Love's Not a Competition (But I'm Winning)

15:35 - Rebun Island, Japan - Before the Regiment de Cuisine

She finds him in one of the test kitchens, hunched over boxes of ingredients from the finest seafoods to the greenest and crispest of produce. Chef Doujima had been kind enough (and thankfully still wielded enough power within Tootsuki) to secure the rebel team several fully-equipped kitchens for the month.

Throughout the course of the past weeks, the rebel team had bled, cried, argued, and battled in these very kitchens, each pushing back in whatever way they could, straining against the bars and chains of the Azami administration. And while their hopes were placed on the shoulders of the eight who were to do battle in Rebun, she knew they each had their own personal battles to fight.

She'd be lying if she said she were one hundred percent over her most recent loss. At least I'm not alone.

Alice and Kurokiba wear themselves thin one cooking battle at a time, each time getting just that one step closer to perfecting the recipes that had failed them before. Ikumi spends her days inspecting carcasses specially-delivered from her family's farm, sparing no expense in keeping her friends in ample supply of high-quality meat. Most days, she butchers them herself. The younger Aldini fusses over the elder. Yuki drags Marui out hunting in the nearby woods at each stop. Ibusaki and Sakaki argue over smoked tofu, the scent of almond and sesame and wood chips thick in the air.

When they aren't busy trying to figure out what the hell went wrong with their recipes, the rebels help The Eight. One culinary punching bag is better than none, and twelve are infinitely better than either.

She's still exhausted from spending the morning walking through basic Chinese roots – both for flavour and for health – with Tadokoro and Aldini the Elder. Which leads to her current state of surprise.

Shouldn't he be exhausted?

"Oh, Arato." Hayama addresses her without even glancing up. "Can you help me pack these up?"

She glances down as he hands her a ripped-out notebook page, the lazy, messy scrawl denoting ingredients for several traditional Chinese dishes – Cantonese and Hainanese and Fujianese. "Kuga-san's expanding his territory, huh. And how did you even know it was me?"

Hayama barely smiles. "Agarwood. You have a pretty distinct scent, Arato."

"It wards against flus and colds." She flips her hair – it looks so much better when Erina does it. Still, she can't help but to feel pleased when Hayama turns her way, his sharp green eyes narrowing, and then warming a touch as he holds her gaze. "How're you still standing, anyway? Didn't Yukihira beat you up earlier?"

He scoffs, but she can sense the underlying layer of tension, bubbling just beneath the surface. Those of the 92nd generation really hate to lose. "I went easy on him."

"Sure you did. The same way you went easy on me yesterday, right?" She grins at him, nudging his elbow with her own before striding towards the pantry. The memory of their match the day before warms her down to the very core. Revenge had come in the form of a second burger battle. She'd turned the tables on him with a fennel-filled lamb patty with all the necessary trimmings, which had led to a unanimous 3-0 from their elders, Professor Shiomi included. "Admit it, Hayama. I'm good."

"You're better."

"I'll take that." She runs the ingredients through in her head. Dried lotus flowers. Goji berries. Ginseng. Angelica root. Dried mushrooms and red dates. She closes her fingers around a bag of unshelled gingko nuts, then straightens, grunting in her attempt to balance the boxes, bags, and bundles. "Then again, I guess we can only get better from here on. They're going to be far beyond our league by the time Saiba-sama and Doujima-sama are done with them."

Hayama crosses his arms. His unamused expression makes her laugh. "I guess you'll be able to realise your life-long dream of being number two, then. With ease."

"Mmhmm. But that's okay." She shrugs a shoulder as she fills a box with Kuga-san's requested ingredients. The task comes easily enough – she's good at packing, and she enjoys it. Packing tetris. "You'll be right there with me, right? Third place?"

"Ha!" Hayama turns his head, and his laugh is genuine – hearty. He sounds like himself again - more like the Hayama from before, the Hayama who'd trash talk his opponents before an important competition, and who'd sigh, and yet resign himself to the antics of his self-proclaimed and newly-reclaimed friends. "You wish. Once this is over and done with, you and I are going to go again.

"Sure." She shoves the one remaining bag of dong quai into her box. "We'll destroy Central. Have a good meal. Sleep for a whole week - maybe a month. And then we'll go again."

Hayama picks up the largest of the boxes, sparing her a quick wink. "It's a date, then."

"Hey." She grabs his arm just as he's turning to leave. He arches a brow, the question prominent in the slight furrow in his forehead. She shakes her head. "Push me, alright? And I'll push you."

He smirks – cool as always – but when he dips his head at last to nod his assent, she notes the depth of his eyes. Honest. Open.

Determination burns within.

"Try and keep up, Arato."