The night had grown late at Totsuki Academy.
The campus, which had been bustling with thousands of students earlier in the day, was now submerged in silence, illuminated only by streetlamps casting a golden glow over the wet asphalt.
On the top floor of the main administration building, Nakiri Senzaemon sat alone behind his antique mahogany desk.
Before him was not the usual stack of budget forms or curriculum reports, but a single thin black folder.
A student’s personal data file.
The name printed on it was simple: Emiya Shirou.
Senzaemon took a sip of his strong green tea, his eyes scanning the printed information line by line.
“An orphan, victim of the great Fuyuki fire ten years ago,” Senzaemon muttered, reading the public data.
“Adopted by Emiya Kiritsugu.
No history of formal culinary education.
Self-taught.”
At a glance, it was the profile of a lucky, ordinary scholarship student.
However, Senzaemon knew better.
The flavor of Avalon’s Morning—the boiled egg that had shaken his very soul yesterday—was not something that could be created by “just” an orphan learning from recipe books.
His finger turned the page to the “Guardian and Financial Sponsor” section.
The eyes of Totsuki’s Director, which usually remained unfazed even by the world’s harshest food critics, widened.
His breath hitched for a moment.
In the column for the adoptive mother’s name, a name was written in bold black ink:
Irisviel von Einzbern.
Senzaemon closed the folder slowly, as if the papers inside had just turned into a nuclear explosive.
He leaned back in his leather chair, which let out a soft creak, and stared up at the ceiling with a distant gaze.
“Einzbern…” he hissed.
In the culinary world, the Nakiri name was law.
But on the true global stage—where the global economy, international politics, and the flow of trillion-dollar funds moved in the shadows—the Nakiri name was merely a local player compared to the behemoth known as Einzbern.
The Einzbern family.
The old aristocrats from Germany dubbed the “Witches of the North”.
They weren’t chefs.
They didn’t own restaurants.
But their wealth was said to be enough to buy a small country without batting an eye.
Their business networks took root on every continent, from the pharmaceutical industry to heavy technology, yet they always operated behind the scenes, guarding their privacy with obsessive secrecy.
They were one of the “Five Pillars” of ancient families feared by the world, standing alongside the Tohsaka family, who controlled land and gem assets in Asia; the mysterious and decadent Matou family; the Edelfelt family, who dominated the European art and commodities market; and the Pendragon family of Britain, whose political influence penetrated the walls of the royal palace.
To the common man, these names were entirely foreign.
But to those at the top of the pyramid like Senzaemon, these names were taboo.
“So, that little monster…” Senzaemon let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.
“He isn’t just some talented kid.
He’s a prince of the Einzbern dynasty.”
That explained everything.
His unnatural composure.
His unflinching gaze when facing Erina.
Of course he wasn’t afraid.
To someone raised in the Einzbern environment, the temper tantrum of a teenage girl—even one possessing the God’s Tongue—probably looked like nothing more than a kitten’s fit.
Ring.
The silence of the room shattered.
It wasn’t the usual office phone ringing.
Rather, it was a dark red antique telephone kept in a special drawer of his desk.
A phone with military-grade encryption, given only to platinum donors and global VIPs.
Senzaemon stared at the phone.
His intuition, sharpened over decades of leading Totsuki, was sending out danger signals.
He picked up the receiver.
“Nakiri Senzaemon speaking.”
For a moment, there was only soft static.
Then, a melodic, gentle, and incredibly youthful woman’s voice greeted his ears.
“Good evening, Director Nakiri.
I apologize for interrupting your rest.”
Senzaemon straightened his back.
He recognized this tone of voice.
Polite and elegant, yet laced with an unquestionable, absolute authority.
“It is an honor, Lady Einzbern,” Senzaemon replied, his voice remaining calm and respectful.
“Or should I call you Irisviel-sama?”
“Just Irisviel is fine, Nakiri-san.
We aren’t in a shareholders’ meeting,” the voice on the other end chuckled lightly, sounding like silver bells.
“I am simply calling as a concerned mother.”
“Regarding your son, Emiya Shirou?”
“Of course!
Who else?” Her tone shifted to something slightly pampering, yet Senzaemon could feel the intensity behind it.
“Shirou-chan is a very independent boy, but he’s sometimes too hard on himself.
He never wants to trouble anyone else.
I’m worried he might not be eating properly, or perhaps…
there are naughty children picking on him?”
Senzaemon nearly choked on his own spit.
Picked on?
he thought to himself.
That boy just made Roland Chapelle smile and humiliated my granddaughter on his first day.
Who would dare pick on him?
“You have no need to worry, Madam,” Senzaemon answered diplomatically.
“Your son is…
extraordinary.
Today, he received an A in Roland Chapelle’s class.
A rare achievement.”
“Really?!” Irisviel squealed in delight.
