Chapter One: They Call Him Robuchon

Seconds melted into minutes, minutes hurtled into hours, hours dawdled into days and days rolled into months of monotony — not just in the kitchen, but out in the world as well. Not to say Shinomiya had grown discontent with his cooking — at this point, cooking was the only thing which granted him the gift of peace — but whenever he wasn't cooking, he was constantly aware of all the thoughts and niggling concerns in his head.

Why was he sleeping when he could be creating?

What was the point of a break day if he was just going to be in the kitchen anyway?

What was the point of doing anything other than cooking?

As a result of the turmoil of thoughts in his head, Shinomiya steadily grew into the habit of cooking, cooking and cooking. He made his working hours longer. He started working through his weekends as well as the weekdays. Sleepless nights were spent in the kitchen rather than at the mercy of his phone. But during those sleepless nights, Shinomiya was able to devise countless dishes. Cooking, creating, completing.

Tomates Farcies.

Le grand coq au vin.

Flan aux Champignon.

Despite the popularity of these dishes which the media deemed his 'new specialties', Shinomiya knew one major truth: they weren't ultimate specialties. They were definitely dishes that were worthy of being on the SHINO's menu, dishes which international gourmands were throwing five-star ratings at, but… Shinomiya still wasn't satisfied. Despite the fact he was working himself into the ground on a daily basis, he just didn't feel like he was doing enough to improve as a chef. Sometimes he found himself wondering whether his brain would implode on itself or not, but Shinomiya never left himself with enough time to implode. He didn't have time to falter, yet alone implode. He had to find his ultimate specialty. He had to.

But, in order to do that, he had to make sure that the only thing that entered and left his kitchen was perfection. No more, no less. His staff had to be perfect. His dishes had to be perfect. Every-fucking-thing had to be perfect. No mistakes. No slow people. And most importantly, nothing less than perfection.

"You call this a julienne? Get the hell out of my kitchen!"

"You dare butcher my recipes? My recipes? Fuck off, and don't come back!"

"Don't make me fire you — actually, never mind. You're done for. Get out."

Shinomiya had blazed his way through three sous chefs in the past seven months, and now, he'd finally reached sous chef number four: Jacques Jacquand. He was a promising newbie from Totsuki who had flown straight to France after graduating as the second seat. Shinomiya had been hesitant to accept him for the position, but he'd proven that he could keep up with the workload and keep a clear head in the kitchen. So, Jacques Jacquand became Shinomiya's newest sous chef — highly efficient, extremely polished and eager to learn. It had only been two weeks since Shinomiya had hired him, and he'd already proved that he was more than worth his salt.

"He's not going to be the next Yukihira, is he?" Lucie joked, casting a glance in Jacques' direction.

Shinomiya's neutral expression turned into a glare.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Lucie said, holding up both hands. "Forget I said that."

There was a somewhat awkward silence which took place between them, though it was broken by a loud "Hey, guys!" from Gao, who was skipping into the kitchen with a Cooking Monthly magazine in her hand.

"It's our amazing head chef," she announced, holding up the magazine with a huge grin on her face. The cover showcased none other than Shinomiya himself, caressing a knife in his hand as he stood against a starry backdrop, looking as if he were ready to conquer the world with nothing but a shiny, pointy knife. The mere sight of the image was enough to put a grimace on Shinomiya's lips. He'd always hated that picture, mainly because it wasn't even his knife — Cooking Monthly had just given him a random knife made by one of their sponsors and refused to let him hold his own knife on the basis of 'sponsorship'. Shinomiya loved his knife as if it were an extension of his arm, so not being able to have his picture with it had left a sour taste in his mouth. It didn't matter if the lighting was on point; it didn't matter if every other detail about the picture was perfect. It wasn't his knife, and that was enough to ruin the cover for him.

"I was super surprised when I saw this! Especially since you said you were staying away from the media this year," Gao continued, tilting her head in what appeared to be confusion. "Did you change your mind?"

"Nope," Shinomiya replied, moving forwards so that he could pluck the magazine out of her hand. "It's an old shoot from last year. Anyway, if you're done reading this, I'm going to trash it."

"Wait, wait, wait, there's some super juicy gossip in there! Apparently," Gao began, moving closer with a certain twinkle in her eyes, "a certain chef who goes by the name of Joel Robuchon wants to come and eat here."

Shinomiya clicked his tongue and tossed his head as if to say 'don't be stupid, Wei'. On that note, he tossed the magazine in the nearby bin before pouring the remainder of his wine in with it, rendering it unreadable.

He'd worked hard to detach himself entirely from the media this year. He no longer frequented the sets of television shows, even despite the millions of viewers who missed seeing his segments on Kawashima's Talk Show. The only two places he frequented nowadays were his apartment and his restaurant, but even then, Shinomiya would've preferred to just remain at his restaurant and nowhere else. At this point, it was practically his home. His apartment was just that — an apartment. He could easily go days without setting foot in his apartment, and even when he did return home, it would only be for an hour or two before he nipped back out to go and continue doing whatever needed to be done at his restaurant.

He'd completely discarded the media in his pursuit for perfection, and yet, they still seemed hellbent on ensuring that he remained relevant. SHINO's had become even busier since he'd announced his break from all things media.

"Anyway, let's start the preparation for tonight. We've got a long shift ahead of us," Shinomiya said, walking away from the bin and towards the counter where an assortment of fresh vegetables were laid out. His ingredient shipment had arrived earlier on in the morning, so all he had to do was prepare what he needed for tonight.

"Chef! There's someone who wants to speak to you," Marienne said, bursting into the kitchen with a phone in her hand. Marienne was the soup chef, predominantly focused on creating broths, sauces and all sorts for the dishes, though she was adept enough that she could assist with any other dish if necessary.

Shinomiya raised an eyebrow, but nodded and placed his eggplant down on the counter. He retrieved the phone from Marienne's hand and pressed it to his ear before identifying himself with a simple "This is Kojirou".

