"I don't have any grand plans."
"The only thing I want—" Alice's eyes gleamed, "—is to defeat you!"
Her words rang out with confidence, as bold as ever.
Erina didn't even flinch.
"…Is that all?"
Her voice dipped, no longer as indifferent.
"Alice, you still don't get it, do you?"
"In Tōtsuki, even if you spend every waking hour trying to surpass me—what then?"
"I'm only the tenth seat in the Elite Ten. There are nine others above me. They are the ones who truly stand at the peak of this academy."
Alice faltered.
She had just transferred into Tōtsuki, and despite her brilliance, she hadn't yet grasped the brutal hierarchy. This wasn't just a school. It was a battlefield.
Outside, the culinary world thrived on innovation and passion. But inside Tōtsuki, it was zero-sum.
Only one slice of the cake existed. And once someone claimed it, there was nothing left for the rest.
Even the prodigy Sōma Yukihira, with all his talent and drive, had been brushed aside by the Elite Ten when he first arrived. Sure, the Shokugeki system allowed anyone to challenge the seats in theory—but in practice? The rules could be bent. Delayed. Denied.
It wasn't until Nene Kinokuni's coup that students like Sōma had a real shot at facing top-tier opponents like Tsukasa Eishi or Rindō.
Tōtsuki wasn't fair. And it never claimed to be.
Alice remained silent, chewing over her cousin's words. Her drive was undeniable—but so was her naivety.
Erina sighed quietly.
She didn't say it to mock Alice. She said it because she didn't want her to crash headfirst into the brick wall that was Tōtsuki's reality.
Then—
"Huh?" Alice blinked. "When did I finish the layered cake?"
She looked down at the empty wrapper in her hand, mildly stunned. Apparently, she'd devoured the whole thing while deep in thought.
Still unsatisfied, her gaze drifted to the five golden takoyaki resting in Erina's hands.
"…Erina."
She leaned closer. "Can I have one?"
"No." Erina clutched the box protectively. "Zane gave them to me."
Then, just in case Alice got any funny ideas, she popped one into her mouth right then and there.
Crispy on the outside, tender chunks of octopus inside, topped with egg yolk sauce and bonito flakes that danced from the heat—it was divine.
As the flavors melted across her tongue, her eyes fluttered half-shut.
Then—swipe!
"Alice!" Erina gasped, noticing one of the takoyaki was gone.
"You… you thief!"
"Relax! I'll make it up to you with my Dragon's Roar Strawberry dish," Alice said smugly, already walking ahead.
"Ugh—who wants your weird molecular monstrosities?!"
Erina stomped her foot in frustration. But there was no real anger.
Grumbling under her breath, she chased after her cousin.
Night and day—two different worlds.
Most restaurants that operated during daylight hours closed by 8 p.m.
But the night spots—the real ones—opened from sundown and went well into the early hours. Sometimes 3 a.m. Sometimes 5. Occasionally even 7, if the customers refused to leave.
But Zane's tavern was different.
It always closed at midnight. No exceptions.
No matter how famous the guest or how insistent the request.
"Shopkeeper. Two portions of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, please."
The voice was light. Cheerful. Familiar.
Zane was mid-cleanup and didn't bother looking up.
"We're closed," he replied flatly. "Come back tomorrow."
A beat of silence.
"…Closed?"
Anne, the voice's owner, looked genuinely surprised.
"It's only a few minutes past midnight. Isn't that still within hours?"
She was clearly flustered.
Desperate to have Zane's food again, Anne had rushed back to Japan on the next available flight. No rest. No stop. Just a straight line from the airport to this tiny tavern.
And now… she was being turned away?
"I'm not trying to be rude," Zane said, glancing up now, "but we're completely out of ingredients. I couldn't make Buddha Jumps Over the Wall even if I wanted to."
Anne's shoulders dropped.
"…I see. That's unfortunate."
But then—
A new voice joined the conversation.
Soft. Controlled. Yet carrying a weight that was unmistakable.
"That's a shame. I was looking forward to tasting it myself."
Zane's eyes narrowed.
That voice…
He looked up again.
Standing behind Anne was a woman—no, a figure cloaked in quiet power.
She wore a deep crimson kimono embroidered with delicate cherry blossoms. Her makeup was bold, but elegant. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through silence. And her skin—
Pale. Almost ghostly.
Her body, though hidden beneath layers of fabric, was thin—too thin. The kind of thin that came not from choice, but necessity. Years of nutrient injections instead of food had stripped her of flesh, but not dignity.
She looked fragile. As if the wind might carry her away.
Yet she stood like a queen.
Commanding. Regal. Untouchable.
Zane froze.
"…Her?"
A memory stirred. A name rose in his chest like a held breath finally released.
Mana Nakiri.
The God's Tongue.
No—another God's Tongue.
The strongest living food critic. The woman whose very presence could shatter a chef's confidence—and whose rejection could end careers.
He had impressed Anne, yes.
But for Anne to bring her…
That was a different level altogether.
Zane's hands, for the first time in a long while, felt a little cold.