Takumi rejoined his classmates at the main Tōtsuki Resort building in a daze of happiness that didn't dissipate, even when Sōmei snorted at his expression and asked what, exactly, Chef Kikuchi had done that excited him so much.

"Who?" Takumi asked.

"Chef Kikuchi? Kikuchi Sonoka?" Ikumi gave him a weird, wide-eyed look. "89th Generation? Former Second Seat? One of the youngest restaurateurs to graduate from Tōtsuki? She was asking people to make a full dish that could be eaten in a single bite or something?"

"That sounds rough," Takumi commented.

"You just came from that workshop," Sōmei said bluntly.

"I did?"

Ikumi sighed before reaching out and slapping the back of Takumi's head.

"Mother Mary, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Takumi yelped out, jumping at the sudden hit.

"What the hell is wrong with me?!" Ikumi stared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You've been walking around like you're half asleep ever since getting back, and you barely ate anything! What could possibly have happened in the past four hours to make you into—" she gestured at him— "whatever the heck this is?"

"He got pulled from the workshop by another alumni chef and came back like this," Shun said, walking up to the three of them.

"Why didn't you just say that—"

Ikumi cut Sōmei off with a loud gasp. "Oh my god! What happened, Aldini-san? Spill!"

Takumi briefly pondered pettily refusing to tell them anything.

"Tell them or I will," Shun threatened in his normal deadpan.

"How would you know what happened, Ibusaki-san?" Sōmei asked.

"Word travels fast." His three classmates gave him identical unimpressed looks. It took only a handful of seconds for him to break. "I overheard Chef Shinomiya talking about it in the hallway while leaving his workshop."

"They're worse gossips than the rest of you Polar Stars," Sōmei said.

"Don't lump me in with them."

"Boys, shut up," Ikumi said with a sweet grin. "Don't you dare avoid my question, Aldini-san. What happened?"

Takumi sighed. "Chef Mizuhara pulled me from my workshop to give me a solo task and then offered for me to work with her this summer."

There was a pause. "You work fast," Shun said.

"I didn't do anything," Takumi protested.

"That's so exciting!" Ikumi said, though her brow was slightly furrowed. "You'd be working with her this summer? Aren't you worried for your Autumn Election preparations?"

"Not really," Takumi said with a shrug. "I'll have learned something over the summer, no matter what. I could probably apply whatever I learn this summer to my preparations, if anything."

"He doesn't even know if he made the Election yet," Shun pointed out.

"Please. If he impressed an alum enough for her to want to pull him from a workshop just to test him personally, and then impressed her enough to invite him to work with her for an entire summer, there's absolutely no way he's not making the first cut," Ikumi said plainly. "Besides, Marui-san was telling us all about Chef Sekimori's workshop at breakfast; there's absolutely no way that he didn't just run an exercise meant to pick out a shortlist for the Election, especially if he didn't expel anyone. In literally every way that matters, Aldini-san basically cemented himself a place alongside the rest of us."

Sōmei gave a light cough.

Ikumi rolled her eyes. "I didn't think you were that unconfident in your abilities, Saitō-san."

"I'm not. I'm fairly confident in my ability to excel in every way that I have been expected to thus far," Sōmei said delicately. "However, it doesn't escape me that of the four of us here, two of us have a distinct advantage of being actively molded by those who have already earned the Academy's respect. There is little doubt that you and Ibusaki-san will be basically ushered into the preliminary round of the Autumn Election, if not for your skill then for your mentors' prides. The same goes for Hayama-san, Nakiri-san, and Akanegakubo-san."

"I don't know if 'pride' is a good word to associate with Isshiki-senpai," Shun muttered.

"Hayama-san's another Elite Ten trainee?" Takumi asked.

Ikumi snorted. "Yeah. People don't talk about it as much as the rest of us, for some reason." She rolled her eyes to punctuate her words. "His mentor is the Ninth Seat, a second-year student named Kuga Terunori. Kind of a crazy guy, big into Chinese cuisine, specifically spicy Chinese cuisine."

