To the casual eye, it might have seemed like Zane had simply served a bowl of chicken rice. But for those who had witnessed its preparation—and more importantly, those fortunate enough to taste it—it was anything but simple. This wasn't just a silkie chicken stuffed rice; it was a masterclass in combining finesse with comfort, traditional depth with molecular innovation.
The subtle layering of flavors and textures, the way the tender black-skinned silkie meat melted into the rice grains infused with slow-rendered chicken fat, spoke volumes. It wasn't flashy, but it was unforgettable. It was precisely this kind of understated brilliance that left Alice stunned.
"Making something look easy and making something taste this good… that's a completely different universe," she murmured in awe, still licking the last grain of rice from her chopsticks.
She sat with her elbows on the table, absorbing the quiet confidence in Zane's technique, her mind racing with new possibilities. Even though she had dabbled in molecular gastronomy, this dish reminded her that deconstruction and technical dazzle meant nothing without soul. Tonight, Zane taught her that complexity wasn't always visual—it was emotional, structural, and nostalgic.
Leonora, watching nearby, had her arms crossed as she observed her daughter. There was no mistaking Alice's intent: she wanted to stay. Not just for the cooking, though that was part of it. No, there was something else—an attraction, a spark, or maybe just admiration that bordered on affection. But Leonora, being who she was, didn't press. She trusted Zane's character. His calm demeanor, unshakable work ethic, and respectful nature reassured her.
At least, for now, Alice's heart was in good hands.
As the clock approached 2 AM, the tavern finally began to wind down. The last sizzling echoes of fried food faded beneath the hum of conversations and laughter. Diners filed out reluctantly, patting full bellies, offering sleepy compliments and promises to return. Mito, despite looking exhausted, wiped her greasy hands and made her exit soon after, mumbling about the beef product deliveries she still had to complete before morning.
Shortly after, Mana, Leonora, and Alice followed. Mana gave a curt nod toward Zane, Leonora a small smile, and Alice—a lingering glance that lingered a little longer than it probably should have.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, a notification pinged softly in Zane's mind.
[Ding-dong!]
[Host, you have successfully checked in.]
Then came another.
[Congratulations to the host for acquiring a lost recipe: Stuffed Yellow Croaker.]
Zane blinked in surprise. "A lost recipe?"
He sat on a nearby stool as a flood of culinary information washed over his consciousness. It was more than just a recipe—it was history, prestige, and technique bundled into a dish once reserved for emperors.
Flashback: The Forgotten Jewel of Imperial Banquets
In the grand halls of the Qing Dynasty, amidst the smoke of incense and the rustle of silk robes, the Manchu Han Imperial Feast reigned supreme. A royal banquet with two formats—the large feast of 108 dishes and the smaller one of 64—this monumental display of cuisine showcased not only the best of Shandong and Tianjin dishes but also a fusion of regional specialties.
Each dish reflected the guest's social class: first-class diners received 23 intricately prepared bowls of poultry, pork, seafood, and fruits, while lower classes received adjusted variations. Steamed, pickled, and seasonal vegetables complemented the feast. Among the most legendary dishes was the Stuffed Yellow Croaker—a royal indulgence with a preparation process so demanding that no living chef had been able to fully replicate it.
The fish itself—nearly three pounds in weight—had to be meticulously deboned from the gills, without cutting or damaging the skin. The cavity was then filled with a delicate jelly made from double-boiled broth using abalone, sea cucumber, bird's nest, shrimp, clams, scallops, and lobster. Once cooked, the fish released a molten stream of golden jelly, carrying aroma, flavor, and visual allure.
Zane remembered the scene from The Chinese Feast, where Master Liao prepared this exact dish. The fish, bathed in oil, shimmered like gold under the light. When pierced, it burst open with a warm, pearly flow of seafood essence, each drop rich enough to awaken even the dullest palate.
Zane exhaled slowly. "So I'm really about to attempt this?"
Midnight Conversations
Hours later, after wiping down the last counter and turning off the lights, Zane headed for the bath. Steam and heat helped unknot the tension in his shoulders. After changing into a comfortable hoodie and cotton pants, he quietly approached the guestroom.
There, on the edge of the bed, sat Hisako.
