As the crowd realized the dishes that would be prepared, on stage, Okumura swallowed hard, forcing a laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Adobo, huh? I don't know whether to admire your guts or laugh at your stupidity for picking that dish against me. But hey, what a coincidence that we ended up with the same ingredients, right?" His voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Ayanokoji looked at him without a change in expression. "Coincidence?"
That single word sent a ripple through the audience. It was like the air dropped a few degrees in temperature.
Inside the ANHS cinema, a similar chill passed through the rows.
In Class C's section, four students froze almost at the same time.
Ishizaki, Ibuki, Albert, and lastly Ryuen himself.
They were the four who had once stood on a certain rooftop on the final day before winter break. The four who had witnessed Ayanokoji Kiyotaka in a way almost nobody else had.
Back then, Ayanokoji had said the same word... in the same tone.
It was impossible for them not to react.
Ishizaki rubbed both arms, his shoulders rising as he shivered. "Eeeh—! I got goosebumps!"
Ibuki's face twisted, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance.
It had been over a year and a half since that day, yet the memory had not faded.
How could it?
Some scenes were not so easily forgotten.
Ryuen, who had been lounging comfortably until now, shifted upright. His relaxed posture disappeared, and his full attention fixed itself on the screen.
That alone caused the rest of Class C to tense.
The students around him, who had only felt an instinctive chill before, now began watching the screen more seriously.
After a moment, Ryuen's grin returned.
At first, it was strained. Then it grew wider. And wider.
"This fucking bastard..." he muttered.
"This motherfucker..." His grin sharpened, almost feral now. "How dare he make me this excited?!"
Normally, with wording like that, someone would have commented.
Something like, 'Ayoo, stop!' or 'Mind your wording lil bro', but no one did.
Karuizawa, another person who had been on that rooftop that day, gave a silent sigh.
It's this Kiyotaka again, she thought.
The version of him that had appeared on that rooftop. It was this version that made people realize, far too late, that they had never been in control of the situation.
But why does this version of him always arou—
"That was hot, I'm not going to lie."
Kushida's voice cut straight through Karuizawa's thoughts.
Karuizawa slowly turned her head and glared.
Kushida, fully aware of the looks she was receiving, only smiled sweetly. She did not look embarrassed in the slightest.
Satō, after hearing and seeing the exchange, furrowed her brows.
Then she sighed.
"Kei-chan, please don't get mad," she said carefully, "but I can't really disagree with Kushida there."
Karuizawa's head snapped toward her. "You're not scared?"
Satō gave a small, awkward laugh. "Hehe... no. Kind of the opposite."
Karuizawa stared at her.
Satō looked away first, her cheeks faintly red.
Matsushita, meanwhile, looked from Kushida to Karuizawa to Satō.
Is there not one sane person here?
As if someone had heard her thoughts, Shinohara looked visibly disgusted by the comments around her.
"Seriously?" she said, her voice full of disbelief. "That was scary!"
Inogashira nodded faintly, though her eyes were still glued to the screen. "It was scary... but I also understand what Satō-san means."
Shinohara's head snapped toward her. "Kokoro, not you too!"
Inogashira flinched. "I-I mean, only a little..."
"You're supposed to be on my side!"
"I-I am," Inogashira said quickly. "It's just... I don't know how to explain it. It was frightening, but the way he said it was also..."
She trailed off, her cheeks turning faintly red.
Shinohara stared at her as if betrayed.
Matsushita watched the exchange with growing concern.
The number of sane people was decreasing by the second.
"You choose the theme yourself," Ayanokoji continued, his tone calm. "That means you had confidence in it. Of course, you'd know adobo. It only took me one search through the school's forum to find your specialty, which you declared in one post, where you even proudly shared your recipe."
The color drained from Okumura's face. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Ayanokoji didn't stop. "Originally, I had planned to go with a different version of adobo that contained both pork and chicken, along with a few additional ingredients, but after reading your post, I decided differently." Ayanokoji gestured faintly to his counter. "Now, the ingredients are nearly identical. The difference lies only in the meat."
For a few moments, no one said a word.
Then two laughs sounded almost at the same time.
Ryuen and Hosen.
"Hahahaha! What a moron!" Hosen barked, leaning back in his seat with a grin.
"Couldn't agree more," Ryuen added, not even bothering to insult Hosen like he usually would.
That alone showed how much he was enjoying the situation.
"Hosen!" Nanase scolded, though her own expression was troubled.
She didn't approve of his wording, but even she couldn't deny that Okumura's decision had been careless.
Publishing a recipe publicly was one thing.
Using that exact same recipe as the foundation of an important match was another.
And doing so against someone like Ayanokoji was...
Unfortunate. That was a word to describe the ongoing situation.
"Evil," Amikura muttered.
Despite her words, she couldn't quite suppress the faint amusement tugging at her lips. "I didn't know Ayanokoji-kun could be cruel like that."
Ichinose had been uncharacteristically quiet.
For someone like her, that silence stood out.
Amikura, of course, noticed it almost immediately. She leaned slightly closer, studying her friend's expression from the side.
"Honami?"
"Mhm?" Ichinose answered softly, her eyes still on the screen.
"What do you think about this?"
At that question, several students from their class turned toward her. Kanzaki and Himeno in particular seemed interested in her answer, though neither of them said anything.
Ichinose was quiet for a moment longer.
"I don't like seeing someone cornered like that," she admitted.
Kanzaki and Himeno both looked as if they were only a second away from sighing.
It was a very Ichinose-like answer.
Too gentle and way too sympathetic. Too unwilling to accept ruthless methods, even when those methods were effective.
"But... even though I don't like it, I won't pretend that I would never resort to tactics like this if they became necessary."
Her tone was surprisingly firm. That single sentence caused visible shock among the students around her.
Shibata's eyes widened dramatically, Watanabe's brows rose, and Minamikata looked at her with open surprise, while Shiranami and Kobashi exchanged uncertain glances.
Even Amikura's playful expression faltered for a brief second.
Their usual gentle leader had calmly admitted that, if the situation demanded it, she would not hesitate to use cold or even callous tactics.
Himeno and Kanzaki exchanged a short look.
It did not escape Ichinose's notice.
They looked... content.
As if they had been waiting for her to say something like that.
Ichinose's smile became faint, but there was a trace of self-awareness in it.
"Oh~?" Amikura recovered quickly, her teasing tone returning. "Are you only saying that because Ayanokoji-kun did it and you want to defend him, or...?"
Ichinose did not blush.
Instead, she gave a short chuckle before answering seriously.
"No. That is my true opinion on the matter."
Her classmates looked surprised again.
Ichinose's gaze returned to the screen, where Ayanokoji stood in front of Okumura without a single visible crack in his composure.
"I should have realized it earlier," she said quietly.
Kanzaki's eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not interrupt.
Himeno leaned back in her seat, watching Ichinose with a look that was difficult to read.
For a long time, Ichinose Honami had tried to lead through trust, warmth, and sincerity. Those qualities were not wrong. Nobody in her class wanted her to lose them.
But there were situations where kindness alone was not enough. Some opponents could not be reached by goodwill. And there were exams where hesitation became weakness.
