The air inside the exam hall was heavy, as if condensed by an unseen pressure.
Hundreds of applicants stood frozen at their respective kitchen stations, holding their breath as the pink-haired assistant—Hisako Arato—stepped forward with a clipboard in her hands.
“I will now explain the procedure for the practical portion of the entrance exam,” Hisako’s voice rang out loudly, attempting to establish authority amidst the stifling silence.
“Applicants will be divided into groups of ten, and grading will be based on—”
“Enough, Hisako.”
Two words.
Just two words spoken in a flat, bored tone, yet their effect was like a time-freezing spell.
Hisako stopped immediately, bowing respectfully with absolute obedience.
“My apologies, Erina-sama.”
Nakiri Erina, the girl sitting on a high chair like a queen looking down on commoners, waved her hand lazily.
Her purple eyes swept across the room, showing not a shred of interest in the hundreds of hopeful faces before her.
“Explaining the rules to them is just a waste of time,” Erina said coldly.
She stood up, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor as she walked toward a stack of wooden crates in the center of the room.
“Bring out the main ingredient.”
Hisako nodded quickly and signaled the kitchen staff.
The drape covering the crates was pulled away.
The contents were simple.
So simple, it was baffling.
Eggs.
Mountains of high-quality chicken eggs were neatly arranged inside.
There was no A5 Wagyu beef, no black truffles, no foie gras.
Just eggs.
“The main ingredient is egg,” Erina stated, her voice now a bit sharper, challenging.
“Create one dish that can satisfy my palate.
That is all.”
Confused murmurs began to ripple through the applicants.
“That’s it?” “Eggs?
That’s too easy!” “I can make Omurice!” “I’ll make Eggs Benedict!”
The suffocating tension slowly melted away, replaced by a false sense of confidence.
To them, eggs were a basic ingredient.
A beginner’s staple.
Anyone who had ever held a frying pan could cook an egg.
Emiya Shirou, standing calmly at his station, merely narrowed his eyes.
The corners of his lips quirked up slightly, forming a cynical smile unseen by the others.
Fools, he thought to himself.
They don’t realize it’s a trap.
In cooking, just like in Magecraft, the simpler an element is, the harder it is to achieve perfection.
An egg is a blank canvas.
There are no strong flavors to mask technical errors.
If you misjudge the temperature by a single degree, the texture is ruined.
If you take it off the heat a second too late, the flavor changes.
This wasn’t a test of creativity.
It was a brutal test of fundamentals.
Erina sat back down, propping her chin on one hand, gazing at the crowd with the look of a predator bored with playing with its prey.
“Ah, one more thing,” she added lightly, as if just recalling a trivial detail.
“I assume you all know who I am, but let me make our positions perfectly clear.”
The girl smiled.
A beautiful smile, yet it radiated an aura of intimidation that made the hairs on the back of one’s neck stand up.
“My name is Nakiri Erina.
In the culinary world, my palate is law.
People call it the ‘God’s Tongue’.
My judgment is absolute.”
Erina picked up an egg, twirling it between her slender fingers.
“If I deem your cooking ‘unpalatable’ or ‘disgusting’, that brand will stick to your name forever.
I will ensure you are never accepted into any high-end restaurant in Japan.
Your careers as chefs will end this very second.”
Silence.
This time, the silence wasn’t out of respect, but pure terror.
Erina set the egg back down, then looked at them coldly.
“Now, for those of you who lack the confidence to satisfy the tongue of a god…
please leave.
The exit is right behind you.”
One second.
Two seconds.
The first sound of footsteps broke the silence.
An applicant dropped his spatula, his face deathly pale, then turned and bolted for the exit.
That was the trigger.
“She…
she’s serious!” “That’s the God’s Tongue!
If we fail here, our futures are ruined!” “I’m not taking that risk!” “Sorry!
I withdraw!”
Panic spread like a plague.
Herd mentality took over.
Those who had just been flaunting expensive knives and bragging about their parents’ restaurants were now scrambling toward the exit like rats fleeing a sinking ship.
Their confidence was fragile.
Their ambitions were hollow.
Shirou let out a long breath, watching the pathetic scene with a deadpan stare.
His Eye of the Mind analyzed the crowd’s movement patterns.
Humans are always the same, Shirou thought.
Whether on a battlefield fraught with the Holy Grail or in a culinary school kitchen.
When faced with absolute despair called ‘fate’—or in this case, ‘Erina’s reputation’—they chose to run rather than fight for a one percent chance of victory.
In less than a minute, the giant hall was virtually empty.
Hundreds of kitchen stations were left abandoned.