"Nakiri-san's mentor is the current Eighth Seat, Kinokuni Nene-senpai," Shun quietly filled in for Takumi. "Second year, specializes in certain traditional Japanese cuisines. She and Isshiki-senpai have an ongoing family rivalry, of sorts. Though Isshiki-senpai generally seems to ignore that, which annoys Kinokuni-senpai. It's amusing until it's not."

Takumi hummed.

"Besides, I don't think you need to worry about that for much longer," Ikumi said to Sōmei. "I'd give it the same amount of time as I'm giving Aldini-san."

Sōmei's eyes widened, which was probably the most reaction Takumi had ever seen the generally stoic boy give in response to something. "What are you implying, Mito-san?"

Ikumi gave him an infuriating smirk as she leaned back against her chair. Something about how she wore it told Takumi that it was a learned expression. "You didn't notice? Our darling Italian transplant isn't the only one being scouted," she said.

As Sōmei tried to dissect that particular revelation, Takumi turned back to Shun. "Is this what you expected when you told me to look into Chef Mizuhara?"

Shun cocked his head to the side. "I'm sure I have no clue what you're implying, Aldini-san."

"You're as infuriating as Isshiki-senpai is, sometimes," Takumi said calmly.

"I thank you for the compliment."

"I can't believe we're almost done," Ryōko said as their small yet steadily growing group settled in for dinner that night. "Just one more full day of this Camp and we're back at Tōtsuki."

"I can't believe we all made it through," Shōji said, staring blearily at his bowl of soup. "I don't think I've ever been so exhausted."

"Eh? What the hell is that attitude?!" Daigo barked in his ear, leaping up. "We've been given the privilege of being honed like knives in this inclement condition, and instead of celebrating, you're moping over it?!"

"Who's moping?!" Shōji roared, all tiredness forgotten as he leapt up to shove his face in Daigo's (Yūki leaned over just in time to catch his soup before it spilled all over the table). "Surely this isn't coming from the guy who literally wept at Chef Shinomiya's feet when he passed us, hmm?"

"And what if I did?" Daigo yelled back. "To be deemed passable in the eyes of the chefs in attendance— that's a gift!"

"Do they ever quiet down?" Ikumi muttered over her rice bowl.

"I think half of the reason Fumio-san offers us as many snacks as she does is to fill their mouths with something besides words," Shun said, not once looking up from his own dinner.

"Efficient," Sōmei said. "Too bad that tactic isn't working right now."

"It barely works at Polar Star," Takumi grumbled.

"Speaking of being almost done," Yūki piped up. "Who do y'all have left? I think I'm scheduled to have Chef Sekimori tomorrow."

"Chef Inui," Ikumi grumbled. "I hope the rest of the week hasn't used up all of the poultry. I'm not going to debase myself by cooking sweetfish."

"Marui-san and I have Chef Shinomiya," Ryōko said. "I hope the task isn't too hard on him."

"Why on me in particular?" Zenji said weakly.

"You're all paper-thin skin and bones already," Yūki said, poking his cheek. "You're going to give Isshiki-senpai a heart attack when he sees you."

Sōmei grunted. "Chef Mizuhara."

"I also have Chef Mizuhara tomorrow," Shun said. "Should I mention that we've partnered together before, Aldini-san?"

Takumi dutifully ignored him.

"The two stooges over there have Chef Kikuchi; they mentioned it earlier before they started on some other argument," Ikumi said with a snort. "Who do you have, Aldini-san?"

"Chef Gotōda, I think," Takumi said, looking at his schedule. "Any hints for what I should prepare for?"

Sōmei snorted. "A lot of flowery poetry about the inner self."

Takumi blinked. "What?"


"Welcome to the spring of your lives!" The blond man at the front of the room audibly sighed happily and leaned his cheek into clasped hands. "No matter what happens from here on out, you will mark this experience as the beginning of your journey through life, the place where your spark grew into a beautiful firework display!"

The haggard Tōtsuki students all stared at the chef who was now swooning over his own words. Takumi sighed. Isshiki-senpai would love this whole routine.

