Arato Hisako was convinced that the universe had no sympathy for her. That was the only explanation for why only a matter of weeks after she’d put Akira out of her mind and started getting serious with someone new, she saw his stupid, smug face on the cover of Business Insider.

He looked so cool and arrogant in the photograph, standing by a window in his Dubai skyscraper, that part of Hisako felt inclined to throw the entire magazine out the window.  

“But when did he even—”

“Ignore it,” Erina advised as they rode through the streets of Paris in a stretch limo, on their way to buy outfits for the pre-open. “You decided you’re done with him, so be done.” 

“You’re right.” Hisako heaved a gargantuan sigh, knowing for certain that he would be there for the launch of Maison de Yukihira tonight, and that it would take everything within her to keep from slapping him into infinity. 

As they moved from boutique to boutique, Hisako noticed something peculiar about her friend’s behavior. Although she’d always had impeccable style, Erina scarcely had either the time or the patience to indulge in all-day shopping sprees. In fact, she often sent a professional shopper out with her measurements and outsourced the task of buying clothes entirely. 

But now she glided through the racks with laser focus, moving in and out of dressing rooms without even the slightest huff of irritation. 

“Are you looking for something specific, Erina-sama?” she asked after she walked out of their seventh store empty-handed. For her part, Hisako had long since decided on a navy blue scoop neck dress. 

“No. It’s just you know how those food magazines photograph me every chance they get. I figured I should try to make an impression this time instead of getting caught unawares.”

Hisako sensed bullshit — and she saw that her best friend was touching the back of her neck the way she always did when she had a certain diner chef on the brain. But she wouldn’t give her any grief about it. Hisako knew better than anyone the agony derived from affections that cropped up where they didn’t belong. 

When Erina found the right dress, an onyx column gown with a daring slit running up the left side, Hisako smiled and found her gold earrings and bangles to match. 

That evening Alice met them at their hotel, dressed in the type of chic white jumpsuit that was becoming typical of her. She took one look at her cousin, from her matte burgundy lipstick to the 100 mm red bottoms adorning her feet and exchanged a knowing look with Hisako. 

“So we’re out to break hearts tonight?” Alice asked, chuckling as she helped herself to the vodka in the minibar. 

“Just the usual one, courtesy of the god tongue,” Erina replied, deadpan, and Hisako felt a creeping suspicion that she had been referring to her own. 

-----

To say that it had been a good year for Yoshino Yuki would be a gross understatement. Almost overnight she had gone from cruise ship cook to Tasty producer with talks about her own Food Network special in the works. 

For the first time in her life, she’d flown to Paris in a business class cube and she had no intention of ever downgrading again.

She had spent the last few months feeling like the girl-next-door made good. But once she stepped out of her cab and saw the culinary juggernauts waiting to enter Yukihira's debut restaurant, she was reminded once again of the abyss that stood between her and the true elite.

She had been standing by the coat check, caught between the impulse to network and the desire to search for a familiar face when she locked eyes with Marui Zenji, who was handing off his blazer to the attendant. 

“Oh, Yoshino-san!” he said, smiling at her. “I thought it’d be ages before I found someone I knew.”

Yuki returned the smile, noting that he had grown a little since Fumio-san’s 85th. Was that even possible? She had maintained the same shrimpy stature since their last year of junior high school. “It’s been awhile, Marui. Congratulations on finishing your degree, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He looked down, adjusting those absurdly round spectacles of his. 

 “What will you do now?” Yuki asked. 

“I’m actually starting a postgraduate program,” he explained.

Yuki rolled her eyes a bit. “Honestly, Marui. At this rate you’ll be in your fifties before you open a restaurant.”

He chuckled a bit. “You sound like my parents.” 

They drifted away from the coat check then, glancing about the clusters of gourmands sipping cocktails and chatting before the start of the dinner service. Yuki’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she spotted Elaine Shiraz and a handful of editors from True Taste magazine. 

“Yukihira’s really done well for himself, huh?” she said, more to herself than to Zenji. She still had such a long way to go. 

