Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather—the kind of day that made you grateful to be alive. Ryu arrived at Practice Kitchen 7 to find Soma already there, setting up three cooking stations with surprising organization.
"Morning!" Soma called out. "I got here early to prep. Figured we should make this feel official—full kitchen setup, proper presentation plates, the works."
"You take practice seriously," Ryu observed, impressed.
"My dad always said that how you practice determines how you perform. If we treat this casually, Megumi won't get the confidence boost she needs. But if we make it feel real—judges, pressure, stakes—then she'll have to cook with conviction."
Soma's psychological understanding surprised Ryu. Beneath the goofball exterior was someone who actually thought deeply about what people needed.
Megumi arrived looking terrified, clutching her knife roll like armor. "I couldn't sleep last night. I kept thinking about what to make, and everything I thought of seemed too simple or too complicated or just wrong—"
"Breathe," Ryu instructed. "What's your specialty? What do you make when you're cooking for people you love?"
"Um... traditional Japanese home cooking from my region. Particularly fish dishes, since we're from a port town. My family runs a ryokan, so I grew up making meals for guests."
"Then make that," Soma said simply. "Don't try to be fancy or impress anyone. Make the food that makes you happy."
Ryu nodded agreement. "We're each cooking something that represents our core identity as chefs. For you, that's regional hospitality cooking. Own that."
Megumi took a shaky breath and nodded.
Before they could start, the kitchen door opened and—to everyone's shock—Erina Nakiri walked in, followed by her assistant, a pink-haired girl Ryu recognized as Hisako Arato.
"Nakiri-san?" Ryu said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard through the student network that you three were doing an unofficial shokugeki practice," Erina said coolly. "I came to observe. Someone needs to ensure you're taking this seriously and not just playing around."
Soma grinned. "Awesome! Want to be a judge?"
"I don't judge practices," Erina said dismissively. "But I'll observe and provide feedback afterward."
Hisako looked uncomfortable. "Erina-sama, are you sure? Your schedule today—"
"Can be adjusted," Erina interrupted. She took a seat in the observation area, crossing her legs with aristocratic precision. "Proceed. Show me if A-Block's third and fifth ranked students are actually worthy of their positions."
The challenge in her tone was clear. This wasn't friendly observation—this was Erina testing them.
Megumi looked like she might faint. "E-Erina-sama is going to watch me cook? I can't—I'll mess everything up—"
"Then this is perfect practice," Ryu said firmly. "If you can cook with Erina Nakiri watching, you can cook in front of any judge. Trust yourself, Megumi-san."
They drew lots for cooking order. Megumi would go first, then Ryu, then Soma.
Megumi approached her station with visible trembling. She stood there for a long moment, just breathing, and Ryu could see her fighting her own anxiety.
Then something changed. Her hands steadied. Her shoulders straightened. And she began to cook.
She moved with surprising grace and confidence—filleting a whole sea bream with precision that spoke of thousands of repetitions. Every knife cut was exact. Every motion economical.
"She's good," Erina murmured, watching intently. "The fundamentals are flawless. Traditional Nihon technique, perfectly executed."
Megumi was making tsukimi dofu—simmered tofu in dashi, topped with a soft egg yolk meant to resemble the autumn moon. Alongside it, she prepared perfectly grilled sea bream with salt, and a seasonal vegetable nimono—simmered vegetables in a delicate dashi-based broth.
The dishes were simple. Almost rustic. But as they came together, Ryu could see the care in every element. This wasn't cooking to impress—this was cooking to nourish, to comfort, to welcome.
When Megumi plated her dishes, they looked like something you'd find at a high-end ryokan—beautiful in their simplicity, each element perfectly prepared, the presentation speaking of hospitality rather than showmanship.
She presented the dishes to Soma and Ryu, bowing formally. "Please enjoy."
Soma tasted first, and his eyes widened. "Megumi-chan, this is amazing! The dashi has so much depth—kombu and katsuobushi balanced perfectly. The tofu has absorbed the flavor without losing its delicate texture. And this sea bream—" he took another bite, "—it's cooked exactly right, and that simple salt seasoning just lets the fish's natural flavor shine!"
Ryu tasted next. The tsukimi dofu melted on his tongue, the egg yolk breaking and creating a rich sauce. The sea bream was indeed perfect—crispy skin, moist flesh, seasoned with such restraint that every nuance of the fish came through.
"This is soul food," Ryu said honestly. "The kind of cooking that makes people feel cared for. There's no ego here, no showing off—just pure hospitality. This is the kind of meal people remember not because it was fancy, but because it made them feel something."
Megumi's eyes filled with tears. "Really? You're not just saying that?"
"I don't lie about food," Ryu said firmly. "This is your strength, Megumi-san. Regional Japanese hospitality cooking executed at the highest level. Own it."
Even Erina looked thoughtful. "The technique is indeed flawless. The dashi is perfectly balanced—neither too strong nor too weak. The sea bream is cooked with precision. And the vegetables..." she paused, "...they taste like they were chosen at the peak of freshness and prepared to highlight their natural qualities."