"Ah, Kojirou! At last. Bonjour. I'm calling to make a reservation under the name Joel Robuchon," a deep voice replied. "The next available space for a reservation would be July 1st, correct?"

Shinomiya froze for a good thirty seconds, trying to figure out whether this was some sort of prank call or not. The Joel Robuchon, coming to his restaurant? Sure, Shinomiya had made a lot of progress in this year alone, but… Joel Robuchon? One of the top chefs in the world? Coming to eat at his restaurant?

"Hello? You're still there, yes?"

"Yes," Shinomiya replied, though he was still a little flustered by the abruptness of it all. "That's correct. July 1st is available for reservations."

"In that case," Robuchon continued, "I'd like to reserve a place for July 1st."

"Sure," Shinomiya replied, his tone just as calm and professional as it usually was when dealing with clients. Despite his professional aura, however, he was finding it impossible to ignore the gleeful smile which had fought its way onto his lips. The past few months had felt like a perpetual drone of monotony, but now, Shinomiya was beginning to see sparks of colour in his routine. Inspiration. It was a warm, colourful feeling which Shinomiya had almost forgotten the feel of, but now it buzzed through his veins, just as fresh as it had been when he'd picked up a knife for the first time.

The only thing was, he wouldn't be picking up that knife to help his mom prepare the vegetables from their little home garden.

He was going to be picking up that knife to prepare the ultimate specialty for a man who was arguably one of the best chefs in the world. After all, Robuchon had been named Chef of the Century by Gault Millau. Everyone was waiting to see what he had up his sleeve, Michelin inspectors included. His thirty and counting Michelin stars were testament enough to that.

Shinomiya should've been scared, but fear didn't even register in his mind. A multitude of dish ideas were flashing before his eyes, each image more vivid than the last. Dishes inspired by Robuchon's specialty dishes. Dishes which would push the boundaries of his talents. Dishes which would show a new side of his cooking. Maybe — just maybe — this was the push he needed to develop his ultimate specialty.

"…and have a good day," Robuchon concluded, a hearty chuckle leaving his lips. "I look forward to coming on the first."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it," Shinomiya replied in an earnest tone.

On that note, Robuchon hung up, leaving Shinomiya with an even huger grin on his face as he lowered the phone. He'd forgotten that he had his staff members all around him — well, at least until he heard Lucie cooing, "Aww! Look how happy he looks!"

"Shut up," Shinomiya grumbled, handing the electronic device back to Marienne while attempting to fight the smile off his lips. It was refusing to leave, however, so Shinomiya eventually settled for throwing a hand over his lips while shooting a glare in Lucie's direction. When Shinomiya heard loud chuckling to his left, he turned his head to face Gao, whose thumbs were pointed up in his direction.

"See? I told you the rumours were true," Gao trilled, a teasing smile on her lips as she encouragingly slapped Shinomiya's shoulder. "Don't worry, Chef! We'll smash it out of the park like we always do. Right, Lucie? Right, Marienne? Right, Jacques?"

The ensuing "ouais!" were so loud that Shinomiya was surprised that his eardrums hadn't shattered. While he wanted to tell his staff off for being loud, he couldn't quite bring himself to start yelling. Instead, he lifted himself onto a nearby stool and watched the others as they bustled about the kitchen, excitedly burbling about how they'd be able to tell their friends that they'd helped create a dish for the Chef Robuchon and high-fiving each other.

"You guys realise I have to make the dish first, right?"

Lucie shot a bright grin in his direction. "We know. Knowing you, you'll come up with a dish that's good enough to cure depression. And you'll do it in the space of twenty-four hours!"

A chuckle left Shinomiya's lips, though the smile had fallen off his lips ever-so-slightly.

"Perhaps."


Later on that afternoon, Shinomiya retreated to his staffroom after having made lunch for everyone. He might've stayed to eat with them, but he had way too many thoughts in his head to focus on enjoying his food. Besides, Hinako would probably shoot him if he kept trying to skip out on their daily video chats. They hadn't been as 'daily' as they had been when they'd first started out, though that was probably Shinomiya's fault more than anything else. Some days, he would be too tired to load up his laptop. Other days — kind of like today — he just wouldn't be in the mood for talking at all. He was tired, he was running on a tight schedule and the littlest things were bound to make him snap. Still… he didn't want to disappoint Hinako any more than he already had.

"Hey, Hinako," Shinomiya greeted, the words accompanied with a slight wave of the hand.

Hinako responded in kind, though she seemed to be lacking her usual energy. Shinomiya couldn't help but think back to the days where Hinako would bombard him with texts, telling him to get his ass to the nearest laptop so that they could have a video chat. The days where they'd sit and spend ages discussing what was going on in Shinomiya's life, their conversations highlighted with exultant gestures and exciting news: new dishes, new achievements, new kitchen staff.

Now, their chats seemed to last a mere five minutes. Ten, at a push.

"You sound dead," Shinomiya observed. "Ever heard of enthusiasm?"

"Hard to be enthusiastic when you missed my birthday party," Hinako replied, her tone somewhat flat. "But, hey. Whatever. People get busy."

Shinomiya wasn't sure whether to apologise to her or not — he'd been told to fuck himself the last time he'd tried — but after a brief pause, he opted for trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.

"Well… how's it feel being a year older?"

"No different." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm destined to look twenty for the rest of my life."

"You're missing a zero on that twenty."

"Ha-ha."

Shinomiya shrugged his shoulders in response, though when silence slithered its way into the conversation once more, he couldn't help but feel that his jab had been a little ill-timed. Usually, Hinako would've fired back with "you're one to talk about age when you're the older one, Senpai" or something along those lines, but she was being oddly quiet. She'd said that she didn't mind that he'd missed her birthday… but maybe she was doing one of those weird girl things where she'd say that she didn't mind even though she did. Shinomiya really didn't know, but either way, Hinako didn't seem like herself.

"On a more serious note," Hinako said, her voice breaking the silence, "get some sleep before your shift tonight. You look dead."

"Duly noted," Shinomiya replied.

