Three weeks into the semester, and Ryu had learned that being in A-Block was both a blessing and a curse.
The blessing: access to the best facilities, the most experienced instructors, and challenging practicals that pushed him to grow daily. The curse: every single day felt like a battle for survival.
He'd watched twelve A-Block students get demoted to B-Block already. Some cracked under pressure. Others couldn't keep up with the relentless pace. A few made critical errors in practicals and were shown no mercy.
Totsuki didn't care about potential—only results.
Ryu sat in the student commons at 11 PM, surrounded by textbooks on French technique, ingredient chemistry, and regional Japanese cuisine. His eyes burned from exhaustion, and his hands still smelled like the fermented shrimp paste he'd used in today's practical.
"You're still here?"
He looked up to find Erina Nakiri standing there, immaculate despite the late hour. She wore her uniform perfectly, not a hair out of place, holding what looked like a advanced molecular gastronomy textbook.
"Could ask you the same thing, Nakiri-san," Ryu replied.
"I'm preparing for tomorrow's advanced techniques seminar. Professor Chapelle is expecting us to demonstrate proper consommé clarification, and I won't give him any reason to criticize my execution." She paused, then added almost reluctantly, "What are you working on?"
"Everything," Ryu gestured to his scattered materials. "Tomorrow's seminar, next week's practical exam, and trying to understand why my Thai green curry didn't score higher in today's assignment."
Erina's expression flickered—was that surprise? "You got a 94 on that curry. That's excellent."
"It wasn't excellent. It was good. There's a difference." Ryu rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The balance was off. Too much coconut milk, not enough kaffir lime leaf. The chicken was cooked perfectly but the vegetables were thirty seconds past optimal. A 94 means I made mistakes."
Something in Erina's demeanor shifted. She actually sat down across from him—an action so unexpected that Ryu blinked in surprise.
"You're one of the only students who thinks like that," she said quietly. "Most people celebrate a 94. They think it's 'close enough to perfect.' But you understand that in professional kitchens, 'close enough' means failed service."
She opened her own textbook. "My God Tongue makes me hyper-aware of every flaw. Sometimes I wish I could taste food the way normal people do—experience enjoyment instead of constant evaluation. But this curse is also what drives me to perfection."
Ryu studied her carefully. This was the first time she'd shown any vulnerability, any hint that being Erina Nakiri was difficult rather than just prestigious.
"My father told me," Ryu began carefully, "that perfection in cooking is impossible. We're working with organic ingredients that vary, equipment that has tolerances, human palates that differ. The goal isn't perfection—it's excellence within imperfection."
Erina's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like an excuse for mediocrity."
"Does it?" Ryu challenged gently. "Or is it understanding that cooking is an art, not a science? Science demands exact replication. Art demands authentic expression. My Thai curry wasn't perfect, but it was honest. It expressed what I understand about Thai cuisine at this moment in my development."
"Honest cooking still made mistakes," Erina pointed out.
"Yes. And I'll learn from them and do better next time. That's growth." Ryu leaned forward. "But if I obsess over achieving impossible perfection, I'll lose the joy that makes me want to improve. I'll become a machine chasing a standard that doesn't actually exist."
Erina was quiet for a long moment, her violet eyes studying him with an intensity that made Ryu feel like she was tasting his words the way she tasted food—analyzing every component.
"You sound like someone who's already learned that lesson the hard way," she finally said.
The observation was too perceptive. Ryu felt his previous life's memories stir—the burnout, the joyless pursuit of Michelin stars, the moment he'd realized he'd forgotten why he loved cooking.
"Maybe I did," he admitted. "In... another context. But the lesson stuck."
Before Erina could probe further, the commons door burst open and Soma tumbled in, looking exhausted but somehow still energetic.
"Oh man, you guys are here too! Awesome!" He collapsed into a chair. "I've been in the practice kitchens for six hours trying to perfect this egg dish for tomorrow's seminar. I think I've made like forty eggs and I'm still not getting the texture Professor Chapelle wants."
Erina's vulnerable moment evaporated, replaced by her usual cool demeanor. "Perhaps if you studied proper technique instead of randomly experimenting, you'd achieve better results, Yukihira-kun."
"But experimenting is how I learn!" Soma protested. "I fail a bunch of times, figure out what went wrong, then succeed. It's worked pretty well so far."
"You ranked fifth on the entrance practical by luck, not skill," Erina said dismissively. "Eventually that luck will run out."
"Fifth is still top five," Soma countered cheerfully, apparently immune to her condescension. "And hey, Ryu was third! That means we're both in the elite already!"
"Third place means two people were better," Erina said coldly. "Complacency will see you expelled before midterms."
She stood, gathering her materials. "I'm going to the practice kitchens. Unlike some people, I don't rely on luck." She walked toward the door, then paused. "Nakamura-kun, if you want to understand why your curry wasn't 96-quality, the ratio of galangal to lemongrass was slightly off. Galangal's medicinal notes were too pronounced. Adjust down by ten percent and increase kaffir lime leaf by fifteen percent. That should balance it."
Before Ryu could respond, she was gone.