Donato straightened, though the sunny smile on his face didn't fade. "I, of course, am Chef Gotōda Donato of Auberge Tesoro. We are a humble yet mighty eatery in beautiful, pastoral Alsace, and I as its head chef and owner find myself going back to skills that I honed at Tōtsuki as its Fourth Seat. Everything I am was honed there, and everything I will ever be is simply a secret kept from me by my teenage self."

He chuckled at that. "Is that strange to you children," he mused, "to know that all that you will be is within you already? Perhaps it is. Perhaps not. All that matters is that the beginning of your growth will be found here. The others of my cohort are concerned with something they call 'adequacy', the concept that some people are better than others at certain things. Some have exacting standards that demand to be met, and those who haven't met them have been cut down, as you've seen.

"I don't bother with that."

Donato's smile didn't suddenly shift sinister, which Takumi found somehow even more nerve-wracking. "You'll succeed at what you succeed in, and you'll fail at what you fail in," he said. "There's no reason for me to inflict my own definition of success onto you. What I will do in this time I've been allotted is help you figure out how to nurture yourselves."

Murmuring bubbled through the kitchen.

"We Tōtsuki alumni have a storied tradition of leaving the school with a clear vision of our path forward, of the ingredients that inspire us and the country that will best nourish that. Part of this comes from developing the specialty dish, a dish that only you can produce. This is what makes Tōtsuki alumni stand head-and-shoulders above the rest; the academy was designed to single out students who are destined to become trailblazers in the industry and give them nearly limitless resources to focus solely on their craft. Naturally, developing specialties is one of the most concrete ways to prove that you deserve to be one of those favored few."

Takumi perked up at this part of Donato's speech; while the man seemed to somewhat enjoy the sound of his own voice, what he said wasn't any more vacuous than anything another alum had mentioned. He just keeps talking though, doesn't he?

"And we will do something similar now!" Donato held a hand up, his fist clenched. Takumi blinked. "Of course, you only have a couple of hours before I must return you for your final dinner challenge of this camp, but in that time I want to see your best attempts at strides towards your first specialty dish. Take a concept in your head that is nothing more than a dream, a desire, and make it come to life. I'm not looking for a finished product from everyone; time to experiment is just as valuable as time taken to develop a specialty. I'll be up here to taste your offerings, but you have the remainder of the time period to create something that you can be proud of."

Takumi turned and headed for the pantry, by now used to ignoring his classmates bustling around him. Some students seemed determined, an idea already coalescing in their minds, but Takumi wrote them off as soon as he saw them dive into preparations immediately.

As nice as Donato's words sounded, he was describing his school days from the perspective of a professional. He had the hindsight to pinpoint exactly which choices led him to his current life. Takumi, and by extension his classmates, didn't, and they wouldn't for at least two more years (if all went to plan). It was foolish to assume that the conclusions they came to now, at barely over fifteen years old, were the kinds of conclusions that Donato looked back on nostalgically.

That insight was nice and all, and perhaps far more mature than anyone would have expected from Takumi, but where did that leave him? If he assumed that everything he did wasn't going to work, then it left him with nothing.

There has to be something that I know I'll build on. Takumi tapped his fingers on his knife case. Surely something besides just 'Italian cooking'...

His finger hooked on the latch of the case.

Takumi glanced over. It was his mezzaluna, or rather his father's, though he'd been the one to use it for the past decade, ever since he'd proven that he wouldn't cut any fingers off while using it. Nonna had always been insistent that knives made horrible gifts and had to be bought, inherited, or borrowed for vaguely unending periods of time, so Takumi had brought the mezzaluna to Tōtsuki with his father's blessing. It was a somewhat outdated tool to many modern chefs, who couldn't understand why someone would want to use a somewhat clunky looking tool when food processors were widely available now. That didn't deter Takumi. He'd planned on using it for the rest of his professional life.

Well, that's somewhere to start, I suppose.

Takumi took the mezzaluna out with a reverence he'd never quite lost, even after years of using it. He hadn't named it or anything (he wasn't as prone to such dramatics as Sōmei proved), but when he was feeling particularly homesick or sentimental, Takumi held the mezzaluna and imagined the generations of his family who had used it prior. The mezzaluna was expected to outlive his own cooking career; treating something like that with less than complete respect wasn't done.

