The silence enveloping the main hall of the Totsuki Resort felt incredibly dense, as if the air inside the giant room had just been sucked out.
Thousands of eyes stared in disbelief toward the ninth row.
The brown-haired student still stood rigidly, his face as white as a sheet of paper.
The decision of Drop Out had just been handed down to him in a matter of seconds, before he had even the chance to touch a kitchen knife or turn on a stove.
Kojiro Shinomiya didn’t leave immediately.
The Magician of Legumes tilted his head slightly, looking at the trembling student with a gaze that held not a shred of pity.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between the two of them, causing the student to instinctively take a step back.
“That’s right,” Shinomiya said, his voice cutting through the silence with the sharpness of a scalpel.
“As a chef in the modern era, you must have style.
Your appearance is a representation of how you value yourself.
If a chef lacks style, they will lose their appeal in the eyes of the public.”
The student gulped, a false glimmer of hope briefly crossing his eyes upon hearing Shinomiya’s opening sentence.
However, that hope was utterly shattered by the next sentence.
Shinomiya adjusted his glasses, letting the glare of the hall’s lights reflect off the lenses.
“But, as a professional chef who serves a harmony of flavors, you must choose to be scentless from now on.
The artificial scent from your body will taint the integrity of your dishes.”
The tension in the air skyrocketed.
The students around them held their breath, some even secretly sniffing their own collars, terrified that the laundry detergent they used was too pungent.
The brown-haired student’s eyes widened.
Panic and despair overtook his fear.
“W-Wait a minute!
I’m being expelled…
just because of this?!
Just because of hair pomade?!”
Shinomiya, who was just about to turn around, stopped in his tracks.
The pink-haired man turned his head slowly, looking at the student over his shoulder.
His gaze now felt far colder, piercing straight into the soul.
“Just because of this, you could lose customers,” Shinomiya hissed, his voice quiet yet echoing throughout every corner of the hall.
“That cheap citrus scent will mask the aroma of truffles or a broth that was painstakingly prepared for hours.
If a customer goes home disappointed because their dish tasted strange, the restaurant’s reputation will be ruined.”
Shinomiya turned his body completely, turning his back on the student whose legs were now giving out.
“Do you want to destroy my restaurant with your carelessness?”
The student opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Shinomiya’s argument was the absolute truth in the culinary world.
There was no room for rebuttal.
“Goodbye,” Shinomiya concluded coldly, casually walking back up the stairs to the podium.
Two hotel staff members in black suits instantly appeared from behind the double doors, approaching the now-despondent student.
They escorted him out of the hall, taking with them the youth’s dreams and future that had been crushed on the very first day.
Horror blanketed the first-year class.
This wasn’t just an empty threat; this was a real execution.
Megumi Tadokoro gripped the edge of her uniform skirt, her entire body shaking violently.
Her eyes welled with tears, imagining herself being dragged out like that student just now.
Amidst that gripping and terror-filled atmosphere, an anomaly occurred.
“A girl as innocent as a white flower…”
A soft and seductive baritone voice suddenly sounded very close to Megumi’s ear.
The dark-blue-haired girl flinched in shock.
Out of nowhere, Donato Gotoda—an alumnus and chef-owner of an Italian-style Auberge—was already standing beside her.
With incredibly smooth movements akin to a Casanova, Gotoda took Megumi’s right hand, clasping it in both of his while staring deeply into the girl’s eyes.
“Ah…
the softness of this hand,” Gotoda murmured with a captivating smile, completely ignoring the fact that they were in the middle of thousands of tense students.
“You might be the reason for my existence in this world.
Signorina, how about you forget this boring training camp?
Why don’t we have a chat, just the two of us, from dusk till dawn at my auberge?”
Megumi froze.
Her brain experienced a sudden short circuit.
The fear of being expelled now collided with absolute confusion over the absurd flirtation from a grown Italian man.
“Eh…?
E-Excuse me…
W-What?” Megumi squeaked, her voice no louder than a mouse’s.
Her face flushed a deep crimson, while her body went stiff as a board.
Before Gotoda could continue his wooing, an arm wrapped around from behind Megumi’s back.
“Let go of her hand, Chef Gotoda.”
The voice sounded friendly and cheerful, yet there was a dark aura trailing it.
Hinako Inui, an expert in traditional Japanese cuisine, was now resting her chin on Megumi’s shoulder.
Gotoda flinched slightly and reluctantly let go of Megumi’s hand.
“Come on, Hinako.
I was just praising a blooming flower.”
Hinako paid him no mind.
She turned her face toward Megumi’s blushing cheeks.
Her hand slowly moved up, gently stroking Megumi’s cheek.
“I’m sorry, little sister, if this Italian man gave you a scary experience.”
Megumi was just about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking she had been saved by a kindhearted female senior.
However, Hinako leaned her face closer, her smile widening in a bizarre manner.
“By the way,” Hinako whispered, her eyes sparkling.
“You are very beautiful.
Your skin is so smooth.
I bet…
you would taste absolutely delicious to eat.”
The hairs on the back of Megumi’s neck stood up in unison.
This was no longer just flirtation; this was the gaze of a predator that had found an easy prey.
Megumi’s face turned a pale blue.
She truly felt like a rabbit trapped between a wolf and a fox.
The girl was too terrified to even scream.
“Hinako,” Gotoda reprimanded in a half-whisper, gently nudging the woman’s arm.
He gestured with his eyes toward the stage.
“Chef Chapelle is glaring at us with murderous intent.”
On the stage, Roland Chapelle was indeed staring straight at the two of them with his eyebrows knitted sharply, radiating an aura of dissatisfaction because they were disrupting the solemnity of the orientation.
