The day of Totsuki Academy's entrance ceremony arrived with unseasonably perfect weather—clear skies, gentle breeze, the kind of day that felt laden with possibility. Ryu stood before his bedroom mirror, adjusting his Totsuki uniform for the first time. The black jacket with gold trim felt heavy with expectation, the emblem on the breast pocket a symbol of prestige that millions of aspiring chefs dreamed of wearing.
"You look good," Takeshi said from the doorway. He was dressed in a formal chef's coat—not his usual working whites, but the ceremonial coat he'd worn during his Totsuki days, complete with his Third Seat insignia still embroidered on the chest.
Ryu turned, surprised. "You're wearing that?"
"Your mother wore her ceremonial coat to every important occasion," Takeshi said, his voice soft with memory. "Said it reminded her of how far she'd come and how much further she wanted to go. Today feels important enough."
He walked over and adjusted Ryu's collar with the same careful precision he brought to plating food. "Listen. What you're about to face—it's going to be overwhelming. Hundreds of students, all convinced they're destined for greatness. Many of them from culinary families more prestigious than ours. Some with resources we can't match."
Takeshi's hands settled on Ryu's shoulders. "But remember—you carry something they don't. You carry tradition, heritage, and three months of training that would have broken most people. You carry your mother's spirit and my techniques. And most importantly—" his grip tightened slightly, "—you carry the understanding that cooking isn't about superiority. It's about connection."
Ryu felt tears threaten but blinked them back. "What if I fail? What if I disappoint you?"
"Impossible," Takeshi said firmly. "You already made me prouder than I ever thought possible when you cried over that first rendang. Everything else is just details."
The ride to Totsuki was quiet, both of them lost in thought. As they approached the sprawling campus—with its multiple buildings, vast grounds, and architecture that screamed prestige—Ryu felt his previous life's memories stir. He'd visited plenty of prestigious culinary schools before, but nothing quite like this.
The entrance ceremony was being held in the main auditorium, a massive space that could accommodate thousands. Students filed in wearing identical uniforms, but the differences were obvious in how they carried themselves. Some walked with aristocratic confidence, clearly from established culinary families. Others looked nervous, out of place. A few moved with quiet determination, already mentally competing.
Ryu found a seat in the middle section, trying to avoid attention. His father had gone to sit in the observation area reserved for alumni and families.
"Is this seat taken?"
Ryu looked up to find a petite girl with short blue hair and the most anxious expression he'd ever seen. She clutched her bag like a lifeline, and her hands were trembling slightly.
"It's free," Ryu said, gesturing to the seat.
"Thank you!" She sat down quickly, then immediately bowed. "I'm Megumi Tadokoro. From Tohoku region. This is my first time in Tokyo and I'm completely lost and terrified and I probably shouldn't have come because everyone here is so much better than me and—"
She caught herself, face flushing. "Sorry. I ramble when I'm nervous. Which is always. I'm Megumi."
Despite the pressure of the day, Ryu found himself smiling. Her genuine anxiety was somehow refreshing after all the posturing he'd seen from other students. "Ryu Nakamura. Don't worry—I think everyone's nervous, they're just better at hiding it."
"Really?" Megumi looked at him with something like hope. "You seem so calm."
If only you knew, Ryu thought. Outwardly calm, but inside his heart was racing. "Just good at faking it."
"Oh! That's a useful skill!" Megumi seemed to relax slightly. "What kind of cuisine do you specialize in? I do traditional Japanese home cooking, mostly regional dishes from Tohoku, but I'm worried that's too simple for Totsuki and—"
"Traditional cooking is important," Ryu interrupted gently. "My father always says that mastering fundamentals matters more than flashy techniques. I specialize in Southeast Asian cuisine—ASEAN cooking."
"ASEAN?" Megumi's eyes widened. "That's so exotic! I've never tried making those cuisines before. Is it difficult?"
"Different philosophies than Japanese cooking, but not necessarily harder. Just requires understanding the balance of flavors—heat, sour, sweet, salty, savory all working together."