“He’s not the only one,” he told her.

“I guess you’re right. Somewhere in this dining room, Shoji is probably shooting his shot with Arato-san.” 

This earned a full-bellied laugh from Marui, the likes of which usually only came out after his third drink. “Undeniably true,” he replied. “But not what I was referring to.” 

“Then what—”

“I always knew you were meant to be on television.”

For a moment, Yuki was taken aback. Of everyone she’d ever known, this man had to be the least aware of pop culture. So how could it be that he was following her career down its media-saturated path? 

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, as that was the only way she’d ever known how to deal with the absurdly high regard he held her in. “We should go find a table for four. You know Shun and Ryoko won’t be here until the food’s nearly out.”

Marui’s eyes darkened with regret. “Actually, Yoshino-san, I’m here with someone tonight.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she said, trying to clear the surprise from her expression.

“But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if the five of us—”

“No, that kind of thing drives front of the house staff crazy,” Yuki said, a shiver running down her spine as she recalled her dark hostessing days. “Don’t keep her waiting. It was good seeing you, though.”

“Keep in touch,” he told her. “My number’s the same.”

Yuki didn’t bother telling him that her number had changed three times in as many years. She had no intention of calling anyway. 

 ----

It was rare for Megumi to spend much time thinking about her appearance, but because this was his night she had curled the ends of her hair and put on the short red dress with the halter neckline. After getting her mother and grandfather — who had flown all the way to Europe for the first time — comfortable at their table, she started making her rounds, thanking all their friends from Totsuki and New York for coming. 

“Ohhh, Megumi-chan, why so gorgeous?” the newly minted Shinomiya Hinako squealed once she spotted her.

“Thank you, Inui-senpai,” Megumi managed to say before the older woman pulled her into a hug so tight she started to see stars. 

“Yukihira’s a fool if he doesn’t propose to you tonight.”

“He’s already a fool for thinking he can compete in this venue, green upstart that he is,” Shinomiya interjected.

“If I recall, you were even younger than Yukihira-kun is now when you opened Shino’s, and even less experienced,” Hinako pointed out. She turned to Megumi with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s just upset because he lost his best cook.”

“Ignore, my wife. She’s delusional,” Shinomiya said, pushing his sleek glasses up on his nose. “But when are we going to see your opening, bumpkin?” 

The question brought an unexpected flush to Megumi’s cheeks. “Oh...well I’ve been—”

“Too distracted by dick to focus on your craft?” he asked, rubbing his right temple. “I thought I taught you better than this.” 

“Oh, leave her alone. She’s in love, like us.” 

Shinomiya Kojirou shook his head. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

Tadokoro Megumi was not one to indulge in self-praise, but as she watched the Polar Star glow under the right lighting, with the right guests filling the building with laughter as they dined on just the right menu, she was forced to admit that she’d outdone herself this time.

“Another top-notch event by Tadokoro Megumi,” Chef Doujima Gin said as he approached her on the balcony.

“I can’t take all the credit,” she replied, more out of habit than anything else. “Yuki-chan and the others helped out a lot.”

Doujima smiled at her knowingly, and then glanced out at the crowd out in the garden once more. “How has New York been treating you and Yukihira?”

“It’s very busy, but I like living there,” she said, smiling for a moment as she thought about the memories they’d made, the shitty little apartment they’d turned into a home. “However, I have a feeling we won’t be there for much longer.”

“I take it that Yukihira is looking to open his own place, World Culinary Conference and all.”

“Please don’t say anything to Shinomiya-senpai,” Megumi urged.

“Of course not.” Doujima laughed. “Not that I can see someone like him taking offense to a young talent doing what all chefs ought to do. So, what will you do when he opens his restaurant?”

Megumi shrugged, shocked and annoyed in equal parts when she realized she hadn’t thought much about that. “I’ll help him out if he needs it, or take a job in the kitchen of another hotel.”

Doujima nodded a few times. “Can I speak frankly with you for a moment, Tadokoro-san?”

