Ya había pasado por las pruebas regionales y, ahora, el momento de la verdad había llegado. Si conseguía pasar este filtro, su lugar en el programa estaría asegurado, al igual que su sueño de estudiar en una buena escuela, pues este reality, además de ofrecer bastante experiencia culinaria, también servía como plataforma para incorporarse a los más prestigiosos colegios de gastronomía del país. Se había preparado tanto para este momento, que casi podía sentir la ansiedad corriendo por sus venas.

El examinador terminó el bocado, lo miró en silencio, bajó la cuchara y avanzó hacia la siguiente estación. Sin decir una sola palabra respecto al plato de Luo Binghe. Los examinadores eran los mismos año tras año, por lo que ya los conocía a todos y sabía que no recibiría ningún comentario, sin embargo, no lograba acostumbrarse a la sensación de ser juzgado en cada visita.

Solo faltaba un examinador más, un último crítico que probaría su comida antes de que todo hubiera terminado y pudiera volver a respirar. El último chef siempre había sido particularmente difícil de tratar. Un hombre de edad avanzada que lo miraba con fastidio y, en el momento en que probaba sus platos, fruncía el ceño como si fuera lo peor que hubiera probado en la vida, tan solo para, inmediatamente después, alejarse entre murmullos sobre por qué los niños no deberían jugar en la cocina. Era siempre un duro golpe para su autoestima, pero siendo su tercer intento, confiaba en que esta vez estaría preparado para enfrentar sus duras críticas.

Entonces, la primera sorpresa llegó. Ese año, un joven que no parecía mucho mayor que él se detuvo en su estación, le sonrió con calidez y lo saludó con una voz suave y elegante.

—¿Qué tenemos aquí? —preguntó, mirándolo con curiosidad mientras se acercaba para leer el nombre en su hoja de participación. —Luo Binghe, ¿no eres muy joven para estar en el programa?

kuroo reads the list once, then again, expression calm and unreadable. he doesn’t announce it, doesn’t dramatize it. he simply folds the paper and slips it into his jacket.

“heads up,” he says quietly to sugawara and komori. “this is a vip-heavy night.”

sugawara hums, already smoothing his jacket. “of course it is.”

komori adjusts a chair by a fraction for perfection and nods once, eyes sharp.

at the host stand, yamaguchi scans the list with careful focus. his grip tightens just slightly around the reservation book before he relaxes it again. no walk ins. no exceptions. tonight more than ever.

behind the pass, the kitchen feels it before service even starts.

the air is already thick with heat and tension. prep cooks move faster than usual, shoulders brushing, voices clipped. the printer is silent for now, but everyone knows it won’t be for long.

atsumu tastes a sauce and scowls. “this is gonna be one of those nights, i swear.”

“you say that every night,” iwaizumi mutters from the grill, prepping protein with practiced ease.

“yeah, and i’m always right,” atsumu snaps back, already reaching for salt.

daichi stalks the line, eyes darting from station to station. everything looks fine. that’s what worries him.

kita hasn’t said anything yet. he doesn’t need to. he stands near the edge of the line, watching, cataloging. he knows. he always does.

service hits hard and fast.

the first wave of tickets comes in and doesn’t stop. daichi, the expo, calls times sharp and relentless. pans hit heat. flames flare. voices overlap in controlled chaos.

out front, front of house moves like clockwork.

sugawara glides from table to table, smile warm, voice steady. komori follows the floor instinctively, stepping in where needed before anyone has to ask. yamaguchi handles early friction with calm repetition, politely dismantling entitlement one sentence at a time.

at the bar, suna polishes glasses with lazy precision. matsukawa chats easily. hanamaki laughs softly. terushima flirts with someone who definitely thinks this is special treatment.

oikawa swirls a glass of wine, already mid performance. “ah, i see what you’re thinking,” he says pleasantly to a guest who has just questioned a pairing. “but trust me.”

the guest does. they always do.

