The aroma was the first thing that silenced the commotion in room 205.
Ten minutes ago, Zenji Marui’s room was filled with boisterous laughter, the clinking of glasses, and silly debates about dorm traditions.
However, the moment the sliding door opened and Emiya Shirou stepped inside carrying a large wooden tray, the room’s atmosphere changed in an instant.
On the tray, several small porcelain plates were neatly arranged.
On each plate lay a golden masterpiece—Frico con Guanciale e Erbe.
A crispy cheese galette concealing melting Parmigiano-Reggiano and crispy guanciale pieces inside, sprinkled with mountain herbs that emitted a sharp fragrance thanks to absolute temperature precision.
“Here you go,” Shirou said in his usual calm tone.
He placed the plates on the low table in the center of the room.
“This is the same dish I gave to Fumio-san.
Frico con Guanciale e Erbe.
Please eat it while the cheese shell is still hot.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Daigo Aoki and Shoji Sato, the two dorm delinquents who were usually the loudest, could only stare at the plates in front of them with half-open mouths.
The thin steam rising from the dish carried the savory aroma of rendered smoked meat fat perfectly melded with dense cheese.
It wasn’t just the smell of good food; it was an aroma that intimidated the olfactory senses.
Yukihira Soma was the first to react.
An eager smile bloomed on his face.
He picked up the small fork Shirou had provided.
“Thanks for the food!” Soma exclaimed before cutting into the center of the galette.
Crunch.
The crisp sound of the breaking cheese shell rang out clearly in the suddenly silent room.
Soma placed the piece into his mouth.
He was followed by Yoshino Yuki, Ryoko Sakaki, Shun Ibusaki, Tadokoro Megumi, Marui, Aoki, and Sato.
One second passed.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
A suffocating silence descended upon Marui’s room.
Yukihira Soma’s eyes widened so much that the veins on his temples bulged.
The fork in Yoshino’s hand slipped and fell onto the tatami mat without her noticing.
Megumi covered her mouth with both hands, her body trembling slightly, while Marui’s glasses slid down his nose.
To them—the top culinary students in Japan, young chefs who had honed their skills since childhood—tasting this dish felt like being thrown into another dimension without warning.
In their minds, there were no silly visualizations or explosive sensations.
There was only an absolute landscape of perfection.
It was as if they were standing before a forged heirloom sword, its blade so sharp and flawless that it reflected no light.
The concentrated saltiness, the softness of the fat that melted away without leaving a greasy trace, and the kick of the herbs that cut through the richness at the exact perfect microsecond.
The balance of this dish could not be achieved by talent alone.
It was the result of ruthless mathematical calculations and relentless experience spanning across time and space.
This was world-class cooking.
“T-This is…” Marui’s voice trembled, breaking the suffocating silence.
He stared at his plate as if it were an alien relic.
“This precision…
how is it possible…”
Soma lowered his head, his bangs shadowing his eyes.
His hands, resting on his knees, clenched tightly.
“Damn it,” he whispered softly, not out of anger, but out of an awe that shattered his own perception of the limits of a student his age.
In the corner of the room, only one person managed to maintain his composure, even though his eyes reflected an equally immense shock.
Isshiki Satoshi.
As the heir to the prestigious traditional culinary family of Isshiki, and the seventh seat of the Elite Ten Council, he had sat at the banquet tables of Michelin three-star restaurants.
He had tasted dishes from legendary global chefs.
Therefore, he was the only one in the room who truly understood the true weight of Emiya Shirou’s cooking.
To Soma and the others, this cooking was a terrifying mystery.
But to Isshiki, it was an impossible anomaly.
“Emiya-kun,” Isshiki called out.
His voice cut through the heavy air; his smile no longer carried its usual teasing or goofy undertone.
His eyes were wide open, staring sharply like blades.
“The technique of rendering pork fat in a cold pan to reach an absolute point of crispiness without destroying its tissue…
and the millimetric temperature control over the double-grated cheese…
This is not a skill that can be acquired simply through practice.”
Isshiki slowly set down his spotless plate.
“To be honest, Totsuki has just welcomed a terrifying monster.
But there is one thing I am incredibly curious about.”
Shirou met his senior’s gaze calmly.
“What is it, Isshiki-senpai?”
“With this level of skill—a level that could make world-class executive chefs bow their heads—why are you wearing that school uniform?” Isshiki asked, his voice laden with profound curiosity.
“Why are you willing to be a student at Totsuki Academy?”
The question echoed through the room.
Soma and the others instantly snapped their heads up, looking at Shirou with faces full of questions.
