The bus ride itself was uneventful, passing quicker than expected. Before long, we arrived and began stepping out of the bus.
What greeted us was a sprawling, luxury hotel that rose high into the sky. Near the entrance, a refined sign stood, engraved with elegant lettering:
"A Tōtsuki Resort Hotel — Tōtsuki Villa"
For once, Sōma was silent.
Unnaturally so, as he took in the sights before us.
"Whoa..." Yuki finally blurted out, craning her neck upward. "It's huge! Like, ridiculously huge!"
"Just what you'd expect from a school for the rich," Sōma muttered at last, staring up at the building. "Of course, they'd casually own a massive hotel."
"This isn't the only one," Ibusaki added calmly, hands in his pockets. "Every hotel and inn around here belongs to Tōtsuki."
Sōma blinked. "Huh. Honestly... at this point, I don't think much can surprise me anymore."
"They operate about a dozen properties under the 'Tōtsuki Resort' brand," Marui continued, slipping smoothly into lecture mode. "A lot of graduates end up working at one of them. For this camp, it's off-limits for regular guests, and the facilities get specially repurposed."
"I heard a single night starts at around eighty thousand yen," Ibusaki added casually.
Even with my current income of over one million yen, staying here long-term would still drain me quickly. Thirteen nights, maybe fourteen, and I'd be back at zero. Perspective was a cruel thing.
"EIGHTY THOUSAND YEN FOR ONE NIGHT?!" Yuki shrieked. "That's a month's rent for some people!"
Sōma's eyes were already blazing. "Yeah, yeah! Totally not surprised at all!" he said, voice cracking with forced enthusiasm.
Then Yuki's mood flipped instantly.
"Wait, and we really get to stay here?" Her eyes sparkled. "Ooooh, I can't wait!"
"Only if you pass today's assignment," Ibusaki said flatly, extinguishing her excitement without mercy.
"Boooo! Ibusaki, you're such a downer!"
"I'm a realist," he replied. "Now hurry up. The opening assembly's about to start."
.
.
.
We entered the hotel, and eventually, we entered an enormous ballroom that felt more appropriate for royalty than anything meant for students.
The ceiling stretched high, the walls were colored red, and a red carpet was laid out across the room. Rows of students filled the space.
And yet, it was quiet.
Murmurs existed, but they didn't match the number of students that were gathered here. The rest also seemed to notice it.
Well over a thousand students had gathered here, yet no teacher had to raise their voice. The pressure alone was enough to keep everyone in line.
I found myself wondering how many of these students would still be part of Tōtsuki by the time this was over.
"Hm?" Sōma suddenly muttered, peering ahead. Then his face lit up. "Oh! Hey—Nikumi!!"
His voice cut straight through the fragile quiet.
Several heads turned.
The girl he called out to visibly flinched before spinning around.
"It's been a while! How have you been?" Sōma waved enthusiastically.
Her face turned red in an instant.
"Y-Yukihira! D-Don't shout that nickname out loud!" she hissed, mortified.
"Huh? I thought you were okay with it, Nikumi."
"I am not okay with it!"
Her glare sharpened, then she noticed the rest of us.
And when her eyes landed on me, her expression twisted outright.
"Oh? Not happy to see me?" I asked calmly. "That's disappointing."
"Of course not! Who would even be?!" she snapped immediately, bristling.
Then, she suddenly turned around.
Only then did she seem to realize that every student in the giant room was staring.
Without exception, a thousand pairs of eyes had turned toward us. The minor murmur that existed moments ago vanished entirely, replaced by a suffocating silence.
Megumi visibly stiffened beside me, her shoulders drawing inward as if she were about to collapse under the weight of that attention.
I stepped half a pace forward, shifting my position just enough to block some of the gazes from her line of sight. It wasn't much, but it helped. At the same time, I used the opportunity to scan the room.
Among the sea of faces, a few stood out immediately.
