Taki, Conquered!

"Every single grain…"

Taki's voice trembled slightly, her eyes locked onto the dish in front of her.

"…is cooked to perfection. Chewy, fragrant, and bursting with layered flavor."

Her words flowed as if in a trance.

"This seafood rice—it's flawless. A crisp, golden bottom crust gives it the perfect crunch, and the rice itself has absorbed all the rich, briny sweetness of the sea."

"Scallops, clams, shrimp, squid, even small yellow croaker… It's a luxurious feast crafted from the ocean itself!"

As she spoke, she couldn't stop herself—she scooped up another bite, and then another, eating as though possessed.

There was something strangely nostalgic yet unfamiliar about this dish.

Each mouthful felt like returning to a long-lost memory, yet delivered something brand new.

Across from her, Sonoka glanced over, quietly amused. Her usually proud and picky friend was clearly enthralled—completely drawn in by Zane's cooking.

Without waiting any longer, she, too, dug in.

A silence fell over the tavern.

Only the delicate clinking of cutlery and the soft sounds of chewing could be heard—Taki and Sonoka lost in the world of flavor.

Every September, during the peak of the rice harvest, the town of Sueca in Valencia would host a legendary event: the Sueca International Seafood Rice Competition—a stage where elite chefs from around the world showcased their interpretation of Spain's most iconic dish.

Taki had taken home the championship title just last year, making waves across the culinary world. She was a proud graduate of Totsuki, someone whose name once echoed through the halls of its hallowed kitchen arenas.

But her culinary path wasn't without obstacles.

Western cuisine—especially something as regionally specific as Spanish seafood rice—was hard to sell in Japan. It clashed with local tastes and preferences. And although her technique was exceptional, her dishes lacked the local flair that would win over Japanese palates.

In the end, Taki left Japan and opened her own restaurant in Spain: Taki Amarillo.

Now, spoon in hand, her brows furrowed as she studied the plate before her.

"So that's how it is…"

She mumbled.

"After mixing the stock and seasonings, the rice is added and gently leveled—then left untouched. This preserves the shape of each grain and keeps the starch from clouding the dish."

She paused, eyes narrowing.

"And the scallops… the clams…"

A realization struck.

"In my recipes, I used to add the raw meat straight into the pot and let it cook with the rice, hoping the juices would seep in naturally."

"But here—he's filtered their juices into the broth first, then placed the cooked meat back on top purely for presentation!"

"The shells… they're just garnish!"

Her eyes sparkled.

"Why didn't I think of that?"

It was as if she had stumbled upon a revelation—something that had eluded her despite years of experience.

Beside her, Sonoka chimed in.

"Beyond the seafood itself, the rice is incredible. It's smooth and springy, like the finest northeast japonica rice from Tiantao."

She took another bite, nodding in delight.

"Long-grain rice absorbs broth well, but it often loses texture. This—this rice is perfect. It has structure, flavor, and chew."

Zane chuckled and gave a small nod.

"You're right. I didn't use the standard Spanish bomba rice."

"I used japonica rice from Tiantao's northeast region. It's got a firmer bite and a sweeter aroma when cooked."

"To me, Spanish cuisine is all about passion—and about sharing. Seafood rice is rarely made in individual portions. It's communal. It's celebration in a pan."

"The rice is stir-fried, then simmered slowly with broth. It's nothing like a rice cooker—this method develops layers of flavor, bite by bite."

He paused, a soft smile on his lips.

"Seafood rice isn't about being 'undercooked.' It's about maintaining that firm texture, the slightly toasty bottom, the moist, juicy grains in the center."

"When done right, it should be just chewy enough to make you savor every bite."

Food had a way of stirring the soul—of unlocking memories and emotions buried deep within.

Taki had already finished her plate, yet her heart still raced. She picked up the accompanying wine Zane had poured—an amber-golden white from Valencia.

She took a sip.

Sweet. Smooth. Bold.

It was elegance in liquid form, followed by a mellow finish that lingered beautifully on her tongue.

And then…

The world around her shifted.

She stood beneath a blazing sun, surrounded by roaring cheers.

A bullfighting arena.

A copper gong rang in the distance.

The crowd exploded into applause.

Taki stepped into the ring in a crimson matador's dress, her chest proudly out, her posture graceful and commanding.

Before her, a massive spotted iron-horned bull pawed the ground, snorting furiously.

"Come!" she shouted.

"Let me see what you've got!"

The beast charged.

She moved, confident in her steps, years of training behind every calculated gesture. She spun with flair, guiding the bull past her with a flick of her red cloth.

But this time… something went wrong.

The bull turned mid-charge, catching her off-guard.

BAM!

The impact sent her flying. She hit the ground, rolling, eyes wide, mouth agape.

White foam bubbled at her lips.

Her world faded.

"Ah—!"

Taki jolted in her seat, snapping back to reality with a start.

Her breath hitched.

"What… what just happened to me?"

She blinked.

Face flushed, heart pounding, her body still felt the lingering thrill of the illusion.

She looked down at the empty plate.

Zane's dish… had broken through her defenses.

She had been conquered.