"Anyway… I'm not sure if you remember, but remember when we talked about bringing the North-East alliance back around the start of the year? We've finally got a chance to bring it back," Hinako enthused, life beginning to spring into her voice once more. "There's some informal team cooking competitions going down in Osaka this weekend, so if you want to take a break from your restaurant for a bit… it would be fun. A bunch of our Totsuki buddies are going too. So… what d'ya say?"

Their team name was a nod to Hinako and Shinomiya's respective backgrounds — Hinako being from Hokkaido in the north while Shinomiya was from Kyushu in the east. It had been years since the two of them had cooked together in a competitive nature, mainly because of their differing schedules. Upon graduating, they'd retired the 'North-East Alliance', though they'd agreed that they would meet up one day to bring it back. It would've been fun, it really would've been fun, but… Shinomiya just couldn't afford to spend his time dilly-dallying in Japan when he had an ultimate specialty to develop. He just couldn't.

"Well… I don't know. I think we'll have to put the alliance on hold for now," Shinomiya replied to the face on his screen, letting out a heavy yawn before taking a swig from his coffee mug. Visions of failed concept dishes flashed in his mind, failed concept dishes which needed to be reworked into one ultimate specialty.

"Maybe another time," Shinomiya concluded.

There had been hope gleaming in her wide purple eyes, but as soon as the words left Shinomiya's lips, the hope crystallised into nothing but a mere memory, her eyes lowering once more as if to say 'of course'. The disappointment lasted only a few seconds before frustration flashed in her eyes, her eyes darting back up at the screen yet again as she opened her mouth to make her rebuttal.

"So, that's code for 'I'm bailing on you again', right? Honestly, I'm not even surprised anymore." The statement was followed by an emphatic sip of green tea, though Hinako quickly lowered her cup to one side and held her finger up to keep Shinomiya from saying anything more. "And you know what? I think you're forgetting that friendship is a two way street. I can't be the only one putting effort in, you know?"

"It's not like I'm saying no because I don't want to see you," Shinomiya insisted. "I'm busy, alright? And besides, I said 'another time'. It's not like I said 'never'."

"Well, it certainly feels like 'never'," Hinako retorted. "You've been saying 'I'll come down, I'll come down' for the past few months but you always cancel last-minute. Always. I mean, I understand not wanting to come down when SHINO's is super busy, but it feels like you're always working. Can't you give yourself a break already?"

"Hinako, I think you're the one who needs to give me a break," Shinomiya dryly responded. "I've got bigger things on my plate right now."

"Really? You're that busy that you can't be bothered to see your friends?"

"I've been talking with you on a near-daily basis, haven't I?" Shinomiya raised an eyebrow at his screen. "I really don't see what you're complaining about."

She let out a deep sigh. "Really?"

"Yeah, Hinako. Really."

"Fine. What am I complaining about? I'm complaining about the fact that you constantly make excuses not to come and see us, about the fact you've been acting really fucking selfish this year and about how you're just super blind to what's happening in the lives of the people you care about," Hinako fired, her arms folded as she regarded Shinomiya with a stern expression from her side of the screen. "You know, there's something that I've really needed to talk to you ab—"

"Hinako, just give me a fucking break," Shinomiya interjected. "Moan, moan, moan. Seriously, I don't have time for this. Don't you have your own fucking restaurant to run?"

Hinako looked as if she were about to argue the point, but after some moments of her mouth opening and closing, she simply let out a sigh as sadness crossed her face. It was there for a fraction of a second before she forced a smile and said, "Fine, I'll give you a fucking break".

The video call promptly came to an end, leaving Shinomiya a little taken aback. He stared at his screen for a few moments, wondering whether the call had ended at that point by coincidence or whether Hinako had just ended the call on purpose. The little notification was there though, telling him that Hinako had ended the call.

But why? It wasn't like he'd insulted her or anything. Hinako had said much, much worse to him in the past, hadn't she?

"Whatever. I don't have time for this," Shinomiya muttered, closing the laptop lid before getting up to lie down on the nearby couch. He was still preoccupied with the Robuchon news, but Hinako had told him to get some sleep before tonight's shift. Sure, there was the unspoken rule that it was never a good idea to take Hinako's advice, but Shinomiya wasn't going to lie: the couch looked awfully tempting right about now.

It wasn't too long before he dozed off on the couch, his head slumped on the cushion and a blanket hastily pulled over his body, shielding him from the world. He wouldn't get much time to nap — perhaps an hour or two — but in the culinary world, every minute mattered.


"Table 3's been seated! They want ratatouille," Gao narrated.

It had been about an hour since SHINO's had opened for business, and so far, everything was going well. The three main dishes of the night were Shinomiya's personal favourites of the month: ratatouille, boeuf bourguignon and saumon fumé. Ratatouille was a pain to make, mainly because of its dependency on extremely intricate presentation. Boeuf bourguignon was even more gruelling because of the amount of ingredients that needed to be in harmony with one another. Saumon fumé was relatively simple in comparison, but it had been praised in Cooking Monthly as the 'best dish of the month' based on its 'simple yet irresistibly delicious' taste. The secret? His honey-based marinade.

"Compris," Shinomiya said, raising a hand to acknowledge that he'd heard Gao. "Lucie, start preparing the ratatouille for Table 3. I'm still on the boeuf bourguignon."

"Oui, Chef!"

Lucie was quick to get on the preparation for the dish, setting up the baking tray before retrieving all of the pre-sliced ingredients she needed. Eggplants, zucchinis, yellow bell peppers, any flavourful vegetable imaginable. Shinomiya always liked to think of ratatouille as being a 'free for all' in terms of vegetables. It was a dish that could make even the most avid vegetable-haters cry out for joy. It was a dish that commanded respect, being so full of flavour and texture despite not containing any meat whatsoever. It was a dish which Shinomiya had finally, finally perfected after weeks of experimentation. Experimenting with vegetables that would complement each other's flavours; trialling various methods of cooking said vegetables without ruining their rich, colourful appearance; collaborating with Marienne to develop rich sauces that would harmonise with the vegetables rather than overpowering them. It had been a gruelling dish from start to finish, but ever since he'd debuted his ratatouille to the masses, the media had been singing his praises left, right and centre.