One gaze in particular was intent, and it wasn't just focused on me but also on Sōma. The owner was a boy I had already seen during the entrance ceremony and during my Shokugeki. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and right beside him, just like the last time, a boy with a larger frame was standing.
Then there was another presence.
Nakiri Erina.
Her eyes were on our group, specifically on Sōma, Mito, and me. Her face betrayed nothing, but the moment our gazes met, she turned away sharply, as if she hadn't been watching at all.
Finally, I noticed Alice.
She was easier to spot than most. When our eyes met, she smiled broadly, gave me a casual wave, and topped it off with a wink.
That single, playful gesture drew more attention to us than before, which shouldn't have been possible, considering everyone was already staring.
"Huh?" Yuki leaned closer, whispering. "Kiyotaka, do you know her?"
At once, everyone nearby—Sōma, Megumi, Ryōko, and even Mito—shifted their focus to me.
"We're partners in one of the classes," I replied evenly.
"Nakiri Alice is your partner?!" Yuki yelped, barely restraining herself.
"But then why's she acting so friendly?" Ryōko asked, tilting her head. We'd started using first names after she'd shown me the basics of brewing the other day, so the question came easily.
At this point, I was on a first-name basis with everyone in the dorm.
"That's just how she is," I answered.
For a fleeting moment, an image crossed my mind... Alice and Amasawa, together.
A chill ran down my spine.
No. That combination was best left to imagination. I had no desire to deal with that kind of chaos in reality.
"Really...?" Yuki and Ryōko replied in unison, clearly unconvinced.
Before the discussion could spiral any further, a voice boomed through the hall, amplified by speakers and instantly commanding attention.
"Good morning, everyone," Chapelle-sensei began.
The effect was immediate, as the entire ballroom fell silent, and in near-perfect unison, over a thousand heads turned toward the stage.
It was a unique sight, to say the least.
"I will now give you an overview of this cooking camp," he continued. Every ounce of attention in the room locked onto him.
"Today marks the beginning of the Tōtsuki Institute Friendship and Team-Building Cooking Camp. It will span six days and five nights. Each day, you will be assigned a task related to the culinary arts. These assignments differ every year."
"For each task, an instructor will establish a minimum passing standard. Any student who fails to meet that standard will fail the assignment."
He paused for a moment.
"And any student who fails an assignment will be expelled from Tōtsuki immediately. Transportation has already been arranged. Buses are standing by to bring failed students back to the institute, where their expulsion will be formally processed."
The mention of expulsion caused many students to shiver and gulp.
Chapelle-sensei didn't linger on their reactions.
"Now," he continued smoothly, "regarding your instructors."
"For this camp, we have invited special guest judges to evaluate your work."
"Guests...?" A few murmurs escaped from the students.
Chapelle-sensei didn't wait and continued with his speech.
"Each of them has taken time out of their exceptionally busy schedule to be here."
"Please welcome these Tōtsuki Institute alumni."
The ballroom erupted.
"What?!"
"Alumni?!"
"You mean actual graduates?!"
The reaction wasn't really surprising. After all, these former students, now professional chefs, managed to beat the single-digit odds to successfully graduate from Tōtsuki. That alone spoke of their abilities.
While the shock still lingered in the air, a group of figures stepped onto the stage.
Their footsteps were unhurried, confident, and demanding attention without asking for it. At the front of the group was a man who looked to be in his late twenties. His coral-colored hair reached his neck, his bangs parted to the left, and thin-framed glasses rested on his nose.
I recognized him instantly.
Shinomiya Kōjirō.
The first Japanese chef to ever receive the Pluspol Award.
Around me, the realization spread just as quickly. Marui stiffened beside us, his breath catching. Others whispered his name under their breath, disbelief bleeding into reverence.
He stood at the forefront of the stage, posture relaxed yet commanding, his expression cool and self-assured.
Then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if something had caught his attention. Without warning, he turned his head and looked straight toward our section of the hall.