"That sounds amazing! Maybe you could teach me sometime? I'd love to learn—" Megumi's hopeful expression suddenly froze, looking at something behind Ryu. "Oh no."
Ryu turned to see what had caused her reaction.
A girl was making her way through the auditorium, and every head turned to follow her progress. She was striking—long blonde hair, violet eyes, and an expression of such absolute confidence it bordered on arrogance. She moved like she owned the space, and from the whispers erupting around them, Ryu gathered who she was.
"Erina Nakiri," someone whispered. "The Director's granddaughter."
"The God Tongue," another voice added with reverence. "They say she can taste every single ingredient in a dish, identify any flaw, judge if food is worthy with just one bite."
"She's never given a dish higher than a 95 out of 100," a third voice chimed in. "Supposedly she's already better than most professional chefs."
Erina Nakiri walked past their row, and for just a moment, her gaze swept across the seated students with thinly veiled disdain—as if assessing livestock rather than peers.
Her eyes landed on Ryu for a fraction of a second, something flickering in her expression—recognition? curiosity?—before moving on.
"She's terrifying," Megumi whispered. "I heard she failed over two hundred applicants personally during entrance evaluations. Just tasted their food and rejected them without explanation."
Ryu said nothing, but something about Erina Nakiri bothered him. Not her skill—that was clearly legitimate. But the arrogance, the dismissiveness. It reminded him too much of his previous life's worst impulses, when he'd judged other chefs as beneath him.
That's a path that leads nowhere good.
"Hey! Ryu!"
The cheerful shout cut through the murmuring crowd. Soma Yukihira was waving enthusiastically from several rows over, grinning like he didn't have a care in the world. Several students near him looked scandalized at the casual loudness.
Ryu couldn't help but smile and wave back.
"You know Yukihira-kun?" Megumi asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"We met at the fish market a few weeks ago. He seems... energetic."
"That's one word for it," a new voice said dryly.
A boy with white hair and glasses had taken the seat on Ryu's other side. He had an air of cool professionalism that reminded Ryu of sommeliers from high-end restaurants.
"Takumi Aldini," the boy introduced himself with a slight Italian accent. "And that's my brother Isami." He gestured to a rounder-faced boy who'd sat next to him.
"You're from Italy?" Ryu asked.
"Our family runs a trattoria in Florence. We came to Totsuki to prove that Italian cuisine can stand among the best." Takumi's eyes gleamed with competitive fire. "I heard about you—Takeshi Nakamura's son. The Third Seat's legacy. That makes you a benchmark I'll need to surpass."
There was no malice in his words, just straightforward competitive spirit. Ryu found he appreciated the honesty.
"Looking forward to it," Ryu replied.
Before Takumi could respond, the lights dimmed and a figure walked onto the stage.
The murmuring stopped instantly.
Senzaemon Nakiri commanded silence simply by existing. He stood at the podium, his presence filling the massive auditorium, and when he spoke, his voice carried weight that went beyond mere volume.
"Welcome to Totsuki Culinary Academy," Senzaemon began. "You are the select few who survived our entrance evaluations. You should feel proud of this achievement."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"However, understand this—getting into Totsuki is not the accomplishment. It is merely the beginning of a journey that will break most of you."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Look to your left. Look to your right." Senzaemon's voice was merciless. "Of every ten students who enter Totsuki, less than one will graduate. Some will be expelled for failing practicals. Others will leave broken by the pressure. A few will realize they never had the talent they thought they possessed."
Students shifted uncomfortably. Even Soma's grin had faded to serious attention.
"Totsuki does not coddle mediocrity. We do not celebrate mere competence. We forge the finest chefs in the world through relentless pressure, merciless evaluation, and standards that would make other culinary schools weep." Senzaemon's eyes swept across the assembly. "If you are not prepared to give everything—your time, your sleep, your comfort, your pride—then leave now. We have no use for half-measures."