She stood and walked over to taste directly. Her expression remained cool as she sampled each dish, but Ryu noticed she took multiple bites—unusual for Erina, who typically judged in one taste.
"Tadokoro-san," Erina said finally, "you scored 78 on your practical because your cooking lacked confidence, correct?"
Megumi nodded miserably.
"Then that score was inaccurate." Erina's words shocked everyone. "This food shows complete confidence—not in flashy technique, but in tradition. You know exactly who you are as a chef. The issue isn't confidence—it's that you doubt yourself when being evaluated."
Erina's gaze was intense. "You need to cook in practicals the way you just cooked now—with the conviction that hospitality cooking is just as valuable as haute cuisine. Because it is."
Coming from Erina Nakiri, the compliment was staggering. Megumi looked like she might cry again, but this time from joy.
"Thank you, Erina-sama," she whispered.
"Don't thank me. Just don't waste your talent on self-doubt." Erina returned to her seat. "Nakamura-kun, you're next."
Ryu approached his station, mind already focused. He was making beef rendang—his signature dish, the one he'd made countless times, the one that connected him to his mother's heritage and his father's teachings.
But this wasn't just any rendang. This was his rendang, refined through months of practice and failure and growth.
He began with the rempah, pounding spices with the meditative rhythm he'd learned from his father. The mortar and pestle sang their familiar song—galangal, lemongrass, chilies, shallots, garlic, ginger, candlenuts, belacan, turmeric. Twenty minutes of pounding until his arms burned but the paste was perfect.
The rempah went into hot oil, and the kitchen filled with that intoxicating aroma—toasted spices, fermented shrimp paste, chilies releasing their complex heat. Ryu cooked it until it split, the oil separating from the solids, achieving that crucial transformation from raw paste to flavor foundation.
Beef chunks—perfectly marbled, cut large and uneven like tradition demanded—went into the rempah. Seared, coated, beginning their long transformation.
Coconut milk followed, along with lemongrass stalks, kaffir lime leaves, cinnamon, star anise, cardamom. The pot began to bubble, and Ryu set it to simmer.
This was where patience mattered. Rendang couldn't be rushed. The beef needed hours to break down, the coconut milk needed time to reduce and caramelize, the spices needed to penetrate every fiber.
While it cooked, Ryu prepared accompaniments—coconut rice cooked with pandan leaves, sambal tumis (cooked chili paste with shrimp paste), and serunding (spiced coconut flakes). Each element supporting the rendang, creating a complete experience.
Erina watched intently. "How long has that been cooking?"
"Two hours before we started," Ryu admitted. "Rendang takes minimum four hours. Some of the best rendang cooks for eight hours or more. You can't fake this kind of depth."
"So you came early to begin cooking before the competition even started?" Erina's eyebrow rose.
"Rendang doesn't fit arbitrary time constraints," Ryu replied. "It takes the time it takes. If we're cooking what represents us, this represents me—a dish that demands patience, respect for tradition, and understanding that excellence can't be rushed."
Soma was nodding enthusiastically. "That's so cool! The dish itself makes a statement about your cooking philosophy!"
As the rendang reached completion, Ryu tasted and adjusted—a touch more palm sugar for sweetness, a squeeze of lime for brightness, a bit more salt to balance. The sauce had reduced to a thick, dark coating on the beef. The meat was tender but with that characteristic rendang texture—not quite falling apart, but melting on the tongue.
He plated carefully: coconut rice formed in a ring mold, rendang arranged artfully with the sauce glistening, serunding scattered for textural contrast, sambal tumis in a small bowl on the side, fresh herbs for garnish.
"This is elevated nasi lemak?" Erina asked, recognizing the components.
"Nasi lemak is breakfast. This is rendang with proper accompaniments—Malaysian comfort food elevated to fine dining." Ryu presented the dishes. "Please try it."
Soma took the first bite, and his reaction was immediate and dramatic. His eyes widened, he made an involuntary sound of pleasure, and he immediately took another bite before even finishing the first.
"Ryu! This is insane! The beef literally melts, but there's so much flavor—it's spicy but not just heat, there's sweetness and depth and complexity and—" he took another bite, "—how many spices are in this? I can taste like twenty different things!"
"Twenty-three spices in the rempah," Ryu confirmed. "Plus the aromatics and the shrimp paste."
Megumi tasted next, her eyes closing in appreciation. "It's so rich, but the coconut rice balances it perfectly. And the sambal adds brightness that cuts through the richness. This is... this is restaurant-quality. Like, three-Michelin-star restaurant quality."
Erina approached slowly, studying the dish before tasting. She took a small portion—rice, rendang, a touch of serunding, and sambal—ensuring she got all components in one bite.
Ryu watched her face carefully. For a moment, nothing. Then her eyes widened fractionally. She chewed slowly, analytically, but he could see the moment her professional evaluation gave way to genuine appreciation.
"This," Erina said slowly, "is what you served at your pre-entrance evaluation, isn't it? The dish that made my grandfather's coat buttons strain?"
"Similar, but refined since then. I've made rendang over a hundred times now. Each one taught me something."