"You there," he said, his voice sharp and clear. "Ninth row from the front. The boy with the scar above his eye."
Sōma blinked, startled, and pointed at himself. "Huh? Me?"
Shinomiya frowned briefly. "Oh, sorry. Not you."
He shifted his gaze a fraction to the right.
"The one to your right."
The boy beside Sōma stiffened, mirroring Sōma's earlier gesture with a shaky finger pointed at his own chest. "M-Me...?"
"Yes," Shinomiya replied flatly.
"You're expelled. You can go home now."
These words marked the end of this student's life at Tōtsuki.
His dream of graduating from this academy ended right there. He could still become a chef, of course. But the road ahead had just become infinitely steeper, littered with closed doors and lost opportunities.
The boy's body began to tremble.
"...What?" he whispered, the sound barely audible.
The confusion was genuine. Just moments ago, Chapelle-sensei had been calmly explaining the structure of the camp. There had been no warning, no buildup to this expulsion.
Shinomiya showed no interest in the student's shock.
"Your hair-care product," he said coolly, "carries a citrus-based fragrance. That smell can overpower the aroma of your cooking."
As he spoke, he stepped down from the stage and walked toward our section, more specifically, toward the boy whose future he had just severed.
"Fashion is an important ingredient," Shinomiya continued, stopping directly in front of him. "If the chef is unfashionable, the dishes are that much less attractive."
"I recommend using unscented products in the future."
He turned away, already finished, as though he had merely corrected a minor mistake on a worksheet.
"W-Wait!" the student finally cried out, panic breaking through. "For something like that?! Just for one small thing?!"
Shinomiya stopped.
Slowly, he turned back.
The look in his eyes was cold, sharp, and utterly unforgiving.
"That 'small thing,'" he said roughly, "is enough to drive customers away."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping.
"Are you suggesting I should allow something like that to ruin my restaurant?"
The student's anger vanished instantly, replaced by fear. His legs locked in place, his throat too tight to respond.
Satisfied, Shinomiya straightened and turned away once more.
"Goodbye," he said indifferently. "Little student."
He walked back to the stage without looking back even once.
The boy stood frozen, slumped down, tears gathering in his eyes.
There was something that didn't sit right with me.
Yes, the expelled student had been using a citrus-scented shampoo. I'd noticed it myself, but only because I'd been standing barely a meter away from him. Shinomiya, on the other hand, had singled him out from a crowd of over a thousand students from at least ten meters away.
Even with an absurdly sharp sense of smell, that shouldn't have been possible.
Which meant only one thing.
I shifted my gaze away from the stage and scanned the edges of the ballroom. Almost immediately, I locked eyes with a man in a neat suit who looked every bit like a hotel staff member. When I looked further, I noticed more of them, standing by the walls, near exits, blending perfectly into the background.
I see. The camp had already begun.
It had already been underway long before we stepped into this room.
I turned my attention back to the stage. Shinomiya's eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but an expression of interest. He knew I'd figured it out.
I turned my attention to the other alumni standing beside him. I also recognized them.
Mizuhara Fuyumi, renowned for her work in Italian cuisine.
Sekimori Hitoshi, a master sushi chef.
Their presence alone was enough to drown out the shock of the earlier expulsion.
"Amazing... they're all so famous," Megumi whispered, eyes shining. "They're in cooking magazines every month!"
"Ah... such rustic beauty," a voice sounded, dripping with theatrical charm. "Like a delicate white clover blooming in the fields."
That voice felt familiar. Unpleasantly so.
A tall man with blond, medium-length hair stepped forward, his posture exaggeratedly elegant. He had a sharp jawline, a pronounced cleft chin, and an air that screamed self-indulgence.
Before anyone could react, he took Megumi's hands in his own.
"It must be fate," he said smoothly. "To meet you here today, my dear. Would you care to visit my auberge tonight? We could talk until the moon grows jealous."
...Why did it feel like a bootleg version of Kōenji had wandered into Tōtsuki?
