I've started posting this story on AO3 under the pseudonym 'sentraia'! There's some minor editing between that version and the one here, but overall it's completely unchanged.


"Sadatsuka-san, has it gotten through your thick skull yet that you're going to need help with your dish that I can provide?"

Bared teeth. "Has it gotten through your stuffed nose that I don't care about your help? My flavors come from my process, and you have never been part of that process."

It took all of Takumi's acquired breathing exercises to process that particular argument. It turned out that running a fake restaurant for Tōtsuki's training camp was like working at the trattoria, only with more untrained hands in the kitchen who refused to do anything but their particular specialty and would rather impatiently wait for their turn than, y'know, hop in and help out a bit. After the fifth instance of Akira nearly biting off Nao's head while sitting around and waiting for her to finish her latest soup batch, Takumi had had enough.

"Stop it," he snapped. "Hayama-san, if you're not busy, go help Mimasaka-san make the dark chocolate ganache. Yoshino-san can take care of the gyros herself, since you've got it all set up."

Akira stared at him openly. "Why would I want to do that?"

Takumi stared back incredulously. "Because you want our restaurant to succeed? Because we want to pass this challenge? Because we have one hour left and more than a hundred and fifty servings left to sell because all the four of you can do is nitpick at each other rather than focus on the goal?!"

Akira wasn't the only one who winced at that. "Do we really only have an hour left?" Yūki said, whipping around to look at the clock in their kitchen. "When did that happen?!"

"In between your shrill screeches and Sadatsuka's refusal to let anyone else touch her stupid mango seeds," Subaru muttered from where he neatly piped yuzu cream into round pastry.

"Well, if you hadn't been too slow with the dough, we would've been able to start serving earlier in the evening!"

"Dessert comes after the main course, in case you forgot, Yoshino—"

"ENOUGH!" Takumi threw the towel in his hand down on the counter. "I've absolutely had it with all of you!"

The other four Tōtsuki students fell silent.

"What do you think this is?!" He gestured wildly at the mess in the kitchen. "A summer camp for children? Somewhere for the adults to come around and pat you on the head and go, oh, you did so good! No worries that you didn't make the cut, you're still okay. No! If we don't successfully complete this challenge, we're kicked out of school. All of you seem to think this is some sort of simulation for whatever 'real life in the kitchen' means for you, but this is actual real life, and our careers ride on this. We're not head chefs yet, and we aren't going to be if you keep acting like of you need to get your heads out of your asses and focus on making this restaurant a success or I'll walk straight out of this kitchen and ask Chef Shinomiya to put me with a different group and expel you all for improper conduct!"

"You can't do that!" Yūki burst out. "What about the Polar Star promise?" She held a fist up in remembrance of their oath.

"Fuck that promise if you're going to use it as a reason to fuck everything up!" Takumi shot back. Yūki looked vaguely offended at that. "I don't care about a single one of your overinflated egos. I did not fly across the world to this stupid island just to be sent back home because none of the people I was forced to work with have any kitchen etiquette!"

Takumi whipped around to the kitchen, eyes flashing. "I'm done with your arguing. Hayama-san, Yoshino-san, decide between yourselves who wants to start out working on gyros. The other person, help Sadatsuka-san pound her ogbono so she doesn't have to think about doing that step in between watching her soup. Trade off if either of you get tired of whatever it is you're doing, and when the extra person doesn't have anything to do, step in at the dessert station to keep that moving. Mimasaka-san, shout out if you need any help until I get back."

"And where are you going?" Akira asked.

"In case you forgot, we're not the only students who are running this restaurant," Takumi said.

Urara, Rinaka, and Rento were the picture of perfect waitstaff. All three wore crisp pressed vests and bowties, and they lingered at each table just long enough to refresh waters and check in on guests. Urara seemed to have taken over the hostess role for a bit, and she stood politely at the podium with a small smile as guests walked past.

"Kagamine-san, Kagamine-chan, Kawashima-san, can I speak to you guys for a second?" Takumi called over.

The Koume students glanced at each other before walking over. "Did you need something, Aldini-san?" Rinaka asked in the same mild tone that she'd been using for the patrons.