She looked as though she hadn't moved in hours—eyes fixed on nothing, hands clasped on her lap, the candlelight casting her shadow long and thin.
"I brought you a blanket," Zane said softly, placing it beside her. "You can sleep here tonight. If you need anything, call me. I'm right next door."
Hisako nodded, but didn't meet his gaze. "Thank you."
The silence between them was heavy, but not hostile. It was filled with things unsaid.
"You're… not used to this place yet, are you?" Zane tried gently. "When Erina first moved in, she was stiff, distant. She didn't even know how to make eggs. Now look at her."
Hisako finally turned toward him, her face clouded. "I'm happy to stay. Really. Everyone's kind. I'll do my best to get along with Sonoka, Ryoko, Mito… all of them. But this is the first time I've been apart from Erina."
Her voice cracked.
"It feels like I've lost something… important. Like a piece of me didn't come with me."
Zane stood there, unsure whether to approach or retreat.
Hisako wasn't just Erina's assistant. She was her friend, confidant, protector, and sometimes conscience. Being without her must feel like losing a limb.
Time passed like mist through the window—silent, slow, cool.
Then, without warning, Hisako stood and took two bold steps forward. Before he could react, she pressed herself into his chest, arms looping around his back.
"Zane, can you… hold me?"
Caught off guard, he hesitated—then wrapped his arms around her gently.
The moment lingered. Hisako rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the calm rhythm of his heart. It wasn't romantic, not quite. It was comfort. Warmth. Sanctuary.
And yet, her mind wandered—not to him, but to Erina.
She remembered the late nights in their dorm room, curled up under the same blanket while reading manga and discussing light novels. The way Erina always insisted on tasting dishes first and giving her the second bite—often the worse one. How they'd sneak into the kitchens late at night to practice plating, both laughing quietly when someone almost dropped a soufflé.
Those were the pieces of her she missed.
Eventually, she stepped back, face flushed. "T-Thank you for the hug."
Zane grinned. "You okay?"
"Kind of," she murmured, cheeks burning.
Her lips curled in a faint smile as memories continued to flood in. The nostalgia softened her.
"What's that look for?" Zane teased. "Don't tell me my hug was that amazing."
"No! I was just remembering something funny. Your hug was decent. Not great. Definitely not like Erina described."
"Oh? So you and Erina have been talking about my hugs behind my back?"
"No comment," Hisako sniffed.
Zane chuckled. "You've got a cute smile, you know. Back at Totsuki, you were always so stiff. Like a serious little samurai."
"I had a job to do," she muttered.
"And now?"
"Now… I want to enjoy life too."
She sat down, pulling the blanket over her lap. For the first time that night, she laughed. Not just smiled—laughed.
Bento Wars: Soma vs Subaru
The next morning, the tavern buzzed with talk of the upcoming quarterfinals. The theme: Bento.
While the format might seem modest, the bento is a cultural cornerstone in Japan. From elaborately decorated kyaraben to simple salaryman lunchboxes, bentos were more than just meals—they were snapshots of home, love, routine, and artistry.
Convenience stores alone stocked ten or more varieties each day, catering to the ever-busy public. As bento culture surged in popularity worldwide, chefs now saw it as a platform to express flavor, balance, and creativity—all within a limited space.
And now, Soma faced off against Mimasaka Subaru.
Both chose eel as their main protein, echoing classic Kansai-style preparation. Soma meticulously cleaned, deboned, and sliced the eel. He marinated the pieces in a house-made barbecue-soy glaze, grilled them on high heat, then brushed the surface with additional sauce for a glossy finish. The result: golden, crispy edges, juicy interior, and a smoky-sweet profile.
But Subaru… mimicked every movement. From the way Soma held his knife to the exact temperature of the grill.
Gasps rose from the audience as they realized both bentos were nearly indistinguishable.
"He replicated everything," a judge whispered.
Leonora narrowed her eyes as she bit into Soma's bento. The grilled eel melted into the seasoned rice. "This is incredible. A true demonstration of discipline and dedication."
Her thoughts wandered again. Between Hisako and now Soma, this generation of students was raising the bar.
Still, she smiled knowingly. There was one thing Subaru couldn't mimic.
Passion.
That, Leonora believed, was Soma's secret sauce.