...guys. This hasn't even been uploaded for a a little more than two weeks, and already more than 40 favorites and 70 follows? You're just encouraging me to ignore my other stories and write this one, aren't you? :P Well, good job, because I'm more obsessed with the idea of anime fics now more than ever.
I've also been bouncing around the idea to write a prequel to this. I plan to write a bit more past the training camp, but would you want to see what my interpretation of the 92nd Generation's third year went? Especially since I highly doubt that the year started with only nine people :3c
REPLIES:
lindsjune: I actually think I messed up that math on counting and stuff, but I'm not going to update it quite yet because I'm lazy and also I'm thinking that the others really don't care besides the fact that Soma's being a bit uncharacteristic. Shinomiya is a proud senpai, deep in the warm part of his cold, cold heart xD Aaaand Isshiki is my favorite character because of his uniqueness and his random nudity. The most amusing anime character I've ever seen lel~ Takumi hasn't changed, and Megumi is slowly setting Shinomiya straight, much to the rest of the chefs' amusement. | Cat McHall: Shinomiya was never subject to someone who dresses only in a fundoshi/apron for no real reason. Megumi is a persistent little girl when she wants to be, and she knew that developing her vegetable skills would help her style develop. | raydark182: Soma is virtually the same person. Just less easy on others :P | cj. herlamat: I really didn't want to reference his father too much with his name. I know that seems weird after what I've decided to call him, but there are reasons besides Joichiro that he's called Son of the Devil. Reasons I might touch on in this story later. | Meganlei: The tenth member was a Second Year at the time that the nine graduated. I just didn't write on them because I didn't feel like making up an Original Character just for background. | Anonymous: He's not called Son of the Devil just for being his dad's son :P And according to my Google searches, a Rakshasha is a name for an Asura, so it seems counterintuitive to compare him to his father in the end, no offense ^^" | natsuandlucy4ever: Soma's different because I couldn't quite pin down his personality to match the storyline, unfortunately. Before I wrote this, I thought, "What if Erina, Soma, Takumi, and some others came back for the Training Camp?" (personally, it was my favorite arc thus far) and I looked for fics but I didn't find any so I went "THIS ISN'T RIGHT" and then decided to write it. And the nicknames were quite fun to write :D | 2black2butterfly: Ahhhh thank you! Interactions are quite fun to imagine up, especially rather random ones like Satoshi and Ikumi/Takumi. And I never said there was going to be no shipping ;) The fic's just not overall romance, haha. Erina has long since gotten used to Soma's actions, unfortunately for her blood pressure. They have picked up traits from each other. How, I refuse to answer. | Demon Damian: Haha, funny story about that; I was thinking of either Hestia or Demeter for Megumi, but the problem with Hestia is that there's another anime made to parody the Magical Girl stereotype and one of the characters goes by "Vesta", which is Hestia's Roman name. Soooo Hestia's name is kind of ruined in my mind when it comes to anime :P Also Megumi has changed a bit, though she's still one of the nicest people to graduate from Totsuki. Imagine Demeter with Persephone/grieving after losing her. That's kind of what Megumi symbolizes to me. Also the entire pseudo-Shokugeki with all of the alumni imagining her as various harvest yokai made the idea of her being Demeter more attractive to me. Erina's test is one of the last few, and I ALSO LOVE SOMAxERINA SO YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Students milled about in the spotless kitchen, murmuring to each other. They muttered horror stories about Soma's task sending dozens of their compatriots home on the first day alone, just because they couldn't cook without potatoes. Those who hadn't had the task yet snorted and preened themselves on how well they would pass, imagining grandiose solutions that included things from flour to apples, none of which would probably work in the situation. Those who had survived rolled their eyes at their naive peers, thinking to themselves that they had no idea what to expect while already scaring themselves imagining what their next task would be. Some of them glanced down nervously at the strip of cloth that was neatly folded and placed on each workstation, trying to come up with possible scenarios to use it in.
The kitchen was actually devoid of any chef this time, but it was because the students were early rather than the chef-teacher being late. After the first two 'classes' they had to attend, and seeing so many of their peers already taken down by the rigid standards that these alumni placed on them, the students didn't dare be late to a class, lest the alumni in charge decide that that was reason enough to expel them. The students continued to mill about until they stopped cold and rushed back to their places as footsteps sounded down the hallway.
