Standard Disclaimer: All Final Fantasy Seven characters appearing - against their will - in the following fic are the property of Square. I have no idea who owns the rights to Iron Chef - possibly Fuji TV or the Food Network - but I'm sure it's someone. 'Kaga' and Hideaki, however, are mine - or so they assure me - but can you really trust a Turk?
Not-so-standard Disclaimer: I have had the flu all week, and I am horribly sleep-deprived. This, surprisingly enough, is not the product of NyQuil. Further details at eleven - or the end of the fic, whichever comes first.
"If memory serves, there have always been four Turks. From the day that Shin-Ra funds were first funneled to Kaga with instructions on building an elite investigation team until this very day, they have numbered four. There were always one or two in training. When one passed, the next in line would step up to take his place. But there have always been four."
Rufus Shin-Ra leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling beneath his chin as he pursed his lips. Things were not going well in the world of the Turks. A trainee had botched an apprenticeship mission horribly three weeks before, causing several thousand dollars worth of damage to a building in uptown Midgar and requiring a hasty coverup - of both the incident and the termination of the young man's training (and, of course, the young man himself). Now, with dissent breaking out in every Sector and rumours flying in from abroad, the loss of a long-standing member such as Hideaki Kinmoto would have been a disaster.
Unfortunately, that was precisely what had happened at 7:02 P.M. that evening. A riot had broken out in Sector Three in response to the announcement of a rate hike, and the Turks had, as always, been called in for crowd control. One of the instigators of the incident had apparently been so high on whatever drug was currently making the rounds in the slums that he wouldn't have noticed if the world had come to an end around him; much like he hadn't noticed the first few bullets pumped into his chest. No pain, no gain, they always say - and he certainly hadn't gained anything for his self-administered anesthesia other than a gut full of lead and a one-way ticket to the morgue. It had taken longer to put him there than it might have a more "common" street thug, however, and he'd been able to get off a few lucky shots before he went down. No one had escaped without some sort of bruises and scrapes; Rude was sporting a brand-new bandage on his bullet-grazed shoulder; and Hideaki...
Hideaki was dead. Leaving a gap in the middle of the Turks right where they couldn't afford to have a gap. Reno would move up a notch in rank, to full status, and his position as the most junior member would be filled by whatever lucky sod was closest to completing his training. Grimacing, Rufus picked up the file that had landed on his desk a few moments earlier when his father had shouted at him from across the room to take care of the problem. Mako-blue eyes scanned the words on the cover sheet, blinked, and scanned them again just in case they might have changed while he wasn't the looking. The he dropped the file again and groaned.
The next trainee in line to be tested for junior Turk status was...
* * *
"Yea!" Elena threw her fist into the air as she came to the end of the long-winded letter that had arrived in her mailbox that morning. What it all boiled down to, after the flowery paragraphs commending her efforts in training and requesting her presence at the testing facility in Shin-Ra Towers promptly at Nine A.M. on Monday morning, was that she was going to be a Turk at last!
She felt sorry for the man who'd died, of course. He'd seemed nice enough, the few times they'd met. She knew he had an ex-wife and a couple of kids he didn't see much, and she felt sorry for them, too. But, darnit! Elena was going to be a Turk!
She caught sight of herself in the large mirror over the bathroom sink and blushed, not having realized that she'd danced all the way down the hall waving the letter about. The envelope had been lost somewhere on the kitchen floor with her toast after she'd opened it. Well, at least the cat was probably enjoying it. The toast, that was; not the envelope.
It was the last line that puzzled her the most, though. Sure, she didn't expect the Turks' training coordinator, that pretty boy Tseng, to hand out information before the test. But what in the world...
...could he possibly want her to bring an apron for?
* * *
"If memory serves, Elena was chosen as a candidate for the Turks not because of her physical capabilities, but her mental ones..."
Monday morning dawned bright and early. Way too early. The alarm had been going off for ten minutes when Elena finally rolled over to swat it off, yawning.
Oh, no! She was going to be late at this rate! Well, she'd just have to make her shower as quick as possible and skip breakfast today. Hopefully, her stomach wouldn't start growling in the middle of the test. How unprofessional. How...un-Turk-like.
Thank the Planet she'd thought to lay her clothes out the night before: a dark jacket and white shirt, as close as she could approximate to the Turks' uniform without having stolen one, black jeans...and the apron. It belonged to her mother, and had a pink ruffle around the hem and a kitten on the chest. ...she really hoped Tseng wouldn't laugh at her.