“Of course, chef.”

“I think you should come work for me,” he said. “I believe that the deputy director position is right for you. It would offer you the challenge and the autonomy necessary for you to reach your full potential as a chef and hospitality specialist.”

Megumi clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from trembling. She had assumed that the offer would be something she told her grandchildren about offhandedly in fifty years or so—a story of the thing she could have done, the life that could’ve been hers.

She couldn’t believe that it was happening again.

“I-I’m honored by the prospect, as I was the last time you mentioned it to me, but—”

“You don’t have to answer right away,” Doujima told her, handing her a business card. “Take some time to think it over.”

With that, Doujima Gin left to rejoin the party, leaving Megumi alone with her thoughts. Or at least, she thought she was alone until none other than Yoshino Yuki pounced on her.

“Megumi, Megumi, MEGUMI!” she cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Oh, no.

“Y-Yuki-chan, how much of that did you overhear?” she asked, although she could tell by the sparkles in her friend’s eyes that she knew everything.

“This job is gonna make you a total VIP. Just think about all the parties you’ll be invited to, all the hotels, and the conferences, and—” Yuki trailed off and stopped jumping. She looked Megumi up and down. “And you’re going to say no? Why?”

“I can’t just drop everything and move back to Tokyo,” she said with a sigh. “I have a job. I have a boyfriend.”

At this, Yuki’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “This is about Yukihira, isn’t it?”

“Yuki-chan—”

“Don’t get me wrong, you and Yukihira are hashtag relationship goals, but you can’t seriously be thinking about letting an opportunity like this pass you by because of a boy!”

Megumi thought of the way Yuki had ended things with Marui the moment she’d gotten her job offer in Munich, the way Arato-san put her breakup with Hayama-kun on her friggin Google calendar so nothing would keep her from her dream job in Geneva. Was she a fool? Was there some memo that she’d missed? Was this what had been in that Totsuki Women’s Association newsletter Hojo-san used to send out?

“I,” she started, her voice faltering. “I don’t want to break up with him.”

“Nobody said break up,” Yuki told her. “Just talk to him. Say, ‘Listen, I’ve been supporting you this whole time, no matter what type of crazy shit you decided to do, and now it’s my turn.’ If he doesn’t want this for you, he’s not worth your time.”

“I know,” Megumi said. “I know. It would be crazy to say no to this for the second time.”

“The second time?”

And at that particular moment, Megumi realized precisely how much catching up she and her friends had to do.

The conference proceedings broke for lunch at one, and Erina could tell as soon as Yukihira Souma reached their table at The Duchess that his meeting with the investors had gone well.

“I take it that I was right to order champagne.” Erina took off her sunglasses and placed them atop her hair.

The little fool couldn’t stop smiling, and the Nakiri heiress bit the inside of her cheek to stave off her own grin.

“Details. Now,” she said.

“It’s gonna be in Paris,” he said. “St. Germain.”

“That’s competitive territory,” she told him. “As I’m sure you know, the original Shino’s and Eden by Tsukasa Eishi are in the same district. A lackluster opening would make it very easy to go bankrupt and fold within a year.”

Yukihira shook his head at her. “Do you always have to be so negative?”

Erina merely shrugged as their waiter came along to pour the champagne and take their orders. “Negativity is my gift to you,” she said after a sip of bubbly. “Without it, I bet you’d carry on like a Disney protagonist.”

“You’re the worst,” he told her. “But I appreciate it.”

“You better,” she replied, rolling her eyes. There were people in this world who paid inordinate amounts of money for the advice she tossed his way for free.

“So, what’s your next move, Nakiri?” he asked. “People have been asking when you’re gonna take over the academy. Or the world.”

Erina gave a little laugh at this. “The world is mine already. Ask about the academy in fifty years or so.” She had way too much living to do before she considered becoming headmaster of Totsuki. “This stays between us,” she said in a warning tone.

“Naturally.”

“I’ve been playing with a restaurant concept for a while now. The site’s already under construction, but I won’t be ready for it for another year or two.”

