Three days after the gathering in the hidden lecture hall, Tōtsuki was still, on the surface, unchanged. Central's restrictions loomed heavier than ever, and expelled students continued to vanish like erased chalk marks on a blackboard. Yet something imperceptible was shifting beneath the surface—a pulse of rebellion, a quiet stir among students who had once submitted without question.
Riku Kaizen felt it everywhere: in the way eyes lingered longer when he walked by, in the slight nods from chefs who'd once stayed silent, and in the reappearance of spice jars and cooking tools once deemed "non-compliant" by Central's decree.
But nothing was as significant as the visit they were about to make.
He and Erina stood at the foot of an old stone staircase deep within the academy's north wing—an area long abandoned and cordoned off, once belonging to the administrative offices during Senzaemon's tenure as director. It had been shuttered when Azami took power, deemed "outdated."
And yet, Erina's key still worked.
They climbed in silence, the air thick with dust and something older—memories, perhaps. Riku glanced at her several times as they ascended, watching how her eyes scanned every crack in the stone, how her breath came slower, more measured.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, though her grip tightened on the brass railing "I haven't seen him since he stepped down."
Senzaemon Nakiri was a name that once held all of Tōtsuki in awe. Erina's grandfather, the man who built the academy's modern legacy, had vanished into self-imposed exile after Azami's rise. Some said it was shame. Others whispered it was grief. But only Erina knew the truth.
He had stepped back… to give her the space to make her own choices.
They reached a large, ironbound door at the top of the stairs. Erina didn't knock. She simply stepped forward and opened it.
Inside, the scent of sandalwood and old parchment filled the air. The office was just as it had once been—massive bookshelves lined the walls, culinary relics resting in glass cases, and a single desk stood at the far end, flanked by two paper lanterns glowing with warm light.
Senzaemon Nakiri sat behind the desk, reading from a bound volume thicker than any textbook Riku had ever seen. He didn't look up right away. But when he did, it was as though time had paused.
He studied Erina with his quiet, piercing eyes. Then, slowly, he closed the book.
"You've come," he said simply.
Erina stepped forward, a beat slower than usual "I need your help."
Senzaemon looked at her carefully, then shifted his gaze to Riku "And you brought him."
"His name is Riku Kaizen," Erina said firmly "And he's not just a student. He's the reason people still believe in this academy."
There was no dramatic pause. No long-winded prelude.
Senzaemon simply stood and walked to a locked cabinet, producing a ring of keys from within his robes. He unlocked the compartment, drew out a large, black leather tome, and placed it gently on the desk between them.
"The legacy contracts," he said.
Riku stepped forward, eyes scanning the golden kanji etched across the cover "So the rumors were true. The school does still recognize pre-Central culinary challenges."
Senzaemon nodded "Some of them, yes. Contracts bound by oath and signed under the oversight of former directors—like myself—cannot be overruled without a council majority vote."
"Which Azami never called," Erina finished.
Senzaemon raised a hand "It won't be easy. These contracts were created decades ago, and many require very specific conditions to be met. But if you find the right clause, and challenge through the proper channel… not even Central can deny the Shokugeki."
"Even if it's against the Elite Ten?" Riku asked.
"Especially then," Senzaemon replied.
Riku and Erina exchanged a glance—an unspoken recognition that the weapon they needed had finally been placed in their hands.
Later that night, back at Polar Star Dorm, the resistance cell poured over the ancient tome like scholars unearthing scripture. Marui, Ibusaki, and even Ryō joined in, deciphering the complex calligraphy with focused intensity. Takumi kept a list of known Elite Ten matchups, while Megumi prepared tea and snacks to keep them going.
"This one!" Marui suddenly said, tapping a yellowed page "Clause 7.17-B. It's a legacy challenge contract created for instructor-student disputes in public competitions."
"That's old-school," Isshiki murmured, peering over his shoulder "But that might work if we frame the next match as a philosophical disagreement—like one chef challenging another on their interpretation of the academy's core values."
"So it wouldn't be about rank," Takumi added "It'd be about ideology."
"Which Azami can't block," Riku said "Not if we follow this to the letter."
They continued like this for hours, each paragraph a potential doorway, each clause a key to a confrontation Azami couldn't suppress. At some point, Riku stood and quietly slipped away.
He found Erina on the roof of the dorm, staring up at the stars. She didn't move when he joined her.
"I didn't think he'd give us the book," she said.
"I think he was waiting for you to ask."
She exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the cool night air "You've changed everything, you know. Not just the school. Me."
"I don't want to change you," Riku said quietly "I just want you to stop holding back."
She turned to face him, her voice no longer hiding behind titles or expectations "Then here it is. I'm scared, Riku. Scared of what this fight will cost us. Scared of what my father will do. And terrified… that when it's over, there won't be anything left of the academy I grew up in."
Riku didn't answer with reassurances. He simply stepped closer, gently took her hand in his, and held it there between them.
"We build a new one," he said "Together."
She didn't speak again. But she leaned in. And for the first time, their lips met—not in desperation, not in rebellion, but in something that had been waiting to bloom for far too long.
It was quiet. Unrushed. Certain.
The kiss ended, but the silence between them wasn't awkward—it was full. Full of all the words they didn't need to say anymore.
They stood there under the stars, not as heirs to legacies, or warriors in a resistance, but as two chefs who had found something rare in the heat of battle—each other.
At that same hour, far beneath the main academy building, Azami Nakiri stood before a digital console, reading a report marked with red ink.
Legacy Shokugeki Clause 7.17-B identified. Accessed via Archive Key 3.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Send word to the Elite Ten," he said coldly. "Tell them it's time to remind this school who holds the knife."