The interior of the Magnetic Shell was nothing short of breathtaking. Bioluminescent coral lined the walls, casting a soft, ethereal glow over a banquet hall that could seat a hundred. The tables were laden with dishes that seemed to defy culinary logic—steaming platters of seafood that had never been seen on any menu, fruits that glowed with inner light, and a central roast that appeared to be slowly rotating on its own, basting itself in its own juices.
Saitama's deadpan eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "This... this is acceptable."
Garou, who had been sulking since his return, found himself drawn to the spread despite his pride. "Acceptable? This is absurd. How did you prepare all this?"
Golden Chef Gigi chuckled, his orange fur rippling with amusement. "Ohohoho~ This old man has had a long time to practice. Three hundred years of solitude gives one plenty of opportunity to perfect one's craft." He gestured to the seats. "Please, sit. Eat. We have much to discuss, and good food makes for better conversation."
The group settled in, the tension of the past days beginning to melt away with the first bites. Even Heracles, the Horse King, deigned to sample a crystalline apple from a silver platter, crunching it with regal satisfaction.
Toriko, midway through a drumstick that seemed to regenerate with each bite, turned to Branch. "So the Human World is stable? No more famines?"
Branch nodded, his tengu mask bobbing. "For now. The [AIR] you provided was enough to stabilize the food supply, but it's a temporary solution. The Gourmet Eclipse approaches. If we don't find a permanent answer..."
"The [ANOTHER]," Coco finished. "We know."
Starjun, who had been quietly observing the group, finally spoke. "Midora believes that the fish treasure is the key. Not just to the famine, but to everything. Acacia's full course, the Blue Nitro's plans, the very future of gourmet." His gaze settled on King. "He also believes that you are the variable no one anticipated."
King, who had been helping himself to a second serving of the self-basting roast, paused. "Midora knows about me?"
"He knows enough." Starjun's eyes narrowed. "He knows that you tamed the Horse King. That you turned Setsuno into a monkey bride. That you have the [PAIR] and are now hunting the [ANOTHER]." He leaned forward. "He wants to meet you."
The table went quiet.
Saitama, oblivious to the tension, reached for another dish. "This guy Midora sounds important. Is he a good cook?"
Komatsu, ever the peacemaker, quickly interjected. "Mr. Midora is the president of the Gourmet Association! He's incredibly powerful, one of the most powerful beings in the world! He's also... well, he's also the one who... who..."
"Who kidnapped you," Toriko finished, his voice flat. "Who tried to use you to cook Acacia's full course. Who, for all his talk of saving the world, has his own agenda."
Starjun didn't flinch. "Midora has made mistakes. He would be the first to admit that. But he is also the only one who has stood against the Blue Nitro for centuries. The only one who understands what's at stake." He looked at King. "He is not your enemy."
King set down his fork, the soft clink echoing in the sudden silence. "I don't have enemies. I have ingredients. Some are harder to work with than others." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll meet Midora. After we catch the fish."
Golden Chef Gigi clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "Ohohoho! Excellent! Then let us discuss the matter at hand." He produced a holographic map of the Black Triangle, similar to Kaka's but with additional markings. "Blue Grill, the Shell King, is not an easy creature to find. It moves with the currents of the Soul World, appearing only when it senses a purpose worthy of its attention."
Kaka nodded. "That's why we need you, old man. You're the only one who has ever successfully located it."
"Successfully located, yes. Successfully entered?" Gigi shook his head. "That is a different matter. The Shell King does not open its doors to just anyone. It must be... persuaded."
Komatsu leaned forward. "Persuaded how?"
Gigi's eyes twinkled. "With a meal, of course. What else?"
The group exchanged glances. Toriko cracked his knuckles. "Then we'd better start cooking. Komatsu, you're with me. We're going to make a meal that convinces a god to let us into its shell."
Komatsu nodded, determination replacing his earlier nervousness. "Yes, Mr. Toriko!"
As the chefs began to gather ingredients and discuss recipes, King remained seated, watching the holographic map of the Black Triangle. Somewhere in those depths, a whale the size of a mountain dreamed of ancient flavors. And somewhere beyond even that, in the space between life and death, a fish that was not a fish waited for a taste it had never known.
He smiled. This was going to be fun.
The moment King's finger touched the crystalline plate, something extraordinary happened.
The cloud-like gas within began to swirl, coalescing into a miniature nebula that pulsed with seven distinct colors. Each hue carried a different aroma—one of sun-warmed grass, another of wildflowers after rain, a third of salt spray from ocean cliffs, and four others that defied description entirely.