"Our numbers aren't looking that great," Takumi said in an undertone. "We need to pick up the pace by triplicate to make up for lost time."

Rento's forehead creased at that. "I'm not sure what more we can do," he admitted. "There's only so much that we can do to make guests want to walk in, at least in our current roles. The guests seem to be happy after they've chosen to eat here, but it's hard for us to make that connection prior to then, at least based on the model Hayama-san laid out for us."

Takumi snorted. "What does Hayama-san know? Is he the guy studying service?"

There was a single second of silence from the three of them at his words.

"He's right!" Urara stood up straight, all good manners and poise bleeding out from her. "None of us are trying to be the best maitre d' or head of staff! We're here to be the world-famous Kagamine Twins and Kawashima Urara of primetime TV!" She whipped back around to Takumi, who was blinking at her sudden personality shift. "Aldini-san! Can you get me a megaphone?"

Takumi blinked. "I can try?"

"Brilliant!" She turned back to the twins. "Let's make Megurine-sensei proud! Because we're—"

"Koume High, at your service!" Rinaka and Rento jumped in as if on automatic. "Helping the world, one person at a time!" They held a pose together, bowing in Takumi's direction. The patrons of their restaurant looked thankfully more amused than confused at their display.

"I'm never going to get used to the three of you doing that, am I?" Takumi muttered to himself.


Takumi learned three things in the next ten minutes: how frighteningly efficient Subaru was at mixing together curd, how much armpower it took to fully crush the ogbono that Nao reluctantly handed to him in a mortar, and how absolutely terrifying Urara was when given something that amplified her voice.

"HELLOOOOO, TŌTSUKI RESORT!" He could hear her from down the hall, where she'd insisted had the most foot traffic. It sounded like she had somehow rigged up a full sound system, based on the tinny electronic melody that blasted just a shade quieter than her voice. "WE'VE GOT THE MOST DELECTABLE, SCRUMPTIOUS, AROUND-THE-WORLD MENU FOR ALL OF YOU AROUND-THE-WORLD PEOPLE! STOP BY, SIT DOWN, AND LET YOURSELF BE SERVED BY YOURS TRULY, THE ONE AND ONLY KAWASHIMA URARA-CHAN, AND MY WONDERFUL CLASSMATES, THE SOON-TO-BE FAMOUS KAGAMINE TWINS! WE'RE JUST DOWN THE HALL HERE, YES—"

"And I thought Yoshino-san was loud," Nao muttered to herself, hunching over yet another pot on the stove. "Erina-sama would never."

"You have to admit, she gets results," Yūki said, peeking into the dining room. "There's literally a line of people waiting to sit down."

"We need to cook faster, then," Takumi said. "The longer they wait, the more likely they'll wander off. Who needs an assist?"

"Table 5 is waiting on desserts!" Rinaka chirped, peeking her head in. "Do we have four ready?"

Subaru vaguely gestured towards where he had six servings prepared.

Rinaka's eyes lit up. "Perfect! I'll be back for the other two for table 9 as well!" She swept up the bomboloni and hurried away without missing a beat.

"They're also efficient," Subaru muttered. "Didn't realize waitstaff could be so insistent."

"If they're doing so great, we're the ones flagging," Akira said firmly. "Let's keep our pace up. Is the latest batch of sorbet ready?"

"It's in the freezer," Yūki said, not looking up from where she sliced venison onto a bed of rice. "We're going to need more venison as well."

"Three more coming in!" Rento peered in this time. "Do we have enough soup to get them started?"

"Of course we do," Nao said. "My brew is neverending, a bottomless lake that forever flows as long as someone simply asks for a taste—"

"Thanks, Sadatsuka-san!" Rento said, cheerfully cutting her off. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes for it!" He swept up a new pitcher of water and three glasses before dancing off. Nao didn't seem to notice, swept up in her babbling over her soup pots.

Akira blinked. "I don't think I've seen anyone handle Sadatsuka-san's moodiness so easily," he commented to Takumi.

"I've decided that I don't want to know what they teach them at Koume," Takumi replied.