* * *
"...her skills with computer technology are unsurpassed by anyone outside of Shin-Ra, Incorporated itself. She graduated first in her class at Midgar Technical Institute with a perfect score on her final exam, and would have been the valedictorian at the graduation ceremony had it not been for an unfortunate incident earlier in the semester that caused school officials to think that it might be best if she remained in the backdrop.
...oh, boy. That sounds promising."
Rufus slicked his hair back with one hand and rose from the chair he'd been sprawled in for the past half-hour. The female trainee should be arriving any minute now.
"...and when it came time for a new Turk to ascend, it could be determined in only one way..."
* * *
Elena blinked as she walked into the testing facility. People were lounging around the lobby like it was a hotel; leaning against the walls and passing coffee back and forth across the small tables in the center of the floor. The scent of the drink wafted into her nostrils, and she sighed, really beginning to wish that she'd had time for breakfast. Even a cup of Mako Crunch (the marshmallows turned milk blue!) would have been nice.
But why were there so many people there? She was under the impression that testing for Turk status was a very private affair, to prevent information from being leaked to unwanted channels. This -
This looked like the green room for a game show her mother had been on once! She'd won two hundred dollars and a trip to Costa del Sol, and Elena had gotten cookies from the nice lady that had sat in the green room with the other contestants to keep an eye on her.
"Ah, Miss Dalpalagio." The voice came from behind her, stumbling over the unfamiliar ethnicity of her last name. She guessed he'd never paid a visit to the Pasta Corner of Sector Four. He certainly didn't look like someone who would have, once she turned; being a rather nondescript little man in a too-expensive suit. "This way, please. Oh, and do put your apron on before we arrive. It's very undignified to enter the stadium looking like..." His nose wrinkled. "...that."
What's wrong with what I'm wearing? she thought indignantly. And what's this "stadium" we're going to? And where's Tseng?! "Yes - yes, Sir!" she responded verbally, falling into place at his heels as he spun around and headed off through a small, rather dimly-lit hall.
Man, something smells good. Darnit, now I really am starving. Ugh. I hope Reno has some more of those pretzels he took from the bar last week.
The light grew brighter toward the end of the hall, and she could hear the mulled chattering of another sizable-sounding group of people in the distance. Suddenly, a new, equally-unfamiliar voice rose above the others; the buzz of a microphone's amplifier audible beneath it.
"Now entering the Kitchen Stadium...Turk Trainee Elena Dalpalagio!"
...what the heck?
* * *
There was nothing more she could do than blink again as her escort led her past the torches at either side of the door and into the large, appliance-filled room. In a velvet-draped balcony jutting out from one wall, fifty pairs of strange eyes turned toward her. And in front of the podium near the back of the lavish kitchen set itself, a man in a flowing white coat stood waiting. From descriptions she'd heard of President Shin-Ra's son, she could only assume this was him. But...why..?
Her escort stepped aside to make way for the black-gloved hand that was extended to her, accompanied by a bow from the young redhead. With no idea of how to react, she clasped the hand firmly and leant into a bow of her own; only narrowly missing headbutting the man by mistake.
"Now, Elena," he remarked once the roar of the audience died down, "you know that a Turk must be ready to act in all situations, no matter what the circumstances..."
"Yes, Sir!" she chirped.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Then..." He turned to the eleborately-decorated arches on the far wall, one hand sweeping outward. "I summon the Iron Turks - Yomigaeru!" *
The stage lights dimmed, leaving the wall illuminated only by the large torches that had been placed there as well - much too near the drapery, if you asked Elena. Not that anyone had. Slowly, three silhouettes rose into view.
When the house lights came back up, all Elena could do was facepalm. She knew someone was going to die for this. She just hoped it wouldn't be her.
In the background, she could hear, faintly, the narrator's voiceover. "On the left, we have Iron Turk Costa del Sol, Rude DiMarco! In the middle, head of the Turks himself and Iron Turk Wutai, Tseng Ujimori! And on the right, Iron Turk - Reno, what the hell are you doing?"
Reno glanced up from the sandwich in his hand; his ridiculously-floppy hat flopping over one eye.
"Sorry," he mumbled through a mouthful of ham.
Rufus shifted to face Elena again.
"In order to move up to Turk status, you must defeat one of the Iron Turks in kitchen combat! Who will it be?"