“Really, where?”

“Madrid.”

“Nice,” he said, smirking at her. “I bet you’re glad you didn’t choose Paris, huh?”

“I’m actually a little sad,” she conceded. “It’d be fun to run you and your peasant eatery out of business.”

“You’ve been saying shit like that for years, but I’m still waiting on that soul-crushing defeat you promised.”

“Keep testing me, and you’ll get it sooner rather than later,” she said. “Congratulations, though. I hope you don’t fuck it up.”

When Megumi came home from the airport, the apartment was filled with the savory scent of beef and rich lardons. The table was set with red wine and candles and the good silverware her mother had given them before they moved to New York.

This did not bode well.

The plan, which she had gone over extensively with Yuki and Ryoko before boarding her flight, had been to get straight to the point. She was going to tell him that Chef Doujima had made her an incredible offer, that she was going to take it, and that she wanted him to come with her. But a romantic dinner would definitely complicate things.

She dropped her duffel bag in the living room and padded over to the kitchen, where her boyfriend was plating two servings of boeuf bourguignon. A smile found its way onto her face. That was the first dish they ever made together, way back in their first year at Totsuki. She had known since then that he was something special.

“How was your flight?” he asked once he saw her.

“It was alright,” she replied. “Should I change?”  she asked when she noticed he was wearing a light blue button down shirt and black jeans that one might mistake for dress pants in the right lighting. She looked down at her leggings and hoodie questioningly.

“Nah,” he said. “Just sit down.”

Megumi, who had spent the last several hours hustling through airports and subway stations, did not have to be told twice.

“What’s the occasion for all this?” she asked.

“I just missed you.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. She knew that he had only gotten in a few hours earlier, and must have gotten to work as soon as he arrived. “Are you sure that’s all?”

Souma chuckled a little bit at this, and then reached across the table to take her hand. Despite the range of emotions Megumi had been feeling lately, the gesture made her heart start beating double time. “I can never get anything past you.”

“And I don’t know why you try,” she replied. “So what happened in Amsterdam? Besides jello shots with Alice, anyway.”

He winced. “You saw that?”

“All over Instagram,” she said.

“Are you mad?”

“Of course not,” she said, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. He never kept anything from her. Megumi sighed. She supposed it was really time for some radical honesty on her end. “But I was a little annoyed when I first saw it. I know it’s perfectly normal for us to go out separately, but I felt kind of left out, and I missed you. And...whenever I see you with Nakiri-san, I just…” She sighed. Honesty was hard.

“Megs, I haven’t felt anything for Nakiri since we were second years.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s silly, but...I’ve always felt like...like someone like her would be your endgame.”

“Megumi, you are my endgame. I don’t want to be with anyone besides you, ever. You’ve had my back since day one. I can’t even imagine my life without you.”

Megumi felt her eyes welling up with tears; was it even possible to love somebody this much?  

“So where are we moving to set up your new restaurant?” she asked. She had known before he left that he’d come home with some extraordinary offer.

“Paris, if you want to,” he said, leaning down to kiss her hand. “Only if you want to.”

“I want to go wherever you go,” she said, and meant it, knowing that she would turn down Chef Doujima’s golden offer for the second time.

“I truly envy the two of you,” she said, as she reclined on one of the couches, waiting for the inevitable moment when they’d be asked to taste test. “You must have so much peace and quiet living by yourselves.”

“I should probably head back to my hotel,” Erina said, redistributing the weight of her bags from one arm to the other.

“Same here,” Hisako said, nodding. “I still have some work to get done on the new campaign.”

Alice shot them both a sidelong glance, and then moved to block the doorway, cheeks puffed out in a dramatic pout. “Oh no you don’t. You two are here to support me, so there will be absolutely no running away until Deconstruct opens.”

“Alice,” Erina hissed in a sharp whisper. “Yukihira and I never—”

“Don’t start, Erina!” the white haired Nakiri fired back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to see what’s going on in the kitchen.”

