A hard bump to her shoulder sent Tadokoro Megumi stumbling backward.
She gasped as her back nearly collided with a steel rack storing trays.
Before her, the Totsuki ingredient storage room had transformed into a literal battlefield.
The dark-blue-haired girl froze, her eyes widening at the sight before her.
Thirty students were elbowing, shoving, and fighting over fresh vegetables.
Hands grabbed roughly, curses were exchanged, and baskets clashed against one another.
Their eyes looked feral.
Panic and desperation had blended into the most primal instinct of survival.
The pressure emanating in this room was far worse, far more suffocating than the task of serving fifty portions of steak last night.
Yesterday, they fought against time and exhaustion.
Today, their instructor had explicitly told them to prey on each other.
Megumi gulped.
Her feet felt nailed to the cold floor.
The shadow of expulsion flashed through her mind.
If she didn’t move now, she wouldn’t get anything.
She would return to her fishing village carrying nothing but failure.
The girl shook her head vigorously.
She bit her lower lip until it hurt, forcing her consciousness back.
No, she thought.
I made a promise to my mother.
I promised the villagers.
I’ve fought so hard to get this far.
I cannot be afraid here!
With slightly trembling hands, Megumi grabbed a stainless steel container.
She took a deep breath, steeled her resolve, and forced her way into the vicious crowd.
She used her petite frame to her advantage, slipping through the gaps between the students arguing over vegetables.
Her experience helping her mother shop at the bustling fish market somewhat helped her read the movements of the people around her.
“Excuse me…
sorry, coming through,” she muttered softly, reaching out her hand.
Thanks to her perseverance and a bit of luck, Megumi managed to reach the green vegetable section.
Her keen eyes quickly selected the freshest stalks of green asparagus, ensuring the tips were still tightly closed.
She then shifted to another basket, securing firm-textured carrots, yellow bell peppers with smooth, glossy skin, cabbage with un-wilted leaves, and zucchinis of precise sizes.
Megumi breathed a sigh of relief, hugging her stainless steel container tightly.
Her heart was still beating fast, but a small smile began to form on her lips.
Good.
Green asparagus, carrots, yellow bell peppers, cabbage, and zucchini secured.
All of good quality, she thought optimistically.
Now just one last main ingredient.
Cauliflower.
She turned around and hurried toward the corner of the room where the baskets of cauliflower were kept.
Most of the students had already returned to their cooking stations, leaving behind somewhat messy piles of vegetable baskets.
However, the smile on Megumi’s lips vanished instantly when she saw the contents of the basket.
“This is…” she whispered, her voice nearly swallowed by the air.
Megumi grabbed a head of cauliflower.
Its texture felt slightly off.
When she turned it over, her eyes widened.
The white florets, which should have been as clean as snow, were now covered in faded yellowish and brown spots.
A very obvious discoloration had occurred due to the oxidation process.
The remaining cauliflowers were entirely of poor quality.
The fresh, first-rate ingredients had been wiped clean by the first wave of students who had run in earliest.
Cold sweat once again drenched the back of Megumi’s neck.
Her brain spun rapidly.
The Nine Vegetable Terrine wasn’t just a dish that relied on taste.
The main appeal of this French culinary masterpiece lay in the visual beauty of its cross-section.
When the terrine was sliced, the nine vegetables inside had to display a color contrast resembling stained glass layered in clear gelatin.
Pure white cauliflower was a crucial element to provide balance to bright colors like the red from the carrots or the green from the asparagus.
If I cook using this cauliflower…
the color difference will probably become even more obvious when it’s boiled later, Megumi thought in a panic.
Her grip on the edge of the stainless steel container tightened.
And the appearance of the terrine…
the most important part of this menu will be completely ruined.
What should she do?
The recipe given by Shinomiya was absolute.
The measurements and instructions were clearly displayed on her workstation.
Moreover, Shinomiya had issued a stern warning.
This task was strictly individual.
She couldn’t look over at other students’ tables, let alone ask for practical advice from Shirou.
She was completely on her own.
Megumi stared at the cauliflower in her hand with a look of despair.