This - this is crazy! she thought to herself. They can't really want me to out-cook my way into the Turks! ...can they?
From the air of anticipation - and a good deal of impatience - palpable in the room, it seemed that was exactly what they wanted her to do.
Oh - Oh - I don't know who to pick! Rude's always so quiet, it creeps me out! And I don't want to fight Tseng! That leaves...
Well, maybe he'd trip over something, faceplant into the cooking sherry, and she'd win by default.
She took a breath and called out as loudly as she could (which was pretty loudly, really), "I'll take Tseng!"
It took her a minute to realize what she'd said, and when she did, she groaned inwardly. She knew she had to be blushing furiously. She'd take Tseng, alright - but she hadn't meant in a cook-off!
Tseng just grinned knowingly, and began to make his way down the steps. Reno shrugged, and returned to munching on his sandwich.
* * *
Elena tried not to fidget, but standing beside Tseng and in front of Rufus and the once-more silent crowd, it was hard. She wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Or that that big lizard from the movies last week would decide to on a rampage through the studio. Anything to keep her from having to endure this any longer than she already had.
"I have found," Rufus said, both hands resting on the linen draped over the podium, "that chocobo raised in Mideel have a sweet taste to their meat, because of the pineapples on which they are fed. I thought it an appropriate choice for today's battle." He stepped back, yanking the cloth from the dais as he went. "Today's theme is..."
Elena thought she was going to be sick as the overized chunks of raw, pinkish chocobo steak ascended amidst a puff of dry ice.
"Chocobo!"
* * *
An hour. An hour to turn a glistening, jiggly piece of dead bird into a feast. Well, so much for being a Turk. But it hadn't said anywhere in the manual that she needed to be a cook, too! Elena tried not to look at the slabs of meat on her tray as she rushed down to her side of the kitchen. Tseng hadn't had any trouble whatsoever picking up the thick slices and hurrying away with them, and was already filleting one of the larger pieces for use in Planet-knew-what. But then, he'd probably had lots of experience with dead meat. Dead people meat. Man, why didn't they just use...eww...what if this isn't really chocobo meat?!
To heck with not looking. Now she was just trying not to gag.
The blonde girl plunked her tray down on the counter and started seaching frantically for a knife.
* * *
"Fukui-san?"
"Yes, Ota! Ota Shinichiro, our kitchen reporter, everyone!"
"I asked the Iron Turk what he thought about the challenger's apparent discomfort with the chocobo, and he said that if she couldn't even handle a little steak, she'd never make it out on the streets! He's confident that this battle will be over quickly and we'll be on to the next applicant for junior Turk status!"
* * *
"Fifteen minutes have elapsed!"
* * *
Elena looked with dismay at the tiny pile of chopped-up chocobo on the board in front of her. She hadn't even decided what to make for her first dish yet, and Tseng was already throwing things into pots left and right! This was hopeless. She might as well resign from the training program now and -
"Elena! Elena!"
She glanced up to see Reno waving at her from the sidelines.
"Yea?"
"Throw me a beer!" He grinned cheerily, and shoved the crusts of his sandwich into his mouth.
That - that does it! She scowled, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. I will be damned if I'll let that red-headed lush break my concentration just because he thinks I'll lose anyway! I'll show him!
Savagely, she grabbed another slice of chocobo and began stabbing it with the point of the knife.
* * *
"Fukui-san!"
"Go ahead, Ota!"
"I just talked with the challenger about her unusal techinique for tenderizing the meat, and she said it's the only way it'll ever get any sense pounded into it!" The reporter paused. "I have no idea what that means, but I'm sure she knows what she's doing!"
"Gyaa, ha, ha! I hope she makes enough for everyone!"
"...some days, I really hate this job."
* * *
Elena panted as she dumped a sack of rice into the boiler. She'd been running back and forth across the kitchen for the past twenty minutes, and Tseng was still ahead of her by two dishes. And... She blinked suddenly, sniffing the air. Oh, no! Tears of dismay welled up in the corners of her eyes. The chocobo roast is burning!
She snatched a towel from the counter and wrapped it around her hand before yanking open the oven door to rescue the blackening hunk of meat.
Hey...once you take it out, it actually doesn't look that bad...must be all the spices I slathered on it before I put it in. I hope that's what they were, anyway.
The pan clattered as she dropped it onto the counter to cool. As she turned to stir the rice, she happened to catch a glimpse of Tseng leaning over a set of crystalline sorbet goblets from the corner of her eye.