And more importantly, was a grown man in his late twenties really flirting this openly with a fifteen-year-old?
This academy got stranger by the day.
"E-eh? Um... I—I..." Megumi stammered, completely overwhelmed.
"Please release her hand, Chef Gotōda."
The voice that cut in was cold and carried unmistakable authority.
The blond man stiffened.
"Hinako," he said, but he let go of Megumi's hand.
A woman stepped forward, Inui Hinako. Her presence was calm, but behind that calm lay something different. She gently took Megumi's hand, placing herself between Megumi and Gotōda.
"I'm terribly sorry," Hinako said sweetly. "He didn't mean to scare you."
Then, as if that weren't enough, she lifted her free hand and cupped Megumi's cheek, smiling wider.
"My, my... you really are adorable," she murmured. "So cute I could just eat you up right here."
Megumi's face went bright red.
I sighed inwardly.
Yes. Definitely getting weirder.
"Hinako! Professor Chapelle is staring holes into you. Get back on stage." Gotōda said in a panic, already retreating in that direction himself.
Hinako gave Megumi a playful wink and a little wave. "Please do visit my restaurant someday," she said in a sweet tone. "Tee hee~"
With that, she left behind a thoroughly flustered Megumi and returned to the stage.
And then, the atmosphere shifted.
A man stepped forward, and the room seemed to straighten itself around him.
He had a closely buzzed haircut, sharp eyes beneath eyebrows angled like sideways V's, and a solid, immovable presence. He wore a tailored business suit that did nothing to hide his powerful build. Authority clung to him naturally.
This was Dōjima Gin.
The man who oversaw all chefs working under the Tōtsuki Resort brand. The one responsible for an entire pillar of the Tōtsuki empire.
"I... I can't believe I'm actually seeing him in person," Marui whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. Not out of fear, but out of awe and admiration.
Chapelle-sensei handed the microphone over without ceremony.
"Welcome," he said simply, his voice steady and commanding, "to the Tōtsuki Resort Hotels."
"The alumni gathered here today are all head chefs or owners of their own establishments. For the next six days, you will be treated as their employees." He paused, letting the words settle. "Which means one thing."
He raised a finger and dragged it calmly across his throat.
"If your work doesn't meet our standards... you're fired."
The earlier excitement evaporated in an instant, replaced by tension.
"As you've already seen, the instructors can expel you at any time for any reason. I suggest you keep that in mind. I wish you all the best of luck."
"That is all. Now—proceed to your groups."
The moment the words left his mouth, the ballroom erupted into motion. Students hurried, making their way out of the ballroom in a.
"We're all split up, but good luck, everyone!" Ryōko called out.
"Yeah! Good luck, everyone!" Yuki added cheerfully.
"Later," Ibusaki said with a short nod.
"I'm with you again?!"
"What's your problem?!"
The usual pair was already at it.
"Oh, and don't forget," Sōma added loudly, grinning, "we're having a card game in Marui's room later!"
"H-Hey! Why is it always my room?!" Marui protested, looking like his soul had left his body before the first exam had even begun.
I gave them a small nod. "See you later."
Then I turned away and headed toward my assigned group.
This time, there wasn't a single member from Polar Star with me.
Let's see what type of exam awaits me.
𓌉◯𓇋
I arrived at the designated room within the Tōtsuki Resort, checking the number against my assignment. As I stepped inside, multiple gazes fixed on me immediately.
This was not a new sight. This happened every day, every time I entered a classroom.
But the nature of those gazes had shifted. What used to be open mockery and thinly veiled contempt had shifted into something else.
Respect. Awe. And in some cases, wariness.
A handful of students still glared at me, clearly holding onto resentment from my words at the entrance ceremony. But after the Shokugekis, most of the room regarded me differently.
I ignored the attention and moved toward an empty station, or more accurately, a counter.
