Blood in the Water

10:00 – Rebun Island – The Day of the RDC Final

We'll never get free; we're lambs to the slaughter.

He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. Sometime in the past hour, he's become aware that his knuckles are hurting, the skin scraped raw from frenetic and repeated table-rapping. When did this become a habit? Damnit, Yukihira – hold it together. How else are you gonna hold her together?

Nakiri walks beside him, head held high with all the grace and elegance of a queen. He watches as she glances her father's way. She holds his gaze; he holds his breath. Her reaction is barely perceptible – the slightest twitch of her lip and the tensing of her fingers. Then she looks his way, and he manages a smile, one he hopes is enough to convey what he is is thinking.

You can do this, Nakiri. I'm with you.

She gives him a small nod, lilac eyes gleaming. Relief floods his senses – that, and something else he's too tired to think about. A warmth that spreads to the very tips of his fingers, one that causes his heart to thump just a little harder within his chest. Adrenaline, the brain suggests.

They take their places at their workstations. Across the hall, Rindou and Eishi are already prepped and ready. Ever effervescent, Rindou waves, but there's a slight edge in her movements and he just can't shake the feeling that something is off.

His reverie is quickly broken, however, when Eishi mutters an order. Rindou nods, and he wonders for a moment if she were truly okay with this – serving as Eishi's right hand, bending the knee to the bridled order of his culinary path as opposed to following her own dangerous and infinitely chaotic road in the wilds. They're a true example of opposites, Rindou and Eishi, but Yukihira has to admit they're a well-oiled machine.

In contrast, he and Nakiri are significantly less-so.

The realisation hits him like a high-speed train with brakes on holiday. Oh, fuck. Why the hell are we fighting order with order, when we should be doing the exact opposite?

He takes a deep breath and rolls up his sleeves, his head spinning. Despite the very real possibility of Nakiri murdering him for his insubordination, he knows it has to be done. Prep is easy enough – he's done enough of it in Yukihira, and then again in Chef Shinomiya's kitchen. Urara's baiting had been harder to drown out in the early days of the Regiment de Cuisine, but he's gotten used to it by now and it's a relatively easy job to shut out the rest of the arena. Still, the incessant prickling of worry rears its ugly head from time to time. Protect Yukihira. Protect our friends. Protect my father. He looks to the blonde opposite him. And her, too.

"Well, there's nothing for it now." He can't help but to let out a light laugh, unsure if it's nervousness or excitement. "Nakiri, I need you to taste some stuff."

She nods her agreement without even bothering to look up. He hands her spoon after spoon, adjusting as necessary. For a good while, he wonders if he'll actually have to spell it out for her after all – that he's turning their plan on its head to give her that one final, necessary push. The thought of actually having to tell her is a little daunting, so he shoves a sixth spoon at her, and watches as she tastes the sauce directly from his hand.

He barely has time to register how he feels about that before her face scrunches up, and her brows furrow. Of course, nothing slips past Nakiri Erina. "Yukihira what—"

"Change of plans." He readies himself to duck from stray skillets to the head. "Remember when I said you have to use your anger to win? Yeah, you're going to be real pissed at me."

Nakiri reaches out to grasp his wrist, scowling. "Whatever happened to our plans? The recipes we decided on last night?"

"And how are we different from your father if we stuck to that? We can't fight their rigidity with more rigidity." He grits his teeth and leans closer. They're almost nose-to-nose and he's not sure what the arena is thinking of their little display, but they're short on time and she has to understand. "Show them. Show him what true creativity is like when it's uncaged. A bit of chaos is a good thing."

She glares at him, and for a moment he wonders why he hasn't melted from it just yet. Her throat tenses as she swallows – then she straightens, shakes her head, and lets out a short, irritable breath. "You're a piece of shit."

He chuckles weakly. There's blood in the water now. "You can shout at me tonight, I promise."