There was a minute pause. Then a sigh. "Listen, Aldini-san," Akira said. "Apologies for my behavior earlier tonight. Your words were pointed but valid, and I was acting rather embarrassingly for someone who's supposed to care about appearances and whatever else. I got stuck in my head about how everything wouldn't be good enough, I think."

"It's fine," Takumi muttered. "We're close to completing this challenge. Who cares how we got there?"

"Regardless, I was part of the mayhem earlier. That requires an apology."

Takumi stared at the mortar of ogbono seeds in front of him. "That's fine, then. I accept, or whatever."

They awkwardly exchanged another glance and nod before Rinaka and Rento swept in, asking for a total of seventeen servings across all three courses (and the palate cleanser). The two of them hurried off to help serve the final few tables, and the restaurant managed to serve the required number of guests just in time. As the Koume students left, Urara shook all of their hands, said something about seeing them in autumn, and winked.


The most surreal moment of Takumi's life (so far) was when someone politely knocked on the door of the kitchen he stood in, effectively interrupting the alumna guest as she explained her challenge to them.

"Apologies, Chef Kikuchi," the person behind the door said. "Can I take Aldini-san for the class period? Chef Dojima already said that he could be excused."

"Oh!" Sonoka stared. "Of course, Chef Mizuhara, if you say so." She glanced back at the assembled students. "Aldini-san? You're free to go. You should be able to rejoin your classmates at the Resort for whatever you kids do after these workshops."

The sudden whispering that erupted around Takumi turned into a hum of grey noise as he numbly nodded to her, packed up his tools, and headed to the door.

Fuyumi leaned against the hall on the other side of the door, her face carefully made passive as she studied him. Takumi swallowed back whatever anxious anticipation rose in his gorge, gripped tightly to the cases in his hands, and gave her a shallow bow.

"Hello, Chef Mizuhara," he said. He wondered how obvious it was that he was jittering out of his shoes.

"Hm. Acceptable." She nodded back to him before turning on her heel and walking down the hall. "With me, Aldini-san."

The two of them walked down the hall for a little bit. Neither said a word, Takumi out of both awkwardness and respect and Fuyumi out of habit. They reached a door that Fuyumi pushed open and gestured for him to go into. It led into a kitchen that looked identical to the one he'd left, though this one was still empty and pristine.

Fuyumi closed the door behind her. "Apologies for pulling you out of that workshop. I had the feeling that based on your previous performance, you wouldn't have found it all too challenging to overcome."

Takumi breathed through the joy the offhand compliment gave him. "No worries, Chef Mizuhara," he said, trying to sound as calm as he could. "Why did you need me?"

She studied him. "How are you finding Tōtsuki?" she asked. "Difficult? Boring? Challenging enough?"

"Um, probably the last of those three," Takumi said hesitantly. "It's not what I expected when I was told I was going to cooking school, but I can feel my drive to cook increasing with everything I have to do—"

Mizuhara Fuyumi, La Regina D'Accacio herself, reached out and jabbed Takumi in the middle of the forehead, stuttering him to a stop. "This isn't a job interview," she said bluntly. "Your actual thoughts. What do you think of Tōtsuki?"

Takumi thought about the question. "It's… helpful," he said hesitantly. Fuyumi gestured vaguely for him to continue. "It's interesting to meet other people my age with my same goal, and I've learned a lot from seeing what they're good at. It still doesn't feel like… enough?"

"Go on," Fuyumi said after he fell silent.

"They're so focused on themselves," Takumi said. "And that makes sense! I'm self-centered too, and I recognize that, but— looking at last night, it's like they never considered that chefs have to work in a kitchen? And that even head chefs are working alongside their teams? It feels so strange trying to work with any of them after having worked with my brother for years; I sort of miss having him around to partner with."

"You have a brother?" Fuyumi's voice lilted with surprise.

"He's not at Tōtsuki," Takumi said a second before realizing he'd already implied that to her. He coughed past an awkward stutter. "He stayed behind at the family trattoria in order to learn the family cooking techniques and get better at working in the kitchen. When I graduate, I'll go back and we'll run it together."

