As the First Seat of Totsuki Academy's Elite Ten, Eishi Tsukasa stood at the summit of student chefs.
To the untrained eye, he embodied elegance and refinement—an artist who let his knife speak louder than any words. But to those who knew him better, like Rindō Kobayashi, the truth was far more complicated.
Despite his unmatched ability to coax brilliance from even the humblest of ingredients, Eishi Tsukasa bore the title of First Seat like a man burdened with armor too heavy to move in.
He was Totsuki's "White Knight of the Dining Table"—noble in craft, noble in soul, yet hesitant in stride.
Compared to some of his bold, eccentric predecessors, Eishi often came across as—well, cowardly. Not in the kitchen, but in life. In meetings, he wrung his hands. In the face of criticism, he panicked. When dealing with diners, especially important ones like Rindō, his anxiety reached theatrical proportions.
Yet in the kitchen? The moment he faced an ingredient, all the noise melted away. His hands steadied, his expression softened, and his focus sharpened like a whetted blade.
That was when the First Seat truly shone.
Megumi, seated quietly across from Rindō, could only watch in awe as Eishi prepared a new dish before them.
His techniques weren't flashy like Yukihira's or brutal like Ryo's. No, Eishi made only minor surface adjustments to each component—yet the end result? Transformative.
A slight scoring of fish skin to crisp just so.
A citrus zest grated not over the dish, but into the oil beforehand.
A marinade timed to the second—neither too fast nor too deep.
Minimal cooking. Maximum respect for the ingredient's nature.
Megumi had always believed food was a blend of heart and effort. But here was a chef who seemed to make nature itself his sous-chef.
The shrimp dish from earlier still lingered on her tongue. Sweet, crisp, oceanic. Its subtle flavors resonated more the longer she sat with them.
"Yes… I guess I can't hide anything from you, Rindō," Eishi said with an awkward chuckle as he scratched the back of his head.
Rindō, sipping leisurely, grinned. "You can't. And don't even try."
She turned toward Megumi with an impish sparkle in her eye. "Hey, Megumi, did you know what nickname the critics gave our dear Eishi?"
"Nickname?" Megumi blinked.
"They call him the 'White Knight of the Dining Table.'" Rindō laughed, lifting her glass in a half-toast. "Apparently, he 'elevates ingredients to their peak and sacrifices his pride for the dish.' Sounds dramatic, huh?"
Megumi smiled politely, unsure whether to laugh or be impressed.
A nickname like that… it didn't just speak to his skills, but to the sheer devotion he poured into every plate.
But watching Rindō tease him so playfully, Megumi realized something else:
For all the grandeur and polish of the Elite Ten, they were still human. Some shy. Some goofy. Some utterly terrifying. But each with their own flavor.
Megumi lowered her gaze. "To rely solely on natural flavor to win people over… that's a skill I haven't mastered. Not yet."
She glanced briefly at Eishi. He seemed more nervous than she did, which helped put her at ease.
"Do you think you'll surpass Eishi someday?" Rindō suddenly asked, eyes curious.
The question felt like a slap. Megumi froze.
"He's the pinnacle of ingredient understanding at Totsuki." Rindō continued. "There's only one other student whose intuition might match his—"
She paused.
"Zane."
At that name, Megumi's eyes lit up. She nodded quietly, almost reverently.
"Zane's someone I really admire…" she murmured.
"Would you like anything to pair with the shrimp?" Eishi asked Rindō, noticing her plate nearly empty. "A drink, perhaps? I hope everything was satisfactory."
Rindō leaned back and stretched. "Wine would be perfect. A light one. White, preferably French."
"Of course. Right away."
Eishi walked back to his station, visibly relieved to be given a task that didn't involve conversation.
As he selected the bottle, Eishi moved with a kind of reverence. Wine wasn't just a pairing—it was a continuation of the dish.
The label read:
Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée – Loire Valley, 2012.
French wine was a science and an art. In France, wines were classified into four tiers:
AOC (Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée): The highest grade, with strict regional and production standards.
VDQS (Vin Délimité de Qualité Supérieure): Slightly below AOC, now mostly obsolete.
Vin de Pays: Country wine, more flexible but still regulated.
Vin de Table: Table wine—simple, mass-produced.
The AOC bottle he poured was a light amber, its aroma reminiscent of pear blossoms and citrus peels. Smooth, slightly acidic, crisp finish.
"Mm~ this is perfect. Sweet, fragrant, refreshing," Rindō sighed after a sip. "But still not as good as the sake from Zane's tavern."
"Tavern?" Eishi raised an eyebrow. He had heard the name before. "This Zane… is he really that skilled?"
Rindō smirked. "You should hear the full story."
And so she began to recount the legend of a chef who brewed his own sake, grilled whole fish over iris-blossom charcoal, and made a soup that moved even the stoic Hisako to tears.
Elsewhere — The Railway Car of Flavor
As the sun dipped behind the mountains, another part of the festival came alive.
A massive food stall, designed like a retro train car, lit up in warm gold and red. Staff dressed as conductors and stewards offered tickets with every meal.
This was the Railway Bento Pavilion, where nostalgia and cuisine met.
The most popular dishes? A wide range of ekiben—station bento boxes inspired by every region of Japan.
There were:
Sendai gyutan (grilled beef tongue)
Kobe beef slices glazed in soy-mirin sauce
Sea urchin and salmon roe from Hokkaido
Shinkansen deluxe sets with themed toothpicks and napkins
Inside the pavilion, a middle-aged man sat alone, flipping open a lacquered wooden bento box.
The aroma hit him first—grilled beef, gently steamed rice, and the earthy perfume of soy glaze and pickled vegetables.
Inside the box, arranged with careful artistry:
Three types of beef: leg meat (tender), skirt (flavorful), and belly (fatty)
Roasted pumpkin wedges, blanched broccoli, thin-sliced lotus root, and braised carrots shaped like autumn leaves
Rolled kombu, sweet pickled daikon, and a side of miso-marinated egg
The meat was seared and seasoned by none other than Eizan Etsuya, the Ninth Seat of the Elite Ten. Though known for his underhanded tactics, Eizan's cooking remained impeccable.
The man took a bite.
The beef practically melted—each cut offering a distinct mouthfeel. The belly meat was buttery and rich. The skirt offered chew and umami, balanced by crisp lotus root. The soy sauce glaze sang in harmony with the rice vinegar seasoning.
Incredible… the bento alone captures a whole season.
He looked up at the train-shaped stall. The chug-chug-chug sound played from nearby speakers. For a moment, he imagined himself sitting by the window of a Shinkansen, racing past green fields and golden plains bathed in the sunset.
The rumble of the tracks. The fading sun. The silent comfort of a meal well-prepared.
This was no ordinary diner.
The man was Azami Nakiri.
Though few recognized him in the crowd, his presence loomed like a shadow. And in that moment, as he chewed on a bite of grilled beef and gazed into the illusion of motion and travel…
He felt it.
A stirring in the culinary world—a sign of new talent rising.
From Tsukasa's artistry to Eizan's mastery of memory and presentation, the students of Totsuki were no longer merely successors.
They were becoming revolutionaries.
And Azami Nakiri, the man determined to reshape the culinary world, took note.