At 9 a.m., within the serene walls of Shunkatei, the light of the morning sun glinted off a delicate plate. At its center lay a culinary work of art: a slice of airy, golden "air bread," lightly crisped at the edges, carrying a glistening cut of shad sashimi. Nestled beside it, slivers of kumquat—both the tart flesh and bittersweet peel—offered a contrast of colors and flavors that danced on the tongue.
Taki took a bite.
The sharp citrus tang mingled with the subtle brine of the fish, exploding into a vibrant blend that jolted her taste buds awake. Her eyes brightened, a spontaneous sigh escaping her lips.
"Damn… that's good," she muttered, then sipped a glass of chilled rosé champagne that Sonoka had placed beside the dish. The pairing was sublime. The floral effervescence of the wine elevated the dish's sweetness, smoothing out the fish's boldness. It was a perfect introduction.
Sonoka, hovering quietly in the background, smiled to herself.
Next came a showstopper: Alaskan King Crab arranged artfully on the plate, its pristine leg meat served chilled over slices of ripe avocado, beside spirals of two-colored pickled radish—crimson and gold. A thin ribbon of cucumber sauce wound its way between the components like an abstract painting.
Taki took a bite of crab and closed her eyes.
Fresh. Succulent. A gentle sweetness lingered on her tongue—enhanced by the dish's crisp vegetables and the champagne's honeyed finish. The pairing sang in harmony: hints of candied citrus, wildflower, and crushed mineral.
She opened her eyes again, this time with a strange mixture of awe and disbelief.
This wasn't the Sonoka she remembered.
Not entirely.
This girl… she's improved.
And yet, the warmth in each dish—the pacing, the restraint, the flavors—felt like they came from somewhere else. Somewhere familiar.
Finally, came a low-temperature flounder dish: melt-in-your-mouth fillets draped in a thick white sauce made from Shine Muscat grapes, sprinkled generously with caviar, and paired with grape slices cut like translucent jade coins. One bite and Taki felt the flavors blossom—a cool, subtle sweetness dancing with the briny richness of the caviar.
"This… this is incredible," Taki whispered, setting her fork down.
Sonoka waited quietly, almost nervously.
Then, after a long silence, Taki's brows furrowed in suspicion.
"No. Something's off." Her tone sharpened. "Sonoka… How the hell did your cooking improve so much in just one month?"
Sonoka blinked, startled. "Eh?"
Taki leaned in. "Don't play dumb. These flavors… the balance, the warmth, the precision… You weren't cooking like this before."
Sonoka hesitated. "Taki, has my cooking really improved that much?"
"You know it has," Taki said flatly. "It's not just technique. It's soul. You've grown—no doubt about it. Especially that flounder dish… it had heart. And a touch of something else."
She narrowed her eyes.
"…You've been seeing Zane, haven't you?"
"What?!" Sonoka's face turned crimson. She whirled around, refusing to meet her friend's gaze. "W-What are you talking about?"
"Just a hunch," Taki sniffed.
Sonoka's silence spoke volumes.
"…Fine. I've been working nights as an assistant chef at the tavern," she finally admitted, voice small. "After failing to earn a two-star rating this year, I couldn't accept it. So… I asked Zane to teach me. That's all."
Taki crossed her arms with a huff. "Tch. I knew it. You're not just learning. You've got stars in your eyes, girl."
"That's not—!"
"Don't deny it." Taki glared at her. "You're head over heels for that guy. You think he's some kind of kitchen god."
"He is amazing," Sonoka whispered. "And he's kind. I've learned more from him in one month than I did in the last six."
"Naïve." Taki scowled. "You're just a lamb walking into the wolf's den. What if he decides to eat you up?"
"I'm not afraid," Sonoka said quietly. "He's not that kind of person."
Taki groaned and threw her hands up. "Enough! I can't argue with a lovesick idiot!"
The air turned still.
The laughter and quiet chatter from other parts of Shunkatei seemed distant. The tension between them thickened—until Sonoka asked gently:
"…It's only been a month since we last met. What brings you here, Taki?"
Taki looked away.
"…I lost everything."
Sonoka stared, stunned.
"My restaurant—Taki Amarillo—it's bankrupt. Closed its doors a few days ago."
"What?! But last time you were aiming for a two-star—"
"Times have changed," Taki said bitterly. "Europe is being overrun by night chefs."
"Night chefs?"
"They travel across countries—France, Spain, Germany—challenging restaurants under Shokugeki rules. The same ones from Totsuki."
"But… that's absurd! No one outside Totsuki uses those rules—"
"They do now. And it's not voluntary. Refuse them, and they'll force your hand."
Taki's eyes darkened.
"They held a kitchen knife to my throat. And when I tried to fight back… they ruined me."
"They're not chefs. They're monsters."
Sonoka was speechless.
"…But why? Isn't the WGO doing anything?"
Taki gave a bitter laugh.
"Oh, they're doing plenty. Supporting it, in fact."
"W-What?!"
"You think these night chefs could move across Europe unchecked without the WGO's backing? Mana's pulling the strings, I'm sure of it."
Sonoka's breath caught. She thought of the woman who occasionally visited the tavern—the one Zane had saved from her eating disorder.
Mana.
Could she truly be orchestrating something this large?
A chill settled in Sonoka's bones.
"…So what will you do now?" she asked quietly.
Taki exhaled slowly. "I'm staying here. With you."
Sonoka nodded, but after a moment of thought, she gently added: "The tavern next door is always open—"
"Don't even say it!" Taki snapped. "I'd rather sleep in the alley than turn to him. I'll never rely on Zane!"
"But why—?"
"No reason! I don't care if he's the second coming of Escoffier! I don't want his help."
Yet her heart betrayed her.
She remembered the warmth of his cooking… the strength in his eyes. The way she'd once secretly wished he'd walk into her ruined kitchen and save her.
What's wrong with me?
She hated how he made her feel weak.
…
Earlier that morning.
Sunlight filtered into a quiet bedroom, warming the rain-washed windows. In Zane's bed, a soft sigh stirred the silence.
Erina lay curled beside him, a serene smile on her face. Her leg was tossed over his, her cheek nestled into his chest. Drool glistened faintly at the corner of her lips.
"Mm…"
She blinked awake, her golden eyes slowly adjusting to the light.
Then she saw him.
"Ah!!"
"W-Wait… did I sleep here last night?!"
Memories trickled back—her fear of thunder, Zane's calm voice, slipping into his room…
"You're staring at me pretty hard for someone pretending to be asleep," Zane murmured with a smirk, eyes cracking open.
"Y-You're awake?!" she stammered, clutching the blanket to her chest.
"I've been awake."
He stretched lazily, rising from bed with fluid grace.
"I'll make breakfast. You stay here and relax."
Erina could only nod dumbly, cheeks flushed scarlet.
As he left the room, she watched his retreating figure, then curled deeper into the blankets.
"Seriously… what am I thinking?"
She sniffed at the lingering warmth in the sheets, heart pounding like a runaway drum.
Ever since the training camp—and her encounter with Mana—something in her heart had shifted.
"Could it be…"
"I'm in love?"