"'When' you graduate, huh?" Fuyumi repeated. "What if you graduate and decide you want to travel the world? See the sights?"

Takumi didn't even have to think. "Then I'd go home, apologize to my parents for being away a bit longer, and ask Isami to come with me."

"What if he didn't want to come?"

"He would." And Takumi knew this, the way he knew Isami would always pick up whenever he called, no matter how inconvenient their time zone split was now. "There's no world where Isami wouldn't want to do that."

Fuyumi hummed. "I admire your trust in your brother." She looked him in the eyes with that appraising glance again, and Takumi felt as though he were pinned to the spot. "Forgive me, Aldini-san, but before I say anything more of my thoughts, I believe I need to see you cook in person."

A lump formed in Takumi's throat. "Didn't you already see that?" he asked, his voice weak in both caution and slowly growing anticipation.

"I suppose I did, in the same way that you see the titles of every book you skim past while at the library," she said. "I have seen your result and deduced your thought process during it. Now, I want to see every single step without having to do any of my own deductions. Are you up for that challenge?"

Takumi was nodding before he fully processed her words.

"Good." A smile slowly began to curve across her face. It occurred to Takumi that he'd never seen her make such an expression, both in the articles about her and in person. Fuyumi had always seemed poised in her neutrality; to see her display such open delight was new and almost terrifying. She gestured for him to set up at one of the stations of the kitchen in the middle of the room, and to Takumi's surprise she stood at one adjacent to him, still facing his direction.

"I will not be giving you the name of the recipe I am thinking of," she said. "I will not be telling you the ingredients, or the tools, or the temperatures that this dish is to be cooked at. I will tell you that I am thinking of an Italian dish. I will start preparations when I feel like I wish to, and I will finish within two hours from beginning. Your task is to match my preparations, down to the precise knife cut that I will be using, and deliver something as close to my dish as you can create at the exact same time that I finish. I will not answer any questions after I begin cooking." A true light of challenge flashed from her eyes. "Are you up for this task, Aldini Takumi-san?"

Takumi's head reeled from the magnitude of the challenge. It was a massive order, requiring him to split his train of thought three ways to try and complete it adequately. Even if Fuyumi had confirmed that she'd be cooking something Italian, Takumi wasn't foolish enough to think that he'd experienced all of the food that came out of his home country. There was a not-small chance that whatever dish Fuyumi had in mind wasn't one that he was familiar with.

A competitive fire that he hadn't felt before flared in the pit of his stomach.

He would do this. He would pour everything he could into completing this perfectly, into getting this woman's silent approval and proving, at least to himself, that he deserved to be at this school over his brother, and when he completed this task, he'd have something else to show him when he went home to visit him. It was just that simple.

"Yes, Chef Mizuhara," Takumi said firmly. "I want to do this."

The slight smile became a smirking grin, some spirit of her own flashed, and suddenly Fuyumi was transformed into an unknown, terrifying foe for Takumi to parse out. "Good. I expected no less." She glanced at a clock on the wall to their side. "I will begin when I feel ready."

Takumi rolled his shoulders back, eyes set on Fuyumi's hands. Perhaps it was rude of him to look away from her so quickly, but watching her hands would give him just a few extra seconds of knowing what she was using (and propriety was for when he wasn't fighting for his pride). Fuyumi closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, and burst into action.

The grin that had settled on her face immediately vanished in favor of the deadpan neutral expression that earned Fuyumi her epithet. She ducked under the station and grabbed a pot and a large skillet. As Takumi scrambled to match her, she had already turned to the stove and placed both objects down.

Pot on a back burner, skillet on one closer, Takumi recited to himself. He heard the sound of water being poured into something and guessed that she was filling the pot to boil. Standard enough. Doesn't give anything away yet.

As Takumi turned back around, Fuyumi was walking towards the pantry with none of the scrambling haste that Takumi's classmates spilled over with. She purposefully examined whatever there was to offer before picking up three red potatoes and a block of cheese. Takumi quickly darted over to grab the same three potatoes before turning to the cheeses available.

