Despite the storm Central had unleashed, Polar Star Dorm remained untouched for the time being—a sanctuary of sorts, suspended in time. The kitchens still echoed with laughter on some days, quiet determination on others. But behind the comforting clatter of pots and pans, every resident knew the noose was tightening.
After the public restrictions placed on Riku, it became clear to everyone that Azami wasn't just trying to control him—he was trying to erase him.
And yet, something unexpected had begun to grow.
Even as official systems closed around him, support for Riku Kaizen began to surge in small, quiet ways. Late-night ingredient deliveries mysteriously showed up at the dorm doorstep. Messages slipped beneath his door bore signatures of students he barely knew: "Thank you for reminding us why we cook." "They took my club away, but your food gave me hope."
Riku read them all. He kept them, neatly stacked in a wooden box beneath his desk. Every word mattered. Every voice counted.
But it was Erina's silence that haunted him the most.
It had been days since their last conversation in the garden, the one where her hand had found his—and lingered, trembling with quiet resolve. She hadn't turned away. She hadn't denied him. But she hadn't spoken out publicly either.
Not yet.
Until now.
That evening, a quiet knock came at his door.
He opened it to find Erina standing there, dressed not in her usual Tōtsuki uniform or Central's sterile formalwear, but in a casual cardigan and pale skirt. She looked almost like a different person—one freed, if only slightly, from the suffocating elegance expected of her.
"Come with me," she said, her tone gentle but urgent.
He didn't hesitate.
They walked in silence through the side halls of the academy, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floors. Riku noticed how they avoided major corridors, slipped through empty courtyards, and ducked behind delivery trucks. Erina led him with practiced care.
"Where are we going?" he finally asked.
"You'll see."
She stopped at the back of a long-forgotten lecture hall, one that had been used for club meetings before Central had shut most of them down. She slid a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. When they stepped inside, Riku froze.
There were nearly twenty students seated in a loose circle. Some he recognized from Polar Star, others from clubs long dismantled. There was Takumi Aldini, polishing his chef's knife. Megumi Tadokoro offered a small, shy wave. Even Ryō Kurokiba, usually too volatile to be involved in anything outside of cooking, stood in the back with crossed arms and an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
"What is this?" Riku asked, looking at Erina.
"This is what Central fears," she said, stepping forward "Freedom. Creativity. Unity. This is the real Tōtsuki."
Isshiki appeared from the shadows near the chalkboard, wearing his usual half-buttoned shirt and relaxed expression "We've been gathering quietly for a few days now. But when Erina said she was in… that changed everything."
Riku turned to her, stunned "You're officially stepping away from Central?"
Her voice was clear and strong "I've withdrawn my support from the Azami Administration. As of today, I no longer recognize his authority over my culinary decisions."
The room didn't erupt into cheers. There was only silence—a breathless, stunned silence.
Then Ryō scoffed "Took you long enough, princess."
Alice Nakiri emerged from the crowd and smacked Ryō on the arm "Hey! You try growing up under that man and not being brainwashed."
Erina smiled faintly and walked over to Riku "I don't know where this path will take us. But if I keep hiding in fear of what he'll do… then I'll never be free."
Riku looked around the room—at the faces lit by overhead lamps and simmering resolve—and something inside him clicked into place. The rebellion wasn't just alive.
It had finally found its voice.
The meeting lasted hours.
They spoke in whispers but with passion—about resistance, strategy, covert ingredient networks, ways to preserve creativity without direct confrontation. But one subject hung heavier than the rest.
"How do we fight back when the Shokugeki system is no longer ours?" Takumi asked. "We can't officially challenge the Elite Ten now."
"There's a loophole," Isshiki said, leaning forward "According to Article 13, Paragraph 4 of the Tōtsuki Culinary Code—challenges under legacy contracts cannot be overruled by Central."
Riku's brows furrowed "Legacy contracts?"
Isshiki smiled "Old rules. Ancient. Forgotten, but never erased. If we can uncover the right documentation, we might still be able to issue sanctioned Shokugekis… ones Azami can't block."
"Where would we even find that?" Megumi asked.
Erina, surprisingly, answered "My grandfather's archives. Senzaemon kept records of every culinary agreement made in Tōtsuki. If the clauses still exist, they'll be there."
Riku nodded slowly "Then we get them."
Alice grinned "You want to break into the archives? Count me in."
"No," Erina said, "we won't break in. We'll go through him directly."
A hush fell over the group.
"You're going to ask the former director for help?" Isshiki said.
Erina nodded "He's still family. And I think… I think he's been waiting for me to make this choice."
That night, as the group slowly dispersed, Riku and Erina found themselves alone once more under the shadowed arches near the library. A soft breeze swept through the corridors, rustling the ivy climbing up the stone columns.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked her quietly.
"No," she admitted "But I'm more sure of you."
He turned to her, heart beating louder than before.
"I'm not leading this alone," he said "Not anymore."
She didn't say anything. Instead, she reached out, fingers tracing his wrist before resting gently against his palm.
"When this is over," she said, "and if we win… what do you want?"
Riku looked down at her hand, then back up into her eyes.
"I want to stand beside you. In the kitchen. In life."
Her breath hitched, just slightly, and for a second, the carefully constructed world around them seemed to melt into something simpler. Not war. Not resistance. Just two people standing on the edge of something uncertain—but something real.
"I'd like that," she said, voice softer than he had ever heard it.
Far above the academy, in a secured room that overlooked the campus, Azami Nakiri stood before a series of projection screens. One of them showed Polar Star Dorm. Another, the closed lecture hall.
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"They're gathering," a Central chef behind him said "The Kaizen boy. Your daughter. Even Isshiki."
Azami didn't react.
"They're desperate," he said "Desperation makes people foolish."
He turned, walking slowly to a shelf lined with old Tōtsuki documents.
"But I will remind them why the old ways failed. And I will use the past… to bury them."