The space resembled a sushi restaurant that had been modified for examination purposes. Multiple wooden counters were spread throughout, each with a chef's workspace on one side and a single seat on the opposite side, likely reserved for the examiner who would judge our work.
Behind the counters, mounted neatly on the wall, was an array of knives. Standard chef's knives, of course, but also specialized tools like the yanagiba, deba, and several others crafted with obvious care and expense.
There were twenty-five counters in total.
Given the number of students already present and the fact that more continued to arrive, this wouldn't be an individual exam. The math pointed to group work, pairs, most likely, given the dual-station setup.
The final notable feature was a large refrigerated storage unit against the far wall. Through its glass doors, I could see fish preserved under layers of ice.
As I finished my assessment, the door opened again.
This time, a familiar face entered.
The moment I noticed her, she noticed me as well.
Fair skin. Crimson red eyes. Short silver hair.
There was only one person who fit that description.
Nakiri Alice.
So she was in my group.
Behind her, trudging with his characteristic lazy gait, was Kurokiba Ryō. His half-lidded eyes found me immediately, and something shifted in his posture in response.
Alice walked ahead with her usual confidence, a smug smile tugging at her lips, while Kurokiba followed half a step behind, hands in his pockets.
It seemed this camp wasn't planning to go easy on me from the very start.
"Well, well, well~" Alice practically sang, her voice carrying that familiar playful lilt I'd already grown used to. "It really does seem like fate keeps throwing us together, doesn't it?"
She stepped closer, then casually sat down in the seat meant for the customer... or, in this case, the examiner. Crossing her legs with deliberate elegance, she locked eyes with me, clearly enjoying herself.
"How lucky I am," I plainly said. "Though honestly, I don't think fate read the room."
"Hmph!" She puffed out her cheeks exaggeratedly. "I make the effort to greet you, and that's the response I get? How cruel. You're evil, Ayanokoji-kun."
She clutched her chest and shut her eyes as if gravely wounded, playing the part to perfection. When she cracked one eye open and saw I hadn't reacted, she huffed again and muttered something under her breath that I didn't bother catching.
"Anyway," she continued, straightening slightly. This time, her red eyes sharpened, losing their playful gleam. "After your little performances, I wanted to talk to you."
"We are talking," I replied flatly.
"..."
For a brief moment, her serious expression completely collapsed into blank confusion. Then she laughed softly.
"You really are something else," she said, leaning forward and propping her chin on both hands. "So tell me, who are you, Ayanokoji-kun? You can't expect me to believe someone with your skill just... appeared out of nowhere."
"But I'm not unique in that regard," I answered calmly. "Yukihira Sōma had no reputation before arriving here either."
She didn't move an inch. "Don't dodge it. You know exactly what I mean. Who are you?"
"I'm Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, fifteen years old, a first-year student at Tōtsuki Culinary Academy."
Alice groaned dramatically. "Booooring~! Come on, at least try to entertain me." The seriousness vanished entirely. She already knew she wouldn't get anything more out of me.
Before she could push further, the door slid open again.
Mito Ikumi stepped inside.
She scanned the room, and her eyes landed on the three of us: me, Alice, and Kurokiba. The moment she saw me, her expression visibly soured.
Alice followed my gaze and smiled thinly. "Oh? Looks like Erina's poor, abandoned follower ended up in our group too."
She made no effort to lower her voice.
Mito's shoulders stiffened. Her fists clenched, but she swallowed her anger instead of lashing out.
"Seems that way," I said neutrally, playing along.
Alice blinked in surprise at my response, then laughed, deciding to finish with a kill. "How pitiful. First, she loses a Shokugeki completely, then she gets thrown aside like a stray dog."
Kurokiba glanced between the three of us, his presence doing nothing to ease the tension.
"Huff... huff...! You—!" Mito finally snapped, her restraint cracking.
Before the situation could explode, the door opened again.
A girl with short purple hair and sharp purple eyes entered. She paused when she noticed the group gathered near me. Her gaze lingered on me briefly, narrowed in assessment, before she gave a single curt nod and moved to an empty station without a word.