She's not going to tell me which one she took, but there are very few cheeses commonly used in Italian cooking that would go with everything else she's doing. Takumi bit his lip as he glanced over the cheeses on offer. Mozzarella's out, since she grabbed a block. Gouda and cheddar wouldn't be used in an Italian dish, and I don't think parmesan is typically used with potatoes either. The safest guess is—

Takumi snagged a hunk of Pecorino Romano before hurrying back to the stations, where Fuyumi was sprinkling salt into her slowly boiling water. It was almost infuriating how vague all of her preparatory steps were, but everything that she did was perfectly inline with Italian cuisine. There were very few subcultures within Italy that highlighted specific ingredients; Italian cooking had always been about taking the same handful of flavors and reinventing them. It didn't shock Takumi when Fuyumi made one last trip to the pantry to fill her hands with red-ripe tomatoes. It did somewhat surprise him when she paused to grab two sprigs of mint.

Mint wasn't the most uncommon herb in the world, but seeing it dashed all of Takumi's assumptions of Cacio e Pepe potatoes.

Potatoes, Pecorino, mint. Something Italian. Takumi let his mind race as he copied Fuyumi's every move, dropping potatoes into the now boiling pot and turning to pour semolina into a small, powdery mound. And pasta, now. All vague enough ingredients, but there's one recipe that Chef Mizuhara has in mind.

Fuyumi removed her potatoes when they became fork-soft, a few seconds before Takumi could remove his, but that just meant he could watch as she ran them under cold water to scrape off the skin and pulverized them into a fluffy white mash. She was grating the Pecorino into her potatoes as Takumi followed suit, and even though he didn't know why she had chopped mint into her garlic he dutifully copied her as she swiftly incorporated the ingredients into a smooth ball and put it in a provided fridge to set.

"Where is your mind at, Aldini-san?" Fuyumi asked.

"The ingredients you chose are all staples and don't really give me any insight," he said, holding down his hesitation. "Even now, my best guess is a filled pasta of some sort, but there's a chance that the mashed potato mixture we prepared was the base for some strange sauce I've never worked with before."

Fuyumi hummed. "Creative. Clever. Rest assured, I'm not taking any liberties with this dish," she said. "It seems cruel to come up with a new specialty item simply to test you. No, this dish is one that is regularly enjoyed by a subsection of Italy, and it's one that I'm sure you have come across before. I dare say your trattoria might even serve it."

Without another word, Fuyumi turned back to her station, this time to peel her tomatoes by shocking them in cold water after they'd been brought to a boil. It took Takumi only a few extra seconds to deduce that she was preparing a basic tomato sauce, and he made the conscious decision to look away from her process to simply speed through the tomato sauce recipe that had been drilled into him since he was a child. He managed to finish just a hair behind when Fuyumi took her sauce off of the heat, and he hoped he didn't imagine her faint approval as she glanced over.

Her expression didn't break, though, and she immediately took a step to the right and began to whisk together a pasta dough with nothing more than semolina and salt water. It was a trickier method than the type that asked for eggs to bind, but pasta was just one of those recipes that asked for experience, experience that Takumi wielded in spades. Both of them managed to finish their pasta dough at around the same time, leaving them both to rest alongside the potato mixture.

"You're doing well." Takumi didn't expect the compliment. Then again, he didn't expect to be pulled from class and personally tested by one of Tōtsuki's vaunted alumni. "What do you suppose will be the next step?"

"If this is a filled pasta like I assume," Takumi said, "you would roll the dough out after it's rested. Then, you'd fill it with what you prepared earlier."

"And then?"

Takumi hesitated. "There are a lot of ways to take it from there," he finally settled on saying. "I'll have to watch what you choose."

That sharp grin flashed across Fuyumi's face again, so quickly that it was barely perceptible. "Clever."

She said nothing else, simply turning back to the fridge to reclaim her ingredients. As Takumi had predicted, she rolled her pasta dough out into a thin sheet. She reached for a tool that allowed her to cut out neat circles of dough that almost resembled dumpling wrappers to Takumi as he diligently followed suit. Fuyumi placed a small ball of the filling into one of the wrappers and flexed her hand to ensure that none of it would fall out.

