The next morning, Ryu stood with 287 other first-year students in Totsuki's largest practical kitchen—a massive space with dozens of cooking stations, each equipped with professional-grade equipment that would make most restaurants jealous.
The air buzzed with nervous energy. Some students looked confident, already stretching and warming up like athletes before competition. Others looked terrified, clutching notebooks filled with recipes as if they were lifelines.
Ryu spotted Soma several stations over, looking around with open curiosity rather than anxiety. Megumi was nearby, visibly trembling. The Aldini brothers were conferring quietly in Italian. And at the very front, isolated from the other students, stood Erina Nakiri with an expression that suggested this entire exercise was beneath her.
The head instructor, a severe-looking woman named Hinako Inui, stepped onto the raised platform at the front.
"Good morning," she said, her voice cutting through the chatter. "Your first practical examination is simple. You will create a breakfast dish suitable for service at a high-end hotel restaurant. You have ninety minutes. The dish must be original, must showcase your technical skill, and must be something that would entice guests to choose it over other options."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"You will be judged on taste, presentation, technical execution, and creativity. The top fifty students will advance to A-Block for advanced instruction. The next hundred will be assigned to B-Block for standard instruction. Those ranked 151-250 will be placed in C-Block with additional remedial support. Anyone ranked below 250 will be expelled immediately."
The temperature in the room dropped. Expelled on day one. Before classes even started.
"Your ingredients are available at the supply stations. Choose wisely—there are multiples of common items, but specialty ingredients are limited first-come, first-served. You may begin selecting ingredients now. Cooking begins in fifteen minutes. Any questions?"
No one dared ask anything.
"Then go."
The room erupted into controlled chaos. Students rushed to the supply stations, grabbing ingredients, strategizing on the fly. Some had clearly planned their dishes in advance; others were improvising desperately.
Ryu moved with purpose toward the Asian ingredients section. His mind had already settled on a dish—something that represented both his heritage and his technical skill.
Nasi lemak with a twist.
Nasi lemak was a Malaysian breakfast staple—rice cooked in coconut milk and pandan leaf, served with fried anchovies, peanuts, cucumber, hard-boiled egg, and sambal. Simple, beloved, but potentially seen as too "common" for high-end hotel service.
But Ryu wasn't going to make common nasi lemak. He was going to elevate it.
He grabbed jasmine rice, coconut milk, pandan leaves, dried anchovies, raw peanuts, eggs, cucumbers, and ingredients for sambal—dried chilies, belacan, shallots, garlic, tamarind. Then he added items that made other students give him curious looks—scallops, microgreens, yuzu, and edible gold leaf.
At the protein station, he selected the best-looking organic chicken thighs available.
"Interesting choices," a voice said beside him.
Erina Nakiri stood there, her shopping basket containing ingredients for what looked like eggs Benedict with some kind of Asian fusion element—he spotted miso paste and bonito flakes.
"Nasi lemak?" She pronounced it correctly, which surprised him. "Bold choice for a hotel breakfast. Most guests wouldn't know what it is."
"Then they'll learn something new," Ryu replied calmly. "Good cuisine doesn't have to be familiar to be appreciated."
Something flickered in Erina's expression—was it respect? Or irritation at being contradicted? "We'll see if the judges agree. Though I suppose if you're Takeshi Nakamura's son, you'd naturally gravitate toward Southeast Asian cooking."
There was something in her tone—not quite dismissive, but not quite respectful either. Like she was withholding judgment.
"And if you're Senzaemon Nakiri's granddaughter," Ryu countered, "you'd naturally gravitate toward dishes that showcase technical perfection over soul."
Erina's eyes widened slightly—apparently, not many people challenged her directly. Then, surprisingly, she smiled. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't cruel either.
"Bold words. Let's see if your cooking backs them up, Nakamura-kun."
She walked away, leaving Ryu wondering if he'd just made an ally, an enemy, or something in between.
The fifteen minutes ended, and Hinako's voice rang out: "Begin!"
Ryu started with the rice—the foundation of nasi lemak. He washed the jasmine rice carefully until the water ran clear, then added it to a pot with coconut milk, water, pandan leaves (tied in a knot), salt, and a touch of lemongrass for aromatic complexity. This needed to be perfect—fluffy individual grains, each one infused with coconut and pandan fragrance.
While the rice cooked, he prepared his sambal. This wasn't going to be regular sambal—he was making sambal tumis belacan, a cooked version with deeper, more complex flavors.
He toasted the belacan (shrimp paste) until it smoked, then pounded it with soaked dried chilies, shallots, and garlic. The mortar and pestle work was second nature now after months of training. The rhythm was meditative, centering him amid the chaos of 287 students cooking simultaneously.
He transferred the paste to a pan with hot oil and cooked it down, adding tamarind paste, palm sugar, and a secret ingredient—a touch of yuzu juice. The yuzu would add brightness that elevated the sambal from street food to fine dining without betraying its roots.
The sambal bubbled and darkened, filling his station with an aroma so intense that several nearby students glanced over with curiosity and envy.