The sound of panicked footsteps slowly faded away, leaving behind a hollow echo in the vast room.
Erina sighed, looking disappointed but not surprised.
“Boring.
As I expected, just a bunch of trash.”
“Erina-sama,” Hisako approached hesitantly.
“Did all the applicants…
withdraw?”
“Leave them be.
If they run just because of a verbal threat, they wouldn’t last a single day at Totsuki,” Erina replied curtly.
She began to rise from her seat.
“Let’s go back, Hisako.
The exam is over.”
“Wait a minute!”
The voice was cheerful, a stark contrast to the grim atmosphere that had just settled over the room.
Erina stopped, her brow furrowing.
She turned toward the source of the voice.
Amidst the sea of empty tables, at the furthest station, a young man with fiery red hair and a white headband was still standing casually.
Yukihira Soma was leisurely cracking an egg into a bowl, as if nothing had happened.
“You…” Erina stared at him in disbelief.
“Did you not hear what I just said?”
“I heard you,” Soma answered lightly while whisking the egg.
“If my cooking tastes bad, my career is over, right?
Well, the solution is simple.
I just have to make something delicious.”
Erina was stunned for a moment, as if her brain struggled to process such simple yet arrogant logic.
“And you?” Erina’s eyes shifted to the station next to Soma’s.
There, Emiya Shirou was inspecting the quality of a few eggs under the light, his face as calm as if he were reading a book in a library.
“You didn’t run either?” Erina asked, her voice rising slightly in pitch.
Shirou set the egg down gently, then looked straight into Erina’s purple eyes.
Shirou’s gaze was different from Soma’s.
If Soma’s eyes radiated a fiery challenge, Shirou’s eyes exuded the calm, dark depths of the ocean.
“Run?” Shirou repeated softly.
“Why should I run from someone who just wants to eat?”
Erina flinched, taking a half-step back.
That answer…
it was condescending.
It completely undermined her authority as an examiner.
“Are you doubting my abilities?” Erina hissed.
“I possess the God’s Tongue.
I can taste every nuance of flavor, every minuscule mistake, even the chef’s emotions within their dish.
I am the absolute judge in this world.”
Shirou smiled faintly.
This time, the smile was genuine, driven by intellectual curiosity.
His memories as a Counter Guardian provided him with an abundance of data.
He knew about Mystic Eyes.
He knew about Sorcery Traits.
He knew about supernatural abilities that transcended human logic.
Was this “God’s Tongue” on par with the Mystic Eyes of Perception?
Could this girl see the “structure” of taste the way Shirou saw the structure of swords?
“The God’s Tongue, huh…” Shirou murmured, more to himself.
“Interesting.
I wonder if a ‘God’ can taste history.”
“What did you say?” Erina narrowed her eyes.
“Nothing,” Shirou shook his head, then picked up his Gyuto knife.
The sound of metal scraping against the wooden cutting board rang sharp in the silent room.
“The challenge is egg, right?
In that case, I will serve it.”
Erina scoffed harshly, her pride stung by the calmness of these two young men.
“Very well,” she said coldly, sitting back down on her makeshift throne.
She crossed her arms, staring at the two of them with a judgmental glare.
“If you are so eager to die, I will grant your wish.
Cook.
And prepare to regret it for the rest of your lives.”
Soma grinned widely, untying his headband from his wrist and wrapping it around his forehead.
“Yosh!
Yukihira Soma, ready to serve!”
Meanwhile, Shirou closed his eyes for a moment.
He didn’t need a ritual like Soma.
He only needed focus.
Trace, on.
The world around him slowed down.
The structure of the egg in his hand unraveled within his mind.
The calcium carbonate shell, the membrane, the egg white albumen, and the vitelline yolk.
Shirou could see the age of the egg—three days since it was laid.
The ideal temperature for the coagulation of the egg white protein was 62 to 65°C.
The yolk required 65 to 70°C.
He wasn’t going to make a complicated dish.
He was going to make something pure.
Beside him, Soma fired up his stove with explosive enthusiasm, creating a raucous clamor of clanging pans and sizzling oil.
Shirou opened his eyes.
Golden-brown met steel.
He ignited the burner with minimal movement.
The flame was low, steady, and perfectly controlled.
This wasn’t just a school entrance exam.
To Emiya Shirou, it was an experiment.
He was going to test exactly how sharp this “sword” named Erina Nakiri truly was.
Was she really the god of taste, or just a spoiled girl who had never experienced a dish forged at the edge of the world?
“Let’s see,” Shirou whispered to the egg in his hand.
“How far you can take me.”
“Like my work?