Then she did something with her fingers that deftly wrapped the filling into the dough with a twist that Takumi had never seen done so quickly. She put the pasta down and picked up another sheet, already on her second while Takumi still stared at the first.

How in the world…?

Takumi knew what this was, now that Fuyumi sealed the dough with that signature shape. These were culurgiones, a kind of filled pasta from Sardinia, and they had, in fact, once been on Trattoria Aldini's seasonal menu. He'd been too young to actually prepare the pasta, but it was one of the dishes that he learned how to make proper pasta dough for while helping his father in the kitchen. Takumi had never had culurgiones before; they'd always seemed too starchy for his tastes, and there were other, easier pastas to prepare with a similar heartiness.

Fuyumi was already on her third pasta.

Focus. Watch her.

The chef made no effort to slow down for him, her fingers flying over the dough, pinching and pulling and tucking with an efficiency that Takumi simply couldn't follow. This was utterly practiced: Fuyumi had chosen a recipe that she could complete practically in her sleep, one that she knew would provide the exact result that she wanted to the exact degree of perfection. Takumi knew in the pit of his gut that he wouldn't be able to replicate it, no matter how hard he tried.

That wasn't a reason to give up, though. That was a reason to try and get as goddamn close as his skills would let him.

Takumi's first attempt at pinching a culurgione was an abject failure. He squinted at the malformed lump in his hand before fully discarding it and picking up more dough. His second attempt was little better, though he finally figured out some clumsy version of the tight, neat, braid-like folds that Fuyumi had flown through preparing. His third was slightly better than that, and his fourth started to look like something he'd actually serve to someone.

I'm going too slow. Fuyumi was already halfway through her dough and her filling, and she had almost a dozen perfectly-shaped culurgiones neatly lining a floured pan. Takumi gritted his teeth and began attempting to learn the folding pattern even faster.

Fuyumi was already turning to set another pot of water to boil by the time Takumi had gone through half of his mixtures. He slowly fell into a panic, one that felt less like a burst of anxiety and more of a slow numbing of his fingers until they shook too much to perform the pinch-pull necessary to form a culurgione's trademark shape.

This can't be happening. Fuyumi had picked him out and set him up with this challenge; he couldn't just fail in front of her. He hadn't failed at Tōtsuki yet; as arduous as this task was, he couldn't face himself if he did. Takumi turned from his dough to set his own water to boil; even if he didn't finish making all of his culurgiones, he would have to present something to her.

Calm down, a voice that sounded a lot like his father's admonished him. You're going to hurt yourself if you panic and rush. Settle yourself. What are you supposed to do?

I'm supposed to prepare culurgiones for one of Italy's most well-known chefs, Takumi jeered to himself. And I'm failing. Utterly.

Are you? And that made Takumi pause. Was that what Chef Mizuhara said?

Takumi's hands slowed as he mulled over the words of his own thoughts. What was it that Fuyumi had said? "Your task is to match my preparations, down to the precise knife cut that I will be using, and deliver something as close to my dish as you can create at the exact same time that I finish."

She had told him to match her dish. She hadn't told him to match her every move. And there was absolutely no way that someone would be eating more than six culurgiones, especially if presented with the dish at a restaurant.

Takumi allowed himself one more stuttering, calming breath before relaxing his hands. He had a dozen decently shaped culurgiones, if he ignored his first few feeble attempts. He stared at the dough and filling he had left before closing his eyes, taking the culurgiones he could be proud enough of, and turning to the pot of boiling water. Cooking pasta was the same, no matter what form it came in, and he lined up his culurgiones on a plate.

A glance over at Fuyumi's station told Takumi that his gamble had paid off; she was arranging her six finest looking pieces of pasta in a shallow bowl on a small pool of tomato sauce. Takumi immediately set about plating his dish, and when Fuyumi finally looked up from cooking, he had a plate in front of him as well. It was nowhere near as neatly plated as hers and his culurgiones looked clumsier, but he'd done it. He'd matched Fuyumi, beat for beat, without knowing what she was making.