Yes, why would a grandmaster disguise himself as a student?
Hearing the question, Shirou fell silent.
Beneath his face, calm as the surface of a lake, his mind was racing.
He had just realized a fatal mistake.
Ah…
I forgot to hold back, Shirou thought, an imaginary drop of sweat rolling down the back of his head.
Before Archer’s memories—his future as a Counter Guardian—flooded his mind, Shirou was just a teenager with a talent for cooking.
But ever since those memories integrated, his standard for “normal” had shifted drastically.
When Shirou was curious and faced Erina’s God’s Tongue, he felt he had to use his “average” cooking to guarantee passing.
Then in Chapelle’s class, he cooked so Megumi wouldn’t be expelled.
And during the dorm exam, he faced Fumio’s sharp glare demanding a surprise.
In every instance, Shirou only intended to cook “well.” He had absolutely no intention of showing off.
The problem was, “good cooking” according to the standards of Archer’s combat experience and time-traveling journeys was a world-class dish that transcended the common sense of ordinary humans.
He had used his survival instincts and Eye of the Mind just to fry cheese!
To Shirou, he hadn’t even unleashed his full power.
This hadn’t even reached the level of his true dishes.
But to these students, he had just dropped a nuclear bomb in this culinary school arena.
Shirou felt a little embarrassed.
But, as Emiya Shirou, he couldn’t lie about his life principles.
He had to give an honest answer, one that underlined his intentions for staying at this academy despite possessing such abilities.
Letting out a soft sigh, Shirou shifted his gaze from Isshiki to the window, staring at the bright moon outside.
“You guys are overestimating it,” Shirou finally said, his voice lowering, carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sharpness of his cooking.
“What you just ate is merely the result of repetitively executing techniques.
It is rigid cooking.”
Isshiki furrowed his brow.
“Rigid?”
“Yes,” Shirou nodded.
“Flawless technique, mathematically calculated recipes, absolute precision…
if you only rely on those things, your cooking will stop breathing.
It becomes like a sharp display sword that doesn’t know what it’s being swung for.”
Shirou turned his head, looking at the faces of the Polar Star residents one by one.
“I can cook a flawless dish, that is true.
But at a certain point, a dish requires more than just technical perfection.
Cooking requires emotion.
Wild ideas.
The courage to break boundaries.” He pointed at the plate in front of Soma.
“I came to Totsuki because I realized my own flaws.
I want to see cooking filled with burning passion, dishes made to defeat others, dishes made to protect others…
I want to see the beautiful chaos of chefs like you all.”
Shirou offered a faint smile.
“I am not here as a master.
I am here to find something missing from my own cooking.
Something I can only find by battling and living alongside you.”
That answer truly locked the room in silence for a second time.
But this time, it wasn’t a silence born of shock, but rather a profound respect.
Shirou’s statement held not a single speck of arrogance.
It was the genuine confession of an artist searching for the soul of his work.
Yukihira Soma’s previously dimmed eyes now flared back to life with an intensity far more terrifying than before.
The corners of his lips pulled up into a wide grin.
“Is that so…” Soma muttered as he stood up from his seat.
He slapped his own cheeks with both hands to wake himself up.
“Hah!
That almost broke my spirit just now, Emiya!
Damn, it seems my cooking still has a long way to go!”
Soma pointed straight at Shirou with his index finger.
“If wild ideas and chaos are what you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place!
Starting today, make me your target, Emiya!
I’ll crawl my way up, hone my cooking, and one day, I’ll serve a dish that makes that perfection of yours look boring!”
Shirou smiled.
“I’ll be looking forward to it, Yukihira.”
Seeing Soma’s unyielding spirit, the other dorm residents slowly snapped out of their stupor.
Yoshino Yuki took a deep breath and let it out loudly.
“Crazy!
I almost forgot how to breathe!
If Soma isn’t giving up, I can’t lose either!
My wild game meat will definitely break through that wall of perfection!”
Ryoko smiled gently, though her eyes radiated a strong determination.
“I suppose I’ll just have to experiment even crazier with my yeast and fermentation.”
Even the shy Megumi clenched both fists in front of her chest, looking at Shirou with a gaze full of admiration and gratitude for being allowed to taste something so extraordinary.
The party atmosphere revived, this time with a much warmer vibe filled with an aura of healthy rivalry.
Their fear of the new “monster” had transformed into a burning motivation.
Isshiki Satoshi looked at Shirou with a subtle smile, pouring another drink into his glass.
Emiya Shirou…
it’s not just his knife and cooking that are sharp.