Soma whistled. "Dude, did Erina Nakiri just give you actual advice? I didn't know she could do that!"
Ryu smiled despite his exhaustion. "She's more complicated than she lets on."
"Aren't we all?" Soma grinned. "Hey, since we're all here dying from exhaustion, want to help each other with tomorrow's seminar? I need someone to tell me what I'm doing wrong with these eggs, and maybe I can help with whatever you're working on."
The offer was genuine, generous—so different from the cutthroat competition Ryu had expected at Totsuki. "Sure. Let me see your egg technique."
They moved to one of the late-night practice kitchens—smaller spaces available for students who needed extra work. Soma demonstrated his egg preparation, and Ryu immediately saw the problem.
"You're whisking too aggressively," Ryu observed. "French-style scrambled eggs need gentle, constant stirring. You're incorporating too much air and breaking down the protein structure too fast. The result is fluffy but grainy instead of creamy."
"Oh!" Soma's eyes lit up with understanding. "So like this?" He tried again, gentler this time.
"Better. And lower heat. The eggs should take about ten minutes to cook properly. You're rushing them."
As Soma worked on his technique, Ryu found himself preparing a test batch of Thai curry with Erina's suggested adjustments. The muscle memory from weeks of training took over—pounding curry paste, toasting spices, building layers of flavor.
"So," Soma said as he worked, "what made you decide to specialize in Southeast Asian cuisine? Most kids from culinary families stick with whatever their parents did, right?"
Ryu considered the question. "My mother was Malaysian. My father learned Southeast Asian cooking to understand her heritage, and it became his passion. For me, it's not just about continuing a legacy—it's about honoring where I came from while pushing the cuisine forward."
"That's cool," Soma said genuinely. "I'm just trying to figure out my own style. Dad taught me Japanese diner food, but at Totsuki I'm learning French, Italian, Chinese—everything. Eventually I want to fuse it all into something uniquely mine."
"Fusion cooking is difficult," Ryu warned. "It's easy to make confused food that doesn't honor either tradition."
"Yeah, but when it works? It's amazing." Soma's enthusiasm was infectious. "Like, what if we combined your Southeast Asian spice knowledge with French technique? Or Japanese precision with Thai flavors?"
The idea intrigued Ryu despite himself. In his previous life, he'd looked down on fusion cooking as gimmicky. But maybe that had been narrow-minded.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, each focused on their tasks but occasionally offering observations or suggestions. It reminded Ryu of cooking with his father—that easy collaboration between people who understood food at a fundamental level.
Around 2 AM, they were joined by Megumi, who looked like she'd been crying.
"Megumi-chan! What's wrong?" Soma asked immediately.
"I... I got a 78 on today's practical," she said miserably. "That's barely passing for A-Block. If I get below 80 two more times, I'll be demoted to B-Block or expelled. I'm not good enough for this. I should just drop out before I embarrass myself further."
"Hey, none of that," Ryu said firmly. "A 78 means you passed. It means you have room to improve, not that you're failing."
"But everyone else is so much better! Erina-san got a perfect 100. You got 94. Even the 'worst' A-Block students got 85 or higher. I'm dragging everyone down—"
"Stop," Soma interrupted. "You got into A-Block, which means you're legitimately talented. You just need to figure out what's holding you back. What did the judges criticize?"
Megumi pulled out her evaluation sheet with trembling hands. "They said my technique was flawless but my dishes lack confidence. That I cook like I'm apologizing for taking up space rather than celebrating what I can create."
Ryu understood immediately. He'd seen it in her cooking—technically perfect execution but hesitant presentation, as if she was afraid her food wasn't worthy of being served.
"That's a mental block, not a skill issue," Ryu said. "You can cook brilliantly—you just don't believe you can."
"But how do I fix that?" Megumi asked desperately.
Soma thought for a moment, then grinned. "Shokugeki."
Both Ryu and Megumi stared at him.
"Are you insane?" Megumi squeaked. "I can't do a shokugeki! Those are for advanced students and Elite Ten challenges! I'd be destroyed!"
"Not an official shokugeki," Soma clarified. "A practice one. Between us three. Low stakes, just cooking. No judges except each other. We each make our best dish, present it with confidence, and give honest feedback. It'll help you practice cooking with pride instead of fear."
The idea was actually brilliant. Ryu found himself nodding. "That could work. A safe space to fail and learn without risking expulsion or ranking."
"I... I don't know," Megumi wavered.
"Come on," Soma encouraged. "Worst case scenario, you make some food and we eat it. Best case, you start building the confidence you need. What do you have to lose?"
After a long moment, Megumi nodded hesitantly. "Okay. I'll try."
"Awesome! Let's do it this weekend. We can use one of the practice kitchens." Soma was already planning excitedly. "We'll each make a dish that represents who we are as chefs. No restrictions, just pure expression."
As they finalized plans and eventually headed to their respective dorms, Ryu felt something unexpected—genuine friendship. In his previous life, other chefs had always been competition, obstacles, threats to his success. But Soma and Megumi felt like allies. People who wanted everyone to succeed rather than wanting others to fail.
Maybe this is what I was missing before. Community instead of isolation.