The door swung open gently and a green-haired girl, perhaps somewhere between five or six feet but not really leaning towards either, walked in, a clipboard under her hand. The students exchanged baffled looks when they noticed that she was wearing a schoolgirl's uniform beneath her chef's jacket. Round glasses adorned her face, bringing attention from her rather average appearance and odd splattering of freckles to the intelligent, icy pink eyes that shone from beneath her bangs. The girl glanced around at the students before checking something off from her clipboard, clearing her throat slightly, and moving to stand behind the chef's table.
"Good afternoon. I am Kinokuni Nene. You are to refer to me as Chef Kinokuni. I will keep this as brief as I can: I don't care about what your experience in the kitchen or in the school was before these next ninety minutes. What will prove if I think you are a good chef or not will be this hour and a half I have to evaluate you. Is this clear?" Her voice was sharp and unyielding, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in the barely noticeable ways that students had made their uniforms casual, whether it be by keeping their sleeves unfolded or not tying their apron completely.
"What happens if you cut yourself in the kitchen?" she asked. The students blinked in confusion at the apparent non sequitur before glancing at one another nervously. After a couple minutes, during which Nene didn't move a single muscle as she made eye contact with some students only for them to look away, finally, one boy raised his hand nervously. Nene's eyes darted over to his form, and his expression betrayed his nervousness.
"Yes, Yamaguchi Kaede-kun?" Nene snapped out. The orange-haired boy jumped slightly, wondering for a brief second why she knew his name before realizing that it was probably written on her clipboard.
"If you cut yourself and no other chef is available to match your caliber, the best idea is to bind the wound, ensure that no blood can enter a customer's dish by putting a glove on, and continue cooking."
Nene nodded. "Indeed, if you had a small finger cut. But what if this happens?"
In front of the first years' eyes, Nene picked up a small knife and slashed a neat yet deep line across her palm. The line pulsated for a second before blood began to ooze out slowly. Nene noticed that some of the students looked positively green, which made her let out a silent puff of gust from amusement. She let the students watch the blood drip onto the table before taking a bandage out of her pocket and deftly bound it tightly, ceasing blood flow immediately.
"This would be an issue, wouldn't it?" Nene said, allowing the faintest of smiles to appear on her face as soon as the wound was tended to. She flicked a thin green braid behind her shoulder mindlessly. "This is the issue you will deal with right now. There is a bandage on each station. You are to tie it as tightly as possible, tight enough to staunch blood flow, and cook a dish. Whatever dish you want to. It must be restaurant quality."
There was a brief pause while students scrambled to tie the strips of cloth, most still numb from the blatant wound that Nene had given herself, crippling her own cooking ability to demonstrate the danger that they skirted daily by chopping with knives and possibly breaking glassware. Nene glanced around to make sure that all of the students had bound their hands.
"Time starts now. One hour and thirty minutes," Nene said, clapping loudly. The loud noise, such a contrast from her deliberate, toned down words created a frenzy of movement as students struggled to pick up ingredients and hold them with crippled hands.
Nene watched their frenetic movements with a slightly more apparent smirk on her face. She could remember the conversation with the other alumni about their challenges, and their response to hers.
Disbelief. Blank looks. An uncertainty about the very way they chose to try and break the subject to her: slowly, as if she didn't understand what she was saying. Their reactions were practically the same as the students' were. They didn't understand why she wanted to test the students with such a simple task; why did they have to teach them how to deal with a knife wound? At the same time, Nene came from a family of gourmet restaurateurs. The Kinokuni name was too well-known for anyone to doubt her ideas, and they let it happen. She was glad that there was no direct objection, apart from the typical drivel from Kuga Terunori.
After all, it wouldn't do to let the entire world know that her grandfather, head chef of Librarie Gourmet, had recently nearly cut the pointer finger of his dominant hand off in an errant swipe of a knife after five decades of cooking expertise.