His mindset is that of a true sovereign.
He will definitely change the ecosystem of Totsuki from the inside.
Isshiki Satoshi knew that if Emiya Shirou could cook that deliciously, it couldn’t be just technical perfection.
Emiya Shirou’s excuse sounded dubious to Isshiki Satoshi.
“Alright, alright!” Isshiki exclaimed, clapping his hands.
“Since Emiya-kun has already served his dish, now it’s our turn!
We can’t let our guest of honor return to his room without judging our cooking, can we?!”
“Of course not!” Aoki and Sato replied in unison, rushing to grab the plates containing their dishes from the corner of the room.
Over the next half hour, Marui’s desk was filled with various dishes created by the Polar Star residents.
Emiya Shirou sat calmly, receiving plate after plate, and tasting them one by one.
That was when his Structural Analysis ability went to work again, this time not to fight, but to guide.
Shirou chewed a piece of smoked duck made by Shun Ibusaki.
He closed his eyes for a moment, breaking down the smoke composition within the meat fibers.
“Ibusaki,” Shirou said.
The long-haired youth whose bangs covered his eyes tensed slightly, awaiting the verdict.
“The choice of applewood for this smoking is excellent for adding a sweet aroma.
However, you used too high of an initial temperature, causing the meat’s pores to close too quickly.
Try lowering the temperature by 5°C for the first fifteen minutes so the smoke can penetrate into the deeper muscle layers.”
Shun Ibusaki’s eyes widened behind his bangs, and he quickly pulled out a small notebook and started writing.
“Lower it by 5 degrees…
I see.
Understood.”
Shirou then moved on to the non-alcoholic fermented rice drink made by Ryoko Sakaki.
He took a slow sip.
“Sakaki, your yeast fermentation is very active and healthy.
But, if you added a little squeeze of yuzu juice at the 12th hour of fermentation, the acidity would balance the sweetness of this yeast and provide a lighter finish on the throat.”
Ryoko blushed lightly, but nodded enthusiastically.
“Yuzu at the 12th hour…
that’s a brilliant idea, Emiya-kun!
I never thought of that timing!”
Even the simple crab onigiri made by Megumi didn’t escape his attention.
As Shirou took a bite, he could feel the warmth and care that were the girl’s hallmarks.
“Tadokoro,” Shirou looked at Megumi gently.
“Your cooking possesses what mine lacks.
A sense of comfort.
This onigiri is very delicious.
A little piece of advice from me: if you toast your sea salt briefly in a pan before mixing it with the rice, the minerals will become more pronounced and enhance the crab’s sweetness without having to increase the amount of meat.”
“R-Really?!” Megumi’s face flushed with joy.
“Thank you, Emiya-kun!
I’ll try it tomorrow!”
Soma shoved a plate of his experimental fried rice forward.
“What about mine, Emiya?!”
Shirou tasted it, chewed slowly, and then swallowed.
His face remained deadpan.
“Yukihira, your idea of combining squid with this peanut butter sauce is brilliant in theory.
But you failed to balance the moisture level.
It made the rice too sticky.
Use an emulsion method with a little bit of squid broth before adding the peanut butter; that will bind the oils.”
Soma smacked his own palm.
“Ah!
Emulsion!
You’re right, why didn’t I think of that?!”
That night, in the cramped and messy room 205, a rare phenomenon occurred.
The students, who were the top seeds of Totsuki, sat in a circle like pupils listening to a lecture.
Shirou provided critiques that were highly precise, constructive, and got straight to the core of the problem without the slightest condescending tone.
To Shirou, this was a natural thing to do.
His habit of protecting and caring for those around him manifested in the form of culinary advice.
When the wall clock struck three in the morning, the welcome party finally broke up slowly due to exhaustion.
One by one, the Polar Star members returned to their rooms with sleepy eyes but carrying minds filled with explosive new ideas.
Shirou walked down the hallway to his room at 303.
Tonight was much longer than he had anticipated.
He opened his door, feeling the cold night breeze from the window that was still open.
As he laid his body down on the simple bed, a tired but satisfied smile graced his face.
Totsuki, with all its cruel rules and mental pressure, might be a battlefield.
But the Polar Star Dormitory…
this was home.
A home for those who bore fangs to change the culinary world.
And Emiya Shirou knew, his kitchen knife would never have time to rest.
Because beyond the walls of this dormitory, brutal regular classes, the looming daily threat of drop-outs, and the nearest storm called the Hell Training Camp were waiting to test the validity of a perfection.
“Like my work?