All of the sleepless nights had been worth it. All of it. So what if Shinomiya's limbs were crying out for rest? So what if his eyes were throbbing in their sockets? He was a chef. This was merely another part of his job. He wasn't going to bow to the command of something as weak as fatigue, damnit. Not when he was the Shinomiya Kojirou.

His eyes darted over to the boeuf bourguignon which was simmering away in its pot, his hands simultaneously working on some finely diced onions which were going to be tossed in at any second. The trick to making boeuf bourguignon was to throw in all the necessary vegetables at different stages so that when the dish was finally complete, all of the vegetables would be cooked to perfection. Each vegetable had different qualities and different needs — some needed longer to be cooked, while others didn't need that much time to reach their optimal taste. Shinomiya had spent a while developing this recipe, adding his own twists and tweaks to the classic dish as always. He'd incorporated root vegetables into the dish and substituted parsley for bay leaves, allowing for more depth in the flavour of the dish. Now, all he had to do was wait for the dish to reach its peak in terms of flavour. Five more minutes. That was all he needed.

He quickly sprinkled the onions onto the boeuf bourguignon before deeply inhaling in the scent of the dish, his every sense quivering with pleasure. The flavours coming from the pot were rich, deep, succulent. It pained him to put the lid down on this dish, but he knew that in five minutes from now, the aroma would become unbearably delicious. Tempting.

"Table 5 are seated," Gao announced, poking her head into the kitchen once again. "Party of three. One ordered boeuf bourguignon, another ordered ratatouille and the last guy ordered saumon grillé. All three want our finest red wine. Also, Table 4's close to finishing his appetiser. He's already specified that he also wants boeuf bourguignon."

Shinomiya nodded his head in acknowledgement. On the other stove, there was another pot of boeuf bourguignon which was being handled by Jacques. He'd practically beat the recipe into Jacques' brain before allowing him to get anywhere near that stove.

Wait.

"…and the last guy ordered saumon grillé…"

"Saumon grillé?" Shinomiya raised an eyebrow in Gao's direction. "That's not on the menu. It's saumon fumé."

"Uh… you sure about that, Chef? You explicitly specified saumon grillé earlier on today," Gao pointed out, a kind smile on her face as she held up both hands in what seemed to be an attempt to dispel Shinomiya's budding anger. "Something about how the recipe worked better when it was grilled rather than smoked."

"No, no, no. I didn't. Don't lie. This is fine dining, not McDonalds," Shinomiya snapped, his frustration flaring up at the mere thought of Gao assuming he would dare to put something as amateurish as saumon grillé on his menu. Saumon grillé. The level of disrespect…

"What the hell makes you think I'd put saumon grillé," Shinomiya practically spat, repeating the dish name once again before concluding his sentence with an emphatic "on my menu?"

"Uh… Chef, I hate to intervene, but the recette right here says saumon grillé," Marienne pointed out, jerking a thumb in the direction of the recipe list, where the words saumon grillé were emblazoned in dark, bold letters. "Maybe you just had a brain fart with your French. No big deal. We can just inform the tabl—"

"Marienne," Shinomiya coolly cut through her chatter, his eyes boring into hers. "Are you trying to imply that I made a mistake?"

She froze in her tracks. "W—Well…"

"It's no big deal," Gao said, waving her hands about as a chuckle left her lips. "Saumon fumé. We made a mistake. It's fine, Chef. Let's just carry on with the orders!"

There was still a ball of frustration nestled within Shinomiya, but… he was still in the kitchen. He didn't have time to bicker over whether he'd put saumon fumé or saumon grillé on the menu (though he was pretty fucking sure he'd specified that saumon fumé would be one of his classic dishes). Then again… one quick glance in the direction of his recettes told him that he'd put up the recette for saumon grillé.

Had he really fucked up? He — Shinomiya Kojirou — had fucked up?

Was it because of the sleep, maybe? He'd taken a nap at Hinako's suggestion, but his limbs felt so heavy and useless that he couldn't help but feel like he would've been better off without the extra sleep. He was still cooking just fine, still performing at top quality, but… what was happening to his mind? Why had he messed up one of his own recettes all of a sudden?

He was the head chef.

He was one of the few men in the world who had earned the privilege to wear the Pluspol medal.

When he'd come to France eleven years ago, the French had regarded him with amusement. They'd thought of him as a joke who could never understand the intricacies of French cuisine. Despite their belittlement of his ambitions, he was now one of the top chefs in the country. He had three Michelin stars. No-one was underestimating him anymore. They were all expecting quality dishes from him. His patrons, his peers, the media. To say that the expectations were crushing him would've been an understatement.

Those same expectations were causing his mental faculties to disintegrate.

But he couldn't let those expectations ruin him! He couldn't give into this stupid fatigue which was just lingering in his body, begging him to sleep, begging him to take a rest, begging him to do something except cooking. His body didn't know anything, damnit. It was his brain which was the mastermind behind all of these dishes. His body was nothing but a vessel to create these dishes, nothing less and nothing more. He wasn't going to give into this fatigue. He wasn't going to give into this stress. He couldn't. Not when he was so close to getting the Chef Robuchon to eat at his restaurant—

"Chef," Jacques called out, a look of alarm on his face. "The boeuf bourguignon!"

"Fuck," Shinomiya snapped, pulling the pot off the fire and onto the counter before lifting the lid. A hot rush of steam hit him in the face, though when it cleared away, Shinomiya could already tell that he'd cooked it for a minute too long. It still looked the same, but Shinomiya just knew that he'd fucked up. He knew. It didn't matter if there was no visible difference; it didn't matter if there was no perceptible change in the smell. He knew he'd made a mistake in his timing, and that knowledge alone was enough to throw him off. His nose was even inventing things now, telling him that the aroma was too heavy (the aroma hadn't changed in the slightest). He didn't care if the meat still looked succulent; he didn't care if the sauce looked deliciously supple and viscous in its pot. He didn't care if that one extra minute had somehow made his dish better.