"The students need to know how to fail, how to accept failure, and move on to maintain their typical standard of cooking. Without that knowledge, they will never succeed." The words she had said to persuade the others resonated in her mind as she watched students give themselves real knife cuts (none as deep as the one she inflicted on herself) in their attempts to chop vegetables and meats with their bandaged hands. She noticed a few who didn't seem troubled at all: the orange-haired boy from earlier, another girl with jay blue hair and tanned skin near the back, another student whose back was to her with vibrant golden hair tied in a ponytail. They were easily compensating, whether from quick adaptation like the orange-haired boy seemed to demonstrate, or from having already practiced such techniques, such as the girl seemed to show.
Nene's facade didn't crack as she stared out. For the entire period of time, she stood behind her table, her posture stiff and firm, her eyes trained ahead. She always looked ahead. That is how a Totsuki First Seat thought. Always fixated on the future, on the next dish, on the next improvement.
Soon, the first student brought up his dish. She stared down at it disdainfully; the presentation wasn't perfect, the scents that arose from the porcelain betraying something gone wrong. The boy began to fidget as she stared and evaluated. It was an amalgamation of failures in her eyes, really. Nevertheless, she picked up her fork and carefully collected a portion for herself, closing her eyes as she focused on the tastes in her mouth.
"The oil was burnt slightly, probably because of an inability to hold the pan as firmly as you want to," she muttered under her breath. "Too little salt, too much butter. Flour as a thickener, but still just a little more would have been more effective. And the final garnish was just a bit too heavy-handed."
The boy fidgeted more.
"You pass," Nene decided. "A customer would notice no difference."
He visibly relaxed.
"Please stand at the far wall of the room. You may remove your bandage now."
The boy nodded silently, walking away as he struggled to pull the long white cloth off of his hand now. The other students seemed to notice that she wasn't critiquing anywhere near as hard as the other chefs and cooked on, bolstered and inspired. Nene shook her head to herself. If she were truly searching for employees for her kitchen, the boy would have been fired the second she saw his dish. Shaky. Imperfect. Only the perfect for La Librarie Gourmet.
Dishes that were more than subpar, with egg shell littered throughout the entire plate or grains of salt not quite dissolved, were literally thrown away. Nene didn't care about the mess that was piling up around her table; after all, she wasn't the one that was going to clean up the foodstuffs on the ground or the broken porcelain. She would push plates off of the table and send the students away.
"Do you honestly think you can even squeak by with this," she asked the first student, who stammered out a "N-no, Chef Kinokuni," before whimpering.
She pointed towards the door. "Fired. Out."
"D-don't I get a second chance?" the girl had whispered, tears already forming in her eyes.
"When in a restaurant, you have one shot to convince the patrons to return again. Each time is a new slate, with only piling expectations. The food must capture their senses. It doesn't matter what happens behind the scenes as long as they are pleased. The customers don't care if you've broken a finger as long as they are pleased. This couldn't please a mouse." She flicked the plate to the ground, ignoring the loud crash of china and the splattering of rice. "Out."
Others watched this scene before shrinking away, all prior bravado leaving them. They struggled halfheartedly against the bandage that bound their hand and made it impossible to grip. Students trailed up to her, offering their dish to her, and she passed some and threw out others.
Perhaps I'll pass Yukihira-kun up sometime with the expel count, Nene allowed herself to think. She continued to stand and stare, watching the next person come up to the table.
The orange-haired student. He locked eyes with her (his eyes were a rather peculiar shade of silver, practically white), which no other student had even attempted, and then bowed to her respectfully. "Chef Kinokuni, this is the dish I present to you."
He laid down a bowl with a surprisingly simple serving for such intense introduction. His respect for her, for his food, and for her opinion was more than visible in every one of his movements. She had seen this boy around before: a jokester, constantly pushing his friends' buttons. Now, he had locked down and seen what it was he had to do, and had delivered on that, abandoning the joking manner for a much more serious attitude. Nene stopped observing the student and began observing his plate.
It wasn't a masterpiece or a work of art, but it was simple enough and rather impressive, considering that he hadn't the use of one hand. The presentation was spotless as well: it showed the dish for what it was.
"And what is in this udon that will make me pass you?" Nene asked, looking at the thick noodles, carefully cut crab, and seaweed with a seed of interest. She picked up a spoon to taste a bit of the broth.
