The morning sun filtered gently through the windows of the Shiomi Research Society.
The tranquil stillness of the room was broken only by the faint hiss of steam and the rich, oily aroma rising from the grill. Akira Hayama stood quietly, his usually focused eyes slightly hazy with doubt.
On the plate in front of him lay a freshly remade salt-grilled pacific saury.
His expression tightened.
Lifting a fork, he sliced a bite, brought it to his nose, and inhaled slowly—eyes closed.
The scent was rich, metallic, slightly bitter, with the subtle char of crispy skin and undertones of lemon and soy.
But still…
"It's not the same," he muttered. "It doesn't match Alice's… Not even close."
He sighed deeply, setting the fork down with a quiet clink.
"The difference wasn't technique. It was the salt."
His tone was sharp, as if confessing to himself.
"I shouldn't have used baking salt. I should've used… fleur de sel."
The name rolled off his tongue like an incantation.
Fleur de sel.
Harvested from the Guérande salt fields along the southern coast of Brittany, France.
A treasure of the culinary world.
Fifty grams alone could cost nearly 1,000 yen.
What made it special?
Rich in trace minerals often lost in refined salts.
Delicate crystals, shaped like hollow inverted pyramids.
A subtle, natural violet fragrance, light but distinct.
And most of all: it had a rare penetrative power, capable of infusing food quickly and deeply.
It was only harvested between June and October, under ideal weather conditions, making it even rarer.
"It's just salt…" Akira muttered. "But that pinch can make a legend."
He recalled a passage from Lin Yusen's "Legendary European Ingredients." The nine European kings of flavor—Bresse chicken, Iberian ham, Roquefort, white truffles, and among them… fleur de sel.
To think that salt could hold a place among truffles and Belon oysters…
Akira clenched his fist.
But then—
"Akira, you're wrong."
A voice cut through his thoughts.
Jun Shiomi stood nearby, watering a plant by the window, her tone casual yet firm.
"It wasn't the salt that lost you the championship."
Akira blinked. "Huh?"
Jun turned, setting down her watering can. Her eyes were calm, but her words were precise.
"Even if you'd used ordinary sea salt, the judges would've been impressed. Your seasoning was sharp. Balanced."
"The issue wasn't your spice control—it was your approach to the ingredient itself."
Pacific saury.
A notoriously difficult fish.
Its richness was deceptive. Despite its fat content, its texture was dry.
Its flavor profile—salty, bitter, slightly fishy—meant only a deep understanding of the fish's muscle composition, protein breakdown, and fat oxidation process could fully unlock its potential.
"Sous-vide is superior in that regard," Jun said plainly. "Because low-temp cooking retains moisture. Reduces oxidation. Enhances natural umami without destroying structure."
She listed scientific terms casually:
Steaming loss rate.
TVB-N value.
Sulfhydryl content.
Salt-soluble protein retention.
Akira's brows furrowed as he listened.
"So you're saying…"
"It wasn't about spices or salt…"
Jun nodded. "Alice's method just brought out the saury's intrinsic quality better than yours."
"The flavor of the ocean… unmasked."
Akira stared at his dish again, his self-confidence fractured—but something inside him also stirred:
Curiosity.
And… the drive to understand.
After a silence, Akira broke it. "Jun… how's your research on iris compounds going?"
Jun sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Honestly? Nowhere."
She stepped away from her plants, frowning.
"Actually… something else has been bugging me."
Akira turned to her.
"Recently, during the competition, I noticed something odd. A scent. A common scent among several contestants."
Akira blinked. "A scent?"
Jun nodded, folding her arms.
"I'm sensitive to aroma. And I caught the same… unusual trace scent on Alice. Megumi. Ryoko. Even Yuuki."
Akira narrowed his eyes. "What kind of scent?"
She frowned, struggling to name it. "Not spices. Something subtle. Almost… boozy?"
"Like alcohol?" Akira echoed, thoughtful.
Jun snapped her fingers. "Yes! Not liquor, exactly. But something fermented… earthy… warm. Like… a dish simmered in a tavern for hours."
"A tavern?"
The idea hung in the air.
Akira slowly nodded. "Maybe they've been going somewhere. Somewhere we don't know about."
A New Tradition — The Maple Viewing Event
The red leaves of Totsuki's forest danced gently in the breeze.