He'd strayed from the rules of his own recipe, and that was tantamount to fucking up.

He'd been the first seat of the Elite Ten. First Japanese man to get the Pluspol award. First in his generation to acquire three Michelin Stars. All these firsts, and he couldn't even make boeuf bourguignon without fucking up? Boeuf bourguignon was a dish which all Totsuki students were required to make in their first year of high school. First year, and Shinomiya couldn't do it. Shinomiya couldn't fucking do it.

Who was he kidding?

Was he even worthy of wearing that Pluspol medal on his jacket anymore?

Of course he wasn't. He couldn't even develop an ultimate specialty—

"Chef."

The word was promptly followed by a firm slap on the back, causing Shinomiya to take a sharp inhalation of breath and wheel around to face the perpetrator. His own hand rose to protect himself by instinct, though when he realised that it was his sous chef stood in front of him, common sense finally flickered into his mind. With that, he quickly lowered his hand, though he didn't hesitate to take a step back.

"What the hell was that?"

"Please excuse my behaviour," Jacques pleaded. "But… I think you need to step out of the kitchen for a bit. You're clearly overwhelmed. As your sous chef, I'll handle things until you're feeling better."

"Do I look like I'm overwhelmed?"

"Well… yes," Jacques replied. "I—"

"So, not only are you trying to order me around, you're also making assumptions about me," Shinomiya coldly stated, his eyes molten as he continued to regard Jacques. "What is it with my staff tonight? Telling me I'm making mistakes, and now, I'm 'overwhelmed'. Not the nicest thing to say about your boss, is it?"

Jacques flinched, his shoulders hunching inwards as he took a slight step back from Shinomiya. "Chef, I wasn't trying to insult—"

"You should know your place, because it sure as hell isn't here," Shinomiya imposed, his eyes drifting in the direction of the kitchen doors before returning his gaze back to Jacques'. "Get out of my kitchen."

"Huh?" His eyes became wide with confusion. "B—But… but…"

"Did I stutter? Get the fuck out of my kitchen."

"Hey, wait, Chef," Marienne said, intervening with a hand wave. "You can't kick your sous chef out—"

"In all honesty, I'm sick and tired of hearing your voice too," Shinomiya snapped, shoving a menacing finger in Marienne's face before throwing it out in the direction of the kitchen doors. "Au fucking revoir. Consider yourself fired."

Jacques' frustration was evident through the jerky, unstable movements of his hands as he unravelled his neckerchief, laying it down on the counter. Marienne, on the other hand, had an expression of resignation on her face as she tugged her own neckerchief off, splaying it across the counter before running out of the kitchen, hands obscuring her eyes as the doors swung back and forth. Jacques left just as calmly as he'd entered, head held high as he strolled out through the swinging kitchen doors.

By the time the doors had stopped moving, silence had dawned in the kitchen. While Lucie was usually the most talkative member of the kitchen crew, she was deathly silent as she plated her ratatouille, not even daring to breathe too loud. When Gao poked her head in, it was with a reduced vigour, eyes not lingering on anyone for too long as she waited for Lucie to finish plating the ratatouille. To say that things were awkward would've been an understatement. Sure, silence was mostly commonplace in Shinomiya's kitchen, but not with half of his staff missing.

But… now that Shinomiya had done that, he couldn't allow himself to focus on the prospect of rest or his fear of failure. He was two people down, he still had quite a few orders left to deal with and most importantly, he wasn't happy with this boeuf bourguignon. He wouldn't let it leave this kitchen, not unless he could think of a solution. He'd never been in a situation like this — he'd always done everything to perfection. Always. Yet now… here he was, waiting for his brain to kick in with a solution.

Before, everything had seemed so loud. Stoves roaring. Knives chopping. Too many damn voices in this kitchen.

But now, there was silence. The gentle whirr of the fridge could be heard; the simmer of a low flame; the hush of feet moving about on the ground. The kitchen doors which were gently shutting as if to mark Gao's departure, beautifully-plated ratatouille in hand.

Then, finally, Shinomiya's right hand which was slowly reaching for a pot of fresh, warmed honey.

Even though no-one had opened their mouth to speak, the silence within Shinomiya's mind shattered once more as a familiar voice slithered its way through, just as tantalisingly beautiful as it had been the last time Shinomiya had heard it.


"Hey, Senpai. You know what a useful trick for meat is?"

Shinomiya raised an eyebrow at the redhead who was rifling through his fridge, though he eventually let out a "go on, then". He couldn't help but think that Yukihira had way too much energy, given that it was way past one o'clock in the morning. Only Yukihira could get this enthusiastic about playing what he liked to call 'Treasure Hunt: Fridge Edition'.

"Okay, okay… you ready for it? Here goes," Yukihira announced. "Honey!"

As if on cue, Yukihira emerged from behind the fridge door with a fresh jar of honey, a triumphant grin on his face as he shut the door and trotted over to where Shinomiya was sitting with his coffee.

"Honey saved me from getting an F in my first Totsuki class," Yukihira recalled, setting the jar of honey down on the counter as he swung his legs onto the bar stool. He was directly opposite Shinomiya, regarding him with those impossibly golden eyes of his. "So, if you ever need to make your meat tender, put honey on it. I'm about to see if it works for calamari. Wanna taste?"

"No." Shinomiya wrinkled his nose at Yukihira, though he couldn't help the smile which had begun to stretch across his lips. "You're crazy, idiot."

"Come on. I'll give you a kiss first," Yukihira proposed, twisting the lid off before dipping a finger in and spreading the golden liquid around his lips as if it were lip balm. "Honey kisses. How's that sound?"

"Sticky," he replied, narrowly dodging Yukihira's attempts to peck him on the lips.

"But it's fun, right? Come on, Senpai, you need to live a little more," Yukihira insisted. "It might be sticky, but hey. It's a new experience, right?"

