Word of Riku Kaizen's intent to challenge Rindou Kobayashi, the second seat of the Elite Ten and one of Central's most unpredictable assets, spread faster than he anticipated. Whispers crawled through the dorms and kitchens of Tōtsuki like steam rising from a pot left unattended. Some called it reckless. Others called it foolish. But those who had tasted Riku's dishes before—who had seen him cook as though the kitchen were an extension of his soul—were quietly watching, waiting, believing.
The official challenge had been accepted, though not in the conventional, public-facing manner. Rindou had responded through Central's internal channel with a single message: "You're brave. I like that. Let's see if you're also stupid." It was followed by an emoji of a dragon eating a steak.
Riku sat alone in the greenhouse section of Polar Star that night, lit only by the glow of fireflies and the soft hum of the heating lamps. Beside him, his sketchbook lay open, filled with notes, seasoning balances, and plating visuals. The pages were worn at the edges, stained with ink, fingerprints, and traces of herbs. This was where he often came to think—where he felt farthest from Central's cold grip.
The door creaked behind him. Erina entered, wrapped in a soft shawl, her hair slightly damp as though she had just showered. She didn't say anything at first, but instead sat beside him and rested her hands on the open pages of his sketchbook.
"Is this what you're going with?" she asked softly, her voice devoid of judgment, purely curious.
"It's the structure," Riku replied "But I keep hitting this wall. Rindou is chaotic. Her flavor combinations are wild—venison with fermented blueberries, crocodile with mango-pickle foam, even stir-fried tarantulas with yuzu glaze."
Erina gave a tiny wince at that last one "She has no boundaries. Her cooking is aggressive, meant to throw her opponent off rather than outshine them through refinement. You can't win by just being creative. You'll have to predict her madness and counter with clarity."
Riku nodded "Exactly. She thrives in dissonance. I want to beat her with harmony. And not the gentle kind. The kind that silences even the wildest note."
Erina's eyes glimmered with quiet admiration "You want your dish to be… the answer to chaos."
"It has to be," he said "Because if we don't beat Central at their best, all of this—the dorms, the clubs, the creative freedom—it's over."
For a long moment, Erina said nothing. Then she stood, walked over to the planter bed, and plucked a few sprigs of shiso, crushing the leaves gently between her fingers.
"Shiso has bite, but it cools the tongue after spice. It might make a perfect bridge if she opens with something bold—like a peppered wild boar or seared ostrich."
"You're saying I should anticipate her intensity and then redirect it into calm?"
"Yes," she said, returning to him, "like judo. Use her strength against her."
Riku reached for a blank page in his book and began scribbling rapidly. His hands moved with the energy of revelation, and Erina watched as the spark of his next concept took form right in front of her.
"I'll start with a miso-smoked shellfish chawanmushi—earthy, deep, but with a hint of saffron," he muttered "Then I move to a grilled elk loin, rested over charcoal and finished with a sweet red wine reduction infused with cardamom and clove. The final bite will be a dessert palate cleanser—a citrus gelée kissed with shiso and matcha foam."
He stopped, pen still against paper, and looked up "No curveballs. No gimmicks. Just balance. Wildness tamed."
Erina smiled faintly "She won't expect you to go subtle. She'll expect you to panic and try to out-crazy her."
"That's what I'm counting on."
The day of the Shokugeki arrived under a heavy grey sky, clouds rolling over Tōtsuki like the prelude to a storm. Students gathered in the underground arena, its circular layout surrounded by rows of stadium-style seats filled with murmuring spectators. Unlike the previous matches, this one had an odd weight to it. Rindou had rarely been challenged directly, and when she was, the results were usually one-sided and bloody.
She entered with a bounce in her step, wearing her trademark Central apron, a tiger-print bandana tied loosely around her head, and an enormous grin that could have belonged to a predator "Yo, Kaizen-kun!" she called, stretching her arms "Ready to play jungle with me?"
Riku, already at his station, merely gave a respectful bow "I hope you're ready to see the edge of calm."
"Ohh, poetic," she cooed, licking her lips "I love that."
The judges were assembled. Some Central loyalists, some neutrals. Erina stood off to the side with Isshiki and Hisako, arms crossed and expression unreadable, though her eyes never left Riku.
"Theme ingredient," the announcer boomed, "is wild game!"
No surprise there. Rindou's wheelhouse.
A bell rang.
The match began.
Rindou dove in like a whirlwind—throwing ingredients, bones, spices, and sauces with maddening glee. She began skinning a cut of antelope, followed by ostrich liver, all while tossing a skillet of garlic and leeks onto flame. Her style was savage but fluid, an animalistic dance honed through years of organized chaos.
Meanwhile, Riku moved with deliberate elegance. He sliced his elk with surgeon precision, placed his shellfish into a bamboo steamer over miso-brined water, and infused his reduction sauce with herbs blooming like a tea ritual. His station was quiet. Centered. Almost unnervingly composed.
Rindou glanced at him mid-way through the battle and smirked "You're gonna bore them to death, Kaizen!"
Riku didn't look at her. He only stirred his sauce and replied, "Only if they came for noise instead of meaning."
She laughed, wild and loud "Good answer."
When time was called, both dishes were plated with artistry befitting the school's highest standard. Rindou served a wild jungle meat medley on volcanic stone—barbecue smoked with flaming dried fruit husks and paired with a pepper-berry gastrique. Visually dazzling. Audacious. Loud.
Riku approached with quiet reverence and unveiled his set-course harmony—calm colors, subtle garnishes, and a scent so layered the judges instinctively leaned forward before even tasting.
As they took their bites, the change was immediate.
Rindou's plate hit like a tidal wave—intense, sharp, and numbing. The judges praised the creativity, the aggressive profile, and the boldness—but admitted the dish came close to overwhelming their senses by the final bite.
Then came Riku's.
The chawanmushi opened their palettes like a song played in a quiet room. The grilled elk followed, melting into the red wine and spice like fire retreating into warmth. And then the citrus gelée arrived—not just refreshing, but reflective. It made them pause. Made them remember. Made them want to go back to the beginning and start again.
The verdict was unanimous.
Riku Kaizen had won.
The arena didn't erupt in chaos, but rather fell into a moment of stunned silence—a collective understanding that something powerful had just taken place. That amid all of Central's dominance, one student had answered fury with poise, madness with grace, and walked away victorious.
Rindou met him at center stage, still grinning, but now with genuine admiration.
"You're dangerous, Kaizen," she said "I underestimated you."
"Everyone does," he said simply.
She leaned in and whispered, "Azami's going to come for you now."
Riku turned toward the stands, where Erina stood watching with something deeper than pride in her gaze. Maybe it was admiration. Maybe more.
"I'll be ready."