Of Jade Soup, Crowned Dumplings, and Unspoken Destinies

A Quiet Conversation Under the Moonlight

The night deepened.

The winding road beneath the tall trees looked like a silver river, faintly glowing under the full moon. Shadows flickered across moss-covered stones, and the rustle of wind through the leaves sounded like whispered secrets of the earth.

In the private quarters of Totsuki's Director, the scent of cedarwood hung in the air, mingling with the soft aroma of warmed sake.

A ceramic cup was gently set down on the lacquered table.

"Leonora," Senzaemon Nakiri began, voice low and even, "have you gotten used to life at Totsuki these days?"

Leonora, sitting gracefully on a low couch, legs crossed in her pale Nordic dress, tilted her head slightly.

"The lifestyle here is certainly different from Northern Europe," she admitted with a cool smile. "But I'm adapting."

She paused, her voice softening.

"Besides… it's a blessing to live with my daughter again. That alone makes any adjustment worth it."

The Director gave a solemn nod. His sharp gaze lingered over the rim of his cup.

"I heard you visited the tavern to see Alice—and the others."

Leonora smiled faintly. "Yes. I went on the first night of the internship. I wanted to see how they were handling themselves. What I witnessed… was surprising."

She recounted what she'd observed at Shunkatei Tavern—Erina's growing composure, Alice's subtle humility, Yuuki's quiet dedication. She spoke not as a doting mother but as a veteran culinary judge.

There was something sacred in her tone—like an archivist speaking of a lost dynasty.

Schemes Behind Sake

Over the past two months, Leonora had immersed herself in understanding Totsuki's inner workings.

What she found was a paradoxical kingdom: an academy built on excellence but riddled with fragile balances and unchecked power.

On the surface, the Elite Ten governed student affairs. Professors like Chapelle or Inui, though respected, ultimately bent to the Elite Ten's will. This model, Leonora noted, placed too much faith in youth and too little oversight.

"The Academy is impressive," she said aloud. "But its very structure invites collapse. It reminds me of old empires—proud, hierarchical, and blind to their own brewing downfall."

The Director remained silent, fingers tracing the curve of his cup.

"You've known this," Leonora said bluntly. "Haven't you?"

Senzaemon exhaled slowly. "I have."

She leaned in slightly. "Then Erina's placement at the tavern… that wasn't just an internship assignment. It was a test. Or a preparation."

The old man chuckled wryly. "You see right through me. Yes. I've begun considering stepping down."

"And passing the Director's mantle to Erina?"

"…Perhaps. But she isn't the only candidate I had in mind."

Leonora's eyes narrowed. "Zane."

Senzaemon's silence confirmed it.

"A man with no stake in our family. No blood ties. And yet, you would entrust him with Totsuki's future?"

"He doesn't desire power," the Director said simply. "And that's exactly why he might deserve it."

Leonora folded her arms, thoughtful. "Perhaps… he already senses the coming storm and chooses to remain at a distance."

"If I had realized this sooner," Senzaemon said after a pause, "perhaps Erina would not have endured so much."

"They are both your granddaughters," Leonora replied gently. "Seeing them grow stronger… I understand your pride. But your hesitation may cost more than you know."

Senzaemon nodded grimly.

"In any case," Leonora said, finishing her sake, "Erina and Alice are rising fast. The coming chaos will either forge them… or consume them."

Imperial Simplicity – The Jade Tofu Soup

In the warm, fragrant interior of Shunkatei Tavern, another story unfolded.

Steam curled above a quiet stove as a humble pot of soup simmered gently.

The ingredients?

Just tofu, cabbage, and leftover rice.

Nothing more.

But the hands behind the dish were Zane's—and that changed everything.

Soft tofu cubes—still warm from the press—were unwrapped and glowed faintly in the light. Like smooth white jade, the tofu trembled slightly on the blade as it was sliced. Steam rose, curling like silk, carrying a delicate soybean scent.

The cabbage—crisp, pale green—was washed, then blanched quickly. No oil. No garlic. No over-seasoning.

Just essence.

The tofu was gently boiled, then added to the cabbage broth with cooked rice stirred in—a technique that coaxed out subtle sweetness.

A dish named "Jade Tofu Soup."