And through these past two years, she started to understand this truth.
Elsewhere, Satō was still avoiding Karuizawa's gaze.
Karuizawa, however, had not forgotten.
"So," she said slowly, "you thought it was hot?"
Satō stiffened. "Kei-chan..."
"You said it yourself."
"I said I couldn't disagree with Kushida-san!"
"That means the same thing!"
"Not exactly!"
Kushida placed a hand over her mouth, clearly enjoying the situation far too much. "My, my. Karuizawa-san, are you jealous?"
Karuizawa's glare moved to her. "Don't start."
"I only asked a question."
"You knew exactly what you were doing."
Kushida's smile widened. "Maybe."
Matsushita sighed quietly.
She had expected this conversation to become troublesome, but somehow, it had become troublesome in a completely different direction than she had predicted.
Satō looked at Karuizawa with an apologetic expression. "It's not like that, Kei-chan. It's just... the way he stayed calm there was kind of impressive."
Karuizawa clicked her tongue softly, but she didn't deny it.
Because that was the problem. She understood. Of course, she understood.
That side of Ayanokoji was terrifying. It was cold, ruthless, and far too detached.
But there was also something about it that drew the eye and refused to let go.
That was precisely what annoyed her.
Shinohara, still unwilling to surrender, looked toward Ike and Sudō. "You two agree with me, right? That was scary, not cool."
Ike opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Then he slowly looked away.
Shinohara's eyes widened. "Kanji!"
"Look, I'm not saying it wasn't scary," Ike said quickly, raising both hands in defense. "It was! Totally scary! But... if I was on his side, I'd probably think it was cool."
Sudō nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. If he said something like that to an opponent before a basketball match, I'd be hyped."
Shinohara stared at both of them in disbelief.
"Men are hopeless."
Horikita quietly shook her head.
Despite the fact that she had stood on Ayanokoji's side for nearly two years, she could not say that she truly knew him.
The side he was showing now was something she had only glimpsed once or twice before. Even then, this version of him felt slightly different.
Ryuen still hadn't lost his grin, and Ibuki looked disgusted by it.
"You look revolting... ew."
"Kukuku. You're just too simple to appreciate it."
"What did you say?"
He paused, his gaze locking on Okumura's trembling hands.
"That gives me an advantage," he said evenly, "but for someone skilled and well-versed in Filipino cuisine, that shouldn't be a problem... right?"
The question landed like a hammer.
From the stands, even the students who had been shouting moments ago went quiet.
If the students had been quiet before, now they became quieter still.
Just when they thought Okumura's situation could not possibly become worse, Ayanokoji pushed him even further into the corner.
Mii-chan swallowed. "That's... really mean."
"Evil! Evil! Evil!" Mori sputtered, pointing at the screen as if accusing Ayanokoji directly.
Hirata wore an awkward expression, as if he couldn't decide what kind of face he should make.
On one hand, he didn't like watching someone be pressured like this. On the other hand, this was a formal match, and Okumura had challenged Ayanokoji under conditions meant to expel him. Sympathy had its limits, even for Hirata.
The only one nearby who seemed to be enjoying herself without restraint was Kushida.
"Hehe..." She covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes curving with amusement. "Kicking a corpse... how beautiful."
Horikita slowly turned toward her with visible disgust. "You're insane."
Kushida laughed lightly but then let out a small sigh.
"Hah... If I had known Ayanokoji-kun was like this, school could have been so much more fun."
There was no need to mention the glares she received.
Shinohara looked as if she wanted to move several seats away.
Kushida noticed all of them and only smiled more brightly.
In Class A's section, Sakayanagi let out a soft, delighted laugh.
"Oh my."
Her eyes gleamed as she raised a hand in front of her mouth.
"This is wonderful."
Hashimoto shot her an incredulous look. "Wonderful? He just crushed that guy's confidence into dust."
"Precisely," Sakayanagi said with a small nod. "Ayanokoji-kun not only damaged his opponent's composure, but also made it clear to the entire audience that this match has become a pure contest of skill. After this, there will be no excuses left. Is that not brilliant?"
Hashimoto stared at her. Then he looked back at the screen, where Okumura stood pale and frozen beneath the lights.
Brilliant. That was one way to put it. Cruel was another.
Still, Hashimoto couldn't deny her point. Ayanokoji had not merely chosen the same dish. He had explained why he had chosen it, revealed how he had obtained the information, and then forced everyone watching to understand what the match now represented.
If Okumura lost, he would not lose because of an unlucky theme.
He would lose in his own field, with his own recipe, under the theme he had chosen himself.
Luckily, King left school, he thought.
If Ayanokoji had stayed at ANHS, maintaining Class A's position would never have been as comfortable as it was now.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. Okumura wasn't even looking at his station anymore. His head hung low, his gaze fixed on the floor. He looked pale, frozen. He hadn't even started cooking, yet his focus, his confidence, his composure, all of it had shattered.
There was an unspoken consensus in the theater at ANHS.
Ayanokoji Kiyotaka had won the first match without even starting to cook.
The conversations that broke out weren't about the cooking at all. They were about the cruelty and the brilliance of how he'd done it.
It wasn't some elaborate, multi-layered scheme. That was the strange part. There was no grand trap, nor any hidden mechanism, and there was no twist that needed explaining. He had simply researched his opponent, matched his ingredients, and asked a single-pointed question. That was all. And somehow the very simplicity of it made it more astonishing than any complicated strategy could have been.
And so the theater settled into a kind of grim, fascinated agreement. The match was over. They all knew it, despite not seeing Ayanokoji cook even once. Now it was simply a matter of watching the formalities play out—
And then, in the middle of that unbearable silence, Ayanokoji spoke again.
"I have never cooked adobo before."
The words dropped like stones into a still pond.
Okumura's head jerked up instantly, eyes wide in disbelief.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The judges exchanged glances, equally confused. Even the announcer was at a loss for words. Her mic picked up a faint, nervous laugh before she fumbled for something to say.
The reaction at ANHS was instant.
The careful, grim consensus that had just settled over the theater shattered in a single heartbeat.
"Huh?!"
"What?!"
"He just said what?!"
"Is he mentally ill?!"
Ike nearly shot out of his seat. "Why would he say that?! He had him! He had him completely cornered!"
Sudō didn't nearly shoot out of his seat, but he was on his feet before he even realized it.
"He—he just spent all that time breaking the guy down, and now he says he's never even made it?!"
"Sit down, Sudō-kun—"
"How am I supposed to sit down after THAT?!"
Shinohara immediately pointed toward the screen. "See?! That's arrogance! That's definitely arrogance! He's basically saying he can beat someone at their own dish without ever having made it before!"
Mori nodded rapidly. "That's not confidence anymore. He's crazy, absolutely crazy!"
Mii-chan looked worried. "B-But why would he reveal it?"
That was the question.
A question not even the class leaders could answer.
Horikita, Ryuen, Sakayanagi, and Ichinose all watched the screen in silence for a brief moment, each trying to grasp the intention behind Ayanokoji's words.
Why reveal that now?
Why destroy Okumura's confidence, corner him completely, and then hand him something that could be used as hope?
They did not get the chance to discuss it further.
