The exhibition was over, but its ripples hadn't faded.
By morning, the whispers had returned to Tōtsuki's halls like a tide—persistent and ever-growing. Riku Kaizen's name had now earned a space among the school's most notable. Not for showmanship. Not for lineage. But because he had stood before three Elite Ten judges and made them pause.
Even if Tsukasa's words were sparse, they had echoed with meaning: "I've had better… but not from someone at your level."
The kind of acknowledgment no student could afford to ignore.
But Riku didn't walk differently. He didn't smirk or strut or look for the praise floating on the air.
Instead, he woke before sunrise.
He cooked.
He practiced.
And he carried one name in his thoughts—Erina.
Not because he was chasing her approval. But because her presence grounded him. She saw beyond his skill and into the silent fire that fueled it.
That morning, he found himself at the edge of Tōtsuki's greenhouse garden, hands deep in soil, harvesting Japanese mustard spinach and flat-leaf parsley. These weren't ingredients for a major competition. They were for Polaris Dorm's dinner menu. A simple request by Megumi the night before. He could have declined.
But simplicity had its own weight.
As he worked, the familiar sound of footsteps drew his attention. He didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"I didn't expect you here," Erina's voice came, curious but light.
"I like fresh vegetables," he replied, brushing dirt from the bunch he held up.
She wore her usual Tōtsuki uniform, though the way her arms were crossed signaled she hadn't come casually.
"Central administration asked for a debrief on your exhibition performance," she said.
"Let me guess—Azami's spies want to know why a nobody made Tsukasa pause."
"That's… not entirely wrong," she admitted. "But it's not just that."
Riku finally stood up and dusted his hands "Go on."
Erina hesitated, then stepped closer "You're becoming visible, Riku. That means people will start trying to use you. Or worse, silence you."
He raised an eyebrow "You sound worried."
She didn't deny it "You're not part of any known culinary lineage. You didn't come up through Central's approved channels. You challenge tradition without arrogance. That makes you… dangerous."
Riku tilted his head "To whom?"
"To people who fear change," she said quietly "To those who see food only as legacy."
There was a moment of quiet between them before she added, more softly, "My father won't ignore you for long."
Riku placed the spinach and parsley into his basket and met her eyes "Let him watch."
Erina swallowed "You might not get a choice in what comes next."
"That's fine," Riku said "But I'll still cook like it's my choice."
She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded "Come by my research lab tonight. I want your opinion on something."
"Erina Nakiri, asking for my opinion?" he teased.
"I said I want it, not that I'll accept it."
Later that evening, Riku walked into the Nakiri research lab and was greeted not by the sterile chill of academia but by the warm aroma of something unexpected—truffle oil and garlic foam over simmering polenta, with hints of buttered leeks and shaved parmesan. It wasn't Erina's usual refined French style.
"Something smells earthy," Riku said as he entered, sliding his gloves off.
Erina stood at the counter, plating her dish with deliberate care. She didn't look up "I've been experimenting with rustic European base ingredients. It's… harder than I thought to make it elegant."
Riku approached, peering over her shoulder.
"What's the core idea?" he asked.
She replied without hesitation, "Comfort. Without sacrificing complexity."
He admired the plating for a moment—the polenta was nestled like a soft pillow beneath sautéed leeks and shiitake, the foam drizzled over like mist caught in the morning sun.
Then, she handed him a fork.
"Try it."
He did.
The first bite was mellow, yet layered. The foam added lightness, while the leeks and shiitake brought umami and depth. But the star—unexpectedly—was the texture of the polenta itself. Creamy, just barely salted, it lingered like the memory of a warm hearth.
Riku chewed, swallowed, and let the silence stretch before offering a quiet nod.
"This isn't Erina Nakiri's usual dish," he finally said.
She turned her head slightly "Is that a bad thing?"
He smiled "It's honest. That's rare."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned back to the counter and started wiping her utensils.
"I've been thinking," she said "What if the only way to win isn't by overpowering the system… but redefining it from the inside?"
Riku blinked "You mean joining the Elite Ten?"
She nodded slowly "If we take those seats, we change what they stand for."
Riku leaned against the counter "You and me?"
Erina looked at him, her gaze sharp but vulnerable beneath "I know how that sounds. But you've seen what Central has done to creativity. To students with dreams. If we want to protect what Tōtsuki should be… we need influence."
"And Tsukasa? Rindou? They're not going to just hand over those chairs."
"No," she said "We have to earn them."
He considered her words.
"You said before that I'm dangerous," Riku said "If I become Elite Ten, it won't be subtle. People will push back."
"I know," she whispered "But I'll stand with you."
Riku was quiet for a long time, then took another bite of her dish.
"Then we'd better start preparing."
That night, as he left her lab, something felt different.
Not just between them, though there was an electricity in the air—something quiet but undeniable.
It was in the school's pulse.
A shift.
The players were no longer in the shadows. The battle for Tōtsuki's soul wasn't distant—it was beginning now.
And Riku Kaizen was no longer just a spark.
He was a flame on the rise.