More students filtered in after her.
Among them, I noticed another familiar figure, quiet this time, uncharacteristically so. She moved calmly, offering polite smiles as she passed others. Her eyes briefly met ours before sliding away.
Alice turned back to me, her grin returning. "How about a competition?"
"A competition?"
"Yes," she said cheerfully. "Whoever manages to rank higher today wins. And the loser becomes the winner's slave for a week."
Before I could respond, the door opened once more.
A man with neatly parted dark hair entered, eyes closed, yet somehow fully aware of the room. He spoke calmly as he passed by.
"Unfortunately, that won't be possible. This examination only determines pass or fail. There are no rankings."
The room fell silent.
Alice immediately began sulking.
"Alice," I said, "remember the Autumn Election. If we both make it there, we're guaranteed to face each other."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh? You know about the Autumn Election?"
"It's not exactly a secret."
"Hehe... very well." She rose from the chair and turned away. "Then we'll settle this properly during the Autumn Election. I'll be waiting."
"Ryō, let's go."
Kurokiba followed her without a word, though not before casting me one last measuring glance.
The man who had entered earlier reached the front and turned to face us.
"Good morning. I am Sekimori Hitoshi, head chef and owner of Ginza Hinowa," he announced. "For the duration of this exam, I will act as your employer and your examiner."
"For today's assignment, you will be working in pairs."
A quiet murmur rippled through the room.
"Your partners have already been decided," Sekimori continued. "When I call your names, move to your assigned station."
He lifted a clipboard.
Before he could read the first name, the door burst open again, and two students entered.
One of them swallowed audibly. "W-We're... in the death group," he whispered.
The other looked moments away from fainting.
Sekimori remained unfazed as they shuffled to the last empty station.
He faced them with his eyes closed.
"Names?"
"Satō Kenta."
"Tachibana Makoto."
"Very well," Sekimori said without hesitation, his tone flat and absolute. "Satō Kenta. Tachibana Makoto. As of this moment, you are both expelled."
For a moment, the words didn't register.
The two boys froze, their mouths slightly open, eyes vacant, as if Sekimori had spoken in another language.
"...Huh?"
"E-Expelled...?" Tachibana croaked.
Their knees visibly trembled.
Sekimori didn't look at them with anger or disdain. If anything, his gaze was indifferent.
"You arrived late," he continued calmly. "In a professional kitchen, punctuality is not a courtesy. Being late means disrupting the entire operation. That alone is sufficient grounds for expulsion."
He turned a page on his clipboard, as if the matter was already settled.
"Please collect your belongings. Staff will escort you to the buses."
"But—! This is our first day!" Satō shouted, panic finally breaking through. "We didn't even get a chance to cook!"
Sekimori paused, then looked at him.
"A chef who cannot even arrive on time has already failed before touching a knife," he said coolly. "Tōtsuki does not train excuses."
Staff members, those same hotel employees I had noticed earlier, stepped forward without hesitation. One gently but firmly placed a hand on Satō's shoulder.
"That's—That's it...?" Tachibana whispered, his voice hollow.
The two were guided out in silence.
No one spoke.
The reality of the camp again sank in.
I watched their backs disappear through the door.
This was Tōtsuki's true lesson.
One mistake.
One slip.
And you were gone.
Sekimori lowered his gaze back to the clipboard, as though the two expulsions moments earlier were nothing more than clerical notes already filed away.
"I will now announce the pairings," he said evenly. "Listen carefully."
The air in the room tightened.
"Station One... Ayanokoji Kiyotaka and—
—Kawashima Urara."
Dozens of gazes snapped in my direction at once. Across the room, Kushida 2.0 herself blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting it. Then, almost instinctively, she straightened her posture and turned toward me, wearing the kind of polished, professional smile she always put on in front of an audience.
We'd been paired together, huh?
The camp was already fully underway, but now it was time for the real thing to start.