The scene continued.
Ayanokoji stood there, completely unbothered by the attention on him and the baffled crowd.
"I haven't practiced for this match."
The words came out clear and unhurried, carried across the entire arena through the speakers.
A collective gasp followed.
"?!"
"What did he just say?!"
"Is he serious?!"
"Why the hell is he revealing that?!"
The announcer was caught completely off guard. "E-Ehhhh?! Whatttt?!" She didn't even realize her voice was being broadcast.
"Damn!" Ike blurted out. "That dude is already dead, let him rest!"
"He has to be lying!" Morishige burst out from Class A's section, louder than he probably intended. "It's a bluff. Right? Right?! It's a bluff!"
Sakayanagi chuckled softly and turned her head toward him, her expression pleasant and merciless.
"I've never seen Ayanokoji-kun bluff."
"..."
Morishige had nothing to say to that and sank back into his seat.
But Ayanokoji didn't stop.
"I only reviewed your recipe in preparation."
Silence fell again, followed by another wave of incredulous shouts.
"HE'S STILL TALKING!"
"Sudō-kun, sit—"
"HOW?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SIT?!"
Horikita didn't answer.
In truth, she wasn't far from standing herself. Her fingers had curled around the armrest, and her knuckles turned pale.
You cornered him, she thought at the screen. You dismantled him piece by piece, in front of the entire school. And now you're handing his hope back to him. Why? For what benefit? What am I missing?
Why can't I comprehend your thought process?
Meanwhile, Okumura was repeatedly blinking, his confusion warring with something else—relief. His lips twitched upward, color returning to his face as his earlier fear and unease began to fade.
"Today will be the first time I prepare this dish."
The arena was silent. After a while, the shock was fading, and while many were still quiet, confused by the ongoing events, and suspicious of Ayanokoji's intentions, some were beginning to burst out in laughter, unable to believe what they were hearing.
Some others looked offended, as if Ayanokoji's statement itself were an insult to the art of cooking. For them, it seemed as if Ayanokoji was making a joke of the tradition and beauty of Shokugeki.
From the judges' table, one of them leaned forward, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "He's... serious."
"That's it. That's arrogance. Final answer." Shinohara folded her arms. "There's no strategy on earth that explains telling your opponent 'I've never done this before' right before doing it."
"Then why does his opponent look happier?" Matsushita asked.
Shinohara blinked. "Huh?"
"Look at him." Matsushita nodded toward the screen, where color was visibly returning to Okumura's face. "Thirty seconds ago, that boy was finished. He couldn't even look at his own station. Now he's breathing again." She tilted her head slightly. "Whatever Ayanokoji-kun just did, the immediate effect was to revive him."
"Revive him," Shinohara repeated. "Why would you revive the guy you're trying to beat?!"
"That," Matsushita said, "is the actual question."
From Class C's section came a low snort.
"Cartoon-ass villain," Ryuen spat, eyes fixed on the screen. "A normal victory wouldn't be enough, right, Monster?"
Ibuki glanced at him. "You're one to talk."
"I'm exactly the one to talk." His grin had a bitter edge to it now. "I'd break a man and leave him broken and then beat him." He gestured to the screen. "But this bastard? He decides to break you, then props you back up, then makes you watch while he beats the fixed version of you too. Just so there's no doubt left. Damn sicko."
Katsuragi, arms folded, spoke without turning his head. "Or he simply wants a legitimate result. If he wins against a broken opponent, the school will say Okumura defeated himself. If he wins against Okumura at full strength, no such argument exists."
Ryuen's grin widened. "Kukuku. Sure, Johnny. Keep telling yourself he's being sportsmanlike."
Now that Okumura had finally shaken off his paralysis, the ticking clock above the stage suddenly felt deafening. Realization hit him that the match had already started, and time was running.
He snapped into motion, rolling up his sleeves and putting out his knife. The sound of metal against the board echoed as he began separating the chicken legs into drumsticks and thighs.
As his blade hit the board again, the crowd grew silent, all eyes shifting to the stage. Even the air seemed to tighten as the match truly began.
One girl from the audience leaned forward in her seat, gripping the railing. "Kiyotron, what are you doing?!" she hissed in a half-whisper, half-yell.
The camera shortly focused on the group
"...Kiyotron?" Satō repeated.
"Kiyotron," Matsushita confirmed with a giggle slipping out of her.
Even Horikita let out a quiet chuckle at the sound of it. It was such an absurd, yet fitting nickname to attach to him.
"Wow. Another one." Kushida began counting off on her fingers with visible delight. "Megumi, who uses his first name. That red-haired boy, Yukihira, who also uses his first name. And now a girl who's gone and invented an entirely new word for him." She pressed a hand to her cheek, eyes curving. "All in one week. My, my. Ayanokoji-kun really does work fast, doesn't he?"
Several heads turned toward her with expressions ranging from confusion to open distaste.
Kushida basked in it. It seems she has found another pleasure, aside from the praises...
"That's rich," Shinohara said flatly, not even looking over. "Coming from the girl who had half the school in her contacts by the end of day one."
Kushida's smile didn't falter for a second. If anything, it brightened.
"Ara~ But that was effort, Shinohara-san. I worked very hard for those."
Somewhere else in Class D's section, Haruka muttered under her breath. "Kiyotron."
Slowly, a crooked smile pulled at her mouth.
"Kiyotron, huh? Hmph! That's lazy!" She crossed her arms and lifted her chin with theatrical indignation. "Kiyopon has warmth. Kiyopon has craftsmanship! Amateurs!"
It was the first real smile she'd worn all evening.
Beside her, Yukimura and Akito exchanged a glance and let out near-simultaneous sighs of relief.
"Welcome back," Akito said quietly.
"Shut up."
Below, Ayanokoji finally moved, and immediately, the attention of every important figure watching the match went towards him. It was as if he were the sole remaining person in this Shokugeki.
Everywhere, across the arena, his dorm mates, different students, even members of the faculty, every eye was on him.
He slowly put on his black apron, then finally reached for his knife.
He drew it from the case, raising it slightly so that the overhead light ran cleanly along the edge. For a brief moment, it caught the glow, gleaming like polished silver.
He rolled up his sleeves, then his hand moved to the pork belly, setting it neatly on the cutting board.
"..."
"...E-Ehm..." Mii-chan muttered quietly, her voice very small. "Is it normal that the broadcast direction is filming him so... i-intensely??"
"Mm... Mm..." Satō muttered, leaning slightly forward. "Scandalous!" she exclaimed and then kept watching anyway, not blinking once.
"Maya!" Karuizawa hissed.
"This reminds me of women's sports," Sudō said thoughtfully, arms crossed, "and how they're always sexualized. The camera picks these specific angles, right? They zoom in where it doesn't need to. But I've barely ever seen that happen to a guy." He gestured at the screen with total sincerity. "And now it's happening to Ayanokoji."
The surrounding students were now silent and looked at him.
"...Sudō-kun," Horikita said slowly. "That was a genuinely thoughtful observation."
"I have those!"
"You have had one," Ike said. "Let's not get carried away, Ken!"
"Oi!"
