The morning sun barely crept over the horizon when Ryu found himself at Tsukiji Fish Market, following his father through crowds of professional buyers and restaurant owners. This wasn't the tourist section, this was where real chefs came for the freshest ingredients, where deals were made in rapid-fire Japanese and fortunes changed hands over the quality of a single tuna.
"Today," Takeshi announced, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, "you're going to learn why knowing your ingredients matters more than knowing techniques."
They stopped at a stall where dozens of fish lay on ice, their scales still gleaming with ocean freshness. The vendor, a gruff man in his sixties with hands like weathered leather, nodded at Takeshi.
"Your boy?" he asked in rough Japanese.
"My son, Ryu. Ryu, this is Yukihira-san. Best eye for fish in all of Tokyo."
The name jolted something in Ryu's memories both his new life's memories and something else. Yukihira. Why did that name feel significant?
The vendor grunted, looking Ryu up and down with an appraising eye. "Heard he got into Totsuki. You teaching him right, Takeshi?"
"Trying to," Takeshi replied with a slight smile. "He's stubborn like his mother."
"Good. Totsuki needs more stubborn kids willing to challenge the establishment." Yukihira-san turned to Ryu. "Pick the best mackerel from this batch. Show me what you've learned."
Ryu stepped forward, scanning the fish. In his previous life, he'd done this hundreds of times, checking for clear eyes, firm flesh, bright red gills, the smell of ocean rather than fishiness. His hands moved automatically, pressing gently against flesh to check for springiness, lifting gills to examine color.
He selected one confidently. "This one."
Yukihira-san didn't even look at his choice. "Wrong. Try again."
Ryu blinked, confused. He'd picked the fish with the clearest eyes, the brightest gills. "But this one has—"
"You looked with your eyes," Yukihira-san interrupted. "You checked the textbook markers. But you didn't ask what the fish was meant for. Different preparations need different fish."
Takeshi stepped in. "He's right. The fish you picked is perfect for grilling, firm flesh, good fat content. But we're making escabeche today, Filipino sweet and sour fish. For that, you want slightly less firm flesh that will absorb the vinegar marinade better. The fish doesn't just need to be fresh, it needs to be right for the purpose."
Ryu looked at the mackerel again, this time thinking about how they'd be cooked. Escabeche involved frying then marinating in vinegar. Too firm, and the fish wouldn't absorb flavors. Too soft, and it would fall apart.
He selected a different fish, still fresh, but with slightly more give to the flesh.
Yukihira-san finally looked at his choice and nodded. "Better. You'll learn."
As they continued through the market, collecting ingredients, Ryu felt humbled. He'd thought his previous life's experience would give him an advantage, but that had been Western-focused culinary training. Here, he was learning an entirely different philosophy, one where the ingredient's destination mattered as much as its quality.
"Ingredients are not just components," Takeshi explained as they walked. "They're partners in creation. Western culinary tradition often treats ingredients as raw materials to be transformed. But in Southeast Asian cooking, we believe ingredients have their own nature, their own preferred uses. Our job isn't to dominate them but to guide them to their best expression."
They stopped at a vegetable stall, and Takeshi pointed to several types of eggplant
Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Italian. "Each of these has different flesh density, different water content, different flavor profiles. Use Thai eggplant in a Japanese preparation and it won't work. Not because one is better, but because each has its own purpose."
Ryu absorbed the lesson, feeling his understanding deepen. This was what his previous life had lacked, this relationship with ingredients rather than just technical knowledge of them.
They were about to leave when Ryu heard a familiar voice or rather, a voice that felt familiar in a way he couldn't explain.
"Yukihira-san! Got any good mackerel today? Dad's experimenting with a new dish!"
A boy around Ryu's age bounded up to the fish stall, messy red hair, bright eyes full of energy, and an enthusiasm that seemed to radiate from every pore. He wore casual clothes stained with what looked like various sauces, and moved with the unselfconscious confidence of someone completely comfortable in their element.
Yukihira-san's gruff expression softened slightly. "Soma! Your old man sending you for ingredients again?"
"Yep! He's trying to fuse Japanese and Italian techniques to make a mackerel dish that'll blow people's minds!" The red-haired boy "Soma" grinned widely.
Something clicked in Ryu's mind. Yukihira Soma. The name from the entrance exam information packets. The boy who'd be entering Totsuki the same year as him.
And from his previous life's memories—though that was impossible—the name felt even more significant. Like he should know this person, though they'd never met.