“Oops,” Hinako stuck her tongue out slightly, then patted the top of Megumi’s head.
“See you in class later.”
The two alumni then strolled back toward the stage casually, leaving Megumi whose legs were barely able to support her own weight.
In the row behind Megumi, Emiya Shirou observed the entire interaction calmly.
His golden eyes narrowed.
To other students, it might have just looked like the eccentric and bizarre behavior of alumni.
But to Shirou, whose instincts could read intent, he saw something else.
They didn’t just pick a target at random, Shirou analyzed internally.
Gotoda is an Auberge chef who prioritizes guest comfort, and Hinako is a traditional Japanese restaurant chef who relies heavily on service and sincerity.
The two of them must have sensed Tadokoro’s hidden talent.
Yes, Shirou knew that Megumi’s cooking possessed the element of Omotenashi—a deep-rooted hospitality and care for the person eating it.
Even though Megumi was still nervous and unaware of it, culinary masters like Hinako and Gotoda possessed sharp instincts.
They were drawn to Megumi because the girl’s style matched their own culinary tastes and philosophies.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall’s speaker system.
A large, burly man in an expensive suit strode to the very front of the stage.
The muscles beneath his shirt bulged, and his aura was so massive it made the presence of other alumni like Shinomiya and Hinako fade slightly into the background.
Dojima Gin, the Head Chef of Totsuki Resort and the primary person in charge of the training camp, took the microphone.
“Welcome,” Dojima’s deep and authoritative voice vibrated the floor of the hall, “to my Totsuki resort.”
All the students reflexively straightened their backs.
The authority radiating from Dojima Gin was undeniable.
“All the alumni gathered here are chefs who own their own restaurants,” Dojima extended his right arm, pointing toward the line of alumni behind him.
“They are professionals standing at the forefront of the culinary arts.
And for the next six days, we will treat you as if you were our own staff.”
Dojima leaned forward, his eyes sweeping over the thousands of students below him like a lion surveying its pride.
“Our kitchens are our lives.
We will not tolerate incompetence.
Those of you who cannot follow our tasks, or deliver unsatisfactory results, will be fired immediately.
And in this place, being fired means you are expelled from Totsuki Academy.”
That sentence etched itself deeply into every student’s mind.
There was no longer any illusion of a fun school camp.
This was a real simulation of the cruel professional world.
“Based on our evaluations and your performance results later, it is highly likely…
that many of you will be expelled,” Dojima continued, his voice remaining flat yet full of certainty.
He then placed the microphone back on its stand.
“May luck be with you.
Now, check the schedules on your tablets and head to your respective groups.”
The moment Dojima gave the order, the giant screen behind the stage lit up, displaying the list of names and kitchen room assignments.
The previously silent hall instantly transformed into a sea of people moving in a panic, searching for their names and the locations of their exam rooms.
The Polar Star Dormitory group gathered briefly amidst the jostling crowd.
“Ah…
it seems we’re all in different groups for this first exam,” Ryoko Sakaki said.
The purple-haired girl smiled gently at her friends, though there were lines of tension in her eyes.
“We might be separated, but our spirit remains one, right?”
“Of course!” Yoshino Yuki pumped her fist in the air enthusiastically, trying to banish the fear in her chest.
“I hope we can all have dinner together tonight…” Megumi added softly.
While the others prepared to head to the battlefield with tension, Yukihira Soma actually grinned widely.
He patted Zenji Marui’s shoulder hard enough to knock the youth’s glasses slightly askew.
“Oi, don’t let anyone go home early!
Don’t forget we’re playing cards in Marui’s room tonight!” Soma declared carefree.
Marui’s eyes instantly widened.
His face, tense from thinking about the exam, twisted into frustration.
“Are you insane?!
Even in a place like this, you guys still intend to use my room as a hangout spot?!”
Shirou smiled faintly watching their interaction.
Amidst a pressure that could mentally crush even an adult, the bond of these Polar Star kids was their strongest weapon.
“Let’s go,” Shirou said quietly, turning his body to head toward the sector where his group was located.
However, after taking only two steps away from his friends, Shirou’s steps halted.
His sharp instincts responded to something.
It wasn’t a physical danger, but rather someone who was observing him directly.
It was a gaze that dissected, evaluated, and searched for truth.
Shirou did not turn his head.
He held back his instinct to stare back.
He merely tightened his shoulder muscles slightly, letting his aura of calmness cloak his body like an invisible mantle, and then resumed his steps cutting through the panicked crowd of students.
On the podium facing directly toward the exit, Dojima Gin stood with his arms crossed.
The large, burly man’s eyes did not follow the conspicuous movements of Nakiri Erina, nor did they follow any other student.
His gaze was locked tightly on an auburn-haired figure walking calmly, as if unaffected by the gravity of panic around him.
Dojima recalled his conversation with Nakiri Senzaemon.
About a simple fried rice that could move an absolute culinary queen, Nakiri Mana, to tears of joy.
About the Jade Generation plan and the salvation of Totsuki’s future.
Seeing how perfectly the youth suppressed his presence amidst the crowd, Dojima realized that Senzaemon had not been exaggerating.
That youth possessed absolute control over himself, a hallmark of a chef who had reached the highest realm of mastery.
Dojima Gin narrowed his eyes, carving the youth’s silhouette into his memory.
A faint smile, one he rarely showed, now graced the corner of his lips.
“So that’s him, huh…” Dojima Gin murmured to the empty air, his voice filled with an anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“…Emiya Shirou.”
“Like my work?