Onodera, however, was nodding along, entirely serious. "No, he's right. He's completely right. I've been filmed at sports since middle school, and you learn to notice which shots they use." Her mouth twisted. "It's weird seeing it pointed at someone else for once."
"Right?!" Sudō looked around, vindicated. "See? Onodera gets it!"
Kushida let out a delighted little laugh, entirely unbothered. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm certainly not complaining."
Horikita turned to look at her. "You are mentally ill. You need to be locked up."
"So cold, Horikita-san!"
And then he finally started.
In one smooth motion, the knife came down. Then again. And again. And again.
Each cut was fast, efficient, and even perfectly measured, despite the incredible speed. The rhythm was so precise it almost didn't sound human. Within a few seconds, the slab of pork belly had been transformed into evenly cut portions, uniform in shape and thickness.
Gasps spread through the audience.
By the time most spectators realized what they were witnessing, it was already over.
The entire cutting process, something that should've taken at least a minute or two, even for an experienced cook, had finished before they could even blink. That speed even put the 'meat master' to shame. The slices on the board looked identical, as if machine-cut.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I-Impossible..."
The first sound wasn't a shout. There was no eruption, no outburst like before. It was a single, quiet word, breathed out by someone. It was pure disbelief at what they had just seen.
Even Horikita, leader of Class D, sat staring at the screen with her mouth wide open, all composure gone. There was no need to mention the other students.
The light atmosphere and the jokes disappeared. Everything had quieted down.
Even Amasawa, who believed she understood Ayanokoji's abilities better than almost anyone in this room, had frozen. But she recovered fast, and then she laughed, low and delighted, her eyes glittering.
"Ahh... senpai~"
One might think it was just cutting. But the speed and the precision together were simply too much.
In Class B's section, Himeno leaned back very slowly, as if increasing her distance from the screen might help.
"I told you. Vending machine."
"Himeno, a vending machine doesn't have knife skills," Shibata said, rubbing at the goosebumps rising on his forearms.
"Fine. An entire factory, then. A food processing plant, compressed into one person." She paused. "Is that better?"
"No! That's worse! Why is everything you say worse?!"
Watanabe squinted at the screen, his voice unusually serious. "Guys... real question. How does someone even learn that? Like, what's the path? Because you don't get that from a cooking club. You don't get that from cooking at home for ten years, either." He gestured helplessly. "There's got to be a step in between that none of us are seeing."
Kanzaki did not look away from the screen. "There's no step," he said quietly. "That's the big problem. No amount of practice produces that by his age. Not while also attending our school. Not while also studying, competing, and doing everything else he did." He exhaled slowly. "The timeline doesn't work."
"I-Incredible..." Ichinose muttered.
It wasn't loud, and it wasn't even meant for anyone in particular, but in the silence that had swallowed the whole theater, her voice carried, and heads began to turn toward Class B's section.
"As Kanzaki-kun said, there's no explanation for this," she continued, her eyes never leaving the screen. "With almost everything, there's a learning curve. It varies from activity to activity, of course, but the shape is usually the same. At the start, the curve rises steeply, and you improve very quickly. Then it flattens out, and past a certain point, you only improve very, very slowly."
She drew a deep breath.
"Which means reaching the level we just saw wouldn't only take an enormous amount of time. It would also take continuous practice, just to keep from losing it."
By now, no one was speaking at all. Even the students in the neighboring sections had gone quiet, turning to listen.
"And based on everything we've heard..." Ichinose's fingers tightened slightly in her lap. "Ayanokoji-kun didn't know how to cook."
Hearing her words, students and staff alike were baffled.
"So there are only two possibilities that fit what we know." She held up one finger. "Either Ayanokoji-kun told Horikita-san the truth, and he genuinely couldn't cook and somehow acquired those... abilities in the span of a few weeks. Which is..."
She trailed off because there was no word for it.
Then she raised a second finger.
"...Or there's the other possibility."
She paused. And the implication rose on its own, filling the space before she ever said it aloud.
"...He deceived Horikita-san... and never told her the truth at all."
"...!"
Every head that hadn't already turned toward Class B now turned toward Class D, more specifically, to Horikita.
Horikita hadn't moved, and her eyes stayed fixed on the screen as though she hadn't heard a single word. But she had.
He looked me in the eye, she thought. And he told me he couldn't cook. And then he showed me, through his actions, that it was true.
She replayed the exact scenes and moments. She had believed him.
Of course she had believed him. Why wouldn't she have? It was such a small, worthless, meaningless thing to lie about.
Which, she understood now with a cold, sinking clarity, was precisely why it had worked.
"Suzune?" Sudō asked quietly beside her. He'd never said her name so carefully before.
"...I'm fine," she said.
That was a lie.
From Class C's section came a low chuckle, unhurried and utterly delighted.
"Kukuku." Ryuen didn't bother lowering his voice at all. "That's your answer, Ichinose. Don't insult us by pretending there's a coin flip here."
Ichinose looked over at him. She didn't react to his words.
"He lied." Ryuen spread his hands, as if presenting something obvious. "That's it. That's the whole mystery. He looked her dead in the face and lied about something that didn't even matter because that's exactly what he does. He lies when there's no reason to lie. He hides when there's nothing to hide." His grin sharpened. "That's who he is."
Katsuragi gave a slow nod. "It's the only theory that doesn't require a miracle."
From Class A's section, Sakayanagi tilted her head, smiling.
"Ryuen-kun, you seem to possess quite a thorough awareness of Ayanokoji-kun. Are you truly that obsessed with him?"
Ryuen laughed. "Ishizaki."
On command, and without a word, Ishizaki produced something and handed it over.
Ryuen raised it.
It was a mirror.
"...Touché." Sakayanagi giggled behind her fingers.
Then her expression cooled, and the amusement drained out of it.
"But you're correct. And that is precisely what makes Ayanokoji-kun such a terrifying enemy."
It was remarkable, in its own way, that not one of the class leaders spent even a moment on the other possibility. That Ayanokoji had told Horikita the truth. That he genuinely couldn't cook and had acquired that in a matter of weeks.
Not one of them considered it... not even briefly.
But nobody could blame them.
After all, the alternative was ridiculous.
Meanwhile, the other students were flabbergasted by the very high opinion of Ayanokoji by figures such as the class leaders.
While the crowd couldn't digest what they had seen yet, Ayanokoji went on. Without hesitation, he reached for a palayok, a traditional Filipino clay pot, and placed it over the heat. His movements looked unhurried, and yet one could barely register the movement. It sounded contradictory, and it definitely was, but this was how it was closest explained.
"Kiyotron..." Mori whispered.
A brief silence followed.
Then Matsushita laughed, and Satō followed a second later.
Even Hasebe had to concede. "Okay. Fine. The nickname fits better than expected." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "Still. Kiyopon is superior."
Okumura, on the other hand, had just finished cutting his chicken, which needed fewer cuts and was far simpler work. He wiped his knife on a cloth, turning to glance at his opponent with the intent to gloat—
—and froze.
His jaw slackened.
On Ayanokoji's side of the station, the clay pot was already heating.
He'd fallen behind.
And now, for the first time since he regained his confidence, it was threatening to break down again...