back in the kitchen, the rhythm tightens.

atsumu is plating faster now, calling back times with a sharp edge. tsukishima mutters under his breath as he adjusts plating for the third time in a row. kunimi moves quietly, unbothered, sliding vegetables into place with exact timing. aone watches everything, stepping in only when necessary. aran keeps the younger cooks steady with quiet reassurances.

iwaizumi works the grill like it’s an extension of his body. sweat drips down his neck, heat rolling off the station in waves. he flips, presses, plates, never hesitating.

until it happens.

it’s fast. a splatter of oil kicked up as he shifts a pan. a sharp sting against his forearm.

iwaizumi hisses once, breath catching for half a second before he clamps his jaw shut. he glances down, sees the angry red mark already blooming, then turns back to the grill without missing a beat.

atsumu sees it.

“you good, man?” he asks quickly, eyes flicking over.

iwaizumi doesn’t look up. “yeah.”

that’s it. that’s all.

aone notices the tension in his shoulders. tsukishima clocks the way he shifts his stance, just slightly. daichi registers it from the corner of his eye but expo is already calling again and the printer is screaming.

service swallows the moment whole.

iwaizumi keeps working.

the burn stings, then throbs. the heat from the grill doesn’t help, radiating against already sensitive skin. he adjusts his arm when he can, but there’s nowhere to go. the grill doesn’t care.

he ignores it.

focus narrows. flip. plate. wipe. answer calls. his brows furrow deeper, but his timing doesn’t slip. not enough to matter.

kai drifts closer without saying anything, hovering just outside the station’s edge. ready.

out front, the night gets worse.

a table sends a plate back complaining it’s under seasoned. the same plate comes back out unchanged and they praise it.

another guest insists the wine is wrong. oikawa swaps it seamlessly, smile never faltering, then recommends something more expensive with a gentle tilt of his head.

kuroo navigates a conversation with an investor like it’s a dance, voice smooth, eyes calculating. komori politely shuts down a request for a last-minute substitution mid-course. sugawara smooths over tension at another table with practiced warmth.

inside, the kitchen grinds on.

atsumu snaps at a prep cook and immediately corrects himself. tsukishima slams tweezers down harder than necessary. daichi’s voice is hoarse now, but he keeps calling.

iwaizumi’s forearm burns. sweat runs over it, making it worse. he wraps it quickly between tickets, sloppy and tight, then goes right back to work.

it’s manageable. annoying. painful. but manageable.

kita steps closer.

he doesn’t interrupt. he watches.

he sees the wrap. sees the way iwaizumi’s movement is just a fraction more deliberate. sees the heat catching him when he turns.

he waits through two more tickets.

then he speaks.

“step off the line.”

iwaizumi stiffens. “chef, it’s fine. it’s not on my hand.”

“step off the line,” kita repeats, voice even.

“we’re slammed,” iwaizumi argues once, controlled. “i can finish service.”

kita looks at him.

not angry. not disappointed.

certain.

“you’re done for now. get that burn taken care of.”

iwaizumi exhales sharply, frustration flaring, then reins it in. he nods once and steps back.

kai is already moving.

he slides into the grill station smoothly, hands steady, eyes focused. the transition is seamless. protein keeps moving. timing holds.

service does not slow.

iwaizumi heads off the line, jaw tight, adrenaline still buzzing. the burn pulses now that he’s away from the heat. someone hands him a towel. basic care. cool water. proper wrap.

he flexes his fingers. still good.

out front, no one notices a thing.

plates go out perfect. compliments roll back in. vip tables linger, satisfied. the dining room hums with approval.

kai holds the grill with quiet competence. aone shifts closer in support. atsumu adjusts without comment. the kitchen adapts.

after a while, the rush breaks just enough.

iwaizumi returns, forearm wrapped properly, expression set. he doesn’t say anything. neither does anyone else.

he steps back into position and the line makes space for him like he never left.

the rest of the night settles into rhythm.

complaints keep coming. food keeps going out flawless. wine keeps flowing. front of house keeps smiling.

by the time the last table leaves, everyone is exhausted.

the kitchen is wrecked. the dining room immaculate.

kita surveys the line once more, nods, and leaves.

service from hell.

and somehow, still perfect.

