The instant Shun's eyes opened, they turned razor-sharp, as though nothing around him could escape that gaze.
When the cooking began, every trace of doubt in Erina dissolved into outright shock.
It was her second time watching Shun cook, yet the astonishment hit harder than before.
Because this time she was his partner—his closest observer—witnessing, up close, a level of control that defied common sense.
Erina stared, wide-eyed, following Shun's every move, briefly forgetting her own station.
Shun heated the pan. He didn't use a thermometer; he simply hovered his hand above the metal and sensed, ever so slightly.
"About one-oh-five… still climbing. One-oh-six… one-oh-seven… one-ten. Good."
He murmured to himself, those focused, cutting eyes seeming to see through the pan—"watching" heat flow and distribution directly.
When the temperature was right, he laid the duck breast in, skin side down, with surgical precision.
"H-hey! The oil might be—" By experience, Erina felt the initial temperature was a touch high and reflexively moved to warn him, worried the skin would burn.
Her words died. Her lips parted… and she froze again.
The spatula in Shun's hand felt like an extension of his body—each gentle nudge, each press, carried a clarity as if he understood the ingredient's very will.
Soon the pan sang, a sizzle with rhythm.
Fat rendered at a speed visible to the naked eye and spread evenly; the skin turned a luminous gold, forming a flawless lattice of crispness—without the slightest hint of scorching.
This level of control outstripped precision tools.
The essence of fire control!
It's one of the hardest tricks in Chinese cuisine—yet for Shun, who had mastered the Way of Food, it seemed simple.
Erina could hardly believe it. This monstrous grasp of heat and of the ingredient's responses had gone beyond mere technique.
"How is he doing that? Don't tell me that strange move just now…"
She flashed back to Shun bringing his hands together and closing his eyes—sensing. A ridiculous, yet only plausible, thought forced its way in.
Was he… "communicating" with the ingredient?
She'd heard that the current First Seat, Sō Eishi, could "converse with ingredients."
Could Shun do it too?
If so—what level had this guy reached?
Locked in the state of shoku-gi, Shun didn't notice Erina's mounting shock. The work continued.
He kept searing, flipped the duck, kissed the sides to lock the juice.
Every motion was clean, not a hint of waste; his timing was sublime.
Then he slid the whole piece into a preheated oven for the finish.
He never once checked a clock, yet every step landed to the second.
Only when he'd done all this did he glance at Erina and notice she was still at the earliest stage, and asked, "Hm? You haven't started the sauce and garnishes?"
His tone was mild, faintly puzzled—as if the miracle just performed had been someone else's.
"Ah!" Erina snapped back, a blush blooming again—this time from chagrin.
She'd been so absorbed watching a boy cook… she'd fallen behind on her own prep!
Unforgivable—for someone who prized perfection and efficiency.
"S-such a fuss! Of course I know what to do! I don't need your reminders!"
She turned away, trying to bury her fluster under a haughty tone.
Then she hurriedly set to work on the oranges—though the faint tremble in her fingertips betrayed her unsettled heart.
"Ugh! He saw me lose composure!"
Even as she swiftly—and still precisely—pressed the orange juice and built the sauce, Erina's gaze kept stealing toward Shun, now standing at the oven with absolute calm.
That composure, so at odds with the breathtaking technique from moments ago.
"What a strange guy…"
She muttered, then focused hard on her station.
If she botched her half, that really would be a joke.
Still, as the only first-year in the Elite Ten, her fundamentals were rock solid; with the God Tongue's extreme palate, she quickly finished a sauce with balanced brightness and sweetness, plus vegetables blanched to a perfect bite.
At last, the duck came out to rest.
Shun took up the Blade of Food and, with superb knife work, sliced it into perfectly even pieces.
The cross-sections glowed a tempting pink; juices were locked in; the crackling golden skin and tender flesh formed an exquisite contrast. On looks alone, it was a full score.
Together, Shun and Erina plated the duck, the sauce, and the garnishes.
When the refined Magret de Canard à l'Orange settled before Roland, even the famously severe, stone-faced instructor let a brief glint of surprise reach his eyes.
Gorgeous.
The golden, crisp skin, like amber lace, hugged the blush-pink, glistening meat within, a rose in first bloom.
The glossy orange sauce pooled like an amber lake, studded with candied segments and vivid greens—bright in color, careful in composition.
The dish gleamed with a near-sacred finish, like an art piece begging to be kept—seducing the eye before the tongue.
It was almost flawless to behold.
"…"
Roland studied it for a moment, then took up knife and fork to taste.
He first sampled the parts primarily handled by Erina—the sauce and the vegetables.
A moment later, he gave a small nod, face still frosty. "Acid-sweet balance: precise. Vegetables: correctly cooked. Passable."
Then he cut into the duck breast Shun had seared and lifted a slice to his mouth.
…
(End of Chapter)
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