Crimson. Gold. Flame-orange.
A cascade of color painted the world under the clear morning sky.
It was 10 AM on the day after the Autumn Selection Finals, and the Maple Viewing Event had begun.
More than just a school tradition, this event marked a rare moment of "peaceful exchange" between first-year rising stars and the revered Elite Ten Council.
Yet peace was a luxury in short supply.
The atmosphere was anything but warm.
The seven eligible contestants—Alice, Soma, Ryo, Akira, Takumi, Megumi, and Subaru—stood slightly apart, warily observing one another. Their relationships, still raw from competition, hadn't yet healed.
Friendly exchange?
Hardly.
They were still rivals—hungry, ambitious, determined.
Then, the Elite Ten arrived.
In formation. In power.
Terunori Kuga, brash and bored.
Rindo Kobayashi, carefree and snacking.
Momo Akanegakubo, silent and unsettling.
Eishi Tsukasa, the weary first seat.
Saito, Togo, Nene, and finally—
Erina Nakiri, the glamorous and unapproachable tenth seat.
Their presence was magnetic—yet their expressions? Dismissive.
They didn't greet the first-years.
They barely looked at them.
To them, these students were not successors.
They were threats.
Terunori stretched lazily, grumbling, "Why do we even bother with this exchange crap?"
He looked over the first-years and smirked.
"This is such a waste of time."
But Rindo chuckled, licking her fingers. "Funny. Weren't you the one who challenged us to a food war at this exact event last year?"
"Shh! That was different!"
"Oh yeah? How'd that go again?"
"…Lost 5-0," she said, deadpan.
Terunori groaned, slumping.
Rindo just grinned.
Soma stepped forward.
Direct. Challenging.
"Golden-hair senpai. I'm Yukihira Soma. Third place, Autumn Selection."
He smirked.
"Wanna go a round?"
Terunori blinked. "The hell did you just say?"
"You heard me. Let's have a food war."
The atmosphere snapped like a rubber band.
"Food war?! You brats need to learn respect!"
"Respect is earned, not inherited."
Their voices rose—so did tensions.
From the side, Eishi watched with tired eyes.
Rindo simply kept snacking, eyes sharp now, tone colder.
"There's no fear in their eyes anymore," she said softly.
"That's dangerous."
Everyone understood the truth:
The Elite Ten weren't a team.
Internal conflict ran deep.
And the new generation wasn't backing down.
The so-called "peaceful" Maple Viewing Event?
Ended in silence.
Ended with tension thick in the air.
A cold wind blew, scattering red leaves into the sky.
A storm was coming.
As the crowd dispersed, Alice caught up to Erina.
"Erina!" she called out.
The blonde paused, slightly surprised.
"I guess our showdown is coming soon, right?" Alice grinned, folding her arms.
Erina turned slowly, eyes calm.
"Don't think just because you won the Autumn Selection… that you're close to the Elite Ten."
Alice blinked.
Then Erina added, "I spoke to grandfather. There's going to be a collaboration."
"With… the tavern."
Alice's eyes widened. "The tavern?!"
Erina turned away.
"You should start preparing. The practical training is coming."
Practical Training — The Next Trial
The most grueling test for first-year students was about to begin.
Unlike the residential training or the Autumn Selection, practical training came with stricter rules—and real-world consequences.
Students would be dispatched to:
Elite restaurants.
Food manufacturing companies.
Hospitality chains.
Even public culinary institutions.
Each student would be evaluated not just on work ethic—but on whether they could deliver tangible results:
Turn around failing businesses.
Create a new dish worthy of a menu spot.
Innovate a new operational method.
Failure to do so?
Immediate expulsion.
Even perfection wasn't enough—you had to prove your value.
And with whispers of a collaboration between Totsuki and the tavern, the stakes were rising faster than anyone expected.
Akira stared at his plate once more.
Salt-grilled saury.
So simple.
So telling.
His thoughts echoed:
"They've been going somewhere… Where scent, technique, and transformation intersect."
"A tavern."
He didn't smile.
He didn't speak.
He simply looked up—eyes burning.
This wasn't the end.
It was the beginning.
Of a new war.
Of truth beneath moonlight.
Of legends born in hidden kitchens.