As Ayanokoji began combining the ingredients—vinegar, soy sauce, brown sugar, garlic, and the rest—the crowd watched on. Filipino cuisine, and especially adobo, demanded a delicate balance between sour, sweet, and salty. A misstep could collapse the whole profile. Measuring each portion was important.
Yet Ayanokoji didn't measure anything.
Not once did he pick up a scale, a spoon, or a cup. He poured the vinegar straight from the bottle, added the soy sauce by feel, and added the brown sugar and peppercorns with casual indifference.
It wasn't just the eyeballing that left people stunned, but the fact that he was doing it while cooking adobo for the first time. To accurately gauge ingredients by sight alone, one needed deep familiarity with the cuisine or at least prior experience with the dish.
A few students in the audience couldn't hold back their laughter.
"What's he doing?!"
"He's eyeballing it? Hahaha! He's done for!"
In the teachers' row, Hoshinomiya had produced a small bag of chocolates from somewhere and was working through them one by one, feet tucked up on the seat in flagrant violation of the theater's guidelines.
"Sae-chan. Sae-chan. Your student is eyeballing in a cooking competition in an unfamiliar dish."
"Former student."
"Sae-chan. Sae-chan. Your former student is eyeballing in a cooking competition in an unfamiliar dish."
An irk mark surfaced on Chabashira's forehead. She suppressed the urge to lash out.
But Hoshinomiya wouldn't be Hoshinomiya if she stopped there.
"Aren't you going to tell me it'll fail? Come on. Say it. Say he's going to fail." She popped another chocolate into her mouth and smiled sweetly. "Say it with your teacher voice."
Chabashira said nothing.
"You can't, can you?" Hoshinomiya's smile didn't waver, but her eyes had gone sharp. "Because you know better. You've always known better. You know he was the only reason your class had a three-digit number in class points by the end of the first year."
Chabashira's teeth ground together.
Two seats down, Mashima glanced over at the two of them, then back at the screen, and pointedly said nothing at all. Beside him, Sakagami rubbed his temples and muttered something that sounded very much like "I'm too old for this nonsense."
But not everyone was laughing.
On the other side of the counter, Okumura's hands began to tremble. He could hear the audience's mockery and see the dismissive smile, but Ayanokoji's expression stayed the same as ever. There was absolutely no hint of doubt.
And that certainty made Okumura nervous again.
Still, he pressed on, clinging to what he knew.
Chicken cooks faster than pork. His adobo would finish sooner. Timing, if nothing else, was on his side.
When his sauce began to thicken and his chicken took on that glossy brown sheen, he exhaled in relief. Steam rose from the pan, carrying that distinctive, savory-sour aroma of Filipino adobo.
At last, he plated.
He placed a neat bed of jasmine rice on each platter, then carefully arranged the chicken atop it. The skin gleamed perfectly, the sauce pooling in rich amber hues. As a finishing touch, he sprinkled finely sliced scallions across the top.
Okumura stepped back, taking a moment to breathe before he carefully carried the tablet with the plates toward the judges.
His dish looked flawless, and the aroma alone was enough to make some of the audience swallow audibly. He indeed understood his craft, and his confidence wasn't for nothing.
"His food looks really good!" Mii-chan said, leaning forward. "It looks like it's at least on the same level as the adobo they sell at that Southeast Asian restaurant in Keyaki Mall, if not even better!"
"It smells good," Mori said, nodding along. Then she paused. "Ehhh... I mean... it looks like it smells good. You know what I mean."
"I hate this broadcast," Ike announced to no one in particular. "This is torture. This is actual torture. They're showing us a cooking battle at an elite food school, and we just have to sit here and watch." He slumped. "At least there's no smell. If there were smells, I'd break down completely."
Sudō's stomach chose that exact moment to growl. It was very loud, and heads turned.
"...The cafeteria's still open after this, right?" he said, with as much dignity as he could gather.
"...It closed half an hour ago," Hirata said apologetically.
"Damn it!" Sudō threw his head back against the seat. "Convenience store, then. Whatever."
Another growl, louder than the first.
"Look, don't judge me. That chicken looks amazing—"
"We know, Ken," Ike groaned. "We're all suffering."
"Some of us are suffering quieter," Yukimura muttered.
From further along the row, Kōenji let out an amused hum. "How pedestrian. Hunger is a condition of the poorly disciplined." He examined his nails.
He was ignored.
Under any other circumstance, the arena would have erupted in applause.
But not now.
The arena stayed mostly silent.
The announcer snapped out of her daze. "E-Ehem... L-Ladies and gentlemen, our first contestant is approaching the judges!"
Okumura set the platters down with care.
"It looks good," one judge said, leaning in.
Another swallowed. "After the earlier courses, this is exactly what I was craving."
The female judge eyed the chicken and nodded. "The glaze is clean, the skin still glistening. The meat looks beautiful."
Initial appraisals done, they each took a spoon filled with rice and chicken together. The meat slipped from the bone with no resistance, drawing a tiny, approving murmur before they even tasted.
The three judges lifted their spoons almost in unison. The moment the food touched their tongues, their expressions shifted.
The first judge's shoulders dropped, followed by a slow, drawn-out groan of satisfaction. The second leaned back in his chair, eyes fluttering shut as if the flavor had caught him off guard. And finally, the last judge, the female judge, pressed a hand lightly to her cheek, a faint flush rising as she gave a soft, muffled hum of delight.
The sound of the judges' pleased reactions and the collective gulps of the audience filled the arena.
Shiina placed a finger against her chin. "Hmmmm... their reactions were less extreme than earlier. This means the dish is a step below what Mito-san and Yukihira-kun produced."
Amasawa nodded lazily, chin propped on her hand. "Yeah. A bit of a shame, honestly. I was enjoying the earlier reactions."
Ishizaki turned around and gave her a strange, sidelong look.
Ryuen caught it instantly. His mouth curled with disgust.
"Ishizaki. You don't need to pretend." He didn't even bother lowering his voice. "Your gooner brain likes it too."
"Oi, oi, oi!" Ishizaki sputtered, going red. "That's not...! I was just—she said it first!"
"So you admit you were thinking it."
"I DIDN'T ADMIT ANYTHING!"
"Kukuku." Ryuen leaned back, thoroughly satisfied. "Loud, dumb, and a liar. You keep exceeding my expectations."
"This is wonderful," the first judge finally said. "It's balanced, warm, and not exaggerated."
The second nodded, still savoring another bite. "It hits you with the vinegar first, and then the soy and sugar come together and smooth everything out. It's a really well-done balance!"
The female judge smiled faintly, her tone calm but impressed. "The texture is impeccable. The meat falls apart the moment it hits the tongue, and yet the skin's still intact, almost glistening. And that sauce..." She trailed off, taking another spoonful before continuing with her judgment. "It coats your mouth, then fades away, not overwhelming in aftertaste at all."
They all exchanged a look and nodded.
"It's adobo well done, respecting the Filipino cuisine!"
Okumura let out a long, steady breath of relief. The praise washed over him, and for the first time since the match began, his shoulders relaxed. He bowed slightly toward the judges, a faint but genuine smile forming on his face.