He glanced back up at the front of the room. Donato was smiling as he looked across the room, but he'd lost quite a bit of his warmth. The smile on his face now seemed more perfunctory and less genuine, however genuine it had been previously.

He's not going to expel anyone. He just wants us to experiment. Takumi rolled his shoulders back. Well, I might as well experiment then.

Within a few minutes, Takumi had an array of herbs in front of him and was briskly reducing them to his chosen consistency. He felt a tension he didn't realize he held in his shoulders ease away at the familiar motion of the mezzaluna in his hands, and by the time he set it aside after scraping his chopped garlic into a bowl, he realized that his classmates around him were staring.

The words escaped him before he could stop himself. "Can I help you?"

Everyone immediately snapped back to their work.

Takumi glanced at the head table, where Donato was almost completely unchanged. Almost. The beginnings of a smirk threatened to curl the corner of his mouth.

Do all of the alumni love watching us poke each other? Takumi wondered, somewhat resigned, before focusing back on his task.

Takumi realized somewhat belatedly that he'd chosen a spectacle of a dish to prepare. Maybe he should have realized that before he mixed his garlic into his dough and began the brisk process of twirling it into a disc of dough.

"Show-off," one of the other students behind him muttered.

"What, have you never made a pizza before?" Takumi asked, not bothering to direct his words over his shoulder. The grumbling picked up slightly as he continued to effortlessly spin the dough on the tips of his fingers until he was satisfied with its shape and size. The rest of the process was simple enough: spreading a sauce across the dough, sprinkling on the toppings he'd chosen. It felt like there was something else he could do there, at that step, but time was running out and he didn't feel particularly inspired.

Was this the life he was signing himself up for? A constant pursuit of some unspeakable quality that would suddenly, wonderfully, shine on its own? It felt unfair that the thing his life hinged on would be so capricious, that one day he'd known that his chosen path was the right one for himself and the next he found himself hitting a wall.

Some of his classmates were bringing dishes up for Donato to taste, but unlike the other workshops Takumi had attended, they lingered for a moment longer. Some of their shoulders went rigid and they silently nodded with harsh jerks that seemed more forced than not, and others debated for minutes on end with the alumni chef, who didn't seem any more or less irritated that they argued back. Almost all of the interactions ended with Donato leaning back, waving his hand slightly and nodding dismissively as the student bowed to him.

This isn't a class to be graded on, Takumi realized. This is an informal critique session.

Critiques weren't common in Tōtsuki, at least in this first year. Takumi knew the outline of them, though: you presented something to a peer or instructor who promised to stay as neutral as they could, and you allowed them to lavish praise and criticism in kind. You didn't speak for the first few minutes unless asked, in your defense or not, and afterwards you engaged in some small discussion about what the consumer had found in your dish that you hadn't. It was a simple, shockingly scholastic tool that worked in isolation.

Takumi didn't know what that meant for him.

He hadn't prepared the pizza cooking in his oven for a critique. It had been a decision of spontaneous whimsy, if anything, and it was barely more than a simple dinner he'd have made for his family back in Florence. Sure, he'd messed with the ingredients of the three base layers, but in the end, it was just a simple pizza, nothing he'd actually want to show off to anyone. Was this his life now? Did he have to think about being extraordinary every time he turned a stove on?

Fratellone, you're being ridiculous, Isami's voice suddenly hissed in his ear. Just because you are learning how to cook amazing dishes at school doesn't mean you have to always cook amazing dishes. Like da Vinci and his sketches.

When they were younger, Isami had decided he actually didn't want to be a chef, instead desiring to follow in the path of the Renaissance masters and become a painter. The impulse had left before long, but Isami's deep admiration for some of those artists hadn't, leaving him prone to offhand reference men who had long since been laid to rest. Leonardo da Vinci had been one of his favorites in particular, but he had always been fascinated by the artist's sketchbooks over his polished works. "He didn't really intend for anyone to see these, you see," Isami had told him one night as Takumi halfheartedly nodded to support his twin's excitement. "These sketches— they were just tests. Studies, even. Nothing like the masterpieces that da Vinci is also known for."

"Like Mona Lisa?"

