Yūki and Ryoko—both faces Shun remembered well from the Shokugeki story—were in the kitchen.
Counting heads, there were three people cooking: the two girls… and a smiling, narrow-eyed upperclassman in an apron.
His expression was gentle, his knife work exact and seasoned—an aura you couldn't underestimate.
Aside from the apron up front, though, he wore… nothing else.
Yes—apron-only.
At Polar Star, only one person dressed like that: none other than Isshiki Satoshi—Tōtsuki High, 91st class, current Elite Ten Seventh Seat.
He was the de facto leader of the dorm; the vegetable garden behind Polar Star was largely his doing.
First-timers usually had their jaws drop at Isshiki-senpai's "outfit." Shun, who already knew his quirks—and with a mind steadied by Shoku-gi—showed no ripple at all.
"Welcome to Polar Star," Isshiki-senpai greeted with an easy smile, eyes flicking to the grocery sack Shun carried from the campus market.
Through the clear bag: tofu, minced meat, scallion, ginger, garlic, etc.
New face, ingredients in hand, walking into the kitchen—Isshiki-senpai immediately guessed it.
"Move-in trial? Need us to clear a station for you?"
"No need. Just a small corner is fine—I'll be quick," Shun replied politely, choosing an open burner and setting to work.
"Eh?" Yūki leaned toward Ryoko, studying him. "First time in Polar Star and he stays perfectly calm even after seeing Isshiki-senpai dressed like that."
"Mm. He has a particular presence… but I don't recall him in the junior division," Ryoko murmured, tilting her head.
"Maybe a transfer recommended in from another region?"
Yūki guessed—then kept watching Shun's hands. "Tofu and minced meat… going for Mapo Tofu? That's pretty basic. Isn't it too simple for a move-in test?"
By then, Shun was already moving.
He slipped the tofu into lightly salted water to soak.
A flash of steel—then an even, brisk tak-tak-tak: ginger mince, garlic mince, scallion—every grain uniform, knife work clean as a metronome.
"Th-that's fast! And everything's so even!"
"I didn't even see his hands…"
Both girls breathed out in surprise.
"Impressive." Even Isshiki-senpai's smiling eyes opened a notch, a gleam slipping through.
His own motions unconsciously slowed; Shun's seamless flow had captured his attention.
Isshiki set his right hand at his chin, now frankly curious to see the rest.
Shun ignored the attention and entered the heat.
Minced pork hit the pan—zzlaa—and fragrance bloomed.
A flick of the wrist; the wok turned; the mince separated evenly. As soon as it changed color, he added doubanjiang and fermented black beans, blooming a red oil and deep bean aromatics.
He drew the tofu from its brine, drained it, and slid it in as if setting down porcelain—no rough tossing, but gentle push-stirring to marry sauce and curd while keeping the cubes intact.
Stock traced the rim and poured in—just to cover.
Measured touches of soy and a whisper of sugar.
High heat to a boil; down to medium for a slow bathe, letting flavor soak through.
Then a three-stage cornstarch slurry: each addition fully incorporated before the next—so the glaze thickened to exactly the point it would cling to every tofu face.
At the end, he dusted in freshly ground Sichuan pepper and scattered emerald scallion—finishing a bowl of Mapo Tofu, red-lacquer bright, steam rising in savory banners.
He'd made this dish countless times at the family diner, but today it ran like water—from his Shoku-gi insight, the method felt deeper, truer.
"Done." Shun cut the flame and ladled the tofu into a white porcelain bowl.
Red, white, and green in striking balance—irresistible.
"Dorm Mother Fumio—please taste our diner's specialty, Sichuan Mapo Tofu," Shun said to Fumio, who had drifted to the kitchen doorway at some point.
She had seen enough of the process.
Without a word, Fumio stepped up, scooped a spoonful—a bite with mince and sauce—blew it once, and tasted.
Her eyes widened a fraction the moment it touched her tongue.
"This flavor—!"
In a heartbeat, layers surged across her palate.
Numbing, spicy, savory, hot, crispy, and tender—the full Mapo spectrum, ringing clear.
Douban and douchi—deep and mellow.
Sichuan pepper's ma, chili's la, mince su, tofu nen, and the sauce hot—a cascade of textures and tastes, distinct yet harmonious—then an explosion that thrilled the tongue.
As Polar Star's dorm mother, Fumio had sampled more student dishes than most judges ever would—including plenty from Elite Ten.
Her standard was strict; the move-in trial was infamously hard. Passing in one try was rare.
But Shun's Mapo… hit every note.
Two, three more spoonfuls, and the bowl was clean save a puddle of lacquered sauce. She chased it with a long drink of water—then let satisfaction crease her face.
"Good."
Fumio nodded, voice firm. "Tofu intact and well-soaked; heat control precise; mince crisp-fragrant; sauce rich… Most important, your grasp of layering is unlike the others —every element present, fused beautifully."
She fished out a key and held it to Shun. "Congratulations. You pass. Room 306."
"Thank you." Shun bowed lightly—no surprise crossing his face.
…
(End of Chapter)
[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 500 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]