Sawamura Daichi — Chef de Cuisine runs the kitchen day to day. loud, relentless, and fiercely protective. keeps service from collapsing through sheer force of will.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🔪Sous Chefs

the backbone of the line. enforcers of standards, fixers of mistakes, and the first to jump in when something goes wrong.

Sakusa Kiyoomi — Sous Chef obsessive about cleanliness and execution. corrects mistakes silently and expects you to notice.

Aone Takanobu — Sous Chef does not yell. does not need to. problems stop when he steps in.

Aran Ojiro — Sous Chef steady, calm authority. trusted by everyone. the kitchen breathes easier when he’s nearby.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🔥Hot Line (Chef de Partie)

elite specialists running their own corners of hell. loud, territorial, and painfully good at what they do.

Miya Atsumu — Saucier runs sauces and proteins. volatile, brilliant, and constantly one second away from disaster. still nails every plate.

Miya Osamu — Pantry / Cold Station runs composed dishes, balance, and flavor control. steady, grounded, and deeply food-first. the quiet counterweight to atsumu’s volatility. nothing leaves his station without intention.

Ushijima Wakatoshi — Poissonnier handles fish with terrifying calm. never rushed, never shaken. produces identical perfection every time.

Iwaizumi Hajime — Grillardin rules the grill with fire and volume. aggressive, fast, and absolutely fearless around open flame.

Kunimi Akira — Entremetier controls vegetables, sides, and timing. quiet, efficient, and almost never yelled at.

Tsukishima Kei — Garde Manger cold station tyrant. obsessed with plating and presentation. will redo an entire dish out of spite.

Kai Nobuyuki — Tournant the floater. fills gaps, fixes disasters, and quietly saves service without asking for credit.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🍰Pastry Department

a separate kingdom operating on sugar, precision, and quiet menace.

Tendou Satori — Pastry Chef creative, unsettling, and disturbingly cheerful. treats pastry like a psychological game he always wins.

Akaashi Keiji — Pastry Sous Chef the handler. organizes chaos, keeps schedules intact, and gently reins Tendou back into reality.

Washio Tatsuki — Baker in before dawn. bread is sacred. runs the quietest station in the building with brutal discipline.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🥕Prep Cooks

the grinders. early in, late out. constantly learning and constantly yelled at.

Kindaichi Yutaro — Prep Cook loud, physical, and desperate to prove himself. improves fast under pressure.

Koganegawa Kanji — Prep Cook strong, eager, and slightly clumsy. volunteers for everything.

Goshiki Tsutomu — Prep Cook anxious overachiever. takes criticism personally but plates beautifully when trusted.

Hinata Shoyo — Prep Cook insanely fast, zero fear, terrible patience. chaos incarnate.

Kageyama Tobio — Prep Cook hyper-precise and fiercely competitive. constantly fighting Hinata over speed versus accuracy.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🫧Dishwashers / Porters

the heart of the kitchen. loud, soaked, and absolutely indispensable.

Tanaka Ryunosuke — Dishwasher relentless energy. immune to yelling. runs the pit like a personal challenge.

Nishinoya Yuu — Dishwasher moving at double speed at all times. races the machine and somehow never breaks plates.

Yamamoto Taketora — Dishwasher intense and fiercely loyal. defends the pit like it’s sacred ground.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🍽️Front of House Leadership

polished smiles, iron spines. the buffer between guests and kitchen violence.

Kuroo Tetsurou — General Manager smooth, charming, and socially lethal. handles VIPs flawlessly and talks the most shit in private.

