The sound of knives dancing against chopping boards filled the hall like music. Tōtsuki's Central Kitchen was always abuzz during the weekdays, but today carried a different rhythm. Less frantic, more focused. Like the air before a storm, heavy with expectation.
Riku Kaizen stood at his workstation, sleeves rolled up, his blade moving with sharp fluidity as he sliced lotus root into wafer-thin rounds. His ingredients were laid out with military precision: duck breast, mirin, rosemary, and a mix of wild mushrooms that had been foraged earlier that morning.
But his mind was not entirely in the present.
Last night lingered in his thoughts—not the match with Sōma, but the quiet moment that followed. Erina's words, her gaze, the brush of her hand—it all stirred something inside him that was harder to define than any flavor profile. He had replayed it more times than he would ever admit, trying to pin down the emotion that bloomed in his chest like a slow-brewing consommé.
"Oi, lover boy, don't slice your fingers thinking about blondes," a familiar voice drawled.
Riku didn't flinch as Ryō Kurokiba approached, hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual deadpan expression only betrayed by the faint quirk of his lips.
"Didn't realize you were in the mood to gossip," Riku replied coolly, laying the lotus slices into a cold-water bath.
"Gossip? Nah," Ryō shrugged "Just making sure your brain hasn't melted into fondue."
"Thanks for the concern," Riku deadpanned, not looking up.
But Ryō didn't leave. He leaned against the counter, scanning the ingredients with a curious eye.
"Duck breast, wild mushrooms, citrus glaze… sounds like a message dish."
Riku paused "What do you mean?"
"You cook like a damn philosopher," Ryō said bluntly "Always putting feelings into food. Question is, who's the message for this time?"
Before Riku could answer, a shadow passed across the kitchen's threshold.
Erina Nakiri stepped in, clipboard in hand, her posture as regal as ever. Conversations softened around her as she walked with the poise of someone who had grown up under the weight of expectation and delivered, every time.
Her eyes landed on Riku immediately.
"Kaizen," she said, voice crisp, "you'll be accompanying me to the R&D kitchen today. Dean Senzaemon has approved my request for an experimental pairing session. Your flavor compatibility analysis last week caught my attention."
Ryō gave a short whistle "Now it's official. You're her project."
Riku ignored him "Understood," he said to Erina, wiping down his station.
Erina nodded and turned, her heels clicking softly against the tiles as she led the way.
Riku followed, leaving Ryō behind with a knowing smirk.
The R&D Kitchen was quieter, more intimate, its walls lined with spice cabinets, fermentation tanks, and temperature-controlled drawers. The room smelled faintly of citrus zest, anise, and the sharp tang of vinegar.
Erina set the clipboard down and gestured to the counter "We're going to develop a new signature pairing. Something bold. Something unorthodox."
Riku looked at the selected ingredients: umeboshi paste, roasted beetroot, pine nuts, pickled daikon, truffle oil, and venison.
He raised a brow "You want to pair that with venison?"
Erina smiled slightly "Exactly. I want a dish that surprises the palate yet remains elegant. Something that demonstrates… evolution."
Riku studied the array "Unbalanced pairings can tell a story if guided right. Umeboshi and truffle oil could be layered for acidity and earthiness, but the timing of application will matter. Too early and one will drown the other."
Erina nodded, already impressed "You see flavors as notes in a scale, don't you?"
Riku shrugged, pulling on gloves. "Everything in the kitchen has tempo. If you play the wrong note at the wrong time, the dish loses its soul."
They worked in near silence, moving around one another like seasoned dance partners. There were no awkward fumbles or conflicting hands. Riku roasted the venison in clarified butter while Erina ground the pine nuts and pickled daikon into a sharp, tangy purée.
Their movements were precise, elegant, but what made the experience electric was the unspoken communication. A glance, a nudge, a pause—they knew exactly when to switch tasks, to stir, to season.
When the dish was finally plated—a medallion of venison atop a smear of pickled daikon purée, topped with pine nut crumble and a glaze of umeboshi-truffle reduction—Erina picked up her fork without hesitation.
The bite lingered.
The tartness hit first, teasing the tongue, before the venison's richness mellowed it into a warm, almost smoky aftertaste. The truffle deepened the flavor arc, while the pine nuts brought a surprising crunch that tied everything together.
She set the fork down slowly.
"That's…" she trailed off.
Riku met her eyes "It's not perfect. But it's honest."
Erina didn't respond immediately. She just stared at him for a moment, and something unspoken passed between them.
"Let's call it…" she finally said, "Duet."
He smirked "Fitting."
They spent the rest of the session refining textures and temperatures. But the silence between them had changed. It wasn't empty anymore—it was loaded with things neither had said but both had felt.
Later that evening, after the sun dipped below the horizon, Riku sat on the back steps of the dorm, watching the orange light fade into deep blue. A gentle breeze stirred the autumn leaves, carrying the scent of burnt cinnamon and early evening dew.
He thought he was alone until he heard footsteps.
"Here," Erina said, appearing beside him and offering a cup of warm tea.
Riku accepted it, surprised but grateful "Chamomile?"
She nodded "Thought you could use something calming."
He took a sip "You've been surprising me lately."
She didn't sit immediately. Instead, she leaned against the railing, her gaze fixed on the stars beginning to appear.
"You surprised me first," she said quietly "You weren't afraid of me."
"Why would I be?" he asked.
"Everyone else is," she said "They don't say it, but I see it in their eyes. I'm the God Tongue. The Dean's granddaughter. The judge who fails half the dishes placed in front of her. But you…"
He waited.
"You treat me like someone worth knowing," she said "Not conquering. Not fearing. Just… someone."
The vulnerability in her tone caught him off guard.
"I guess I see through the armor," he said "You're brilliant, Erina. But you're also human."
She finally turned to him, stepping closer.
"And what about you, Riku Kaizen? What armor do you wear?"
He looked away, the question more piercing than she intended "The kind that's harder to take off."
She didn't press. Instead, she reached down and took his hand—just for a moment.
"I hope you'll let me see beneath it. Someday."
Riku didn't answer.
He just held her gaze.
And in that moment, it was enough.