Erina hated herself for following her cousin. She truly did. But some insidious blend of longing and curiosity hijacked the common sense that should have ruled her.

When they got to the kitchen, those three idiots were putting the finishing touches on their dishes, talking shit all the while. Alice chuckled at the scene, then pulled out her phone and started recording for her followers on Instagram.

Erina took the moment to observe the rival she hadn’t seen in almost two years, so immersed in his cooking he had no clue she was standing there. He still seemed so relaxed in the kitchen, like a jazz musician free-styling a solo.

She saw the makings of a masterpiece forming in his cooking station, and her heart began to pound with a desire to taste it.

“So are you going to let us judge or what?” Alice asked, bringing their attention over to the doorway.

In the moments that followed, three things happened.

The first—Erina watched Yukihira Souma’s face morph from surprise to more surprise, and then a fond expression warmed his honey eyes.

The second—He crossed the room to her in three bold steps, and before she knew the ceiling from the floor, he was hugging her.

“Yo, Nakiri,” he said, and she wondered how that two word greeting, irreverent and colloquial and inappropriate as it was for addressing someone of her station, always managed to sound like home. “It’s been a while. Don’t be such a stranger, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Erina said, rolling her eyes as she reluctantly pried herself out of his grasp. “You better not have made trash, or I’ll tell the Michelin inspectors to come take those stars back.”

“Typical Nakiri,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll let the food speak for itself. You might want to sit down for this.”

Erina scoffed. “You might want to remember who the fuck it is that you’re talking to,” she replied, even as she made herself comfortable atop the kitchen island. “You still have not proven yourself to me, Yukihira.”  

The third—the dish he’d come up with, a Kenyan inspired risotto, wrested the breath from her lungs. Only years of practice at seeming unimpressed kept her from crying out.

“How does it taste, Nakiri?” he asked, grinning impishly. Erina rolled her eyes and fanned her cheeks discreetly, trying to ward off the heat rising in them.

She waved him off. “Leave me be, already. I still have two dishes to sample.”

The results of the match were ultimately inconclusive, with Alice favoring Kurokiba’s nordic paella and Hisako begrudgingly choosing Hayama’s mutton biryani. The stalemate, of course, galvanized the rivals into crossing blades again.

And so the evening went, the six old friends cooking and eating and drinking and arguing. As she watched Alice and Ryo go head to head over a minor lovers’ quarrel, Erina tried to shake the feeling that this was how things were meant to be.

“Do you think I should put that coq au vin Ramen on the Shino’s menu in the spring?” Yukihira asked, once he noticed that she was still sipping the broth.

Erina shook her head. “You can’t go on like this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to stop giving specialty-level dishes to Shinomiya-senpai,” she explained, as though it were simple arithmetic. “You want to open your own place soon, don’t you?”

He sighed, shrugging a bit. “I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do,” Erina said. “For better or for worse, you have always known what you wanted, Yukihira.”

“Is that how it looks?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

It took everything within Erina not to reach over and place her hand on top of his, not to cross the line she’d been tightrope walking over for years now. Instead she reached for her whisky and coke, tossed it back, and turned to him.

“Come up to the roof with me?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but still he nodded and followed her up to the top of the massive triplex.

Erina was poised to sit down and provide whatever tough-love speech he needed to get over this quarter life crisis when she spotted a familiar pink head of hair thrown back in ecstasy. A spice expert who shall remain unnamed started to unbutton her blouse.

She sighed. Oh, Hisako.

“When the hell did they even get up here?” Yukihira asked as they turned around and headed back down the stairs.

“Who knows?” Erina shook her head. “I owe Alice fifty euros now.”

When they got back downstairs, Alice and Ryo had finished their duel and retired to their bedroom.

“I forgot this is what happens when we all hang out,” Souma said.

Erina chuckled a bit. “I’m sorry. Did you say something, wheel six?”

“Why do I have to be six?”

“Because you’re not as relevant as me,” she explained.

They bantered like this for another hour, two. Pretended not to notice Akira and Hisako leaving together. Joked about it once they were gone. Drank.

