King didn't flinch. He simply stood there, one hand resting casually on Heracles's mane, his expression unreadable. "You're one to talk about politeness. You've been trying to revive a man who clearly doesn't want to be revived."
Don Slime's form rippled, the crown on its head shifting slightly. "You know about Ichiryu?"
"I know a lot of things." King stepped forward, Heracles padding silently beside him. "I know you've been trying to bring him back for years. I know you've prepared bodies, performed rituals, even tried to force his soul from the afterlife. And I know he refuses every time."
The black slime's surface roiled with emotion. "He is the greatest gourmet who ever lived! The world needs him! The Gourmet Eclipse approaches, the Blue Nitro scheme, and he just... sits in the Soul World, doing nothing!"
"Maybe he has faith in the next generation."
Don Slime's tiny eyes narrowed. "Faith? Faith in what? A group of children who can barely handle the Eight Kings?"
King smiled. "Those 'children' just danced with the Monkey King and walked away with the [PAIR]. They're currently cooking their way through your seafood street, making friends with your citizens, and preparing to cook a meal that will satisfy even your ancient palate." He paused. "And one of them is about to become the greatest chef this world has ever seen."
The slime was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, its form began to shift—from the angry, frustrated being that had been raging at Ichiryu's statue to something calmer, more contemplative.
"Komatsu," Don Slime said finally. "You're talking about the little chef with the kind eyes."
"The same."
Don Slime floated closer, circling King and Heracles like a shark circling prey. "And what do you get out of this? Why are you helping them?"
King's smile didn't waver. "I like good food. And I've never tasted the [ANOTHER] before."
"That's it? That's your reason?"
"That's my reason."
Don Slime stopped circling. Its form solidified, taking on a more humanoid shape—tall, slender, with features that seemed to shift between male and female, young and old. "You're an interesting one. I can't read you. I can't taste you. You're like a blank spot in the universe."
"I get that a lot."
"Hmph." Don Slime turned, floating toward a massive door at the end of the hall. "Come. The Golden Chefware is this way. If your little chef is going to cook for me, he'll need proper tools."
King followed, Heracles at his side. "No more tests?"
"You've already passed." Don Slime glanced back, its eyes gleaming. "Anyone who can tame a Horse King and walk into my palace like they own the place doesn't need to prove anything more." It paused. "Besides, I'm curious. I want to see what this Komatsu can do with the right equipment."
The massive door swung open, revealing a chamber filled with golden light.
Inside, suspended in individual crystal cases, were the Golden Chefware—pots, pans, knives, and utensils that seemed to glow with their own inner fire. Each piece was a work of art, crafted from materials that no longer existed in the surface world, imbued with properties that defied science.
"The Golden Chefware," Don Slime announced, "is not just cookware. It is a bridge between worlds. With these, a skilled chef can cook for the living and the dead alike. They can extract flavors that do not exist in our dimension. They can create dishes that have never been tasted before."
King walked slowly down the rows, examining each piece. "And you're just going to lend these to us?"
"Lend? No." Don Slime's form rippled with something that might have been amusement. "I'm going to give them to Komatsu. He'll need them for the Spirit Food. And when he's done, he can return them—or not. It doesn't matter. What matters is that the [ANOTHER] is harvested before the Gourmet Eclipse."
King stopped before a particular case—one containing a simple, unadorned chef's knife. The blade was golden, yes, but there was something else about it. Something that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat.
"This one," he said.
Don Slime floated closer. "Ah. The Soul Carver. Legend says it was forged from a meteor that fell from the space between worlds. It can cut through the barrier between life and death itself." It glanced at King. "You have good instincts."
"I have good taste." King turned away from the case. "Come. Let's go find Komatsu. He has a meal to cook."
They left the chamber, the golden light fading behind them.
Outside, the sounds of the Thousand Flavor Seafood Street drifted through the air—laughter, sizzling, the murmur of countless conversations. Somewhere in that crowd, a young chef was discovering new ingredients, new techniques, new possibilities.
And soon, he would have the tools to cook for the gods themselves.