"They look a bit childish," Takumi said.

"Everyone's first culurgiones do," Fuyumi said with a dismissive wave. "Yours are passable, at least visually." She took out a fork and handed it to him, bringing her plate over next to him. "Taste them. That's what matters."

Takumi's hand shook as he cut into the pasta on both plates. They had the same give, their insides steamed the same way— and maybe his flavors were slightly less balanced, but they were there in the same way that hers were.

Fuyumi tapped her fork against her plate. That cat-like smirk was back. "They're not exact," she said, "but they're close. Far closer than anyone would expect, knowing that you didn't have a recipe in front of you."

Takumi hadn't taken the fork out of his mouth yet. There was something too overwhelming pressing against the base of his throat, choking him even as he swallowed the food in his mouth. She was right— it was closer than even he'd expect. If someone told him that the two dishes in front of him were prepared by the same person, he'd believe them at first glance.

"That settles it."

Takumi turned, slowly removing the fork from his mouth and placing it carefully on the counter.

Fuyumi— Chef Mizuhara Fuyumi, who Takumi had learned about only a few days prior and immediately began to idolize her craft— bowed to him. A shallow bow, one of acknowledgement and not deferential respect, but a bow nonetheless. "Aldini Takumi," she said, "I would be honored if you would consider spending your summer break training under me." She stood straight as he stared at her in awed silence. "We wouldn't be at Ristorante F the whole time," she said warningly. "I spend a large chunk of my time seeking out new recipes and flavor combinations throughout Italy. As you've no doubt seen, it's a bountiful country with more to offer than even I could have uncovered by now. You won't be able to spend too much time on your own development in a kitchen, and there's a chance that we'll be going to the farms themselves to taste their offerings. You'll be less my student and more an informal assistant. Would you accept?"

"Yes," Takumi said immediately, knowing the caveats, knowing that his Autumn Election preparation would be thrown out of the window in favor of this opportunity. It was an easy decision; the Autumn Election was only important to Tōtsuki students. This would be important for his journey as a chef.

The grin that curled on Fuyumi's face settled into a satisfied smile. She nodded to him. "I thought you'd say that."


Just realized that I never explained the dishes from the restaurant challenge— ogbono soup is Nigerian and made with a specific kind of mango seed that gives the dish a rather viscous, almost stringy texture; it sort of reminds me of gumbo? It's one of those textures that can be a bit challenging if you've never eaten anything like it. Venison is an uncommon meat to use for gyros, but I saw quite a few recipes that recommended it online. Bomboloni are Italian cream donuts, and yuzu is a citrus fruit commonly used in Japanese desserts. Sorbet is used as a typical palate cleanser in between courses or at the end of a meal. Would I prepare this particular meal as a three-course dinner? Absolutely not. It's disjointed and weird and I don't think it'd go well together. It's fitting for how that group of students refused to really work together and come up with a cohesive menu, though, so I think it's suitable.

Fuyumi didn't do anything special with the culurgiones, and Takumi touched on their origin well enough. They're made to look like wheat heads, and I watched a video on how to pinch them into the right shape at least ten times while writing this to try and make some sense of it.

I swept past the restaurant challenge quickly, but that was because it wasn't a challenge I planned for Takumi's cooking development the way most of the other challenges were. This one, specifically, was to highlight that he is actually pretty competent if he's in the right setting. I feel like the nature of writing a shonen–esque protagonist still in his 'training arc' (and, on top of that, working with a character who in-canon gets left on the wayside pretty early on) makes it hard to justify how he is garnering the respect of some of his high-performing classmates. That, and I had plans for restructuring Urara within the world of the story. You cannot convince me that canon Urara cared at all about cooking. She existed to be an MC during important Shokugeki. She can do that as an aspiring food show host, learning the basics of cooking at Tōtsuki and showmanship at a different specialized school. This is my solution to her because I think she deserves more respect than just writing her out at some point. Also getting to bring in Nao and Subaru and divorce them from their strange quirks was fun. I do love Nao more than I should; her concept is incredibly silly to me.