The Horse King's ear twitched.
King withdrew his hand, and the nebula continued to swirl on its own, now emitting a soft, melodic hum that seemed to resonate with the very rhythm of the Magnetic Shell's magnetic field.
"A little... encouragement," King said, smiling at Gigi. "Sometimes the ingredients just need to be reminded of their potential."
Gigi's orange fur fluffed back to its original luster, his ancient eyes wide with wonder. "What... what did you do? The Dome Seven Hues Stew was already at its peak. I spent three centuries perfecting that recipe. And yet... and yet you've transformed it into something I cannot even recognize."
"I just listened," King said simply. "The air ingredients were holding back. They were nervous. They'd never been served to an Eight King before. I just... reassured them."
Komatsu, who had been watching with rapt attention, suddenly nodded as if he understood perfectly. "The ingredients have feelings too. Sometimes they need to know they're worthy of the person they're being served to."
Saitama blinked. "Ingredients have feelings?"
"Delicious feelings," Garou muttered, though his eyes were fixed on the transformed dish.
Heracles, the Horse King, finally deigned to turn its head. Its magnificent eyes, ancient and knowing, regarded the swirling nebula with something that might have been... curiosity.
Then, with the grace of a monarch accepting tribute, it lowered its head and took a single, delicate bite.
The effect was immediate.
Heracles's eyes widened—actually widened—and a sound emerged from its throat that no one had ever heard before. It was not a whinny, not a snort, but something closer to a... sigh of pure contentment.
The Horse King's mane, always golden, began to shimmer with an inner light that shifted through the same seven hues as the nebula. Its coat, already lustrous, seemed to glow from within. And when it raised its head, there were tears in its ancient eyes.
Not tears of sadness.
Tears of joy.
King scratched behind its ear. "Good girl. See? I told you there were still new tastes to discover."
Gigi fell to his knees. "I... I have witnessed a miracle. In all my years, I have never seen an Eight King... weep from flavor."
Kaka, who had been watching from the kitchen doorway, was trembling. "Lord Heracles has tasted the finest air on the Eighth Continent for eons. For it to react like this..." She turned to King, her voice barely a whisper. "What did you do?"
King shrugged. "I just added a little... intention. The ingredients wanted to please. They just didn't know how. So I showed them."
Heracles, having finished the dish, nuzzled against King's hand with an affection that was almost embarrassing to witness from one of the Eight Kings. Then it turned to Gigi and, in a gesture that spoke louder than any words, inclined its head.
A bow. From an Eight King. To a chef.
Gigi's orange fur turned pink with emotion. "My lord... I am honored... deeply honored..."
Toriko, who had been watching the entire exchange in stunned silence, finally found his voice. "King... what are you?"
King's smile was enigmatic. "I'm just a guy who likes good food. And who happens to have very, very good timing." He stood, brushing off his pants. "Now. The Horse King is happy. The chefs are inspired. And we have a fish to catch."
He looked at Gigi. "You were going to tell us about the Shell King, weren't you? Where do we find Blue Grill?"
Gigi, still recovering from the emotional whiplash, nodded quickly. "Yes, yes. Blue Grill... the Shell King... it has been seen recently near the Abyssal Trench, where the pressure is so intense that even the light of the Soul World bends. But to find it, to truly find it, you must not look with your eyes."
Komatsu leaned forward. "How then?"
Gigi tapped his chest, over his heart. "With this. Blue Grill is not just a creature. It is a feeling. A memory of the ocean before there was land, before there was life, before there was time. To find it, you must remember what it was like to be... first."
The cabin was silent.
Then Saitama, breaking the profundity, said: "So we need to remember something that happened before anything existed. That's... that's a lot of remembering."
Garou groaned. "You are the least helpful person I have ever met."
"I'm helpful! I remembered breakfast this morning. That's something."
Despite the absurdity, laughter rippled through the group. The tension broke, replaced by the familiar camaraderie of shared purpose.
King clapped his hands. "Alright. We eat. We rest. And tomorrow, we go fishing for a shell that contains an ocean and a gate to the land of the dead." He looked around at the gathered faces—humans, immortals, and a horse that could end worlds. "Any questions?"
Komatsu raised his hand. "What's for dessert?"
Gigi laughed, his orange fur shimmering with restored pride. "Ohohoho! This old man has prepared something special for that as well!"
The feast continued, and the night deepened.
Tomorrow, the hunt for Blue Grill would begin.