"Poor guy..." Sakayanagi delivered flatly.
Hashimoto glanced at her. "Hm...?"
The announcer raised her mic. "A great performance by Okumura-kun! Now then, let's see how things are going with—"
Her words cut off mid-sentence.
A soft clack sounded across the stage.
Every head turned.
Three plates now rested neatly before the judges. Each portion was perfectly identical, down to the placement of the scallions and the precise drizzle of sauce. Steam rose in slow curls, catching the light.
The announcer blinked, frozen. "Wh–What...?"
"Wh-What...?!"
The exact same words were spoken at ANHS, from different voices at once.
"When...?" Ichinose breathed.
"I-I mean, he was fast, we saw that—!" Amikura sputtered, frozen in shock. "But he was still in the middle of cooking just a second ago! A-and now it's already plated?! How?!"
Kanzaki muttered, very quietly, "Even the judges are shocked..."
In Class A, Hashimoto let out a deep breath. "...Oh," he started. "That's why 'poor guy'."
Sakayanagi was quiet for a moment. Then her mouth opened again.
"That's... I didn't actually mean it like that," she admitted. "But, well. Okay." She was, for once, visibly struck.
"..." Hashimoto was dumbstruck.
No one had seen it happen.
Not the crowd. Not the judges. Not even the cameramen. It was as if Ayanokoji had simply appeared there, dish in hand, the instant Okumura's presentation ended.
Gasps and murmurs swept through the stands.
"When did he—?"
"He was still simmering a minute ago!"
"I didn't even see him plate!"
The announcer found her voice again. "L–Ladies and gentlemen... it seems Ayanokoji-kun has also... finished his dish."
Ayanokoji straightened after setting the plates down, his hands still resting lightly on the edge of the judges' table. Then, without any theatrics or pauses for effect, he turned toward Okumura.
"Okumura," he said evenly, his tone calm and unhurried. "You did well. You can be proud of your dish."
Okumura was taken aback. "Huh?"
The cinema, collectively, was confused.
"...Huh?" Inogashira said.
"Is he being... nice?" Mii-chan asked, a small glimmer of hope in her voice.
The students shared the same confusion. This match had started with provocation and psychological warfare. And yet... Ayanokoji was complimenting his opponent with the same detachment as if he were grading a classmate's work.
Even the judges exchanged uncertain glances.
Was this condescension? Or genuine praise?
Before anyone could decide on that matter, Ayanokoji spoke up again.
"But," he continued, "it's over. It was a good match."
"...Never mind," Mii-chan deflated.
Then, from a few seats over, someone burst out with the question that had clearly been building in more than one chest.
"Why didn't he act this confident here?! During our exams?!"
"..."
A silence followed because it was, in fact, a very good question.
Horikita sighed. "He had no interest in the exams."
She said it plainly. She saw no more reason to dance around these discussions, not anymore. It was an open secret at this point that Ayanokoji had been a key figure in this school, and pretending otherwise had stopped serving anyone.
"No interest," Shinohara repeated. "In the exams... the exams that decided our entire futures."
"Correct."
"That's—" Shinohara threw up her hands. "That's insulting, somehow. He could've carried us the whole way, and he just... didn't feel like it?"
"He carried us exactly as much as he decided we needed," Horikita replied. "No more and no less. Growth requires struggle... he seemed to believe that quite firmly." She paused. "I used to resent it, but now... now I think I understand it."
Matsushita muttered, "A shame. Truly a shame." She was watching the boy on the screen. "Imagine that on our side. Actually trying."
In Class C's section, Ryuen only laughed.
"Demon," he spat with laughter. "Condescending, hiding, damn bastard." His grin stretched wide. "I bet he enjoys it. Tearing that guy's dignity apart right there."
Ishizaki looked at the screen, at Okumura standing hollow-eyed beside his praised, forgotten dish.
"Poor guy," he said. "He can pack his things and go home. Honestly... there's no recovering from this. Being told that it was a good match, before the judges even tasted the dish... from a guy who supposedly prepared this dish for the first time."
All eyes shifted to the plates before the judges.
At first glance, Ayanokoji's dish mirrored Okumura's. The only visible difference was the meat. Thick, uniform slices of pork belly glistening under the lights, layered atop a bed of rice.
Then the aroma from the dish reached them.
The change in the judges was instant. All three leaned forward.
The scent of soy and vinegar filled the air again, but this time, the scent was heavier. The underlying note of rendered pork fat mixed with caramelized brown sugar created a warmth that lingered at the edge of sweetness, without ever tipping into it.
It wasn't overpowering, but it pulled one into it.
Even from the stands, some could smell the faint, rich fragrance spreading through the arena.
The female judge closed her eyes for a brief second and inhaled. "This aroma..." she murmured, her voice almost reverent. "It's completely different."
Her fellow judge nodded slowly, his expression tightening with concentration. "The base is the same, but the balance has been altered."
One of the judges couldn't contain his curiosity. "This aroma is extraordinary... but earlier, you didn't measure a single thing. How did you achieve such precision without any tools?"
Ayanokoji turned away from Okumura, whose expression had already begun to pale again, and faced the judges.
"I measured," he said simply, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "I just didn't use cups or spoons."
"What...?" Tsubaki tilted her head, and her expression sharpened from her usual bored look.
"That's truly incredible," she said. "If he didn't just eyeball it by feel but actually measured, then this entire thing has become a physics problem. Everything would depend on the bottle, the pour angle, the timing, and even the viscosity of the mixture." Her eyes narrowed at the screen. "And while I have no idea how strict the ratios in this cuisine are, if it genuinely demands precise proportions, then this becomes even more absurd. He'd have to be completely exact. And that, in an entirely new and unfamiliar cuisine... on the first attempt."
Her words rippled outward, and the students who hadn't grasped the difficulty until now sucked in sharp breaths.
Utomiya nodded slowly, folding his arms. "A person with sufficiently precise motor control and an accurate internal clock could, in theory, pour to the gram. It's not impossible." He paused. "But it looked too casual, effortless, even, while he was doing it. That's the scary part. If those ratios came out perfect while he was moving like that—"
Speechless reactions followed, spreading through the cinema.
The judges looked in confusion.
He continued. "I used Okumura's own recipe as a base. I only adjusted the ratios to fit pork's characteristics. Pork absorbs flavor differently from chicken and has a higher fat content, which affects both the acidity and sweetness balance. So, I compensated for that and made a few small proportional changes."
"What?!"
Even more shock rolled through the theater.
Horikita was among the most affected. She sat forward, her composure fully abandoned now.
"In his head," she said slowly, as if forcing herself to say it out loud made it more real, "he took an existing flavor structure... and adapted it to an entirely different protein." Her voice tightened. "And he didn't test it beforehand and didn't practice it once to confirm it would even work. He just... decided it would and then executed it, during the match itself."
She pressed a hand briefly to her forehead.
"...What is wrong with him?"
Discomfort spread through the cinema as those realizations spread.
The second judge was stunned, his voice rising slightly in disbelief. "Wait, you're saying that what looked like eyeballing was actually measuring?"
"Yes."