The silence was absolute.
"For those who remain and endure, however—" Senzaemon's voice shifted, carrying something that might have been pride, "—you will emerge as masters. Chefs who can work in any kitchen in the world. Innovators who will shape culinary culture. Leaders who will carry Japanese cuisine to greater heights."
He gestured broadly. "But this journey is not one you walk alone. You will compete, yes—but you will also collaborate. You will challenge each other, but you will also learn from each other. And for those exceptional few who reach the pinnacle—the Elite Ten—you will help guide Totsuki's future."
Senzaemon's gaze seemed to land on specific students—Erina, obviously, but also lingering on Soma, on Ryu, on a few others scattered through the crowd.
"Your first challenge begins tomorrow. A practical examination that will determine your initial class placement. I suggest you spend tonight preparing, mentally and physically, for what awaits."
He stepped back from the podium. "Welcome to Totsuki Academy. Prove yourselves worthy."
The ceremony concluded with administrative details delivered by various staff members, but Ryu barely heard them. His mind was already racing ahead—tomorrow's practical, the challenges to come, the competition he'd face.
As students filed out, Megumi looked at Ryu with barely concealed panic. "A practical examination tomorrow?! Already?! I'm not ready, I haven't prepared anything, what if—"
"Breathe," Ryu said calmly. "Whatever they throw at us, just cook what you know best. Trust your training."
"But what if my regional cooking isn't good enough? What if—"
"Megumi-san." Ryu made her meet his eyes. "If you got into Totsuki, you're good enough. The trick is believing that yourself."
The words seemed to help slightly. Megumi took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Right. I can do this. Maybe. Probably not. But I'll try!"
As they emerged into the sunlight, Ryu found his father waiting, along with someone else—a tall man with wild hair and an easy smile.
"Ryu, this is—" Takeshi began.
"Joichiro Yukihira," the man interrupted with a grin. "Or Saiba, depending on which name you prefer. Former Second Seat, current diner owner, and father of that loudmouth over there."
Soma had spotted them and was running over. "Dad! Did you see? The Director's speech was intense! This place is awesome!"
Joichiro laughed. "You say that now. Wait until you're pulling all-nighters studying for theory exams while also preparing for practicals."
"Can't wait!" Soma's enthusiasm was undiminished.
Joichiro turned to Ryu, his expression becoming more serious while maintaining that easy smile. "So you're Takeshi's kid. Heard you impressed some important people at your evaluation. Made Senzaemon's coat buttons strain, apparently."
Ryu felt himself flush. "I just cooked what I knew."
"That's all any of us can do," Joichiro said. "But listen—Soma here doesn't have any grand culinary legacy pushing him. No famous family name. Just a stubborn kid from a family diner who loves to cook. So I'll ask you the same thing I'm asking him—don't let expectations define you. Not your father's, not Totsuki's, not your own."
He glanced at Takeshi. "Your old man and I pushed each other to be better, but we also kept each other sane. Made sure we remembered why we loved cooking even when the pressure tried to make us forget. I hope you and Soma can do the same for each other."
Soma nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Let's push each other to be the best!"
Despite the anxiety thrumming through his veins, Ryu found himself smiling. "Sounds good."
As the Yukihiras left, Takeshi put a hand on Ryu's shoulder. "That practical tomorrow—don't overthink it. Whatever they ask for, remember everything I taught you. Remember why we cook. And remember—"
"I know," Ryu interrupted. "Remember to breathe, trust my training, and make food that speaks to the soul, not just the palate."
Takeshi smiled. "You were paying attention. Good."
They walked toward the parking area, but Ryu looked back at Totsuki's main building one more time. Somewhere in there, judges were preparing tomorrow's challenge. Somewhere, other students were panicking or strategizing. Somewhere, his future was being written.
I've been given a second chance at this life, Ryu thought. I won't waste it on fear or doubt. I'll face whatever comes with everything I have.
Totsuki Academy—let's see what you've got.