Next, the chicken. Instead of the traditional fried chicken that came with nasi lemak, Ryu was making ayam percik—grilled chicken with a spiced coconut glaze. He butterflied the chicken thighs, marinated them quickly in a mixture of turmeric, lemongrass, ginger, and coconut milk, then got them on the grill.
The chicken sizzled, the marinade caramelizing beautifully. As it cooked, he basted it with more coconut mixture, building layers of flavor.
For his "twist," Ryu was adding scallops—pan-seared to perfection. The sweet, delicate scallop flesh would contrast beautifully with the rich, spicy other elements. It was a bridge between Southeast Asian and modern fine dining.
The anchovies went into hot oil—he fried them until crispy, then added the raw peanuts to the same oil, letting them absorb the anchovy flavor while becoming crunchy.
He prepared his egg—but instead of a simple hard-boiled egg, he was making onsen tamago, a Japanese soft-cooked egg with a barely-set yolk that would add creamy richness to the dish.
The cucumber was julienned into thin strips and dressed with rice vinegar and a touch of sesame oil for refreshing contrast.
With twenty minutes left, Ryu began plating. This was where technical skill met artistic vision.
He used a ring mold to create a perfect cylinder of coconut rice at the center of the plate. The rice came out beautifully—each grain distinct, glossy with coconut milk, fragrant with pandan.
Around the rice, he arranged his elements with precision: the grilled chicken, cut to show the juicy interior and caramelized exterior. Three perfectly seared scallops, golden on the outside, barely translucent in the center. The crispy anchovies and peanuts grouped artfully. The cucumber strips arranged to provide color contrast.
He carefully placed the onsen tamago on top of the rice, knowing that when cut, the yolk would flow down and enrich everything.
The sambal went into a small serving bowl on the side—allowing the judges to control the heat level while appreciating its complexity.
Finally, he added microgreens for freshness and height, and just a touch of edible gold leaf—not enough to be gaudy, but enough to signal "this is special."
The final touch: he used a brush to add tiny dots of the coconut-spice glaze around the plate's rim, creating visual interest without crowding the food.
"Time!" Hinako's voice cut through the kitchen.
Ryu stepped back from his dish, breathing hard. Around him, other students were frantically finishing, some plating with shaking hands, others looking at their creations with satisfaction or despair.
Three judges walked through the stations, tasting each dish and taking notes. Ryu recognized one—Fumio Daimido from his pre-evaluation. The other two were instructors he hadn't met yet.
They approached his station, and Ryu presented his dish with a bow.
"Elevated nasi lemak," he explained. "Traditional Malaysian coconut rice breakfast reimagined for contemporary fine dining. The rice is cooked in coconut milk with pandan for fragrance. The chicken is grilled with a spiced coconut glaze. Scallops add luxury and textural contrast. The sambal tumis belacan includes yuzu for brightness. The onsen tamago provides creamy richness that ties everything together."
Fumio raised an eyebrow. "Bold choice, using nasi lemak. Most students went for more 'sophisticated' options."
"With respect, Fumio-sensei, I believe sophistication is in execution, not in choosing European ingredients over Asian ones."
The judge's expression was unreadable as she took her first bite.
She tried the rice first—and her eyes widened slightly. "The pandan integration is perfect. I can taste the coconut without it being heavy. The rice has the right texture—fluffy but not dry."
Next, she tried the chicken with some sambal. Ryu watched her face carefully. There was the initial hit of heat from the chilies, then the complexity of the belacan, then the brightness of the yuzu cutting through—
Fumio's expression shifted. "This sambal... it's traditional but refined. The yuzu addition is inspired—it bridges Southeast Asian and Japanese flavor profiles without compromising either. And this chicken—the glaze is perfectly balanced. Sweet, savory, slightly spicy."
She cut into the onsen tamago. The yolk flowed beautifully, coating the rice. She took a bite of everything together—rice, egg yolk, chicken, a touch of sambal.
Her eyes closed briefly. "This is the kind of breakfast that would make hotel guests return specifically for this dish. It's comforting but exciting, familiar to those who know nasi lemak but accessible to those who don't. The luxury ingredients—the scallops, the gold leaf—don't feel forced. They feel like a natural elevation."
The other two judges tasted and concurred, taking notes.
"Well done, Nakamura-san," Fumio said. "This shows technical skill, cultural understanding, and creative thinking. I'm impressed."
As they moved to the next station, Ryu allowed himself a small smile. He'd done it. He'd stayed true to his heritage while proving he could execute at Totsuki's standards.
He looked around at other dishes as judges tasted them. Soma had made what looked like a deconstructed rice bowl with perfectly poached eggs and some kind of innovative sauce—judges were nodding approvingly. Megumi had created a beautiful traditional Japanese breakfast set that had judges commenting on the purity of her technique. The Aldini brothers had made Italian frittatas that looked like works of art.
And Erina's eggs Benedict fusion was apparently so perfect that one judge had to sit down after tasting it.