An imperial name for a dish born of desperation.

Rindō's Moment of Peace

"Whoa…"

Rindō's eyes gleamed as Zane set the bowl before her.

The broth shimmered with a faint milky tint, translucent and clean. Slivers of cabbage floated like ribbons. The tofu cubes trembled, delicate and snow-white.

She inhaled deeply.

No overpowering spices.

Just a warm, vegetal fragrance—comforting, earthy, and nostalgic.

She dipped her spoon, took a small taste.

And paused.

"…Sweet?" she murmured.

Not sugary—natural sweetness. The kind that came from well-simmered cabbage and rice starch. The tofu was so tender it dissolved on her tongue, releasing a pure soybean richness.

Another spoonful brought more comfort.

It was like drinking warmth itself.

She picked up a piece of cabbage with her chopsticks—it was translucent, slightly crisp, and soaked with broth. She ate it. Then another bite of tofu.

Nothing fancy. No fireworks. Just peace.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

All the heavy flavors from her past meals faded. This soup—this humble, forgotten dish—felt like a lullaby in culinary form.

She smiled gently.

"This tofu… it's like silk," she whispered. "The cabbage… so crisp and sweet."

Zane didn't reply, only watched as she drank the last drop.

When she finally set her spoon down, she looked as if a weight had lifted from her soul.

"You still eat so much," Zane said, raising an eyebrow as Rindō patted her round stomach.

"I came hungry on purpose," she grinned. "Crown Dumplings weren't enough, obviously."

Zane chuckled. "You're going to explode."

"Well worth it!"

Unasked Dreams

As the kitchen staff moved in harmony, Rindō observed the others—Erina preparing garnishes, Alice plating, Yuuki cleaning counters with focused calm.

"They seem so… serious now," she remarked.

Zane nodded lightly. "They're learning. Slowly."

Rindō's gaze lingered on him. Something heavy stirred behind her golden eyes.

"Zane," she said slowly. "What do you want?"

"Hm?"

"This tavern—your skills—you could lead an entire movement. Be the best of our era. So why are you here? What is your goal?"

Zane looked down at the steam rising from a new dish.

After a long pause, he answered:

"I don't want to be the best. I just want to cook honestly. Live simply. That's all."

Rindō studied him.

He meant it.

No ambition. No hunger for dominance. Just… peace.

But even so…

In the coming storm that would shake Totsuki's foundations, a man like Zane might be the only one who could hold the center.

What would he become? she wondered. A bystander—or the storm itself?

Tavern Overflow

That thought vanished as the door opened—and a wave of people entered.

Orie Sendawara walked in first, smiling like a queen returning to her throne.

Behind her trailed a crowd—chefs, critics, suits in black, and a few recognizable faces from the Autumn Selection judging panel.

"Hope we're not too late," she said with a wink.

Over a hundred employees from HUB Group followed.

Even Ando and Osaji, two elite judges, were among them.

Zane blinked. "This is… a lot."

"We couldn't resist," Orie said sweetly. "I brought them to enjoy your food. Also… to invest."

Curry Comforts and Crisp Praise

Soon, the kitchen roared to life again.

Zane prepared a curry beef hot pot with grace and speed.

The pre-cooked beef—simmered until fork-tender—was added to a bubbling broth. The aroma of spice and slow-cooked meat filled the air.

Lightly fried vegetables crackled as they were tossed in—carrot edges crisped, mushrooms seared golden, sweet onions caramelized slightly.

The finishing touch: a swirl of coconut milk, softening the curry's boldness with a smooth, creamy sweetness.

When Orie took her first bite, her eyes lit up.

"Gods above…" she whispered. "This curry could make me forget my name."

Next to her, Shingo Ando sampled a piece of tempura.

"Crispy, delicate, not greasy—this is textbook perfection."

Osaji, savoring dorayaki, murmured, "How did he get the filling this smooth…?"

This was no ordinary tavern.

This was a crucible of excellence, quietly gathering legends.

Orie turned to Zane, her voice warm but serious.

"These hundred people," she said, "they're the best I have. All here to support your vision—whatever that becomes."

"The future of food may begin right here."

Zane said nothing.

But deep in his chest, something stirred—something he couldn't yet name.