Trial by Fire, Hunger by Flame

In the quiet of night beneath the glimmering stars…

Location: The grand lobby of the five-star Tōtsuki Resort.

After a full day of grueling examinations, 212 freshmen had already been eliminated—leaving only 811 survivors.

Exhaustion.

Mental fatigue.

Despair.

Fear.

The lobby pulsed with these emotions. The students, battered by relentless challenges, looked utterly defeated. And this was only the first day—a 20% elimination rate, worse than even Isami's cohort.

"Yuuki!"

"We're over here~!"

In the crowd, Yuuki Yoshino turned toward the familiar voices. She spotted her Polaris Dorm friends—Megumi, Ryoko, Soma—waving her over.

Her eyes lit up as she rushed forward and threw herself into Megumi's arms, sobbing.

"Boo hoo… Megumi, I really missed you guys! I thought I was done for… I had to face Kojirō Shinomiya!"

"That guy?" Yuuki hiccuped. "The one who expels students for using hair gel! I thought I was finished—but thank God, it was a false alarm."

Only those who had endured this training camp would understand the relief in her tears.

Megumi gently patted her on the back. "It's okay, Yuuki. We all passed today's exam, didn't we?"

"Mm-hmm." Yuuki sniffled and wiped her eyes. "As long as we're still together, this happy moment shouldn't be spoiled by tears!"

And just like that, she brightened. "Hey! Since we passed, does that mean we get to stay in the 80,000 yen-per-night room?"

Her hands rubbed together eagerly, eyes sparkling.

No one could match Yuuki's emotional flip—from tears to joy faster than flipping a pancake. Megumi could only blink at her in amazement.

Suddenly, Gin Dōjima, head chef of Tōtsuki Resort, approached the podium.

He scanned the lobby with calm authority. As expected, there were far fewer students now than in the morning. He gave a slight, approving nod.

"First of all, congratulations," he said. "Out of over a thousand freshmen, 811 of you have survived the first three rounds of exams. That is no small feat."

A murmur of pride—and exhaustion—moved through the crowd.

Dōjima continued, "Behind me are members of the basketball team, volleyball team, sumo club, and other athletic organizations from the neighboring university. They undergo rigorous physical training daily—and tonight, they will be your customers."

The students looked around in confusion.

"Tonight's dinner will be prepared by all of you."

"What?!"

"The menu is simple: a grilled steak set. But—" he raised a finger, "—you must each prepare fifty portions within two hours. Fail to meet the quota, and you'll be disqualified."

Chaos erupted.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Another exam? It's ten at night!"

"I haven't even eaten my dinner!"

"Who's feeding us?!"

One brave student shouted, "What about our dinner?!"

Dōjima didn't flinch. "After you've completed your fifty steak sets, you may prepare your own meal."

He glanced at the time. "It's 10 PM. You may begin in the kitchens of Tōtsuki Palace."

The panic turned into a stampede as students scrambled for the kitchen.

Now, they truly understood—this was no ordinary training camp. This was survival.

Inside the kitchen, steak prep was in full swing:

Patting the meat dry with paper towels.

Trimming the excess flesh from the bone.

Brushing both sides with olive oil and seasoning with rosemary sea salt.

Preheating a cold pan to smoking point, searing both sides for two minutes to develop a crust.

Adding garlic, thyme, and butter—basting it with flavor.

After resting the meat, slicing it thin and arranging it with crushed pepper and finishing salt.

One by one, fifty steak sets were plated and delivered to the waiting university athletes.

"Fifty steak sets. Done. Can I leave now?"

Erina Nakiri, divine tongue and elite among elites, removed her chef's hat and brushed her hair behind her ears. Her golden eyes glinted with disdain.

"It's only been 46 minutes," one of the judges murmured. "That's less than a minute per set…"

"You did exceptionally well," he added quickly. "You may leave the kitchen."

Erina gave a cool nod and exited, her presence leaving behind a wave of awed stares.

"As expected of Miss Erina," said Hisako, eyes blazing with determination as she grilled. "But I can't afford to fall behind her…"

Later, alone in a private kitchen, Erina chewed through a mouthful of oddly thick noodles.

Snap.

"Ugh. What is this?"

She immediately spat it out, grimacing.

"Too fishy. Disgusting…"

She tossed the bowl aside. The noodles, made from catfish, were meant to mimic Zane's signature "not-noodles." A squid core, a fish-based broth, the technique was there—but the flavor?

A disaster.

Her divine tongue told her the truth she didn't want to hear: she'd failed again.

She had spent countless hours attempting to replicate Zane's dishes from memory, visualizing the process over and over—but the result never lived up to the original.

"Found you."

Alice Nakiri stepped in behind her cousin.

"I heard you were the first to finish the dinner exam. I was jealous."

"What place did you finish?" Erina asked without looking up.

"Fourth," Alice said proudly. "Akira was second, my assistant third. Soma trailed just behind me."

Erina blinked. "Akira? Hayama Akira?"

She knew of him. A genius with scent, discovered in the Indian slums by Professor Jun Shiomi. His ability to read spices through smell gave him the power to create seductive, aromatic dishes that captivated instantly.

Hearing he'd placed above Alice made sense.

Alice stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the fishy bowl Erina had discarded.

"You're trying to recreate Zane's dish again?"

"Yes. Catfish noodles."

Erina promptly dumped the bowl in the trash.

Alice gasped. "Wasting food again? Just like when you threw away my birthday cake when I was five!"

"I won't tolerate flawed food."

Erina's voice was ice. She turned and began preparing another batch.

Alice, annoyed but intrigued, watched silently.

Soon, the new batch was complete.

"They look like noodles, but they're made from fish?" Alice blinked, confused. "With squid inside?"

"Noodles that aren't noodles," Erina said softly. "They're not pasta, but they trick the eyes and tongue."

Alice tried one.

"…The texture is incredible. Better than actual noodles!"

But then she paused.

"If this is still a failure… Then how good must the original be?"

She stood there in stunned silence, the unfinished bowl still in her hands.