Spring sunlight illuminated the sprawling Totsuki Academy campus, yet the warmth failed to pierce the icy atmosphere in the backstage waiting room of the main hall.
Today was the entrance ceremony for the 92nd generation.
Thousands of students who had successfully advanced from the middle school division, plus the handful of new students who survived the hellish entrance exam, were gathered in one place.
In the backstage corridor, Nakiri Erina was walking briskly, accompanied by Hisako Arato.
Her beautiful face was sour, as if she had just swallowed a whole lemon.
For her, today was supposed to be perfect.
She was the embodiment of Totsuki’s perfection.
However, the shadow of the entrance exam still haunted her mind.
Her God’s Tongue vividly remembered the taste of Emiya Shirou’s “Avalon’s Morning” that had forced her into submission, a stain on her undefeated record.
“Erina-sama, it will be the Director’s turn to speak soon,” Hisako gently reminded her.
“I know, Hisako.
I just—”
Erina’s words cut off abruptly.
Her footsteps froze upon seeing two young men standing casually near the stage curtains.
One had spiky red hair with a scar on his eyebrow, currently tying a white cloth around his arm.
The other had auburn hair, standing calmly with his arms crossed.
“Yo, Nakiri!” Yukihira Soma greeted with a wide, innocent smile.
He waved as if they were old friends running into each other at an amusement park.
Erina’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Y-You…” Her voice trembled, her index finger pointing squarely at Soma’s face.
“Why are you here?!
I told you that you failed!
I stamped ‘Failed’ on your paper with my own hands!”
Soma let out a crisp laugh, pulling a letter from his pants pocket.
“Well, I was surprised too.
At first, I thought I failed because you said my cooking was disgusting, but then an acceptance letter arrived at my house first thing in the morning.
It said your decision was overturned by the school administration.
Weird, right?”
“Overturned?!” Erina felt her blood boil.
Her authority as the God’s Tongue, overturned?
By whom?
There was only one person in this academy who had the power to intervene with her decisions.
Grandfather…
she thought furiously.
Erina’s breathing grew heavy.
She then turned her head past Soma.
Her gaze shifted drastically as she locked eyes with Emiya Shirou.
While she looked at Soma with shock and anger, she stared at Shirou with a mixture of embarrassment, resentment, and wariness.
She remembered perfectly how this young man had cornered her, forcing her to utter the word “delicious”.
“And you…” Erina hissed, her eyes narrowing sharply.
“You actually have the nerve to show your face here after humiliating me yesterday, Emiya Shirou.”
Shirou met her gaze with a deadpan expression, entirely unfazed by the murderous aura she was exuding.
“I just came to attend school, Nakiri-san,” Shirou replied calmly.
“Besides, you yourself said my cooking was delicious, didn’t you?
So it’s only natural that I’m here.”
Erina’s face instantly flushed crimson.
“T-That…!
That was only because I let my guard down!
Don’t think you’re so great just because of one egg dish!
At Totsuki, beginner’s luck won’t save you!”
She flipped her long hair haughtily, trying to mask her nervousness.
“Listen closely!
I will be watching your every move.
The moment you make even the slightest mistake, I will personally kick you out!”
Watching Erina’s reaction—the flushed face, the raised voice to hide her embarrassment, and the overly defensive attitude—Shirou felt a strong wave of déjà vu.
Archer’s memories pulsed faintly.
That attitude.
A fortress of pride built sky-high to protect a fragile heart.
Tohsaka Rin.
Shirou almost smiled, but held it back.
Erina Nakiri really did resemble the magus girl who had once been his partner (and lover in another timeline).
Both were classic tsundere archetypes—the kind of people who would rather die than honestly admit their feelings or defeat.
Interesting, Shirou thought.
Even in a world without magic, human archetypes like Rin still exist.
“I will keep your warning in mind,” Shirou answered politely, though there was a hidden trace of amusement in his voice.
Erina scoffed loudly, feeling mocked by Shirou’s composure.
“Let’s go, Hisako!
Being near them is ruining my mood.”
The girl spun on her heels and marched off with rhythmic steps, leaving behind the lingering scent of expensive perfume in the air.
“She’s super fierce, huh,” Soma commented with a chuckle, completely oblivious to the tension that had just transpired.
“She’s just not honest with herself,” Shirou murmured quietly.
“Come on, it looks like the ceremony is starting.”
The Totsuki Great Hall was filled with a sea of humanity.
Thousands of students stood tall, radiating a suffocating aura of elitism.
This wasn’t just a school; it was a gathering of rich kids, heirs to five-star restaurants, and culinary geniuses who had been trained since they were toddlers.
On the podium, Nakiri Senzaemon stood tall.
His massive figure dominated the stage, his kimono billowing even though there was no wind.
“Welcome, prospective rulers of flavor,” Senzaemon’s deep voice boomed through the speakers, instantly creating dead silence.
Shirou listened from the wings of the stage.
Senzaemon’s speech wasn’t a warm welcoming address.
It was a declaration of natural selection.
