The applause from the festival hall had faded, but the echoes still clung to Arin's chest like the hum of a drum. His heart hadn't quite slowed down, not even hours later. He had won. Somehow, against Renji, of all people—the boy everyone whispered about, the one who seemed untouchable.
And yet, the victory didn't feel final. It felt like opening a new door, one that revealed a long road he had barely taken his first step on.
Arin sat alone in the training kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands rough from the cuts and burns of the day. The scent of his dish still clung to him—a ghost of caramelized onions, ginger, and a faint wisp of cinnamon. That dish had carried his mother's warmth, his memories, his heart. He closed his eyes, letting the aftertaste sit on his tongue.
"Are you planning to sit there all night, sighing like a heartbroken bard?"
Arin startled, eyes snapping open. A girl leaned against the far counter, arms crossed. She was about his age, with sharp eyes and hair tied into a loose braid. She wore a trainee's apron, though the way she carried herself hinted at confidence well beyond a beginner's.
"I—I didn't see you there," Arin stammered.
"That's because you were too busy drowning in your own thoughts," she said with a crooked smile. "Name's Lira. Watched your match today. Not bad. You looked like you were going to collapse, though."
Arin gave a sheepish laugh. "I almost did."
Lira tilted her head, studying him as though trying to peel back his layers. "Still, there's something in you. Not skill—not yet. But when those judges tasted your dish, they reacted like… like you stirred up something deeper. Most chefs can cook for the tongue. You? You cook for the heart."
Her words struck him harder than he expected. Cook for the heart. That was what his mother used to say.
Before he could answer, the heavy footsteps of another echoed in the hall. A tall man entered, his beard streaked with silver, his eyes sharp but not unkind.
"So this is the boy who toppled Renji," the man said, voice carrying a calm amusement. "Interesting."
Arin scrambled to his feet. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Relax." The man waved a hand. "I'm Master Kael. Some call me a judge, others a fool for training stubborn youngsters. Doesn't matter. What matters is this—your journey has only just begun. Don't let one victory trick you into thinking you've arrived."
Arin swallowed and nodded. The weight of Kael's words pressed down heavier than applause ever could.
Lira smirked. "See? Even the old man agrees. Don't get cocky, rookie."
Kael shot her a glance. "And don't underestimate him either, Lira. He has what many of you lack."
Her smirk faltered for a heartbeat, then returned sharper than before. "We'll see."
The tension between them made Arin shift uncomfortably. He realized then that winning against Renji didn't mean the world would embrace him. If anything, it meant more rivals, more challenges. More eyes waiting to see if he'd stumble.
---
Later that night, the kitchen was nearly empty, save for the faint crackle of an oil lamp and the clatter of utensils being put away. Arin stood by the counter, absentmindedly polishing a dull knife when Lira plopped a basket of bread rolls beside him.
"You're hopeless," she muttered.
"What?"
"You look like you're trying to scrub your thoughts away along with that blade." She tore a roll in half, the warm steam rising. "Eat. You'll think clearer with food in your stomach."
Arin blinked, surprised. "Did you… bake these?"
"Don't look so shocked," she said, shoving half into his hands. "I'm not just here to mock you."
He hesitated, then took a bite. The bread was simple but soft, with a faint buttery sweetness. "This is… really good."
Lira smirked. "Of course it is. Unlike you, I don't put people on the brink of tears when I cook. At least, not yet."
Arin laughed, the sound surprising even himself. It had been a long day of nerves, heat, and pressure, but here—sharing warm bread under dim lights—it felt almost normal.
"You know," he said slowly, "food tastes different when you're not cooking it for competition. More… human."
Lira raised an eyebrow. "Human?"
"Yeah. Like it doesn't need to prove anything. It just exists to be shared."
For a moment, her smirk softened. Then she quickly looked away. "Don't get used to this. Tomorrow, we're rivals again."
"Right," Arin said with a smile. "Rivals."
---
When Arin finally returned to his small dormitory room, his arms were sore from Kael's drills, his stomach warm from Lira's bread, and his heart oddly light. He lay back on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling.
Victory had been sweet, yes. But responsibility was bitter, and tomorrow would bring another test.
Still, for the first time in a long while, Arin wasn't afraid.
If food could heal, connect, and even spark rivalries, then maybe—just maybe—he was meant to walk this road after all.
And somewhere deep inside, a fire began to burn brighter.
---