Shinomiya rolled his eyes. "Go on then. I'll take that honey kiss."

Yukihira stretched a hand out towards his cheek, gently sliding down to the curve of his jaw as he pulled him in closer. Meanwhile, his other hand was sliding Shinomiya's glasses off his face, setting them down on the counter with a gentle 'tap'. Then, at a tantalisingly slow pace, Yukihira's lips began to sink into his own, engulfing them in the sickly sweet taste of honey.


"Lucie," Shinomiya said, snapping back into head chef mode. "The salmon's already been grilled, hasn't it?"

"Oui," she replied. "Lightly grilled like the recette says. I can prepare a smoked version though—"

"Marinate it with the honey and soy sauce mix," Shinomiya ordered, fighting the urge to let out a sigh as events from this afternoon appeared in his mind, events in which he'd evaluated the taste between saumon grillé and saumon fumé before concluding that his special honey and soy sauce marinade actually tasted better with saumon grillé. Just like Marienne had reminded him.

"Oui, Chef! Anything else?"

"Ratatouille," he said. "I want you to get on that the second you're done with the saumon grillé."

"Oui, Chef!"

Dish after dish, balance returned to the SHINO's kitchen. Happy customers were leaving with full stomachs, orders were coming out at a timely pace and most importantly, Shinomiya was back on his game. Somehow, during the deliberation stage of making his boeuf bourguignon, it had never dawned on him to include honey in the recipe. Honey was the magic ingredient, the fix-all, the 'flavour boost'.

Now that his boeuf bourguignon had honey, it was practically invincible.

"Gao," Shinomiya said, lifting up his metallic tray. "Here's the boeuf bourguignon for Table 4 and 5. Take it out."

"Oui, Chef!"


When Gao finally popped her head into the kitchen to announce that the last customer had left the restaurant, Shinomiya couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh of relief as he leaned a hand against the marble counter. This shift had been difficult, even more difficult than he was accustomed to. It was one thing to deal with the usual hustle and bustle of a French kitchen, but it was another thing entirely to deal with his own emotional baggage weighing him down in the kitchen.

It was a little strange though. He hadn't thought about Yukihira in a while, and even so, that memory had actually helped him rather than hindered him.

"Also, Chef? Doujima-san says he's waiting for you," Gao commented, a giddy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Wants to talk to you about 'business'."

"Look at you! You're blushing," Lucie trilled, enthusiastically slapping Gao's cheeks. "You've got it bad."

"I'm not blushing. I'm just hot," she insisted, grabbing both of Lucie's wrists in an attempt to stop them from flapping around. "I've been running back and forth with dishes and it's boiling in here. Give me a break."

"Oh, come on. I—"

"Tell him I'll be out in a tick," Shinomiya smoothly interjected, breaking the flow of their conversation. He'd been subjected to many a gossip session about his fellow Totsuki alumni by Gao and Lucie, so Shinomiya really didn't feel like undergoing yet another one.

Gao practically zoomed out of the kitchen while Lucie chuckled, approaching the sink before making a start on the dishes. Shinomiya's eyes followed her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of regret in his mind. Washing the dishes had originally been Marienne's job — hell, she'd loved washing the dishes. Shinomiya knew that he'd been rash tonight. Really rash. But, the regret crumbled away just as quickly as it had formed, leaving Shinomiya with a clear conscience. He'd gotten all his dishes out on time, he'd gotten zero complaints as usual and most importantly, he'd managed to make his boeuf bourguignon dish even better. In terms of business, tonight had been a major success (even if he was two kitchen staff down).

"I'm going to assume you've calmed down now," Lucie said after a long silence. "Please don't fire me for saying this, but… that was pretty shitty of you."

"You're fired."

Lucie's head whipped around to face Shinomiya, who had a stoic expression on his face. When Shinomiya's lips didn't move to say anything else, she reached to turn the tap off before turning her attention back over to him, taking a few steps towards him.

"Seriously?"

"No, I'm kidding."

Shinomiya raised an eyebrow at her in wry amusement, a slight quirk appearing on his lips as he watched Lucie letting out a long exhalation of relief, hand on her chest as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Thank God," she exhaled, closing her eyes for a few seconds before opening them once again. "There's no way I could find another job that pays as much as this one does. Besides… I really respect you. I wouldn't be as enthusiastic working for any other chef, y'know. You hired me straight after I finished my stint at my cooking academy, so this kitchen's all I've ever known."

Shinomiya let out a hum in response.

"Seriously, though. You need to work on your sarcasm," she said, a teasing demeanour in her voice as she came to stand opposite him. "Your voice literally didn't change or anything."

Shinomiya let out a half-chuckle. "That's the point."

At that point, Gao re-entered the room and quickly advanced towards Lucie, the two of them entering into some sort of girl talk that Shinomiya wasn't privy to. Shinomiya decided to remove his hand from the counter, using it to wipe some forehead sweat off his face before turning towards the set of double doors. He'd been about to walk through, but upon realising that both Gao and Lucie had become silent, he turned back towards them.

"I'll take this chance to remind you two that you're here to cook, not to listen into my conversations."

With sheepish expressions on their faces, they let out an unenthusiastic "oui, Chef".

On that note, Shinomiya walked out of the kitchen and towards Table 2 where a clean-shaven man was waiting with a somewhat serious expression on his face. He was chewing with his eyes closed, though when Shinomiya pulled out a chair, Doujima's eyes opened to appraise him.

"This boeuf bourguignon," Doujima began. "It's… different. I can't quite place this taste."

"Kombu, honey, and a whole lot of love," Shinomiya replied, earning himself a chuckle from Doujima. He proceeded to slide into the seat opposite Doujima before sitting up straight and resting both palms on the table. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head down and delve into a world of dreams, but he was still in head chef mode. He couldn't relax, not until Doujima got up and left the restaurant.

