A Light That Cuts Through Culinary Darkness

Mountains and rivers remain,

The wind has not changed.

The ancient and majestic landscapes of China swept through Joichiro's mind like scenes from a grand film. And with them came a taste—crispy skin, tender flesh—that melted on his tongue like centuries of culinary wisdom passed down in a single bite.

The delicate blend of sweet sauce and shredded scallions wrapped in the fragrant Tai fish was intoxicating.

"Using Sanmai Oroshi to prepare Tai fish… and then wrapping it Beijing duck-style?" Joichiro murmured, stunned. "This is the first time I've ever seen anything like it."

Most Tai dishes focused solely on preserving the fish's purity. But Zane had dared to blend it with bold seasonings and multicultural methods, fusing Japan's reverence for seafood with China's regional traditions. And yet—Joichiro sensed there was more to come.

"The real heart of this dish hasn't been revealed yet," Zane said calmly.

Joichiro nodded. "I can't wait to try the other preparations."

And he did—bite by bite.

Fried fish slices, golden and crispy, exploded with Sichuan-style heat.

The fish tail—sashimi delicately wrapped around crab roe—tamed the palate with a cool, oceanic balance.

And then, a surprising complexity emerged.

"Wait…" Joichiro's eyes widened. "Why does it taste better the more I chew?"

He paused, calculating.

"Did he use the flower-cutting technique? Maybe combined with egg yolk sauce?"

The grease from the rich sauce should have been overwhelming, yet somehow, it wasn't. When paired with the other preparations, it was… perfect.

This wasn't four different dishes.

It was one integrated masterpiece.

Zane had used nearly every classical Chinese cooking method: boiling, frying, roasting, baking, stewing. He'd wielded sauces from every corner of China: spicy Sichuan oil, sweet Cantonese glaze, mellow Shanghai crab roe, and hearty Northern roast duck sauce.

North. South. East. West.

All in one fish.

Joichiro closed his eyes. The dish was more than food—it was a journey.

He saw Shanghai first: skyscrapers under moonlight, the Oriental Pearl Tower shining like a beacon of progress.

Then Sichuan: lush mountains, winding roads, and the warmth of hidden countryside kitchens.

Finally, the coastline—sunlight rippling on the sea as fishing boats bobbed under dawn.

When he opened his eyes, the images faded, but the awe remained.

He looked down at the dish—and up at the man who made it.

Years ago, Joichiro was Totsuki's star.

Second seat in the Elite Ten, only beneath Gin Dojima.

In truth, his cooking was the best. But his attitude—skipping classes, challenging juniors with bizarre dark cuisine, and treating Shokugekis like games—held him back. Still, even Gin and Azami respected his sheer talent. That talent led him to THE BLUE, where he faced down fifty elite chefs in a single team match… and crushed them all.

He became a legend.

And yet, this dish—this single fish—had shaken him to his core.

"You should try it too," Joichiro said, placing his chopsticks down. "This dish… it will give you an epiphany."

Isami nodded solemnly and took a bite.

"…Unbelievable." His face froze in stunned silence. The mashed Tai in his mouth was soft, fragrant, rich with harmony. "Even if I trained for fifty years, I couldn't make something like this."

In a world where everyone eats to live, chefs are often overlooked—treated like craftsmen or workers rather than artists. Even in China and Japan, despite their food cultures, chefs rarely reach the same heights as businessmen or politicians.

But in this world—where food reigns supreme—a great chef can change everything.

And Zane was one of them.

Joichiro could feel it: Zane wasn't a normal prodigy. He was a light—cutting through a culinary world darkened by greed.

"I've traveled far," Joichiro said, voice low. "I've met chefs who were strong, talented, even brilliant. But most of them… lost their way. Chasing money. Chasing fame. Twisting dishes to please the market, not the soul."

He looked at Zane, truly looked at him.

"But tonight, in your tavern, I realized people like you still exist."

"You have the skills to stand on the biggest stages in the world, yet you choose to cook here—simple ingredients, low prices—just so people can enjoy real food."

Joichiro's voice trembled.

"You reminded me why I became a chef."

Zane stood calmly, wiping his hands. "Is being a chef good or bad?" he asked softly. "Everyone asks themselves that. Some do it for love. Some for money. But just love isn't enough."

"Take Chinese cuisine. It takes years just to master knife skills. Then heat control. Stir-frying. Boiling. Seasoning. Every technique demands sacrifice."

He looked up, eyes shining.

"But if I can run this tavern well—if I can make even one person happy with a meal—then that's enough for me."

"In a corrupt world, people like us are even more important."

The tavern fell silent.

Everyone stared at him.

Even Sonoka, trembling, seemed changed.

"I finally understand why Ms. Nakiri said there's only one person in the world who can truly change me."

Joichiro laughed softly. "You're young. I thought you'd be arrogant."

"But your mindset… it makes me ashamed of who I used to be."

"If I'd been like you back then…"

"You wouldn't have dropped out," Zane finished for him.

Joichiro nodded quietly.

"Yes. I wouldn't have."