With only a small bag in hand, Shun didn't take the shuttle or walk. He checked the direction of Polar Star Dorm, bent his knees—
Whoosh!
He shot forward like an arrow loosed from the string—far faster than any normal person.
The initial activation of his Gourmet Cells bloomed through his body now, plain as day.
He didn't know his exact speed; he only knew the scenery on both sides blurred backward and the wind tugged his hair.
"At this pace… an hour, tops," he estimated, weaving cleanly past pedestrians.
At this speed, a collision would hit like a compact car.
Then—at a corner—trouble.
A petite girl in a Tōtsuki uniform with white short hair was walking head-down, eyes locked on a tablet.
On it was a molecular gastronomy model.
Focused entirely on her data, she never noticed the "high-speed object" approaching.
Not good. Shun's eyes flashed. He judged in a beat he couldn't slip past cleanly.
In that instant, his waist snapped, his body twisted in a buoyant, physics-defying arc.
His left hand swept out, catching the girl by the shoulder and spinning her a half-turn to bleed off the impact.
He himself came to a steady halt a few paces away, breath unruffled.
"Kyah!"
The white-haired girl gave a tiny yelp; her tablet nearly slipped.
She looked up—porcelain features like a doll's, shock of white short hair, skin fair as glaze.
Ruby eyes, wide with startle… and curiosity.
Shun blinked.
Alice—Erina's cousin.
"Hey! What are you doing? Sprinting on campus is dangerous!" she puffed, cheeks slightly ballooned—but curiosity sparkled more than anger.
She'd clocked that reaction speed and control. That wasn't normal.
"My bad. I wasn't paying attention," Shun said evenly, eyes flicking once over the snow-white hair and ruby irises.
"Hmph! Lucky you reacted. If you'd broken me—or my tablet—you couldn't afford it!"
Hands on hips, playing the tiny princess, Alice leaned in, eyes gleaming. "But… you were fast. Track ace? Or is there something special about your body?"
The little scientist's stare scanned him up and down like she might cart him off for dissection.
If Erina was a tiny tsundere, Alice was a tsundere princess.
Either one was a headache right now.
Shun didn't want to get tangled. "I train a lot. Sorry again—I'm in a hurry."
Before Alice could press, he moved—and in a few light steps he was already a dwindling figure, vanishing down the path.
"Eh? Wait! You didn't tell me your name!" she called into the wind.
No answer. She stamped a foot, then smiled—interested. "What a weird guy… that body control… a new student? We'll probably meet again. How fun."
The detour barely dented his pace. Soon he stood before a venerable building—Polar Star Dorm.
"So this is Polar Star…"
He paused before the gate, taking in Tōtsuki's lone boarding house.
A sizable Western-style manor, red brick wrapped in green vines—antique, yet alive.
The masonry wore its years in softened hues, but maintenance was good; no hint of ruin.
A tall chimney rose on one flank, promising kitchens and heat and cooking.
To either side stretched tidy lawns and a small kitchen garden—herbs and common veg set in neat beds.
It was a stark contrast to Tōtsuki's sleek, elite cutting-edge wings—more like a quiet, self-contained villa.
"Has a touch of Shokurin-ji… Good. I like it."
The iron gate stood unlatched. Shun slipped in.
At noon the front doors were propped wide; he stepped inside.
"Excuse me—anyone here?"
A moment—and a deeply wrinkled granny in an apron waddled up.
Fumio, Polar Star's "Maria," the dorm's keeper.
"New face! If you want in, you go through me first!"
No small talk—just her brusque bark. "To qualify for Polar Star, you'll move me with a dish. Kitchen's that way. Free choice of pantry. One hour."
She pointed down the hall, toward the stronger scent of food—and voices.
"Okay."
Shun didn't waste words. With the ordinary groceries he'd just grabbed at the campus market, he headed kitchen-ward.
The doorway framed a lively scene.
A big, lived-in kitchen—laughter, steam, clatter.
It was lunchtime; several were at work.
By the window, a red-haired young woman with gentle, classical poise tended a pot of miso shimmering with a mellow sweetness.
Ryoko, like Shun a 92nd-gen student—her forte was koji.
"Oh my—new face," Ryoko noticed first, pleasantly surprised.
"Oh oh! A newbie?" A bright voice popped from the pantry. A side-ponytail girl, brimming with energy, was on tiptoes trying to fish something from a top shelf.
Hearing Ryoko, she spun around, eyes sparkling as she sized Shun up.
This ball of sunshine was Yūki, also of the 92nd—specialist in game, keeper of half the dorm's barnyard.
"Fumio's test?" Yūki grinned. "Lucky timing—stomachs here never say no."
Ryoko ladled, smiling. "Pantry's that way. Need help finding anything?"
"I'm good. Thank you." Shun bowed lightly and crossed to the ingredients.
He scanned the staples—rice, eggs, tofu, miso, dried sardines, stacks of seasonal veg, a tray of chicken, a small basket of clams still sighing brine.
Dorm pantry. Ordinary inputs. Good.
The point wasn't to flex rare goods—but to make the everyday sing.
He set out: onions, ginger, a handful of clams, a modest cut of chicken thigh, a block of silky tofu, a bundle of scallions, a nub of butter, eggs, short-grain rice.
Fumio squinted at his haul. "Hoh… simple shopping."
Shun pressed his palms together toward tools and ingredients—a quiet bow—then moved.
Stock first: kombu and dried sardine base; clams purged, then briefly steamed to capture their liquor; combine and clarify.
Rice on—rinsed just so, rested, then started with a whisper of clam stock.
He skinned and minced chicken, folded it with grated ginger and a breath of miso—tiny savory dumplings for later.
Eggs beaten and strained for silk; tofu warmed through in the broth—never boiled.
His knife sang—not flashy, only true. Scallion threads, paper-thin onion half-moons.
Butter bloomed in a small pan; the clams flashed in, kissed with sake and their own brine, finished with the butter and a dot of miso—an aroma like sea spray meeting hearth fire.
He built the bowl: rice fluffed and glistening with sea essence; tofu in; chicken dumplings poached tender; clams perched; broth poured clear and golden; egg streamed in to a velour; scallion and yuzu zest scattered to lift the whole.
"Please enjoy," he said simply, setting a tray before Fumio—alongside a tiny dish of pickled daikon he'd dashed off to reset the palate.
Fumio lifted her chopsticks. One sip—
Her brows hopped. The lines at her eyes folded into a grin.
"Mmm—this warms the bones." Another sip. "Dorm pantry… and yet it sings."
Ryoko's eyes softened. Yūki bounced on her heels. "He's in, right? He's in, right?"
Fumio slurped again, then thumped her palm on the table. "Qualified!"
She jabbed a thumb down the hall. "Pick any free single. And dinner duty is yours tomorrow, hotshot."
"Understood." Shun bowed.
He gathered his things, the dorm's hum already folding around him like a quilt.
A single room. A closed door. Silence when needed. Perfect.
Tonight, he'd unpack.
And after lights-out… he had a different world to visit.
(End of Chapter)
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