Yamaguchi Tadashi — Maître d’ soft-spoken, immovable authority. calmly explains that no, there are no walk-ins. the waitlist is booked months out.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🍷Beverage Program

liquid confidence and quiet judgment.

Oikawa Tooru — Sommelier charismatic wine god. gently humiliates arrogant guests with a smile and a four-figure recommendation.

Suna Rintarou — Bar Manager / Head Bartender effortlessly charming and mildly lazy. remembers everyone’s drink and shuts down nonsense with a look.

Matsukawa Issei — Bartender dry humor and perfect pours. handles drunk guests with surgical politeness.

Hanamaki Takahiro — Bartender friendly, smooth, and beloved by guests.

Terushima Yuuji — Bartender high-energy menace. flirts shamelessly and occasionally needs to be reined in.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

📒Floor Staff

the polished foot soldiers carrying plates and secrets.

Sugawara Koushi — Floor Captain warm, charming, and deeply competent. diffuses tension effortlessly.

Komori Motoya — Floor Captain quiet authority. sees everything and panics about nothing.

Narita Kazuhito — Server calm, reliable, and universally trusted.

Ennoshita Chikara — Server handles difficult guests gracefully. vents extensively afterward.

Yahaba Shigeru — Server sharp, efficient, and savage in the group chat.

Fukunaga Shouhei — Server dry humor, perfect timing, and deadpan reactions.

Lev Haiba — Server charming, enthusiastic, and has dropped plates before. this is not forgotten.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🍽️Bussers

silent, fast, and everywhere at once.

Inuoka Sou — Busser energetic and hyper-aware. moves like a shadow.

Kinoshita Hisashi — Busser steady, quiet, and impeccably timed.

Onaga Wataru — Busser composed and observant. trains the others and keeps things smooth.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

🧹Cleaning Staff

the unseen maintenance keeping everything from falling apart.

Hiroo Koji — Day-Shift Cleaner handles guest messes discreetly during service. appears and vanishes without a trace.

Sakunami Kosuke — Night-Shift Cleaner deep-cleans after close. methodical, thorough, and quietly respected by BOH.

sugawara moves down the center aisle, hands clasped behind his back, eyes flicking to each table as if committing them to memory. komori trails a few steps behind, checking spacing, adjusting a chair by half an inch, nodding once in quiet approval. they do not speak. they never need to.

near the host stand, yamaguchi stands straight with the reservation book open, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the leather cover. the waitlist is full, as it always is. he has already memorized the names, the special notes, the dietary restrictions. he exhales once through his nose, slow and measured, then closes the book.

“no walk ins,” he murmurs to himself, not because he might forget, but because it steadies him.

behind the pass, the kitchen is anything but quiet.

metal clinks against metal as pans are set into place. a drawer slams shut. someone swears under their breath. the air is already warm, already heavy with the smell of oil heating and stock reducing. prep cooks dart between stations, shoulders brushing, hands full, voices overlapping in sharp bursts.

“behind.”

“heard.”

“corner.”

“knife.”

hinata nearly collides with kageyama at the lowboy and they both jerk back instinctively, eyes flashing.

“watch it,” kageyama snaps.

“you were in my way,” hinata shoots back, already reaching for a new container, already moving again.

daichi’s voice cuts through them both without rising.

“eyes up. both of you.”

they freeze for half a second, then move faster, quieter. the argument dies before it can catch.

along the hot line, atsumu leans over his station, tasting from a spoon and grimacing.

“too salty,” he mutters, then adds a splash of stock and swirls the pan, eyes sharp. he tastes again, nods, then immediately scowls. “no, that’s still not right.”

iwaizumi snorts from the grill. “you say that every night.”

