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Shun sat cross-legged before the Torch-Head Grass. The small flame wavered and painted his face in warm light.
"Grateful for the ingredient's gift…"
"Grateful for the life it sustains…"
"Grateful for all things."
He kept repeating it in his heart, trying to let his mind become perfectly still.
Pop.
The Torch-Head's flame died.
"Failed again…" Shun exhaled.
That made seven.
Each time he thought he'd entered the state, stray thoughts bubbled up on their own:
The transfer exam at Totsuki.
Father's expectant gaze.
Miyoko's smile—and that imposing presence.
And the instant such thoughts flashed by, the Torch-Head sensed them, and the flame vanished.
Shuu stood to the side and said calmly, "Your heart is too noisy."
Shun gave a wry smile. "Shuu-sensei, I'm trying my best, but the distractions keep surfacing…"
Shuu shook his head. "Not 'trying your best'—'being natural.' Food Honor isn't forced. It's followed."
He moved to Shun's side, sat, and lit a fresh Torch-Head Grass.
"Watch."
Shuu closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, deepened.
The flame burned—quietly, steadily, without a flicker.
Watching closely, Shun noticed Shuu's breath and the flame's rhythm almost synchronized—as if they were one.
Thirty minutes later, the flame was still there.
Shuu opened his eyes. "Understand?"
Shun nodded, thoughtful. "Don't 'control' distractions—accept them, then cover them with gratitude…"
"Good." Shuu smiled. "Again."
Shun tried once more.
This time he didn't force himself to "empty out" his mind. He let the thoughts drift, and gently overlaid them with "thanks."
The distractions remained—but they no longer tugged at his heart.
The Torch-Head burned on. Seconds, then minutes, slid by.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
The flame never went out.
"I did it!" Shun opened his eyes, delighted at the steady glow.
Still, sweat beaded on his temples and cheeks, each drop large and heavy.
Clearly, managing the state was still strenuous.
But Shuu looked satisfied and nodded. "Good. You've grasped the basics of Food Zen."
"Ding! Congratulations, Host—Food Zen practice complete. Food Honor realm increased!"
"Culinary Composite Score increased to 265!"
Shun felt the shift inside him and couldn't suppress his grin.
"Here—your breakfast," Shuu said.
He brought an empty bowl and set it before Shun.
After days of nothing but radish, Shun had been dying for a change. Seeing an empty bowl, he blinked in confusion.
"Shuu-sensei, this… where's breakfast?"
Shuu smiled faintly and pointed to a large clay vat. "There's rice inside. Use the bowl to take as much as you can eat—then cook it yourself."
"With this bowl… to scoop rice?" Shun found it odd.
"Yes—but use chopsticks to load it."
At some point chopsticks had appeared in Shuu's hand. He walked to the vat's rim. "This vat holds Egg Rice—each grain contains a tiny egg."
Egg Rice, Capture Level 1. Outwardly identical to ordinary rice, but each grain carries liquid egg inside. Once cooked, it becomes a soft, heavenly boiled egg-rice.
Before cooking, like a raw egg, each grain is extremely fragile. Scoop with a cup and the impact will crack them; worst of all, one broken grain causes a chain reaction that fractures the neighbors, ruining the flavor.
So it's a special ingredient: without a measure of Food Honor, it can't be cooked.
Shun accepted the chopsticks, swallowed at the sight of the old clay vat.
"With chopsticks… one grain at a time?" he asked, incredulous.
Shuu nodded. "Egg Rice is delicate. You must take it with the gentlest touch. This is the key test of your Food Honor practice."
Shun drew a long breath, set the empty bowl by the rim, and extended his chopsticks with care.
When he looked into the vat, he unconsciously held his breath—tens of thousands of grains rested in silence at the bottom, each crystal-clear, the faintest swirl of golden egg visible within.
"Remember," Shuu's voice sounded at his ear, "it's not you taking the rice. It's the rice willing to go with you."
Shun closed his eyes; breath and heartbeat settled into the same soft cadence.
When he opened them again, the chopstick tip had already kissed the first grain.
"Thank you for the gift."
With an almost invisible lift, he nudged it up.
The first Egg Rice fell into the bowl—intact.
"Got it!"
In the instant of joy, the second grain cracked between the tips; golden yolk bled out and stained its neighbors.
Shuu shook his head. "Emotional ripples disturb Food Honor. Continue."
Sweat slid from Shun's brow.
He reset his breathing and eased back into that subtle state.
One grain. Two. Three.
Time passed. The bowl slowly filled.
His motions grew fluid, as if he, the chopsticks, and the rice grains were a single, patient instrument.
When the last grain dropped into the bowl, the morning sun speared the lattice window and gilded the harvest with a fine rim of light.
"Thirty-six grains. Not bad."
Shuu inspected the bowl. "The count's modest, but the purity is high."
Only then did Shun notice he was drenched in sweat. His fingers trembled from gripping the sticks.
But looking at those perfect grains, a rare sense of accomplishment bubbled up from his chest.
Each Egg Rice is small, but one grain satisfies like several eggs—and it swells several-fold when boiled.
Thirty-odd grains would be more than enough for breakfast.
With top-tier ingredients, the simplest method is often the best.
For Egg Rice, the easiest method mirrors soft-boiled eggs—just boil.
Soon, the pot was ready.
"Try it," Shuu said.
Shun lifted a spoonful to his lips.
At once, rich egg aroma burst across his tongue. The rice's sweetness and the egg's depth braided together so perfectly his eyes drifted shut on their own.
"Delicious—so delicious!"
He savored each grain. On the tongue, they seemed to bloom into startling flavor.
Outside, the rice was tender and delicately sweet; inside, the egg was half-set, like the most perfect onsen-tamago—one gentle press and it melted, the egg's richness weaving with the rice's fragrance into flawless balance.
"Huh?"
He opened his eyes—the Egg Rice in the bowl was glowing.
Not metaphor—actually glowing.
Each grain shed a faint golden halo, sparkling like little night pearls.
"Shuu-sensei, do they always shine like this after boiling?"
Shuu's smile deepened. "Cooked perfectly, Egg Rice produces Food Light—the ingredient's highest recognition of the chef."
"Perfectly? But I only… boiled it…"
Halfway through, realization struck; Shun's eyes widened. "So that's the mystery of Food Honor. It's not conquering the ingredient—it's resonating with it, and earning its acknowledgment!"
In that instant, Shun's state lifted again.
…
(End of Chapter)
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