A sigh. "Yes, fratellone, like Mona Lisa."

"If they're just studies, why do you care about them now?"

Isami had stared at the image of a man with four arms and four legs splayed on a book page. "Because it's da Vinci's genius that makes them interesting to us. In retrospect, we can examine his sketches and wonder why he's studying it, rather than marvel at the actual sketch itself." Isami quirked a smile at him. "Isn't that fascinating? To have your work deemed worthy weeks after you created it, not out of any appreciation for the work but out of appreciation for yourself? I think it'd be the highest compliment."

Sketches, not masterpieces. Takumi took the finished pizza out of the oven. A study, not an actual specialty dish. Perhaps, years from now, he'd look back at this moment the way Donato claimed he looked back on his own Training Camp days and pinpoint it as the beginning of his professional journey. It was too soon to tell.

Takumi bowed to the alumni as he presented his dish.

The chef looked delighted to see it, which was rather relieving to Takumi. "Ah, Aldini Takumi-san! I've heard interesting things about you." He examined the pizza more closely. "This looks to be a fairly standard pizza, correct?"

"Standard, perhaps," Takumi said with a shrug. "I've taken some liberties with it, as you expected."

Donato chuckled. "Enticingly terse! Tell me, Aldini-san, has a fan club of sorts formed around you yet?"

Completely caught off-guard, Takumi found himself stuttering incoherently to Donato. Hadn't Momo implied the existence of such a thing weeks ago…?

"Oh, it's nothing if one has!" Donato smiled charmingly at Takumi. "I myself found one forming around me when I was just starting out at Tōtsuki. Alarming, for sure, but it's nice to have unconditional support, even if it isn't for any particular accomplishment of yours."

I have no idea if that's true or not… Donato seemed like the kind of guy to say whatever he had to in order to connect with someone.

The chef finally turned to the pizza and carefully removed a slice. He gave a happy trill of sorts when he noticed the first of Takumi's changes. "Ah, this green sauce! Very different from the expected tomato-based sauce usually seen with this kind of pizza."

"It's just as delicious, I promise you," Takumi said.

"I do hope so, Aldini-san." He smiled. "Well, let's give it a try—"

Donato bit into the piece of pizza in his hand and immediately felt his eyes close as the flavors unraveled in front of him. It was a simple flavor, as expected from such a simple dish: crisp, fresh pesto that brushed through him like blades of grass against his legs as he walked through a field, along with a mild, almost sweet cloud of cheesiness that carefully drifted by overhead. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was simple and delicious and provoking in its own way because of that.

"A wonderful base," Donato said. "The pesto is a delightful twist that I wasn't quite expecting, though I have heard of such a substitution before. Did you do anything special with it?"

"I decided to try Thai basil in this pesto," Takumi said, leaning back on his heels. "I feel it might be more suitable for a sweeter pizza, but I wanted to try it on a basic one first before building up to that."

"I see." Donato closed his eyes. "Yes, the anise notes of the Thai basil do ring out after one takes a bite, and I can feel a slight absence where sweet basil would have dominated. This does make for a very interesting, if a bit plain base for more complex flavors to come into play." He glanced back at Takumi. "Did you have thoughts on what those complex flavors might be?"

"Peppers, perhaps," Takumi said. "Some honey to balance out the lost sweetness from the substitution of pesto for sauce. The inclusion of the pesto provides enough fat that I don't feel a protein would benefit the combination."

"Ah, but there I would disagree," Donato said. Some combination of his words and the mildness of his tone undercut any bite that Takumi might have felt from being so outright contradicted. "I am quite fortunate to have learnt familiarity with many of France's fine food options, including some that, while cousins to an Italian tradition, offer mildness and complexity that perhaps you are not considering due to a lack of knowledge expected by age. In particular, some French cured meats might go along with the flavors you have already described."

"Wouldn't a cured meat overbalance the salt of the overall dish?" Takumi asked.

"If you were to choose the wrong one, of course," Donato replied, "but that is why I specified a French option. Tell me, Aldini-san, have you ever had a taste of jambon de Lacaune?"

"Jambon is ham, right?" Takumi said. "I don't think I've ever had that particular meat, no."