King walked slowly around the statue of Ichiryu, Jirou, and Midora sharing a meal. The craftsmanship was exquisite—every expression captured perfectly, from Ichiryu's gentle smile to young Midora's suspicious scowl at the food on his plate.
"Ichiryu isn't stubborn," King said finally. "He's principled. There's a difference."
Don Slime's form rippled with agitation. "Principled? He's DEAD because of his 'principles'! He refused to use his full power against the Blue Nitro because he was afraid of damaging the Earth. He refused to consume the very ingredients that would have made him strong enough to survive. And now he sits in the Soul World, watching as the world he sacrificed everything for spirals toward destruction, and he does NOTHING."
"He's waiting."
"Waiting for WHAT?"
King turned to face the agitated slime. "For someone who doesn't need his help."
Don Slime froze, its form solidifying into something almost crystalline. "What?"
"Think about it. Ichiryu dedicated his entire life to protecting the world. He raised Midora and Jirou. He built the IGO. He fought against the Blue Nitro's plans at every turn. And in the end, he died—not because he was weak, but because he believed in something greater than himself." King paused. "He believes in the next generation. In Toriko. In Komatsu. In all those kids down there on the seafood street, discovering new flavors, creating new dishes, pushing gourmet forward."
Don Slime's voice was barely a whisper. "You think he's waiting for them to surpass him?"
"I think he's waiting for them to prove they don't need him. That his sacrifice meant something. That the world he protected is ready to stand on its own." King smiled. "And I think they're almost there."
The ancient Gourmet Devil was silent for a long moment. Its form shifted through several colors—dark red, deep blue, a pale, almost translucent white. Then, slowly, it returned to its original pitch-black.
"If you're wrong..."
"I'm not."
Don Slime's tiny eyes bored into King's. "Such confidence. Such arrogance. You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"Myself, a billion years ago." The slime's form rippled with something that might have been nostalgia. "I thought I knew everything. Thought I could control everything. Thought the universe existed for my consumption." It drifted closer, its voice dropping. "I was wrong. The universe doesn't belong to anyone. It's a meal to be shared, not devoured."
King nodded. "That's what Ichiryu taught you."
"That's what Ichiryu taught me." Don Slime's gaze drifted to the statue of its former host. "He was the first being in over a billion years who didn't try to use me. Who didn't see me as a tool for power. He saw me as... a partner. A friend." Its voice cracked. "I failed him. I couldn't protect him."
"You can still honor him." King gestured toward the door, toward the distant sounds of the seafood street. "Help them. Help Komatsu and Toriko and the others. Give them the tools they need to succeed. And when Ichiryu sees what they accomplish, when he sees that his faith was justified..." King shrugged. "Maybe he'll decide that the world still needs an old man with a kind smile and a bottomless appetite."
Don Slime was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, its form began to shift—not into a weapon, not into a threat, but into something almost human. A tall, slender figure with features that might have been Ichiryu's, if Ichiryu had been made of living darkness.
"You're a strange one," it said finally. "You appear from nowhere, tame an Eight King, befriend the unlikeliest heroes, and speak of things you shouldn't possibly know. And yet..." It paused. "And yet I find myself wanting to trust you."
"That's the food," King said with a slight smile. "Good meals create good feelings. You should try some of the takoyaki downstairs. It's excellent."
Don Slime laughed—a rusty, unpracticed sound, as if it had forgotten how. "Perhaps I will. After the test."
"The test?"
"The cooking test. For Komatsu." The slime's form began to float toward the door. "I said I'd grant access to the Golden Chefware if he could satisfy my hunger. I meant it." It glanced back. "But I'll make it easier for him. I'll be... receptive."
King raised an eyebrow. "Generous of you."
"I'm a generous being." Don Slime's voice held a hint of its former arrogance. "When I want to be."
They left the statue-filled hall together, Heracles padding silently behind them. Outside, the sounds of the Thousand Flavor Seafood Street grew louder—laughter, sizzling, the happy murmur of countless conversations.
Somewhere in that crowd, a young chef was about to face the most important challenge of his life.
And an ancient being, who had once ruled the universe, was about to remember what it felt like to hope.