In the modern age, the term "noblewoman" rarely holds its aristocratic meaning—but for Natsume Sendawara, it still felt like a title she embodied naturally.
Seated gracefully at the judges' table in a white dress accented with violet and gold trim, Natsume's regal demeanor stood out. The sleek tailoring of her outfit highlighted her elegant silhouette, while the "V" neckline drew a subtle line to her delicate collarbone and the graceful curve of her neck. A single gem necklace shimmered under the spotlights, the glint reflecting the steel of her quiet judgment.
Her posture remained upright, expression calm, as her amethyst eyes silently observed the crowded venue. Around her, the hum of anticipation pulsed like an electric current. A battle was beginning—not of swords or fists, but of knives, fire, and flavor.
Block B of the Autumn Selection had officially begun.
Thirty contestants, each standing at their stations under glaring lights, were now deep in motion—some calm, others already flustered by the presence of elite judges. Among them stood a petite girl with ocean-blue twin braids and sparkling, watery eyes. She looked out of place amidst the buzz and confidence, her posture stiff, her face pale as porcelain under the stress.
Tadokoro Megumi.
Despite her normally gentle and diligent persona, Megumi now seemed frozen by pressure. Her hands trembled as she clutched her apron, staring at her tools like they might betray her.
With shaking fingers, she whispered softly to herself, a ritual she'd done since childhood:
"人…人…人."
She traced the kanji for "person" on her palm and popped it into her mouth. A small, almost childish trick to calm herself. But even now, it felt woefully ineffective.
"What should I do…?"
"This is my first time in such a huge competition."
"The judges are legends—Osaji, the Sendawara sisters, the famous Curry Queens…"
"What if my monkfish curry hot pot just isn't enough?"
Anxiously, she reached for her knife—only for it to slip from her grip and clatter to the ground with a sharp metallic echo.
A silence followed.
Whispers rippled through the audience like wildfire.
"Is this for real?"
"She looks like she's about to faint."
"She couldn't even hold her knife. How did she pass the preliminaries?"
High in the judging box, Orie Sendawara narrowed her eyes and scoffed. Unlike her serene sister Natsume, Orie was blunt and vocal, unafraid to speak her mind—especially when disappointed.
"Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, voice laced with disdain. "Why is someone like her even standing on that stage?"
"She's nervous," came a voice from beside her.
Satoshi Isshiki, the seventh seat of the Elite Ten and the supervising officer for Block B, stood calmly with a polite smile. "Everyone gets nervous during their first Autumn Selection. Megumi is my dormmate at the Polar Star Dormitory, and I know her skills well."
"Dormmate?" Natsume asked, arching a brow. "You recommended her?"
"I did. And I stand by that recommendation."
Orie glanced skeptically toward the trembling girl below. "Well, if she can't recover, she's just another stepping stone for someone else."
Natsume didn't protest. After all, culinary merit would decide everything. Not words.
Elsewhere in the crowd, other notable faces watched intently.
Alice Nakiri glanced around, searching for her cousin. "I can't see Erina anywhere."
"She's probably in Block A, supervising," her assistant replied.
Alice sighed, a hint of disappointment in her face. She had spent days developing her molecular low-temperature curry chicken, and part of her wanted to impress Erina directly.
Still, she got to work. Her curry wasn't going to cook itself.
At her station, Alice began heating a precise mix of onions, garlic, lemongrass, galangal, and lime leaves. After sautéing them into a golden base, she added yellow curry powder and let the mix simmer for exactly thirty minutes.
Then came the real show.
Alice combined her curry base with sodium citrate and seaweed gelatin, carefully raising the temperature to exactly 90°C. When it cooled to 58°C, she began forming spheres—curry in capsule form—by injecting the mixture into a calcium bath.
In the crowd, gasps echoed as judges watched her create these curry pearls with surgical precision.
"What is that?" Osaji whispered in awe. "Curry… in capsules?"
"A bold approach," Natsume said thoughtfully.
"She's not just bold," Orie added, eyes shining with amusement. "She's queenly."
Back in Block B, another contestant had begun cooking.
Miyoko Hojo, dressed in a high-slit red cheongsam, stood tall at her station, a picture of power and grace. With effortless strength, she split open a pineapple, carved out the flesh, and soaked it in saltwater.
She heated butter until it foamed, added beaten egg, onions, and raisins—then rice. Lifting a heavy iron wok with practiced hands, she flipped the mixture into the air with a graceful arc.
The grains sparkled midair like fireflies.
"Such strength," someone murmured. "That pan must weigh a ton."
The judges watched, riveted by her combination of force and finesse.
But Orie's gaze drifted again toward Megumi. "Meanwhile, that girl can barely stand."
"She can do it," Satoshi said firmly. "If she focuses, she can make it to Block B's top four."
"Big words," Orie muttered.
Megumi struggled to lift the heavy monkfish onto a hook, her knees trembling under the weight. Her arms strained, nearly dropping the creature several times.
A few people in the crowd laughed under their breath.
But then something changed.
She stopped.
She closed her eyes.
She whispered:
"Zane… thank you again. Your cooking… it gave me courage."
And suddenly, everything went still.
With a breath, Megumi's eyes opened, sharp and steady.
She grabbed her knife—this time without hesitation—and faced the monkfish.
Gasps rang out.
"Is she… processing the monkfish on stage!?"
"That's insane! It's one of the hardest fish to handle!"
Under dozens of astonished eyes, Megumi swung the knife.
Her motions were clean, focused. The blade peeled skin, revealed flesh, traced the bone. Her hands no longer trembled. Her focus drowned out the noise.
She was no longer the timid Tadokoro Megumi.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as she removed the monkfish's liver and finished the filleting with delicate precision. Blood dripped down the hook, staining her apron, but her eyes remained locked on the task.
"She did it," Natsume murmured. "She processed the monkfish flawlessly."
"I take back what I said," Orie added, impressed despite herself. "This girl… might actually belong here."
"The transformation is incredible," Natsume agreed. "To recover from that level of anxiety and execute such a difficult process… It shows something rare."
"Will she really make monkfish curry hot pot?" Osaji asked, now intrigued.
The atmosphere shifted. The audience no longer whispered about her failures. They watched in suspense.
In that instant, Megumi Tadokoro stood no longer as a trembling shadow—but as a chef.
And she was just getting started.