The vegetable looked pathetic, as if reflecting her current position.
How do I cover up the dull color of this cauliflower?
she thought hard, squeezing all her memories of vegetable-boiling techniques she had learned from her mother in the village.
If I boil it normally, the color will get murkier.
If I use salt…
it’s not enough.
Suddenly, Megumi’s eyes widened.
A memory from the past flashed through her mind—the pungent smell of vinegar in her wooden home kitchen, and her mother soaking several types of root vegetables to preserve their beauty.
Oh, right!
Megumi’s face instantly brightened.
Her panic was replaced by a firm resolution.
She realized what she had to do.
Without wasting any more time, Megumi placed the cauliflower into her container and ran back toward her cooking station.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the test kitchen, the tension began to claim its victims.
Time continued to tick, and the pressure from Shinomiya’s complex recipe caused many students to start losing their focus.
Managing the boiling times for nine different types of vegetables turned out to be far more agonizing than it looked.
At workstation number four, a black-haired student was sweating profusely.
His hands trembled as he chopped cabbage.
Beside him, a green-haired student who happened to glance at his friend’s cutting board couldn’t stop himself from commenting.
“Hey, your cabbage slices are too thick,” the green-haired student whispered softly, his eyes darting toward the instructor’s podium to make sure the coast was clear.
“That’s not what’s written on the recette, right?”
The black-haired student flinched, stopping his knife and looking at the recipe on his table in a panic.
“What?
Oh yeah…
gosh, you’re right.
I almost ruined the layer composition.
Thank you,” he replied in a relieved whisper.
However, that relief only lasted a few seconds.
“You two over there,” Shinomiya’s voice wasn’t loud, yet its sharpness was capable of slicing through the hot kitchen air.
The two students turned their heads slowly, their faces as pale as if they had just seen the grim reaper.
“I told you, didn’t I?
Sharing information and helping each other are prohibited,” Shinomiya continued in a flat tone.
“Did you not hear me?”
“W-Wait, Chef!
Just now wasn’t…” the green-haired student tried to defend himself, his voice shaking violently.
His hand holding the knife slowly lowered.
“Y-Yes, that’s right, Chef!” the black-haired student chimed in panicked, trying to find a justification.
“We weren’t planning anything!
He was just pointing out my mistake, that’s all!”
Shinomiya looked at the two of them alternately.
There was no change in expression on his face.
Only a gaze of absolute condescension.
“The act of correcting someone else’s mistake so their work becomes better…
is what we call helping each other,” Shinomiya cut in coldly.
He turned his back, walking away without throwing a single backward glance at the two of them.
“You fail.
You are both expelled.
Leave my kitchen this instant.”
A gripping silence immediately enveloped the entire room.
Other students who had intended to glance at the friends beside them instantly bowed their heads deeply, focusing one hundred percent on their respective cutting boards.
The terror Shinomiya instilled wasn’t just a bluff.
The man was truly monitoring every breath taken in this room.
Far from the sight of the panic-stricken students, behind the crack of the wooden double doors at the main entrance, a pair of sharp eyes observed the entire scene.
Dojima Gin stood with his arms crossed in the hallway.
His broad shoulders covered part of the door.
He had been standing there ever since Shinomiya gave the instruction regarding ingredient procurement.
Dojima’s thick eyebrows furrowed slightly seeing how Shinomiya designed the situation in the kitchen.
Deliberately reducing good quality ingredients to force students to make decisions under pressure, then punishing those who tried to find loopholes without any mercy whatsoever.
It was a brutal method, even by Totsuki standards.
Shinomiya…
you truly haven’t changed.
That rigid standard of yours is starting to become a double-edged sword for you, Dojima thought.
Dojima’s gaze then swept across the cooking stations, searching for the figure that had caught his attention since last night.
His eyes stopped at a workstation in the middle row.
There, Emiya Shirou stood calmly.
The youth did not look rushed.
His movements were so efficient, stable, and noiseless.
There was no panic, no hesitation as his knife sliced through the vegetables with geometric precision.
Dojima continued to watch for several moments, trying to find a flaw in the youth’s cooking rhythm.
However, there was none.