The level of competition was staggering. These weren't just good student chefs—these were people who could work in professional kitchens right now.
After all dishes were tasted and judged, Hinako took the platform again. "Results will be posted in one hour. You may clean your stations and wait in the student commons."
The next hour was torture. Students clustered in anxious groups, some confident, others certain they'd failed. Ryu found himself with Megumi, who was absolutely convinced she'd be expelled.
"The judges barely said anything about my food," she fretted. "Just nodded and moved on. That's bad, right? That means it was so unremarkable they didn't even have comments. Oh no, oh no, I'm going to have to go back home and tell my mother I got expelled on the first day—"
"Megumi-san," Ryu interrupted. "They probably didn't comment much because your technique was so fundamentally sound there was nothing to critique. That's a good thing."
"You really think so?" She looked at him with desperate hope.
"I think you're a better chef than you give yourself credit for."
Before Megumi could spiral further, Soma bounded over. "Hey! That dish you made looked awesome! What was that gold stuff on top?"
"Edible gold leaf," Ryu explained. "Just for presentation. You made a rice bowl?"
"Yeah! Transformed boring breakfast rice into something exciting with different textures and a special sauce I've been working on. Dad taught me that breakfast doesn't have to be boring—it should wake people up both literally and figuratively!"
His enthusiasm was infectious. Even Megumi seemed slightly calmer in Soma's presence.
"Attention!" Hinako's voice rang out. "Results are posted."
The stampede to the announcement board was immediate. Students pushed and jostled, desperate to see their rankings.
Ryu waited, letting the crowd thin slightly before approaching. When he finally got close enough to see, his eyes scanned down the list—
A-BLOCK ASSIGNMENTS (Top 50)
Erina Nakiri - 98/100
Ryo Kurokiba - 94/100
Ryu Nakamura - 93/100
Alice Nakiri - 92/100
Soma Yukihira - 91/100
...
Third place. Third out of 287 students.
Ryu felt a mixture of pride and determination. First place was Erina, which didn't surprise anyone. But third place meant he was competitive. It meant his cooking stood among Totsuki's best.
He looked down the list further—Megumi Tadokoro was ranked 47th. Just barely made it into A-Block, but she made it. The Aldini brothers were ranked 12th and 15th respectively.
At the bottom of the list were the expelled students—37 names that would never see another day at Totsuki. 37 dreams ended before they truly began.
"Yes!" Soma's shout drew attention. "Fifth place! That's awesome! I mean, I want to be first eventually, but this is a great starting point!"
His genuine excitement, without any disappointment at not being first, was refreshing. Most students ranking fifth would be upset. Soma treated it as a challenge to do better.
Erina walked past, her expression unchanged despite being first. She paused when she saw Ryu's ranking.
"Third place," she observed. "Not bad for nasi lemak." There might have been the smallest hint of respect in her tone. "Though you're still two places below me, Nakamura-kun."
"For now," Ryu replied with a slight smile. "The year is just starting, Nakiri-san."
Something shifted in Erina's expression—was that... interest? Challenge accepted? "Indeed it is. I look forward to seeing if your cooking can back up your confidence."
She walked away, leaving Ryu with the distinct impression that he'd just been issued a challenge.
"Dude, you and Erina Nakiri are having some kind of rivalry moment," Soma said, suddenly beside him. "That's so cool! You guys are like the top tier already, and I'm gonna climb up to join you!"
"Soma-kun, you're already in the top five," Megumi pointed out quietly. "That's incredibly impressive."
"Yeah, but I want to be number one! And Ryu here is gonna push me to get there, right?" Soma grinned at Ryu.
Looking at Soma's genuine enthusiasm, at Megumi's relieved smile, at the challenge in Erina's retreating figure, Ryu felt something he hadn't felt in his previous life—excitement for the competition itself, not just the validation it provided.
"Right," Ryu agreed. "Let's push each other to be the best."
As students dispersed to celebrate or mourn their rankings, Takeshi appeared at the entrance. Ryu walked over, trying to read his father's expression.
"Third place," Takeshi said simply.
"I'm sorry, I should have—"
"Don't apologize," Takeshi interrupted. "Third place out of 287 on day one? Your mother would have been dancing. I'm dancing on the inside, but I have a reputation to maintain."
The corner of his mouth twitched upward—the closest thing to a smile Takeshi allowed in public. "You honored your heritage, showed technical skill, and earned your place in A-Block. That's more than I could have asked for."
He placed a hand on Ryu's shoulder. "Now the real work begins. A-Block means you'll face the hardest practicals, the most demanding instructors, and classmates who are all exceptional. This is where you'll either prove yourself or break."
"I won't break," Ryu said firmly.
"I know," Takeshi replied. "Because you're my son. And Mei Lin's son. And you carry both of us forward."
As they left Totsuki's campus, Ryu looked back at the main building one more time. This was just the first day. Just the first test.
But he'd proven something important—to the judges, to his fellow students, and most importantly, to himself.
He belonged here. And he was going to make sure everyone remembered the name Ryu Nakamura.
To be continued...