"I was a little worried, considering I've been hearing some rumours about you going off the rails, but… it seems like I have nothing to worry about in regards to your cooking," Doujima said, letting out a contented sigh as he pushed the plate to the centre of the table. It had been completely cleared of its contents. "This dish was definitely that of a Totsuki graduate. Your use of kombu… it's hardly surprising. Kombu is more or less unheard of in France, yet, it's as if it belongs in your dish. My palate's more than satisfied."

Shinomiya smiled. "That means a lot. Really."

"Why? It's something that you should already know," Doujima said, his facial expression impassive as he continued to regard Shinomiya. "According to your peers, you've never been one for humility."

Somehow, Shinomiya knew that 'peers' was code for 'Hinako'.

"I've heard about the news. Joel Robuchon, huh?" Doujima let out a small chuckle. "That should be enough to give you some more purpose. Well, if Cooking Monthly calling you their 'Chef of the Year' wasn't enough."

"Really? I haven't been reading it," Shinomiya replied, letting out an appreciative hum. "That's pretty nice of them. Chef of the Year."

Doujima's facial expression soured. "You're telling me you didn't know? It was all over the media! You beat out all of the newer Totsuki nominees too! You even beat the person who was the favourite to win!"

"Well, that explains why SHINO's has been consistently booked out since the start of this year," Shinomiya said, thinking back to all the times he'd opened up reservations on the SHINO's website only for them to be snatched up within minutes. "I was wondering where all the traffic was coming from. Hmm… who was the favourite? One of the Nakiris?"

"Nope. The Nakiris were in the female category. Alice was the favourite to win, but Hisako won instead. That was a huge upset," Doujima replied. "You won the male category, obviously, but the favourite to win was Yukihira Souma, if I recall correctly. Yeah. It was Yukihira."

At the sound of that name, Shinomiya heard a collective "oof" from Gao and Lucie, who had decided to defy his strict orders and listen into his conversation from behind the set of double doors. In usual circumstances, Shinomiya would've turned and snapped at them to go home — after all, the restaurant was closed for business now — but all he could do was let an awkward expression settle onto his face as he mumbled an "oh, right" in response.

"According to the official judges behind Cooking Monthly, they'd originally agreed that Yukihira would be the likely winner. But then you came out with a stream of specialty dishes and stole the momentum, so when it came to judging… you more or less crushed the competition. The official comment was 'Chef Yukihira's new and exciting, but Chef Shinomiya's an evolving monster who's still hungry for more'. You're telling me you didn't hear about any of this?"

"Nope," Shinomiya replied. "I've been taking a social media detox and focusing on my restaurant, so I really couldn't tell you anything about what's been going on in the cooking world this year. If it didn't happen in my restaurant, I don't know about it."

"Hmm. Does that mean someone else is on the SHINO account?"

"Yeah. Lucie's in charge of that account."

"Wee-hee! Shoutout to me," Lucie quipped from behind the door. Shinomiya rolled his eyes, but didn't bother turning his head to tell her and Gao to stop listening into his conversation. Doujima let out a hearty chuckle at her enthusiasm before continuing to speak.

"Well, your detox seems to be working out. Your cooking's better than ever," Doujima said. "With that said, I think you'd benefit from a small break. Like you said, SHINO's has been fully booked since the beginning of the year. You changed your working hours so that you're open every day, including weekends. That leaves you with virtually no time to rest, right? It's only a matter of time before that begins to take its toll on you. I know we're chefs, but even chefs meet their limit sooner or later."

"Well, I can assure you of one thing: you don't need to worry about me. I'm doing fine," Shinomiya said, forcing a chuckle out. "You said it yourself. My cooking's better than ever. Why would I stop when I'm in the best years of my career?"

"Well… I'm saying this because I watched the exact same thing happen to Jouichirou. Yukihira's father," Doujima explained, a tone of regret leaking into his voice. "People kept piling expectations on top of him, and while he was still trying to have fun with his cooking… it eventually got to the point where he couldn't take it anymore, so he left Totsuki. Never graduated. He was easily the best chef of our generation, but… he couldn't take the pressure. And I blame myself for not realising sooner. So, I'm here to stop history from repeating itself. Take a break, Shinomiya. You need it, and I don't plan to give you a choice in the matter."

As if to emphasise his point, he rose to his feet before continuing to speak.

"Remember my little intervention four years ago when you lost your purpose to cook? Call this something similar," Doujima proposed, tucking his chair underneath his table. "Though, let's hope you're not driven to call me 'nothing more than a hired Totsuki chef' this time around."

Shinomiya cringed, his eyes reluctantly raising to meet Doujima's. "Ugh. Do you plan to keep bringing that up?"

"Well, maybe I'll let it go if you come with me willingly," Doujima replied, holding up a crisp-looking plane ticket.

"Damn, I wish he'd whisk me away too," Gao lamented in the background, though her face disappeared behind the double doors when Shinomiya shot a dark glare in her direction. He could still hear the ladies gossiping about how attractive Doujima was from beyond the door, causing him to let out a sigh of exasperation. Doujima, on the other hand, didn't seem to be too bothered by that particular discussion. His usually stoic lips had quirked up ever-so-slightly, though he still had a serious expression on his face.

"The plane leaves tomorrow evening, six o'clock," Doujima continued, eyes darting over to the nearby wall clock. "I've got a trusted Totsuki chef who's going to watch over SHINO's during your absence. Free of charge. Consider it a good deed from me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Shinomiya said, holding up his hands in an attempt to get Doujima to slow down. "I get what you're saying about Jouichirou-san, but… I'm not stressed out. I'm in complete control of my kitchen—"

"In this shift alone, I saw two of your employees walking towards the exit with teary eyes and balled-up fists," Doujima interjected, his gaze falling upon Shinomiya's once more. "I found it peculiar, so I called one of them over. Jacques. Turns out, you've been off your game for quite a while."

"That's not—"

"I'm not done speaking."