Nene felt herself be swept away out to sea, a sea filled with the creamy brown broth of the boy's dish. The sharp, astringent taste of the soup was mellowed only by the noodles, which seemed to caress her as she floated along on the tides. Crabs gently squeezed her toes and fingers and plants brushed her back almost nonchalantly, their flavor only just present enough to not want for anymore. Nene felt the illusion fade and nodded in approval before looking at the boy for an explanation.
"I made the soup stock out of miso and ginger," the boy, Yamaguchi, explained. "Each was stewed in as long as possible before the ginger turned it bitter. Mushrooms were added for extra umami and the noodles were prepared by someone from the kitchen. I saw them in the back."
"And how did you get so precise a presentation?" she requested.
Yamaguchi gave her a cheeky grin and said, "I took a pair of Mun-san's chopsticks today as a joke but forgot to give them back to her. They were clean and everything, so I sanitized them and used them to arrange the components of the udon. There aren't chopsticks provided here, from what I've seen. Then I finished my arrangement by using lemongrass instead of chopsticks. It provides a citrus tone to the entire dish to add a tiny drop of acidity to the soup."
Nene nodded. "Satisfactory, to say the least. You passed."
The boy's white eyes lit up and he bowed again, much more swiftly this time. "Thank you, Chef Kinokuni!" He darted off to the far side of the room, where he began to chat vividly with one of the other students that had passed (the golden haired student, who ended up being a girl with piercing green eyes that had offered a fried rice dish).
The next student that came up was the blue-haired girl, who had a rather open expression about her. "Thank you for waiting, here is my dish," she chirped, sliding a plate over to Nene.
Nene studied her. She hadn't stood out to the chef before. She was just another student before today. Now, she was carefully unwinding the bandage from her right hand―
Wait.
"Which hand is your dominant hand?" Nene asked.
"Hmm? I'm right-handed," the girl responded, confused.
"Then why did you tie it around your right hand? I would assume that when cooking, your nondominant hand is more likely to get cut so seriously that you need to bind it."
"Ah, yeah, that would be more intuitive, I guess," the girl said with a stammer. "I-I just didn't want to make it too easy on myself."
"Too easy?" Nene repeated, her eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs.
"I mean..." the girl held out her hands. Nene felt herself almost flinch in sympathy at what she saw.
A mutilation. A scar. A scar that stretched from forearm all the way to her fingertips, covering her left hand. One that could only have happened long ago, though it was still very visible. The girl seemed to try and clench her hands self-consciously, but the digits of her left hand didn't respond quite as well, barely closing into a fist before hiding behind her right hand.
"When I was eight," the girl said, "I opened the oven door to grab our dinner and set it on the table. The oven mitt had oil all over it. It was a cotton mitt. It caught on fire immediately, and my father had to rush over, throw water over me and our food, and call the paramedics. Truth be told, I was told that I am lucky to still be able to use this hand. To bind an infirmity already would be a shame against the others, no?"
Nene said nothing. She merely pointed towards the back, the girl's words rolling in her brain. She hadn't even tasted the food, but she knew that the girl would pass nonetheless.
I will be keeping an eye on you, Kannan Rajya, Nene thought, watching the dark-skinned girl stride confidently to her place in the back. At the end of the period, Nene cut off all of the students and refused to taste their dishes. "You should have finished it by now and brought it up to me. The fact that you didn't means to would force a patron to wait for longer than they should. You aren't welcome here."
Those students in the back let out a sigh of relief when she silently gestured for them to leave with no preamble. Most of them spared a final glance backwards at the mess of plates and food that had amassed as students were expelled, but they quickly filed out to prepare their dinners and go to bed.
The rest of the students began to cry or moan about their bad luck, but Nene hadn't even fired thirty students, and the majority had passed her inspection.
I didn't beat Yukihira-kun, then. Too bad, Nene mused before walking out of the room, her posture perfect, her expression showing no emotion, as befit the Frozen Princess.
Nene is a rather interesting character to write for, but truth be told, I only chose her because of her and Terunori Kuga's rather unique "relationship" :P Also all of the backstory here was imagined by me, so as soon as we learn more about her, this chapter may be revised, though Nene's challenge won't be. I really hope that Nene isn't too OOC, but I only imagine her as a cold, terse woman with an eye for perfection and a disgust for all things imperfect.
As always, thank you for reading! If you have any questions or comments, please review and let me know :D
~Shriayle