"It's quite a wonderful dry-cured ham," Donato explained. "Known for a rich flavor and, as the French are insistent on saying, une pointe de sel. A touch of salt. The fine garlic massaged into the pizza dough, blended with this milder, less sweet pesto would adore the body of a jambon prepared so simply. If you find yourself with time this summer, I suggest you expand your repertoire of food to other offerings on the continent."

Takumi blinked. "Does everyone know now, then?" he asked, a hint of complaint edging into his words.

Donato laughed at that, leaning back in his chair. "I was one of Chef Mizuhara's underclassmen in my Tōtsuki days," he revealed. "Even when she became an Elite, she didn't suffer what she held as incompetency. I think Mizuhara-senpai went through five trainees before deciding just to focus on her own craft, though that may have been because I was one of few high-performing Western cuisine enthusiasts and found myself tucked under Shinomiya-senpai's wing fairly quickly. That she found someone at the student-level interesting enough to formally request their presence in her sojourns through Italy… it's notable, especially among us."

Takumi felt himself color. "I wish it wasn't, a little," he admitted. "I'm beyond flattered by all of the attention, but—" he shrugged slightly. "I just want to focus on my cooking for a bit. I don't need everyone constantly watching to see what I do next."

"People enjoy watching excellence," Donato said. "If anything, focus on your own expectations. Don't underperform just because you're nervous that everyone's watching you." He tapped the plate of pizza in front of him. "This is a great place to begin building a specialty from, though it isn't quite the best start of a specialty. Think about that. Think about the food you want to make. And when an audience gathers, only think about pleasing them, not the others who watch over their shoulders."

Takumi nodded in a single, stiff motion. "Sì. Grazie."

Donato waved a hand dismissively. "De rien. Now, let's continue discussing what you can bring to this pizza to make it shine even more. Tell me what you know of the four basic elements of cooking and which you can envision this pizza shining with."


"You weren't kidding about Chef Shinomiya's task being hard on Marui-san," Ikumi said, staring at the pale boy. Daigo and Shōji were holding him up between the two of them. "Are you ill?"

"He'll be fine," Yūki said dismissively, slapping him on the back. "Just give him five minutes and maybe some tea. He'll come back to life soon enough."

"Just in time to nearly faint at whatever's being planned next," Takumi said, shaking his head. "How many people were expelled in your classes?"

"Nearly half," Ryōko reported. "That's probably why Marui-san looks as ill as he does."

"Rough," Ikumi commented.

"How did your workshop go, Aldini-san?" Shun asked quietly. "Chef Gotōda had an interesting conundrum for us, but I saw him earlier this week."

"Only a quarter of the people in the class even bothered taking part in the critique," Takumi said with a snort. "I think I heard the chef say the word 'derivative' for almost two-thirds of them."

"But not for you, of course," Sōmei drawled.

"We spent the time discussing flavor balance," Takumi admitted.

"Aren't you a good little golden boy?" Ikumi snickered.

"Don't tell me that none of the alumni have approached any of you," Takumi shot back.

There was a slight pause. "Chef Sekimori seemed interested in me," Sōmei ventured. "I was not pulled from any of the work assigned to us the way you were, Aldini-san, but I think that's less because of anything I did and more because Chef Mizuhara is the only alum that has attended this camp who would do that. I don't know what I'm going to do if he does follow up with me."

Ikumi gave him a strange look. "You… go with him. You see what he wants to talk to you about."

"Easy for you to say," Sōmeimuttered.

"Has Chef Kikuchi followed up with you? She seems like the chef with the most relevant choice of specialty of the ones here," Takumi asked Ikumi quickly to force the conversation along. By the look she gave him, she knew exactly what he was doing.

"No, and if she did I don't think I'd accept," Ikumi said airily.

Takumi blinked. "Why… not?"

"My mama would skin me alive if I told her I was going to a Japanese woman to learn about Western cooking," she said plainly. "Not to mention my grandma and my aunties. I don't want to be the center of a family feud at all." She hesitated. "Honestly, I want to spend my summer focusing on preparing for the Autumn Election, and I'm sure Eizan-senpai has plans that would require my presence, as well. I'm not going to push for anything to come of this."