Shinomiya sat there with his jaw clenched, wondering whether he could try and get in a few words or not. But, he eventually gave up and nodded his head, allowing Doujima to continue speaking.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to run your kitchen. But, I'd say that it's a prerequisite that you should know whether you're serving smoked salmon or grilled salmon to your customers. It's also a prerequisite that you should take responsibility for your own messes rather than pretending they didn't happen. To be frank, I don't understand how you can call that control," Doujima said, eyes steely. "That's not control. That's unprofessionalism."

Shinomiya's jaw was clenched so tight that it was starting to feel uncomfortable. It didn't help that he could hear Lucie and Gao "ooo"-ing in the background. He didn't interrupt though — he sat there and let Doujima finish speaking.

"Be honest. Do you think the way you acted tonight was fair to your staff?"

Shinomiya didn't respond. Not because he was at a loss for words, but because he couldn't bear to admit that he'd been in the wrong. It was easy enough for him to agonise about these things on the inside, but verbalising his wrongs? That was a whole other battlefield that Shinomiya was reluctant to set foot in. While he could technically justify his actions by saying they'd defied his authority as head chef… it wasn't the truth. Was it?

"I did what needed to be done," Shinomiya said after a long pause.

"Even at the cost of a healthy kitchen atmosphere?"

Shinomiya found himself thinking back to how his kitchen had once been. A warm, happy environment where they'd all taken turns cooking lunch for one another, clinking wine glasses and smiling. The kitchen shifts had still been tough, but Shinomiya had always been able to look forward to closing hour where things would slow down, the last customer would leave and then they'd bring out the wine.

Now, it was all strictly work. Nothing less, nothing more.

"You're right," Shinomiya said after a long pause. A relieved expression appeared on Doujima's face, though it quickly turned to exasperation when Shinomiya spoke the second part of his sentence. "You shouldn't be telling me how to run my kitchen."

"Somehow, you've become even more stubborn over the years," Doujima remarked, letting out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Would I be able to change your mind if I told you that Hinako's on the brink of closing her restaurant down?"

Shinomiya's mind went blank. "Huh?"

A twinkle appeared in Doujima's eyes, almost as if he were a bird which had sensed its prey.

"There was a reunion last month for the Elite Ten members, past and present. Hinako announced that she'd be shutting her restaurant at the end of this year and leaving the profession," Doujima explained, causing Shinomiya's jaw to drop. "She didn't say why, but from what I can understand… she's been under a lot of stress."

"She… she never said anything about this to me," Shinomiya said after a pause, jaw hanging open as realisation seeped further and further into his brain. Hinako hadn't been asking him to come down to Japan just to 'hang out' like he'd originally believed. It had been a cry for help, and Shinomiya had ignored her.

"It's a shame, really," Doujima said, leaning a hand against the table as he maintained eye contact with Shinomiya. "It would've been nice if you could've gone to help her out, but hey. Your kitchen comes first, right? Too bad you don't need a break…"

An unimpressed expression appeared on Shinomiya's face.

"You don't need to do the 'reverse psychology' thing, Doujima-san. I'll go."

An amused smile tugged at Doujima's lips. "Hmm? That so?"

"Don't look so smug about it. I'm going to help Hinako. That's all," Shinomiya said. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if Hinako would even be willing to let him come anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of her restaurant. Probably not.

"Great. I'll tell her you'll be coming to help her for the weekend," he said. "After—"

"Wait," Shinomiya said, raising a hand to grab his attention. "Don't tell her it's me."

Doujima raised an eyebrow. "Why not? I'm sure she wouldn't have any objections."

Shinomiya held his gaze, though he didn't elaborate upon his statement.

"Okay. I'll tell her that a guest is coming to help out for the weekend. Happy?"

Shinomiya nodded.

"Great," Doujima said. "After the weekend, I'd like if you came down to Totsuki for the day. There's some high-scale Shokugeki that need judges. Then, after that… it's up to you what you choose to do. You could help out at her restaurant for a bit. You could go around Totsuki, oversee a few classes if you want to feel more like a celebrity for a bit. You can even fly back if you want."

The look on Doujima's face was saying "but I know you won't". It kind of pissed Shinomiya off, mainly because it was true. It was easy enough to ignore his own deterioration, but he'd be damned if he stood back and allowed Hinako to crash and burn. He was going to get on that flight and he was going to return to Japan. Not because he needed a break — he was still adamant that he could cope without a break — but because he wanted to help Hinako get back on track.

"Tell me more about this chef who's going to be taking over in my absence," Shinomiya said.

"Sure. The chef who I've enlisted to act as head chef in your absence is a man who trained directly under a number of top French chefs before going on to open his own restaurant — 'La Mente' — which has consistently been in the worldwide top 50 restaurants list despite not being open all year around. That's a feat that not even SHINO's has achieved yet," Doujima pointed out with yet another twinkle in his eye. "This chef has been in the game for decades, and he's even competed in the Ballon d'Or. So, trust me. He'll be able to run your kitchen just fine while you're gone."

Shinomiya sat there and thought to himself for some moments, balancing the pros and cons. He didn't doubt Doujima's chef-picking ability. His kitchen would be safe in his absence. He could reach out to Marienne and Jacques at some point and sort things out. And, most importantly, it would give him a chance to begin making up for the way he'd been treating Hinako these past few months. That alone trumped every other pro he could think of.

"Is he hot?" Lucie called out.

"Yeah, tell us," Gao quipped. "Luce, that could be your next man."

Shinomiya's head whipped around to face Lucie and Gao, his facial expression souring as he uttered two words, each and every syllable laced with pure, nuclear irritation.

"Go home."

The two ladies exchanged glances before nodding simultaneously and disappearing behind the double doors yet again, this time for good. He could hear some shuffling about, but it wasn't long before he heard the sound of the back door clicking shut. With a heavy sigh, Shinomiya turned to face Doujima, who was still chuckling at the ladies' antics.

"You don't need to convince me anymore. I'll go," Shinomiya concluded.

With a nod of the head, Doujima placed the plane ticket down on the table and began to walk towards the door. He pulled the handle open and walked out through the doorway, though he turned around to issue one final message to Shinomiya:

"I'll see you at the airport tomorrow evening. Six o'clock."