Takeshi noticed the interaction and spoke up. "Soma Yukihira? Joichiro's boy?"
Soma turned, his grin never faltering. "That's me! And you're... wait." His eyes widened with recognition. "Takeshi Nakamura? The Spice King? Dad talks about you all the time! He says you were the scariest person in the Elite Ten back then!"
"Scariest?" Takeshi raised an eyebrow.
"Because you never backed down from a challenge and you made judges question everything they thought they knew about cooking!" Soma's enthusiasm was infectious. "Dad said you challenged the entire French cuisine division to simultaneous shokugeki matches and won all five on the same day!"
Takeshi actually looked embarrassed. "That was... a long time ago. And I was probably more arrogant than scary."
"Well, it was awesome!" Soma then noticed Ryu. "Oh! Are you his son? Are you going to Totsuki too?"
"Ryu Nakamura," Ryu introduced himself, offering a hand. "And yes, I'll be in the upcoming class."
Soma shook his hand with surprising strength. "Nice to meet you! Your dad's a legend! I bet you're an amazing chef too!"
The easy assumption, the lack of any competitive edge or jealousy caught Ryu off guard. In his previous life, other chefs had always sized him up as competition. But Soma's interest seemed purely genuine.
"I'm... learning," Ryu said carefully. "My dad's been training me pretty intensively."
"That's so cool! My dad's been training me too, though his methods are kind of crazy. Last week he made me create a dish using only ingredients that start with the letter 'T'. It was brutal!" Soma laughed. "But I learned a lot about working with constraints."
Takeshi and Yukihira-san were having their own conversation nearby, occasionally glancing at the two boys with what looked like amusement.
"So what kind of cuisine do you specialize in?" Soma asked, his curiosity genuine.
"Southeast Asian or an ASEAN cooking style," Ryu replied. "Malaysian, Indonesian, Thai, Filipino, Vietnamese. my mother was Malaysian, and my father trained across the region."
Soma's eyes lit up. "That's awesome! I've only done a little with those cuisines, mostly Japanese family restaurant cooking. But I love trying new things! Maybe we could do a cooking exchange sometime? I could show you some of my family's techniques, and you could teach me about Southeast Asian cooking!"
The offer was so genuine, so without ulterior motive, that Ryu found himself smiling. "I'd like that."
"Great! Oh, and when we get to Totsuki—" Soma's grin became almost mischievous, "—let's both aim for the Elite Ten! I want to see how my cooking stacks up against all these high-level chefs, including the son of a legend!"
There was no arrogance in the statement, just pure competitive enthusiasm. Ryu felt something stir in his chest, excitement, anticipation. In his previous life, he'd been so focused on being the best that he'd never enjoyed the competition. But Soma made it seem fun.
"You're on," Ryu heard himself say.
"Awesome!" Soma collected his mackerel and waved enthusiastically. "See you at the entrance ceremony, Ryu! This is gonna be great!"
As Soma bounded off with his purchase, Takeshi walked back over, an unreadable expression on his face.
"That boy," Takeshi said quietly, "has the same energy Joichiro had at that age. Pure love of cooking with no ego attached. It's rare."
"You know his father well?"
"Joichiro Yukihira or as he was known at Totsuki, Joichiro Saiba was Second Seat when I was Third. We competed constantly, pushed each other to improve. He was..." Takeshi paused, choosing words carefully, "...the most naturally talented chef I've ever met. But he eventually left Totsuki and the culinary elite world to run a family diner."
There was respect in Takeshi's voice, tinged with something else, understanding, maybe.
"Why?" Ryu asked.
"Because he realized that cooking at the highest level had started to become joyless for him. Too much pressure, too many expectations. He wanted to cook for people who appreciated food, not critics who dissected it." Takeshi looked at Ryu seriously. "If his son has even half his father's talent, combined with that genuine love of cooking, he's going to be a force at Totsuki."
"Should I be worried?" Ryu asked, only half-joking.
"No," Takeshi said firmly. "Competition isn't something to fear, it's something to embrace. That boy will push you to be better, and you'll push him. That's how excellence is forged."
They continued shopping, but Ryu's mind kept returning to Soma. There was something infectious about his enthusiasm, his complete lack of pretension. It reminded Ryu of why he'd fallen in love with cooking in the first place before the pressure, before the stars, before the perfectionism.
Maybe this time, I can enjoy the journey instead of just chasing the destination.