Erina's delicate brows knit even tighter, her eyes openly flashing with impatience and disdain.
She flicked a strand of gold hair off her brow with a soft hum. "Another pair of diner-raised nobodies who don't know their place."
She was about to wave for Hisako to send them away when her gaze, almost by accident, brushed past Shun.
This boy… felt a little different.
He stood straight, eyes calm as still water. He wasn't nervous or groveling like the other examinees, nor brash and careless like the red-haired porcupine beside him. There was a curious… steadiness about him.
Erina quickly shook the thought away and chalked it up to illusion.
But it wasn't. Since learning Shoku-gi ("the Way of Culinary Righteousness"), Shun carried an aura few could match.
"Hmph. More time-wasters."
Lounging back in her chair, Erina tapped the armrest with one finger. "The rule is simple: the theme is egg. Use your best egg dish to please my God Tongue. Still planning to try? If you're going to forfeit, now's the time!"
Sōma let out a comically long breath, looking relieved. "Ahh, what a weight off my shoulders~~~ For a second I thought we'd get cut before we could even cook."
He clearly had no idea who Erina really was and had taken her for a run-of-the-mill examiner.
Hisako saw right through that and stepped forward with a sharp rebuke. "Mind your manners! Do you know who you're talking to?"
"Eh?" Sōma blinked.
"She's not only the first-seat candidate, she's a member of the Elite Ten Council—Erina-sama—"
"And then?" he said, blank as ever.
"You—!"
Hisako fumed; she hadn't expected someone to be this oblivious to the title "God Tongue."
Shun stepped up with a light smile. "The name 'God Tongue' is famous far and wide, Sōma. If our food fails to satisfy Erina, we don't just fail the exam—we'll be branded 'incompetent' and won't take another step in the culinary world."
Even so, Sōma didn't flinch. If anything, the warning lit a fire in him.
"Ohh~~ sounds fun."
He strolled to a station, casually plucked up a Japanese chef's knife. "So all I gotta do is make something you think tastes good, right?"
"Heh. In that case, let me taste the very bottom rung of 'diner cuisine.'" Erina's smile was all scorn.
She had no expectations of Sōma.
No—truthfully, she had none for either Sōma or Shun.
Even so, between the two "commoners," she found herself a touch more curious about Shun.
Unwittingly, her eyes drifted back to him.
"Hm?"
Erina made a small sound of surprise.
Shun had set down the small pack on his shoulder and was walking toward her.
"Erina-san, before I start cooking, I need to confirm one thing," Shun said, stopping before her.
"San? You aren't a Tōtsuki student yet—calling me a classmate is hardly appropriate," Erina sniffed, turning her head with tsundere poise.
Shun smiled. "You said the theme was 'egg.' Do we have to use only the ingredients provided here, or can we use our own as well?"
"You brought ingredients?"
Erina's brow arched; a flicker of surprise crossed her eyes. She'd assumed he would dutifully use the exam pantry like everyone else. She hadn't expected this question.
"Hmph. Of course you may use what you brought."
She curled a lock of gold hair around her finger, humming. "But if you think some rare ingredient alone can sway my God Tongue, you're sorely mistaken."
"Good. That's all I needed." Shun dipped his chin. "Give me a moment. I'll begin."
He returned to a separate station.
Miyoko slipped to his side and whispered, "You brought your own?"
Shun nodded, offering no further explanation.
At his bench, Sōma was already moving with cheerful efficiency—pots clinked and chimed as he prepped stock and beat eggs.
Shun's movements, however, were entirely different.
He first placed both palms together and bowed deeply toward his tools and ingredients. The motion was fluid, reverent—imbued with a strange, rhythmic grace.
Erina and Hisako both noticed.
"What is he doing?" Hisako murmured.
"Playing at shamans," Erina huffed—but her eyes lingered a heartbeat longer on their own.
Miyoko, who'd grown up with Shun, didn't see it that way at all. If he did this, he had a reason.
When his "gratitude" was complete, Shun opened a sleek, cushioned capsule from his pack. Inside were several dozen plain-looking grains of rice.
He took out a small bowl—not a measuring cup—and a pair of long, thin bamboo chopsticks.
"Rice?"
All three—Erina, Hisako, and Miyoko—were taken aback.
What happened next made their pupils tighten.
Shun held his breath and moved with unbelievable gentleness.
With the very tips of his chopsticks, he picked up the rice one grain at a time, and set them into the bowl—slowly, precisely.
There wasn't a sound. The grains didn't even touch each other. It was as if they were fragile glass beads, and he was performing a sacred rite.
"Th-that… that level of focus and control?" Hisako gasped. She had never seen anyone portion rice like this.
Erina's scorn drew back; her gaze sharpened. She couldn't place the variety, but the way he treated the ingredient… pressed at her with a faint, inexplicable pressure.
"Where did he go these past two weeks…? Is this even the Shun I know?" Miyoko whispered, stunned.
When he had placed roughly twenty grains, Shun stopped.
He set the bowl aside and drew another item from his pack—
An old-style kitchen knife, body dark-silver, a faint blue halo chasing along its edge.
The reward he'd earned upon completing his training at Shokurin-ji: the Blade of Shoku-gi.
The instant Shun gripped it, something in his bearing shifted again.
He pressed his palms together and bowed to his ingredients once more—then began on the aromatics.
His knife sang in an even cadence; every stroke carried a subtle rhythm. Scallions fell to a uniform mince, yet not a drop of juice splashed.
Meanwhile Sōma's pot was already simmering, chicken stock gelling as he whisked eggs—exactly as in the story he loved to tell. He was making the hidden menu from Yukihira Diner—Transforming Tamago Kake Gohan.
Shun, in contrast, remained unhurried.
He tipped the twenty grains of rice into a tiny pot and added water just to the level of the grains. No more.
"Boiling… rice?" Erina nearly laughed aloud.
Twenty grains, to make rice? What kind of dish was this?
Or was he… pairing that rice with egg?
As expected—commoner food just can't escape plain old rice.
(End of Chapter)
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