The way Shirou handled those vegetables made it seem as if he had cooked the complex recipe thousands of times.
The corner of Dojima’s lips lifted slightly.
After confirming what he wanted to see, the large man turned around and walked down the hallway away from the class, leaving behind the sound of heavy, firm footsteps.
Two hours and forty-five minutes had passed.
The air inside the test kitchen was filled with the aroma of vegetable broth and hot steam from boiling pots.
The majority of the students were still struggling with the final step: putting their terrines into the blast chiller so the gelée would set perfectly before the time limit ran out.
Sweat soaked their chef’s uniforms.
“Done.”
A single word spoken in a calm tone pierced through the noise of the air conditioners and clinking pots.
Every head reflexively turned toward the source of the sound.
Megumi stopped her hands, which were in the middle of arranging a plate, while Soma, who was waiting for his terrine to cool, slightly widened his eyes.
At the middle station, Emiya Shirou was wiping his workspace with a clean cloth.
On his table, a long serving plate had been prepared.
A Nine Vegetable Terrine, sliced with perfect precision, was presented upon it, gleaming under the lights.
He was the first person to finish the dish, fifteen minutes ahead of the time limit.
Shirou picked up the plate with one hand, stepping out of his workstation with a casual yet certain stride.
The disbelieving stares of dozens of students accompanied his journey toward the podium where Shinomiya Kojiro waited.
Shinomiya raised an eyebrow.
He crossed his legs, looking at the auburn-haired youth now standing before him.
“You’re quite fast,” Shinomiya commented, his voice as flat as usual, though a glint of intrigue sparked in his eyes.
“Fast does not mean good.
A terrine that hasn’t set perfectly will fall apart when sliced.
Put it here.”
Shirou placed the white porcelain plate on Shinomiya’s desk.
There was no hesitation or tension on his face.
“Please taste it, Chef.”
Shinomiya’s eyes dropped to the plate.
For the first time since he entered the room, Shinomiya’s posture changed slightly.
He leaned his body forward, observing the slice of terrine meticulously.
The cut was…
too perfect.
Not a single vegetable had shifted from its position.
The layer of clear gelée binding them showed no signs of cracking or melting.
The color of the asparagus remained a fresh green, the carrots maintained their bright orange, and the cabbage folded neatly to form a natural border.
The vegetable pieces inside resembled the arrangement of mosaic blocks assembled using mathematical calculations, not a kitchen knife.
Shinomiya picked up his silver knife and fork.
Without saying a word, he cut the edge of the terrine.
The texture offered just the right amount of resistance—not mushy, yet not too hard either.
He brought the piece to his mouth and chewed slowly.
The silence in the room became so thick that even the sound of a dropping pin might have been heard.
The students held their breath, awaiting the verdict from the Magician of Legumes.
Inside Shinomiya’s mouth, a harmony was created.
The natural sweetness of the carrots and yellow bell peppers immediately greeted his tongue, followed by the crisp texture of the asparagus and zucchini, which had been boiled at the absolute optimal boiling point.
Not a single flavor dominated or clashed with another.
All the vegetables maintained their respective identities, yet were bound together brilliantly by the umami-rich vegetable broth gelée.
Shirou’s blanching time was purely flawless.
To achieve this level of textural uniformity across nine different ingredients…
required not just speed, but an instinct for heat control and timing that was almost nonsensical for a first-year student.
Shinomiya set down his fork.
He stared at the dish before him for a few seconds, then slowly lifted his gaze to look straight into Shirou’s golden-brown eyes.
There was a calmness in the youth’s eyes.
The calmness of a veteran who knew exactly how sharp his weapon was.
There was no critique he could hurl.
Finding a flaw in this dish was as impossible as finding a shadow in a room devoid of light.
This terrine was not merely a replica of his recipe; it was the absolute execution of perfect cooking technique.
Shinomiya Kojiro leaned back into his chair.
His cold expression remained, but there was an unavoidable, small acknowledgment in the intonation of his voice when he finally delivered the verdict.
“Emiya Shirou…” Shinomiya said, breaking the tense silence.
“You pass.”
“Like my work?