No! He's making dessert, too? Aaaagggh!
* * *
"Fukui-san!"
"Yes, Ota! go ahead!"
"I told the Iron Turk that the challenger seemed to picking up the pace, to which he responded, 'Picking up the pace? She's running around like a chocobo with its head cut off! And from the looks of it, that's about what she'll serve, too!'"
"Well, she's certainly doing some...different...things with it, there. Scarlet, you were looking at the chocobo noodle soup, weren't you? You find that interesting?"
"I am not interested. I am trying to keep Heidigger from drooling on me."
"...I wonder if I could get a transfer."
* * *
"Thirty minues have elapsed!"
* * *
Elena leaned back on the sink, trying to catch her breath now that she had three different pots boiling at once. Who'd have thought becoming a Turk was so - so...poultry-filled?!
* * *
"Fukui-san!"
"Yes, Ota!"
"I asked the challenger if she really thought she had time to spare resting, and she said, 'I just want to get those over with and get to the tasting! I'm hungry!'"
"Gyaa, ha, ha! I know how she feels!"
"...will someone please pull Heidigger back before he falls over the railing and crushes the gelatin?"
"Are you sure you didn't mean 'push'? I'm not touching him unless it was 'push'."
"...maybe early retirement."
* * *
"Forty-five minutes have elapsed!"
* * *
Elena swiped the back of a hand across her face. Only fifteen more minutes? But - but - her rice wasn't even completely softened, yet! And if she started scooping the suspiciously-yellow ice cream out now, it would melt before anyone got a chance to taste it!
"Elena! Elena!"
She slammed both fists down on the counter, brown eyes blazing as she snapped her gaze toward the crumb-covered man in the arch. Reno didn't say anything else, just lifted his own hands; both thumbs pointing into the air.
The blonde girl blinked back the tears that had been stinging in her eyes ever since she'd cut up those onions, and grinned a little before returning a thumbs-up of her own. Yea! I can do this! Even Reno thinks I can do this!
Tearing her attention away from the sidelines, she turned back to the bowls and plates strewn across the counter in front of her. On the other side of the room, Tseng was carefully arranging pineapple rings into dripping feathers on a chocobo re-created from a roast, some artfully-folded napkins, and a few toothpicks. Well, we'll just see about that! Sniffing disdainfully, she picked up the genuine feathers she'd found on the floor under the theme dais (Geez, what'd they do, kill the poor chocobos in this very room?) and reached for the ice cream scoop.
Never underestimate a woman with an extended family full of kids! Ehehe!
* * *
"One minute to go!"
* * *
Frantically, Elena applied the last of the garnishes to her chocobowls: two criss-crossed feathers and a spring of parsely. Maybe it was a weird combination - ice cream made of ground-up feathers and saffron, whole feathers, rabbit food, and a cracker for a beak, but it looked good! And there were points for display! ...right?
"Forty-five seconds to go!"
Crystal clashed and rang as she shuffled the bowls around on their silver platter.
"Thirty seconds to go!"
She spilled wine onto the counter as she splashed it into a glass, and decided not to wipe it up just then.
"Fifteen seconds!"
She wiped her brow instead.
"Ten seconds! Nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three...two...one! The chocobo battle is over!"
* * *
She stood nervously beside the long table as Rufus seated himself at the head. The narrator's voice picked up again; echoing hollowly in the overembellished room.
"Today's judges are: Dietrich Heidigger, SOLDIER co-ordinator and overseer of Iron Turks!"
"Gyaa, ha, ha! Finally!"
Well, at least someone is sure to like my cooking, Elena thought as the fat man seated himself; only to cringe as his laughter grated on her eardrums.
"Head of Shin-Ra Weapons Department, Scarlet Kirana!"
"If I don't get my gun back soon, there's going to be hell to pay!" the woman in the red dress snapped, scowling at everyone and no one in particular.
"Doctor Hojo, hea...actually, that pretty much says it all, right there!"
"Is this going to take much longer? I left a very important specimen on the table to come down here!"
Damn, I wish I'd had some of that grease in his hair when I was frying the wings!
"And fortune teller Cait Sith!"
"...I'm Reeve, you moron."
"The challenger opens with a more traditional dish, chocobo noodle soup! Chocobo broth and diced breast meat are combined with semolina noodles and slow-cooked to form this taste of home!"
