The rhythm of the city was different in the back alleys of Tokyo. Not the kind of chaos that filled skyscraper-lined districts or department store jungles. No—this was the hum of neon signs half-lit, the hiss of steam over ancient stoves, the clash of knife on chopping board. In one such alley stood a cozy little restaurant whose wooden sign read: Kaizen's Hearth.
Inside, the kitchen was alive.
A tall teenage boy moved with quiet precision—shoulders square, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his black bandana tugged tight over ash-gray hair. His crimson eyes flicked from one station to another, monitoring temperatures, checking textures. The sizzling of oil in a cast iron pan mixed with the bubbling broth of a pork bone soup.
"Riku, you've got four miso ramens, two pork katsu sets, and a curry special!" an elderly voice called from the front counter.
"On it, Jiichan," Riku Kaizen replied without missing a beat.
In under three minutes, five orders hit the service window. Each plate was balanced, elegant—like street food dressed in royal attire.
His grandfather, Hiroshi Kaizen, glanced back with a quiet smile "You cook like your father used to… but cleaner."
Riku didn't answer. He simply wiped the edge of a plate with a cloth and pushed the next tray forward. Compliments like that meant little now.
The door chime rang, and a tall man in a black suit stepped in. He looked out of place among the battered stools and worn wooden floors. His presence quieted the few customers mid-meal.
"Riku Kaizen?" the man asked, his voice low and formal.
Riku raised an eyebrow "Depends who's asking."
The man extended a sealed envelope, gold wax pressed with the symbol of Totsuki Culinary Academy.
"You've been selected for transfer consideration. Entrance exam is in one week."
Silence. Even his grandfather blinked.
Riku took the envelope, turned it over, and cracked the seal. Inside was a single page. Handwritten. Elegant brush strokes.
"I've heard of your quiet flame. Let's see if it can handle our forge.
— Nakiri Senzaemon"
The ride to Totsuki was quiet.
Riku leaned back in the car, arms crossed, watching the world blur by. He had heard the rumors about the academy—its brutal standards, its legendary students, the infamous Shokugeki duels. But none of it scared him.
In fact, it excited him.
This wasn't just a chance to prove himself. It was a chance to step beyond the faded walls of Kaizen's Hearth. Beyond the shadow of his father, who had once been on track to attend Totsuki… before walking away from the culinary world altogether.
Riku didn't have the luxury of walking away.
The academy gates loomed like something out of a war epic. Totsuki was less a school and more a fortress of culinary combat. Marble towers. Garden paths. Dozens of elite students moving in sync across stone courtyards.
He passed through the entrance, clutching the small duffel bag slung across his shoulder.
Orientation was being held in the central hall. Dozens of new first-years were already gathered, a mix of excited chatter and nervous pacing. At the front stood a long table—lined with the heads of each division, senior students, and—
Her.
Golden hair fell like silk across her shoulders. She wore her uniform like a queen wore a crown—without effort, without question. The moment she opened her mouth to speak, the room went utterly still.
"I am Erina Nakiri" she said, her voice crystalline "And if you are standing in this hall, it means someone believes you have potential, Personally, I doubt that."
Some students flinched. Others bristled. Riku… smirked.
"And you are?" a boy near the front asked, his voice uncertain.
Erina's eyes narrowed "The heir to the Nakiri name, The bearer of the God Tongue, The judge of your fate."
Whispers rippled across the room.
Riku stepped to the side, arms crossed, observing her. She was arrogant. Polished. Precise. But she believed every word she said. Not out of delusion… but out of certainty.
Their eyes met.
Erina frowned.
"Do I know you?" she asked.
"No," Riku said "But I think I've seen you before. Probably in a dream I woke up from screaming."
Gasps echoed around them. Someone even choked on their drink.
Erina blinked.
Riku tilted his head "That's what happens when you see a nightmare in human form, right?"
Whispers turned to murmurs.
Erina's lips tightened "You must be Riku Kaizen. The other transfer student."
"Guess I left an impression" Riku replied.
Erina turned away, her golden hair flicking like a whip "Another commoner with a sharp tongue. Let's see how sharp your knife is."
Later that day, the transfer exams began. Riku was escorted to a private kitchen chamber where three proctors awaited, including a silent observer seated apart from the rest—Erina Nakiri.
"You are to prepare an original egg dish that showcases your personal style" the head examiner announced "You have 90 minutes."
Riku stepped up to his station.
Ingredients lined the back wall. He scanned the pantry, hands already moving, mind working in overdrive. Eggs. Bonito flakes. Kombu. Smoked cheese. Miso paste. He pulled out a long carbon-steel knife and drew in a slow breath.
He would not show off.
He would speak in flavor.
As the exam clock ticked down, the judges watched him craft an elegant multilayered Tamagoyaki Royale—each layer infused with dashi broth, folded with a near-surgical technique. As it set, he created a miso glaze with grated yuzu peel, reducing it to a citrusy shine. Then came the final touch—shavings of aged smoked cheese, gently melted over the top with a kitchen torch.
When the dish was placed before the judges, the room went quiet.
Erina, though silent, watched with sharp intensity.
One of the proctors took a bite and closed his eyes "It's like winter sunlight… soft and warm, yet full of restraint."
Another nodded "He's walking a tightrope between subtlety and decadence. And not falling."
Finally, Erina raised her fork.
She cut through the center, tasted a single bite.
She froze.
Then quickly set the fork down, expression unreadable.
"You pass," she said curtly "Barely."
But as she turned, her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
Riku caught the faintest twitch in her lips.
"Your God Tongue flinched," he muttered under his breath.
After the exam, Riku found himself alone in one of the outer courtyards, watching the koi swim beneath the stone bridges. He pulled out a worn photograph from his coat pocket—him as a kid, standing in front of the restaurant with his father and grandfather.
He sighed.
"Made it, Dad."
Behind him, footsteps echoed.
He turned.
Erina stood at the edge of the garden path, arms crossed.
"I don't like you," she said plainly.
"That's fine" Riku said, tucking the photo away "You don't have to like my face. Just don't pretend you didn't like my dish."
Erina scowled "You're arrogant."
"So are you."
Their eyes met again.
"I don't intend to be surpassed by some alleyway chef with a god complex" she said.
Riku smiled "Good, Because I don't intend to surpass you."
Erina blinked.
"I intend to cook beside you," he said "Until the whole world forgets your name… and remembers ours."
For the first time, Erina was speechless.