The judge was still in disbelief. "You're—" He stopped himself before finishing the sentence, letting out a long, weary sigh instead. "No, never mind. After everything I've seen today, I don't think I should be surprised anymore..."
His colleague gave a small, disbelieving chuckle.
The female judge looked from Ayanokoji to Okumura, then back again. "To reproduce another chef's recipe on the spot, adjust it for a different protein, and still keep the soul of the dish intact... that's..."
A ripple of awe spread through the audience. Even those who had mocked Ayanokoji earlier fell silent.
"Even the judges are in disbelief..." someone muttered.
Finally, the judges lifted their spoons to taste. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The arena waited in silence, every breath held, as all eyes were fixed on the three judges.
Then—
The first judge's eyes flew open. He jumped to his feet. His hand shot forward, gripping the edge of the table as if he might otherwise be swept away. "GREAT HEAVENS!" he shouted, his voice booming through the arena. "This is a flavor bomb!" His whole frame trembled as he leaned closer to the plate. "The pork melts instantly, and then the sauce—! It's like a wave of flavor crashes over every corner of my soul!"
The crowd collectively flinched at his sudden outburst.
The second judge sat completely still, spoon frozen. His expression was blank. He chewed once. Twice. Then he stopped. His eyes slowly unfocused, and he let the spoon clatter onto the table.
Meanwhile, the female judge took her own bite with practiced grace, only for that composure to evaporate the moment the sauce and meat hit her tongue. Her back arched, her cheeks flushed bright red, and she let out a gasp that echoed through the mic. "Th-this sauce... Ahhhhhhhh~! I—I'm melting! My entire being is melting into this sauce! Ahnnnnnn~!"
The second judge finally came back to life, slamming both hands on the table as he stood. "IT'S LIKE A VOLCANO OF FLAVOR ERUPTING IN MY MOUTH!" he roared. "The sourness bursts first, but instead of overpowering, it's tamed, smoothed out by the caramelized sweetness! How—how can this be the same base recipe? It's evolved into something completely different!"
"Yes! Exactly!" the female judge exclaimed, nearly gasping between bites as she dove back in. "I've never, never had pork adobo like this! The richness—the balance—it's perfection! How can pork outshine chicken so much?!"
The first judge, still half-lost in the experience, groaned like he was fighting for air. "The sauce clings to the rice, the fat renders perfectly, and each bite keeps building sweetness, salt, tang, depth, and it doesn't end! It's infinite!"
"Haha—YES! That's what I'm talking about!"
Amasawa had folded sideways into Shiina's shoulder, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other slapping her own knee. "That's what we want to see! Ahaha! What a school! What a wonderful, ridiculous school!" She wiped at the corner of her eye. "Of all the places in the world, senpai ended up somewhere people moan about pork! He doesn't even change his face, and the adults around him are climaxing!" She dissolved again. "I can't—I can't breathe—"
"Ichika, please," Shiina said, though her own composure was showing hairline cracks.
In Class D's section, bewilderment spread once again.
"I-Is she okay?!" Mii-chan had gone bright red, genuinely concerned. "Should someone check on her?!"
"Is this... normal?!" Mori demanded. "At that school?! Do they do this EVERY SINGLE TIME THEY EAT?! How does anyone get any judging done?!"
Sudō, torn between secondhand embarrassment and awe, settled on hoarse disbelief. "Man. And I thought our special exams were dramatic."
Not everyone was scandalized.
Hoshinomiya had stopped eating her chocolates entirely, watching the judges' table with an expression of dawning professional delight.
"Sae-chan. Sae-chan. This school. This school. Why did we never—"
"No."
"You didn't even hear the—"
"No, Chie."
"Our school could have a cafeteria segment. Just once a term. Think of the morale—"
"I am begging you to stop talking."
Through it all, Ayanokoji stood completely motionless, expression neutral, watching the scene unfold like he wasn't part of this at all.
"Hahahaha!" Ryuen barked. "Even Monster looks fed up!"
"Huh...? He looks normal to me?" Ishizaki said, squinting.
"No," Ichinose spoke up quietly, in disbelief, and even with slight embarrassment. "It doesn't show on his face, but he's truly, genuinely fed up with all of this."
A few heads turned toward her.
"...How can you even tell?" Shibata asked. "He looks exactly the same as always."
Mako only smirked at her.
"Mako!" Ichinose blurted, even more embarrassed now. "I-I, no, that's not—the stillness in his body language shows it. That's all I meant!"
"Ah, yes, Honami, so obvious to see~" Amikura teased, drawing the words out. "Truly, anyone could see that."
Ichinose went redder still and pointedly returned her attention to the screen.
But then a troubling thought reached her.
Wait...
Her expression stiffened as dread slowly crept into her mind.
Ryuen-kun seemed to notice it too...
Her eyes widened dramatically.
Don't tell me... No. No, that can't be right. No, no, no!
Don't tell me swings that way and is into Ayanokoji-kun?!
Okumura, on the other hand, looked hollow. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, but his mind had clearly left his body. The crowd was equally stunned. No one could understand how two nearly identical dishes could evoke reactions so wildly different.
Mii-chan's hands had crept up to cover her mouth. "Oh no," she said softly. "Look at his face. Oh, no."
"He cooked well, too," Inogashira murmured, twisting her fingers together. "His dish was genuinely good, even the judges said so. On any other day..."
"On any other day, he'd have had a real chance to win," Hirata agreed, sympathy plain in his voice. He sighed. "And yet his very best turned out to be—"
"—irrelevant," Kushida cut in. She was grinning. "Ayanokoji-kun made sure this defeat would happen at full strength." She started to laugh. "Doing your best work, and then watching it crumble right in front of you."
She was familiar with that feeling.
Hirata gave her a troubled look but said nothing.
The judges were now attacking the plates in earnest, spoons clinking rapidly. The announcer's voice cracked as she interrupted. "D-Dear judges, please! There are still twelve more dishes to taste today!"
Her words barely registered at first. Then, like a spell being broken, the judges froze mid-bite, realization dawning on their faces.
The female judge coughed softly, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin, cheeks still flushed. "R-Right... of course. The remaining dishes."
The first judge leaned back, visibly winded. "A tragedy... to move on after that."
The second just groaned, slumping into his chair. "Twelve more... but none will taste like this."
The crowd remained silent, processing what they had just witnessed.
"Ayanokoji's really weird, though," Sudō muttered, breaking the silence in Class D's section. "Think about it. If I had cooking skills like that, I'd make my own lunch every single day instead of eating that garbage from the convenience store. And if prepping every morning was too much effort, I'd just meal prep on the weekend." He nodded to himself, warming to the idea. "Would save effort and money."
There was a beat of silence.
"...Damn," Ike said. "Now that you mention it. Why the hell didn't he do that?!"
"So that none of you would immediately start begging him to cook for you too," Shinohara said flatly.
"Nah, nah, nah!" Ike waved his hands. "We've got a sense of shame, you know! We wouldn't—"
"You absolutely would," Matsushita said.
"...Okay, yeah, we would."
"..."
A little further down the row, Hondo glanced sideways at Ijuin, who hadn't spoken in a while and was staring at the screen with quite the intensity.
"Ijuin. Staring at the food that hard isn't going to magically make it appear in front of you, you know that, right?"