Rufus picked up his spoon and gave the soup a swirl; only to frown as he brought the utensil to his mouth.
"Chocobo alphabet soup, more like it."
"I - I thought you might enjoy the difference in the noodles!" Elena stammered. They'd been the first box she was able to grab, but no one else needed to know that.
"It's...different, alright." Rufus was beginning to wonder if they were hiring a new Turk, or a childcare worker.
"I don't know," Scarlet chipped in. "I kind of like it. Look, here's an H, and an E, and an L, and a P..."
"Are you going to finish that?" Heidigger asked, pointing at Rufus' soup with the end of his spoon.
"...moving on! The challenger's second dish is a pleasant mix of rice, shredded chocobo, and lemon juice rolled together and wrapped in steamed seaweed. Thinly-minced chocobo replaces the fish, and the undercooked rice holds the ingredients together in this very original interpretation of sushi!"
"I never did like sushi," Rufus remarked after he bit into one of the rolls. "Too fishy."
"Something around here is fishy, alright." Scarlet sniffed delicately.
"We really were expecting Cait Sith. Are you sure - "
Reeve shot the announcer a death glare.
Hojo gave the rice mixture a prod with his fork, looking disappointed when it didn't react. At least, that's the only explanation Elena could come up with for his expression, unless he just didn't like rice.
"It needs Mako."
Yes, that's certainly something found in every household kitchen! Elena restrained herself from snorting. Barely. At least you get food! Well...what Heidigger isn't stuffing into his pockets. Please tell me we don't really have to answer to this guy.
"For her main course, the challenger presents us with blackened chocobo, smothered in peppercorns and salt to seal in the flavour!"
She could get to like having someone around to lie and cover up her mistakes for her. The plates were set down, and the five picked up their knives - except for Hojo, who pulled a scalpel out of the pocket of his labcoat.
"Er..." Rufus lofted a brow, looking down the table. "Didn't we agree we weren't going to let Scarlet have anything she could kill people with during this?"
"Gyaa, ha!" Heidigger leaned over toward Scarlet, leering. Whether at her breasts or her meal, Elena couldn't tell. "Should I take it away and cut it up for her, Sir?"
"Not unless you want emergency liposuction, fat boy," Scarlet snapped, brandishing the table knife like a mugger in the slums.
Hojo, meanwhile, had cut a slice from the slab in front of him and was chewing it thoughtfully.
"Mm. Tastes like Mako."
Scarlet and Rufus pushed their plates away.
Oh, by the Planet! I'm going to lose because the heads of Shin-Ra, Incorporated can't sit down for a meal together! Elena whimpered helplessly, hoping no one would notice. This is starting to remind me of last Thanksgiving at my dad's place...
"And to complete her dishes, the challenger gives us a strikingly-coloured dairy treat topped by complimenting garnishes in yellow and green! This delightfully summery offering is made from - " The man's voice cut off, and he blinked at the paper in his hand before turning to whisper to someone in the shadows, "Is that edible?"
Four glass bowls scraped across the table as their owners attempted to distance themselves from the ice cream.
Elena sighed as she made her way to a chair in the sidelines to wait for Tseng's dishes to be tasted. Well, so much for that, Elena. You gave it your best, and your best just wasn't good enough. Not in the kitchen. The only person at that table who's going to give you a decent score is too busy stuffing chocobo feathers down his throat to bother marking on it. She dropped heavily into the chair and propped her chin in her hands.
"The Iron Turk presents us with five dishes, starting with a light chocobo liver paté on wheat crackers..."
...paté. Paté, for Planet's sake! Who in the world would have thought to make paté?
Tseng, that's who. Look at him standing there, with that smug little smirk on his face! ...darn, he looks good. Maybe after I fail, he'll take me out for his victory dinner. As long as there's food that doesn't have chocobo in it!
"You know, I had a specimen in the lab the other day that coughed up something that looked almost exactly like this. We think it might have been a negative reaction to an infusion of..."
The legs of Scarlet's chair screeched on the tiles as it was pushed back, and the weapons developer leapt to her feet with a hand over her mouth.
The table was quiet for a few lengthy moments after she ran from the room. Finally, Rufus sighed and shoved a third plate away. "I think we're ready to announce the winner."
"I'm pretty sure I can predict the outcome of this atrocity," Reeve muttered.