“and i’m always right,” atsumu snaps back, already plating a test spoon for daichi.

ushijima does not look up from his cutting board. his knife moves with steady precision, slicing through fish with a calm that borders on unsettling. the pieces are identical, laid out in perfect rows. he slides them aside and reaches for the next fillet without pause.

tsukishima clicks his tongue softly as he adjusts a plate under the cold station lights, nudging a garnish into place with tweezers. he steps back, squints, then sighs and fixes it again. it still isn’t right, but it is closer.

kunimi works silently beside him, blanching vegetables with practiced ease, expression unreadable. he does not rush. he never does.

at the far end, kai moves between stations, filling gaps before they fully form. he swaps a pan here, grabs a towel there, murmurs a time check to atsumu, then turns and helps a prep cook locate something they are very clearly panicking about.

“walk in,” tanaka shouts from the dish pit, already soaked, already loud. “let’s go, opening night, baby.”

nishinoya whoops beside him, slamming a rack into the machine. yamamoto laughs and nearly drops a stack of plates before catching himself at the last second.

daichi drags a hand down his face and then straightens, clapping once.

“all right. final checks.”

the kitchen tightens around the words.

sous chefs step forward, eyes scanning their sections. sakusa wipes down his station again, jaw tight, gaze sharp. aone crosses his arms, watching without comment. aran gives one prep cook a reassuring nod and adjusts a pan himself without being asked.

then kita walks in.

he does not announce himself. he never does.

conversation softens the moment he steps onto the line, volume dropping by instinct alone. he moves slowly, deliberately, eyes taking everything in. a smear on a counter that needs wiping. a pan slightly too close to the edge. a garnish that is fine, but not perfect.

he stops at atsumu’s station.

atsumu straightens immediately, spoon already in hand. “chef.”

kita tastes. he chews. he considers.

“balance is better,” he says quietly. “reduce five more minutes.”

atsumu nods, relief flickering across his face before he schools it back into focus. “yes, chef.”

kita moves on.

he pauses behind tsukishima, looks at the plate, then looks at tsukishima.

tsukishima sighs and fixes it again without being told.

“good,” kita says.

that is all.

in the pastry corner, tendou hums under his breath as he pipes something dangerously intricate, grin wide and unfazed. akaashi stands beside him with a clipboard, checking times and nodding along, already planning how to keep tendou from going off script mid service.

washio does not look up from his bread. he never does. the loaves are lined up like soldiers, crusts perfect, scent warm and comforting in a way the rest of the kitchen is not.

kita reaches the end of the line and stops.

for a moment, nothing happens.

then he turns back to daichi.

“open.”

daichi nods once. “yes, chef.”

out front, the doors unlock.

the first guests step inside, voices low, eyes already scanning the room. sugawara greets them with a smile that is warm and effortless. komori moves in sync, guiding coats away, chairs out, menus placed gently into waiting hands.

yamaguchi watches the host stand like a hawk, polite smile ready. a couple approaches without a reservation, already mid sentence.

“i’m so sorry,” he says calmly, cutting them off before they can finish. “we are fully booked tonight.”

“but we were hoping to just,” the man starts.

“i understand,” yamaguchi replies, tone kind, unmoving. “the waitlist is booked months in advance.”

they protest. he repeats the policy. eventually, they leave. he exhales once and marks something down in his notes.

at the bar, suna leans against the counter, polishing a glass slowly. matsukawa chats quietly with a guest. hanamaki laughs at something someone says. terushima is already flirting shamelessly and being shushed with a look.

oikawa swirls a glass of wine near the pass, eyes bright. “first table just sat,” he calls, voice smooth. “six top, tasting menu, wine pairing.”

“received,” daichi calls back.

the printer whirs.

the first ticket slides out.

expo calls it.

the kitchen shifts.

atsumu snaps out times. iwaizumi turns up the heat. ushijima plates without looking up. tsukishima mutters under his breath and moves faster. kunimi adjusts timing. kai fills gaps.

plates start to line up at the pass, steam rising, colors sharp and precise.

foh glides them out like nothing is wrong.

guests smile. compliments are murmured. wine is poured.

behind the scenes, everything is loud, hot, frantic, controlled.

this is not a special night.

this is just opening.

and somehow, every time, it still feels like the first.