"You don't need to call me out like that in front of everyone," Ijuin muttered, not looking away. "Some of us are appreciating the craft."
"Yeah, yeah. You're drooling on the craft."
"I am not—" Ijuin wiped his mouth, then scowled when he found Hondo grinning. "...Shut up."
Then, cutting through the silence, a single laugh sounded through the arena.
Every head turned toward the source.
Sōma was grinning, hands already coming together in applause. The sound was almost jarring in the stillness, and soon it grew louder. Ayanokoji's gaze drifted toward him, their eyes meeting.
Sōma gave him a simple thumbs-up, his grin widening.
The crowd began to stir again—first a few hesitant claps, then more, until the applause spread like ripples through the arena. The same group from earlier was the first to rise, cheering openly.
A large part of the audience rose to their feet, applauding the performance.
Sudō was among the first up, whooping without a trace of self-consciousness. Ike followed. Even reserved students, like Yukimura, found themselves standing.
The announcer finally snapped back into her role and raised her microphone. "A-Alright, judges! Your verdict, please!"
The audience already knew the answer. This was just a ceremony.
The three didn't even exchange a look. Almost in unison, they pressed their buttons.
On the massive screen above the stage, the result appeared in bold, gleaming letters:
WINNER: AYANOKOJI KIYOTAKA
Applause thundered through the air.
"Insane," Shibata muttered from Class B's section, half in awe and half in dread. "If the rest of the matches go like this... then honestly, I feel sorry for the other six."
Himeno let out a deep breath she was holding in. "They agreed to it... that's their own fault."
"Yeah, but did they even know what they were agreeing to?"
Kanzaki folded his arms. "Well, they believed they did."
"That's quite the painful distinction," Watanabe said.
Minamikata nodded. "They thought they were challenging some random transfer student..."
"And instead, they got..." Kobashi trailed off, unable to find the right word.
"A monster?" Shiranami suggested uneasily.
Amikura grinned. "Monster sounds so negative. Right, right! Kiyotron, as that one girl called him!"
As the Class B students looked at her, she simply shrugged. "What? Hehe, you must admit that it fits him!"
Ichinose gave a small laugh.
Kanzaki, meanwhile, was still examining the conclusion of the match. "What concerns me is how little effort he appeared to expend."
Shibata frowned at hearing that. "Little effort? He cooked something so incredible that it made the judges lose their minds... and react like... yeah."
"I said appeared," Kanzaki clarified, ignoring the later parts of Shibata's sentence. "This sounds ridiculous, I know, but despite his cooking speed, he never truly seemed hurried or even out of breath. This all looked too routine, and it even seemed as if he were holding back."
Himeno's expression widened in realization before it flattened. "A first-time dish looked routine to him..."
"Yes, that's what I mean."
"That's terrifying, no, it's disturbing. Eek... why is cooking giving me goosebumps?"
Ayanokoji didn't bask in the applause. He slightly lowered his head in acknowledgment, then walked back to his station. In a few clean motions, he wiped down the board, rinsed his knife, and stacked his tools in order. By the time the noise began to lower, his counter looked like it did at the start of the match.
In Class A's section, Hashimoto watched Ayanokoji prepare for the next match.
"He really cleaned everything before the applause even stopped," he said, half to himself.
"Cleanliness is important," Morishita Ai offered.
Hashimoto nodded. "Yeah, I guess it—"
"It's admirable, really. You should try it sometime, Hashimoto Masayoshi."
Hashimoto paused. "...What's that supposed to mean?"
Morishita tilted her head. "Nothing."
"That clearly wasn't nothing."
"I merely said that cleanliness is admirable."
"...And implied that I'm dirty!"
"I did not imply anything."
"You absolutely did!"
Morishita looked toward Sakayanagi. "Sakayanagi Arisu, Hashimoto Masayoshi appears insecure about his hygiene."
Hashimoto's eye twitched. "I am not insecure about my hygiene!"
"I never said you were."
"You just—"
Sakayanagi finally spoke without looking away from the screen. "Hashimoto-kun, arguing this forcefully only makes you appear more suspicious."
Hashimoto turned toward her in betrayal. "I-I—what?! Hah, so I'm just surrounded by enemies..."
"No," Morishita replied. "Enemies consider you a threat."
Sakayanagi's shoulders shook with quiet laughter.
Hashimoto stared at Morishita for several seconds before turning back to the screen.
"I hate talking to you."
In Class C's section, Katsuragi's gaze remained stern. "Regardless, the remaining challengers have now received valuable information."
Ryuen laughed. "You think that'll save them?"
"No. But it may allow them to avoid repeating Okumura's mistakes."
"What mistakes?" Ishizaki asked. "He cooked well."
Katsuragi glanced toward him. "His technical performance was not his mistake. Underestimating Ayanokoji was."
Ibuki crossed her arms. "After seeing this, the others would have to be idiots to underestimate him."
Ryuen chuckled. "Even overestimating that bastard wouldn't help them. This is a cooking competition. From what I've seen and understood, all their preparation is already complete. What could they even do now to change their plans?"
"Yeah," Ibuki muttered.
Then, suddenly, she spat. "Tch! I really hate this damn bastard. Damn blank-faced freak!"
"Whoa, whoa, Ibuki—" Ryuen raised a hand. "That's my job to insult him. Get in line."
"No, but seriously, this bastard played with me!"
She looked genuinely, thoroughly annoyed.
"Before he left, he got kind of forced to taste my cooking once. And that bastard, with abilities like these...! He definitely made fun of me in his head! That damn, arrogant, blank-faced bastard freak!"
"Kukuku." Ryuen's grin widened. "Would that pride of yours have even let you take any advice from him? He probably knew that. So he saved his breath."
"Haaa!" Ibuki let out a long, forceful breath, visibly wrestling her sudden rage back under control.
Then Shiina looked toward the screen, where the staff had begun clearing the judges' table. "Perhaps the loss will help Okumura-kun."
Ryuen turned his head slightly. "Oh? Continue."
"He prepared a good dish, and the judges praised it. His ability was not worthless simply because Ayanokoji-kun produced something better."
Ishizaki nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Exactly!"
Ryuen looked at him, and Ishizaki's enthusiasm diminished.
"But, uh... it's still gotta hurt."
"It should," Ryuen said. "Pain teaches faster."
Shiina gave him a small, disapproving look. "Not everyone learns best through pain."
"Then they learn slowly."
Amasawa smiled beside her. "Ryuen-senpai sounds experienced."
Ryuen's eyes shifted toward her, but Amasawa's smile remained perfectly innocent.
"He is," Ibuki snorted, seizing her chance for revenge.
The corner of Ryuen's mouth twitched, but he was far too entertained to let it get to him, and he let it slide.
The staff whisked away the plates. The announcer cleared her throat. "We'll proceed to the next bout shortly!"
— End of Interlude I (Part Four) —
A/N: Part Five (and maybe Six) will follow a bit later. I hope I'll manage to finish this plague in a month at most.
Anyway, I hope I managed to keep the reaction from feeling too cringey or repetitive so far. That's the difficult part when all Kiyotaka really does is aurafarm the whole time.