Erina took another bite, then another. "The complexity is staggering. I can identify the individual spices—star anise, cinnamon, cardamom, galangal, turmeric, coriander—but they're not competing. They're harmonizing. And the coconut milk reduction—" she paused, analyzing, "—you've caramelized it perfectly. It's created a coating that's almost like a glaze, enriching the beef without overwhelming it."
She looked at Ryu directly. "This is not student-level cooking. This is professional. This is what you'd serve in a restaurant that takes reservations six months in advance."
The compliment, coming from Erina, felt more validating than any grade.
"Your turn, Soma," Ryu said.
Soma approached his station with his characteristic grin. "Okay, so I'm making something that represents me—and what represents me is taking familiar comfort food and making it exciting!"
He was making transformative furikake gohan—rice with furikake seasoning—but as he began cooking, it became clear this wasn't simple seasoned rice.
Soma started by making his own furikake from scratch—toasting sesame seeds, nori, bonito flakes, then adding unexpected elements: dehydrated miso, ground dried shiitake, yuzu peel, and something else Ryu couldn't identify.
The rice he cooked wasn't plain—he'd added a dashi-butter mixture that gave it incredible umami richness. On top, he placed a perfectly soft-poached egg that had been marinated in soy sauce and mirin. Around the rice, he arranged quick-pickled vegetables for acidity, crispy fried garlic for texture, and a drizzle of aromatic oil infused with scallions and ginger.
The final dish looked deceptively simple, but Ryu could see the layers of technique and thought.
"This is diner food," Soma announced proudly. "The kind of thing you'd eat at my dad's restaurant. But I've elevated every component to show that 'common' food can be just as sophisticated as haute cuisine if you respect it and execute perfectly."
Megumi tasted first and gasped. "Soma-kun! The rice has so much flavor! And when the egg yolk breaks—" she cut into it and the yolk oozed out, coating the rice, "—oh my goodness, it becomes even richer!"
Ryu tasted and immediately understood why Soma had ranked fifth. This was comfort food executed with profound understanding of flavor building. Every element served a purpose—the furikake provided umami and texture, the egg added richness, the pickled vegetables cut through the richness, the crispy garlic gave contrast, the aromatic oil tied everything together.
"This is brilliant," Ryu said honestly. "You've taken something people eat every day and shown them what it could be. That's the mark of a great chef—not making complicated food simpler, but making simple food transcendent."
Erina tasted last, her expression skeptical at first—clearly expecting simple diner food. But as she ate, that skepticism transformed into surprise.
"The furikake is housemade, and the ratios are perfect," she said slowly. "The rice has been infused with dashi and butter—Western technique applied to Japanese ingredients. The egg marinade has added umami depth. And this aromatic oil—" she tasted more carefully, "—there's something unusual in it. What is it?"
Soma grinned. "Squid liver. Tiny amount, but it adds this oceanic, almost creamy quality that makes everything taste richer."
"Squid liver in aromatic oil," Erina repeated, sounding almost impressed. "That's... actually innovative. Disgusting conceptually, but the execution makes it work."
"That's my style!" Soma said cheerfully. "Try weird stuff, see what works, make people happy!"
Erina stood, looking at all three dishes still laid out. "This practice shokugeki was more impressive than most official matches I've judged." She turned to each of them in turn.
"Tadokoro-san, your cooking is flawless hospitality. Don't let anyone make you feel inferior for specializing in comfort food. Executed at your level, it's an art form."
"Yukihira-kun, your creativity is annoying but undeniable. If you can maintain that innovation while developing more consistent technique, you'll be formidable."
"Nakamura-kun, your rendang is the best Southeast Asian dish I've ever tasted, and I've eaten at three-Michelin-star Thai and Vietnamese restaurants. You honor tradition while pushing it forward. That's rare."
She moved toward the door. "All three of you belong in A-Block. More than that—all three of you have potential for the Elite Ten if you continue growing at this rate."
Before leaving, she paused at the door. "And Nakamura-kun? The next official practical, I expect you to score higher than me. If you can make rendang this well, you can challenge for first place. Don't let me keep winning by default."
Then she was gone, leaving four stunned students in her wake.
"Did Erina Nakiri just... encourage us?" Soma said, sounding shocked.
"And compliment our cooking," Megumi added in disbelief.
"She's more complicated than people think," Ryu said quietly. "She respects skill even if she struggles to show it."
They spent the next hour cleaning up, discussing their dishes, and sharing techniques. By the time they finished, Ryu felt something he'd never experienced in his previous life—the sense of being part of a community rather than competing alone.
As they left the practice kitchen, Soma threw his arms around both Ryu and Megumi's shoulders.
"This was awesome! We should do this regularly—practice shokugeki every weekend, push each other to improve, share techniques! What do you say?"
"I'd like that," Megumi said shyly.
"Me too," Ryu agreed.
"Great! Next week, we try fusion cuisine! I want to see what happens when Ryu's Southeast Asian spices meet Megumi's Japanese techniques!" Soma was already planning excitedly.
As they walked across campus in the afternoon sun, Ryu felt genuinely happy. Not because he'd proven himself—though he had—but because he'd found people who understood that cooking could be both competitive and collaborative, ambitious and joyful.
This is what I was missing before. This is what makes the journey worthwhile.