Chapter 14: Erina and Hisako Cooking Skill

The gates of Nakaume Culinary Academy loomed ahead, their wrought-iron frames entwined with vines of Sweet Scream Grapes that hummed faintly when brushed. Erina and Hisako stared, expecting a fortress of gleaming steel and neon—like Totsuki's opulent towers. Instead, they found a campus of weathered sandstone and sun-bleached wood, its warmth radiating like a grandmother's embrace. 

"This… is the best culinary school?" Hisako whispered. 

Zed chuckled. "Nakaume prioritizes substance over spectacle. Their kitchens have Dragon King-grade stoves and Melk Forges. Appearances deceive." 

A guide led them to a reception room where Chef Sumire—resplendent in a bloodstained apron reeking of Battle Wolf—awaited. His eyes, sharp as his cleavers, appraised the girls. 

"Apologies for the wait," he rumbled. "Had to debone a Thunder Ape. Nasty buggers, but their marrow's divine." 

The Assessment 

Chef Sumire led them to a Capture Level 3 Kitchen—a cavernous hall where students diced Shell Turtles and simmered Lava Broth in obsidian cauldrons. Erina and Hisako were handed aprons and assigned stations. 

"Show me your basics," Chef Sumire ordered. "Use anything here." 

Erina selected Crystal Lettuce and Mellow Cola, ingredients she'd handled under Zed's watch. Hisako opted for Scale Chicken breasts, their iridescent skin tougher than steel. 

Chef Sumire's brow furrowed as they worked. "Their ingredient knowledge is… primitive." 

Zed nodded. "They're from a remote region. Relied on low-tier produce." 

The truth hung unspoken: another world. 

Erina's Dish: Luminescent Salad 

Erina's hands trembled as she julienned the lettuce, its leaves refracting light into rainbows. The Mellow Cola reduction bubbled too fast, its caramelized sugars threatening to burn. 

"Focus," she chided herself, channeling Totsuki's rigor. But this wasn't Shokugeki's controlled chaos—this was survival. 

She plated the salad, glazing it with cola syrup. The dish shimmered, beautiful yet… shallow. 

Verdict: ★★ (Barely Two Stars) 

Hisako's Dish: Scale Chicken Terrine 

Hisako's cleaver clanged against the chicken's hide, sparks flying. Sweat beaded her brow as she finally breached the scales, extracting ruby-red meat. She layered it with Marshmelon gelée, the contrast of textures a homage to traditional kaiseki. 

The terrine wobbled on the plate, gelatin uneven. 

Verdict: ★ (One Star) 

Chef Sumire's Critique 

"Nakiri," Chef Sumire boomed, fork clattering against her plate. "Presentation? Stellar. Flavor? *Tourist-grade*. You treated Crystal Lettuce like common cabbage—its bioluminescent enzymes require sous-vide at 62°C, not raw chops!" 

He turned to Hisako. "And you! Scale Chicken isn't poultry—it's armor. Roast at 300°C for 20 minutes to crack the hide, then sous-vide. Basic technique!" 

The girls flinched. In Totsuki, such errors warranted expulsion. Here, Chef Sumire's glare promised worse. 

Zed intervened. "They'll learn. That's why they're here." 

The Shadow of Food Honor 

Chef Sumire's gaze snapped to Zed. "You've mastered Food Honor." A statement, not a question. 

Zed's movements—a pour of tea, a shift in stance—were fluid, efficient. No wasted motion. 

"Beginner stage," Zed admitted. 

"Hmph. I've seen veterans with less control." Chef Sumire leaned closer. "Train them in it. Or they'll die here." 

The Chasm Between Worlds 

Later, in a dormitory smelling of Healing Logs, Erina stared at her hands. "Two stars… I'm a novice here." 

Hisako slumped on her bunk. "I couldn't even skin a chicken…" 

Zed tossed them Gourmet World Culinary Atlas—a tome thicker than Totsuki's curriculum. "Memorize this. Every ingredient, every technique. Survival depends on it." 

Erina flipped to a page on Galala Crocodile—its liver required Black Tornado knife skills to slice. Her God Tongue ached with inadequacy. 

The Unasked Question 

Chef Sumire cornered Zed post-assessment. "Why them? You could've partnered with Lipa or Rin—prodigies begging for Saiseiya backing." 

Zed's reply was quiet, firm. "They're… special. Give them time." 

Chef Sumire snorted. "Time? The Gourmet World chews up 'special.'"