"I feel the same," Shun said. "I think I'll stay at Polar Star and continue experimenting. It's harvest season, as well; Isshiki-senpai will need a hand with that."

"I forget that you Polar Stars grow most of your own ingredients," Ikumi said. "Mind if I stopped by and looked around when we got back to school?"

"You just want to see Yoshino-san's game animals again," Shun accused.

Ikumi shrugged. "You can't fault a girl for being curious."

"Aldi-nyan." Ikumi, Sōmei, and Shun blinked over Takumi's shoulder. He turned to see Momo standing behind him, hugging Bucchi to her chest. "You made it through," she said.

"Ah— yeah, I did, I suppose," Takumi said hesitantly. "Do you… want to join us?"

Momo's eyes narrowed as she glanced at where the rest of Polar Star mingled with each other. Daigo and Shōji had dumped Zenji on a sofa in the hopes that he had revived himself enough to sit up straight and join the conversation, but he'd simply slid off of the cushions and into a defeated pile on the ground, where Ryōko was trying to rouse him as Yūki screamed at the two other boys.

Momo wrinkled her nose. "Momo doesn't want to stay for too long," she said. "Bucchi had a new idea of something that will make Rindō-senpai squeeze Momo's cheeks again, and that means figuring out how to prevent that from happening." Momo immediately pinched Bucchi's cheeks as if in preemptive retaliation. "But Momo just wanted to say. Aldi-nyan. You made it through Hell Camp."

"What are we, chopped sirloin?" Ikumi muttered.

"Momo knew you would make it through, Mito-san, Ibusaki-san," Momo said dismissively. She blinked towards Sōmei. "... Saitō-nyan, right?"

"Why are Aldini-san and I the ones given the strangely childish nicknames?" Sōmei muttered.

"Easy." Momo reached out and gently patted Sōmei's cheek. "You're the cutest ones."

Sōmei leaned away from the hand, his face a flaming red, as Ikumi immediately started snickering at him.

"That's just Akanegakubo-san's way," Shun said simply, as if that was any explanation at all.

"Charming," Sōmei muttered.

"Hmph." Momo visibly turned away from him and towards Takumi. "Congratulations, or whatever. Maybe you're worth some notice, after all."

"That seems a bit preemptive," Ikumi said. "Isn't there one final challenge at dinner today?"

Momo tapped her chin with a finger. "Oh yeah, that's right," she said, though her still flat tone didn't exactly sell the dawning realization that her words were going for. "Momo will see you all then. Rindō-senpai really emphasized this last night as a big part of the Training Camp."

"She did?"

Momo had already left by the time Takumi said anything.

"If Kobayashi-senpai emphasized any aspect of this Camp, I'm worried," Ikumi muttered. "She's not the most vindictive member of the Elite Ten, but she's a pretty good litmus test for anything big and flashy."

"We'll have to be on our guard, then," Sōmei said. He glanced at a clock on the wall. "We have one last hour. Did you all want to do anything while we're still here?"

A quiet pause.

"I've got more salmon I've been experimenting with, if you all want to try," Shun offered. "It's back in my room, though."

"Where the hell did you find a smoking facility in this place?" Ikumi asked, bewildered.

"Absolutely do not ask him that."


Apologies for the delay! I had five different deadlines all for yesterday and found myself trying to catch up there instead. The last chapter of the Training Camp itself will be posted on Friday, and the arc wrap-up the week after then. I'll be taking a few weeks off to fully structure and start drafting the Summer Break arc; I'm very excited to start working on Takumi's next steps in his culinary journey :) In between then, I'll be reposting this story over on AO3 under the username sentraia and give myself some time to catch up.

Food notes: pesto is normally made with sweet basil, pine nuts, and oil. Thai basil is a slightly more bitter variant of basil that has been used in pestos before, but all of the recipes I see for it warn about how it's much less sweet than you'd expect from a typical pesto. Also, not really a food note, but Ikumi did say 'chopped sirloin' instead of 'chopped liver' because she doesn't seem to be the type to compare herself to an organ meat.