“Ninety-nine percent of you are stepping stones!” Senzaemon bellowed, his eyes flashing fiercely as he stared down at the thousands of students.
“You are here to be honed, crushed, and sacrificed in order to birth the true one percent of jewels!
At Totsuki, capability is everything.
The incompetent will be discarded without mercy!”
Cheers erupted.
Rather than being intimidated, the students actually looked fired up.
Every single one of them believed they were part of that one percent.
Shirou let out a long sigh.
It’s all the same, he thought.
Whether it’s a Holy Grail War or a cooking school, humans are always obsessed with devouring each other to reach the top.
“Next,” the MC’s voice sounded slightly hesitant.
“The introduction of the transfer students who passed the high school entrance exam.”
Silence.
Usually, it was incredibly rare for students to enter via exams at the high school level.
The vast majority of Totsuki students came from the Totsuki Middle School division.
Joining midway was considered an anomaly, “outsiders” infiltrating their sacred territory.
“Please step up to the stage, Yukihira Soma and Emiya Shirou.”
Soma stepped forward first.
His gait was light, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
He walked up to the microphone, gazing at the thousands of eyes looking back at him with skepticism.
Shirou walked behind him, stopping a few paces to his left, letting Soma take the main spotlight.
He preferred observing from the shadows.
Soma tapped the microphone twice.
Testing, testing.
He took a deep breath, then smiled—an innocent smile that harbored immeasurable arrogance.
“Ahem.
My name is Yukihira Soma,” he said casually.
“To be honest, this place is nothing but a stepping stone to me.”
The silence in the hall twisted into a creeping tension.
“I have no intention of losing to a bunch of people who have never stood in front of a customer,” Soma continued, his voice calm yet sharp.
“Basically…”
He raised his hand, clenching his fist in the air.
“Since I’m already here, I’m going to take the number one spot.”
BOOM.
The hall exploded.
Not with applause, but with pure rage.
Plastic water bottles, crumpled paper, and curses flew toward the stage.
“Get down from there, you bastard!” “What does a lowly transfer student know?!” “Drop dead!” “I’ll kill you in the kitchen!”
A declaration of war.
Soma had just made himself public enemy number one for the entire academy.
He smiled in satisfaction at the reaction, as if their hatred was fuel to him.
“Thank you very much!” Soma gave a quick bow, then stepped back, making room for Shirou.
Now, it was Shirou’s turn.
The atmosphere was still chaotic.
Shouts of “Get lost!” still echoed.
Several students glared at Shirou with murderous intent, assuming that this red-haired guy’s friend had to be just as arrogant.
Shirou stared out at the sea of angry faces.
Eye of the Mind (False) analyzed the threat level.
Zero.
They were just angry children whose egos had been bruised.
There was no true murderous aura.
No cold-blooded killing intent like what he used to sense from enemy Servants or Magi.
It was just hollow, childish fury.
Shirou brought his mouth to the microphone.
His face was deadpan, neither smiling nor angry.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was calm, yet carried a resonance that strangely muffled the noise in the front rows.
“My name is Emiya Shirou,” he continued.
He paused for a moment, letting his name sink in.
There was no declaration of conquest.
No claims of becoming number one.
“I am just a student who wishes to learn about cooking.
I hope we can all study well together over the next three years.
I look forward to working with you.”
Shirou gave a polite 45-degree bow—a perfect angle—then stepped back.
Silence fell again.
This time, the silence was filled with confusion.
“Huh?” “That’s it?” “He’s…
normal?” “Is he weak?
Or is he actually looking down on us by not even considering us worth challenging?”
If Soma’s speech was a wildfire, Shirou’s speech was deep, unpredictable still water.
No one knew how to react.
They were ready to be angry, but Shirou didn’t give them any fuel.
Erina, watching from the VIP balcony, scoffed harshly with her arms crossed.
“That redhead is an idiot with a death wish,” she muttered.
Then her eyes shifted to Shirou.
“But Emiya…
he’s hiding his fangs.
He’s making himself look harmless so his enemies lower their guard.
The most cunning type.”
On the stage, Soma nudged Shirou’s arm as they walked off.
“Hey, Emiya!
You’re no fun!
Why didn’t you just challenge them while you were at it?”
Shirou glanced at Soma with a tired expression.
“I don’t make a hobby of making enemies, Yukihira.
My life is complicated enough without the whole school chasing after me.”
“But wouldn’t it be more fun if there was a challenge?”
“To me, the biggest challenge is cooking in peace without someone trying to blow up my kitchen,” Shirou replied ambiguously.
As they stepped out of the stage lights and into the darkness backstage, Shirou felt Senzaemon’s gaze burning into his back.
The war had begun.
Soma chose the frontal assault, ramming into the wall headfirst.
Shirou chose the path of shadows, observing, analyzing, and preparing to strike at the weak point when the time was right.
In his pocket, Shirou’s hand gripped an old coin.
Totsuki…
he thought.
Let’s see if this ‘battlefield’ can teach me something new, or if I’m the one who will have to teach you the true meaning of a culinary hell.
“Like my work?