“Aaaah!
Shirou-chan really is amazing!
And to think he said he just wanted to cook simple things.
Oh, it makes me want to taste his cooking again so badly!
It’s been two whole days since I last had Shirou’s cooking; my tongue feels completely deprived.”
“He is in good hands here, Madam.”
“I trust in Totsuki’s reputation, Nakiri-san,” Irisviel’s voice lowered, turning more serious.
“However, I have one small request.”
Senzaemon held his breath.
A request from the Einzberns was never ‘small’.
“I want to see Shirou cook.
In person.
In his school environment.”
“You mean…
a parent-teacher visit?” Senzaemon asked hesitantly.
“Not a normal visit.
That’s boring,” Irisviel interrupted.
“I heard that Totsuki has a tradition of cooking battles…
what’s it called?
Shokugeki?
As well as major exams?”
“That’s correct.”
“In that case, I want to be a judge,” Irisviel said cheerfully, as if she were simply asking for an extra sugar cube for her tea.
“Whenever Shirou-chan participates in an important competition or a major exam, I want to sit in the judge’s seat.
I want to ensure the judgment of my son is conducted…
fairly.
And of course, I want to see him shine.”
Senzaemon fell silent.
Appointing a student’s parent as a judge was a severe conflict of interest.
It blatantly violated Totsuki’s foundational rules of neutrality.
If it were any other parent—even the Prime Minister—Senzaemon would have flat-out rejected it and hung up the phone.
But this was Irisviel von Einzbern.
Refusing this request could be fatal to Totsuki’s funding.
A single snap of an Einzbern’s fingers could cause premium European food suppliers to sever their contracts.
Or worse, they could manipulate the stocks of Totsuki’s affiliated culinary enterprises.
On the other hand, Senzaemon saw an opportunity.
Erina’s God’s Tongue needed a stimulus.
Bringing in a judge from the “Five Great Families” would elevate the prestige of a Shokugeki to an international level.
And if Irisviel possessed a palate as refined as her status, she would be a highly competent judge.
“Your request…
is quite difficult, Madam,” Senzaemon began his negotiation.
“Appointing a student’s own mother as a judge will invite protests regarding neutrality.”
“Oh, I can be incredibly objective, Nakiri-san,” Irisviel replied, her tone chilling slightly, reminding Senzaemon that he was speaking with a matriarch.
“If Shirou’s cooking is subpar, I will be the first to criticize it.
But I’m certain that won’t happen, right?
Besides…
I could provide a donation of the latest German kitchen equipment for all the student dormitories as a…
token of appreciation?”
A blatant bribe.
Yet, an incredibly tempting one.
Senzaemon let out a long sigh, then smiled faintly.
He had been outmaneuvered.
“Very well.
But on one condition: Your identity as Emiya Shirou’s mother must be kept secret from the public during the judging.
You will be introduced as a guest of honor from the Einzbern Group.”
“Agreed!
Ah, I can’t wait to see Shirou-chan wearing his chef’s uniform in the arena!” Irisviel’s voice instantly returned to its cheerful state.
“Please take good care of him, Nakiri-san.
He is our family’s most precious treasure.
More valuable than all the gold in the Einzbern treasury.”
“Understood.”
“Good evening, Director.”
Click.
The connection was cut.
Senzaemon placed the receiver back in its cradle.
He felt his shoulders grow a little heavier, but at the same time, a fiery anticipation burned in his chest.
He stood up and walked over to the large window overlooking the dormitory complex in the distance, where the lights of the Polar Star Dormitory could be seen faintly flickering amidst the forest.
“A concerned mother, huh?” Senzaemon murmured.
Irisviel was afraid her son, her precious little lamb, would be eaten by the wolves at Totsuki.
She wanted to step in personally to protect him.
Senzaemon chuckled softly.
A deep, rumbling laugh.
“A baseless worry, Lady Einzbern.”
The Director recalled the taste of Avalon’s Morning.
The taste of eternity trapped within an eggshell.
A taste of sorrow and strength that far exceeded the age of a sixteen-year-old.
Emiya Shirou wasn’t a lamb.
Nor was he a wolf.
He was something far older and far more dangerous.
He was a sword forged in the fires of hell, now masquerading as a kitchen knife.
“I’m the one who should be worried about my other students,” Senzaemon whispered to his reflection in the glass window.
“Because they have no idea they are locked in a cage with the real monster.”
And with the might of the Einzberns backing him, coupled with a talent that could shatter the curse of the God’s Tongue, Emiya Shirou might truly become the king who tears down and rebuilds this Totsuki empire.
“The Jade Generation…” Senzaemon grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark.
“What a truly fascinating year.”
In the distance, thunder rumbled softly, signaling the imminent arrival of a spring storm.
A storm that would bring massive upheaval to the culinary world.
“Like my work?