trying to light a fire in a place that's gone cold."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"You're still arrogant," she said.
"And you're still beautiful when you're annoyed," he shot back.
Her eyes widened. A flush crept into her cheeks.
"I'll… be going now," she said quickly, turning toward the door.
"Erina."
She stopped.
"I'm not afraid of you. But I respect you."
There was a long pause.
Then, she nodded once—and disappeared down the stairs.