The pill arrived in a white case, too small for something so monumental.
"Congratulations," the doctor said smiling like he'd just announced good weather. "It's effective, daily dosage, no cooking restrictions.
Lilly stared at it.
The cure.
Months of trials, years of waiting, endless needles and clipped hope all condensed into something no bigger than a peppercorn.
Lilly swallowed
Instant regret
The taste exploded like culinary treason.
Bitter, metallic, sour in the wrong places it clung to her tongue with the persistence of a bad memory Lilly gagged, eyes watering, fist clenched in the sheets.
"That," she croaked, "is a crime."
Fumi was already at her side handing her water trying and failing not to laugh "How bad?"
Lilly considered she was a professional, after all.
"Like someone boiled despair, forgot the salt, then served it cold."
Fumi snorted.
The pill worked.
Slowly at first, then unmistakably strength crept back into Lilly's limbs her hands steadied. Her breath stopped feeling borrowed, the illness loosened its grip, sulking as it retreated.
But the taste.
The taste never improved.
Every morning became a duel Lilly versus the pill. Lilly tried juice, milk, honey, coffee Lilly wrapped it in bread like a coward nothing masked it the bitterness bloomed anyway, smug and victorious.
One morning, Lilly slammed the glass down and laughed.
A sharp, bright sound.
"That's it," Lilly said. "I'm not letting this thing win."
Fumi raised a brow. "You're going to… cook it?"
"I'm going to defeat it."
The kitchen welcomed Lilly back like an old friend pretending not to worry Lilly worked carefully at first, then faster Lilly broke down the pill's flavor profile like a puzzle. Identified its sins, its chemical arrogance, its total lack of balance.
Bitterness demanded contrast acidity demanded warmth metal begged for umami.
She didn't change the pill.
She changed the experience.
A small pre-dose dish, a single bite something bold enough to reset the palate and cradle the bitterness instead of fighting it. Fermented plum, dark chocolate, smoked salt, a whisper of citrus oil. A dish that said: I see you now behave.
Lilly swallowed the pill.
Paused.
Her eyes widened.
Fumi leaned in. "Well?"
Lilly grinned, wild and triumphant.
Still disgusting," Lilly said. "But now? Intentionally."
The news traveled fast once Lilly returned to the culinary world. A cured prodigy a chef who turned medicine into ritual judges whispered about her dishes, how they tasted like survival. Like defiance plated with elegance.
When Soma finally heard her name again, it wasn't in pity.
It was in awe.
Lilly Yukihira didn't just survive.
She seasoned her salvation.
And every morning, as she swallowed that awful pill, she smiled. Because even bitterness, in the right hands, could become power.