"On the event card, it said that we would be having a Mr Cait Sith - "
* * *
Elena's hands twisted nervously behind her back as she rejoined Tseng and Rufus in front of the dais that had held the ill-fated chocobo. Why are they insisting on making such a big scene of this? We already know I'm not cut out to be a Turk if this is what being a Turk takes, so why don't they just let me go home?
"Chairman Shin-Ra is about to announce the results of the tasting! And after this, I will be taking a medical leave of absence due to a stress-related illness..."
"Today," Rufus spat, eyeing the audience with distaste, "has been without a doubt one of the most miserable afternoons I've spent in months. The stadium is filthy, the head of the Weapons Department has food poisoning a day before our new prototypical Mako Cannon is due to go online for testing, I don't ever want to see another chocobo fillet as long as I live, and we have to be out of here in fifteen minutes to let the SOLDIER enlistment team evaluate the new recruits. In the interest of getting this the hell over with, I am pleased to say that the victory in the chocobo battle goes to..." He scowled, cursing to himself as he unfolded the paper that held the final score. "Elena Dalpalagio! Congratulations, Turk. Now get out of my way." He snarled and strode past her.
Elena blinked, not even registering the man's rudeness as he headed for the door in her shock. She...won? How...?
"Heidigger gives everyone a high score if he doesn't choke." Reno smirked, settling onto the end of the dais. "How do you think I got in?"
"I'm so happy! I can't tell you how much of an honour this is..."
* * *
"I can't tell you what an honour this is."
Elena sputtered as she yanked her head out of her cereal bowl. Great. She must have fallen asleep on the table again. Now she was going to be late for training and have blue milk on her face. What a way to start the day.
Groaning, she pushed her chair back and reached for a paper towel.
"Man, what is this crap?" she asked herself; peering at the TV. "What kind of nut wants to watch a cooking competition?" Shaking her head, she tossed the napkin into the wastebin and headed for the bathroom.
On her way out of the kitchen, she paused by the small shelf that held her mail. She still had a few things she'd been too tired to read the previous day; one of which bore the return address of Turk Headquarters. Might as well take care of it now, just in case she was going to be questioned about it when she got to HQ.
Dear Miss Dalpalagio:
It is with a heavy heart that we inform you of the death of one of our colleagues. Hideaki Kinmoto was killed on Tuesday evening during a routine crowd control exercise by a rioter who had imbibed more than three ounces of ecstatica, a euphoria-inducing, pain-reducing stimulant. As you are the nearest of our current recruits to the end of training, your presence is requested at the Shin-Ra Towers testing facility at nine A.M. this coming Monday. Please bring your training manual and a appppprdddppppxktczzz
A printing error had left over half the page blank and blotched, and she scowled. As much gil as Shin-Ra, Inc. pulled in on a monthly basis, you'd think that there'd be some petty cash in the budget for things like equipment upgrades.
light snack, as there is no food on the premises.
Looking forward to working with you,
Tseng Ujimori.
"Yea!" Elena threw her fist into the air. "I'm gonna be -
"A Turk!"
Author's Notes: This is not my fault, and you can blame the person who NPC'd Tseng dressed as an Iron Chef during a role-play session. (Shin-Ra Company Costume Ball at the beginning of the fiscal year to amuse the investors. Isn't that a horrible thought?) It was originally slated to be an AU fic - I couldn't find any way to justify it otherwise - until I realized that dream sequencing it was going to be the only way I could bring myself to write it and get the bloody thing out of my head period. No, it's not my best work - thought it really doesn't fall apart until the tasting gets started - and I wasn't going to publish it at first; but my beta reader assured me that it wasn't that bad (and what's the point of writing if you can't inflict it on others, anyway?).
* 'Yomigaeru' - To be resurrected or reborn. At the beginning of Iron Chef, Chairman Kaga uses, "Yomigaeru, Aiyan Sheffu!" ("Be reborn, Iron Chefs!" From the Iron Chef Compendium, "Come to life, Iron Chefs!") 'Yomigaere! Mukyuu no Rekishi 'Chuusei' yo' (Revive! Infinite History of the Middle Ages) is also one of my favourite Utena songs, so I couldn't leave that particular phrase out.
Yes, my Kaga (from "The Scarlet Scar") is named after Takeshi Kaga/Chairman Kaga of Iron Chef fame. Kaga-san rox my non-existant socks.
...and there I go with the socks again. Where the heck did I pick that phrase up from, anyway?
~Scarle