The clock was easing past midnight when Souma glanced down at his phone. Erina presumed it was a string of texts from Tadokoro that brought him back to his senses.

“I should head back to my hotel,” he said, as he scrolled through his messages.

“You should’ve left hours ago.” And a better friend would have told him to do so.

“Tell me it won’t be another year and a half before I see you again.”

Erina shrugged nonchalantly. How bold of him to assume the separation had been more difficult for him. “I mean, if you decide to open a restaurant, I’d come to the launch.”

He nodded a few times, looking like he couldn’t quite believe her. “So that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it’s always going to be,” she said, relishing the upper hand. “Good night, Yukihira.”

“Night, Nakiri.”

When Souma came home from work that evening, just as Megumi was putting the finishing touches on dinner, the first thing he did was come over and start kissing her. Megumi smiled into it, almost forgetting the monkfish stew on the stove and the WGO envelope resting on the coffee table.

“Mail came for you today,” she said once they parted, trying her best to sound neutral. She didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise.

He didn’t end up opening it until close to midnight, after they had eaten dinner and made love and traded stories about the day’s kitchen mishaps and hard to please customers. It was one of those lazy, chilling-in-pjs evenings that she’d become protective of, given their increasingly demanding work schedules.

When he finally got around to pulling out the invitation letter, Megumi’s chest began to ache with a breath she didn’t quite notice she’d been holding. She admonished herself silently as she sat on her side of the bed, watching him.

“This is insane!” He turned towards her with those bright eyes, that full grin. “I got into the WCC.” Then he must have read something in her expression, or lack thereof. “Did you already know?”

Megumi smiled sheepishly. “A WGO agent came to hand deliver it earlier this evening,” she explained, before leaning over to peck his cheek. “Congratulations. I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

“Thanks, Megumi.” Souma scratched the back of his head in that shy way he did whenever she praised him like this.

She kissed his neck a few times before glancing down at the letter. “So what are the details?”

“It’s going to be in Amsterdam this year,” he said. “Next month, on the weekend of the fourth.”

“Oh.” Megumi’s brow furrowed when she heard the date.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. Well, it wasn’t nothing. “It’s just...that’s the weekend of Fumio-san’s party.” She knew the dorm mother and all their friends from the Polar Star were excited to see them. It would have been the first time all of them got together since graduation. “But this is more important. You should definitely go.”

In the weeks leading up to the conference, Megumi would wish that she hadn’t seen the relief on his face as she excused him—that he hadn’t agreed to abandon their joint commitment quite so quickly.

She hated herself for the twinge of frustration that rose within her whenever he brought it up in conversation—I wonder who the speaker is? You think Nakiri and Hayama are gonna be there too?— as the act of resenting her significant other for doing something she literally told him to do smacked of a type of pettiness she hadn’t thought herself capable of.

The morning they rode the rickety A train out to JFK, prepared to fly out of different terminals, Megumi still nursed a belief that he would change his mind and return to Japan with her. He had always been able to read her mind before, to know what she wanted.

But after he walked her to her airline’s check-in, he didn’t buy another ticket. He just kissed the top of her head and asked her to call when she landed.

Then, Megumi speculated as she boarded her economy class flight, he probably went up to the first class lounge all WCC attendees enjoyed and drank top shelf bourbon and reviewed the restaurant proposal he’d been crafting after hours.

He probably didn’t think twice.

The conference hotel in Amsterdam was right on the water, and just as he was checking in, Souma saw none other than Nakiri Alice stepping down from a luxury yacht.

She marched into the lobby wearing oversized sunglasses and an all white pantsuit. In the past several months, Deconstruct Denmark had become a runaway success, and it definitely showed in the way the Nakiri heiress carried herself.

Alice gave a small wave when she noticed Souma. “There you are, Yukihira! I was hoping I’d be able to give you the itinerary.”

Souma gestured to the packet of conference materials he’d picked up at the reception desk. “You mean these?”

Alice laughed a bit. “Oh, no. I mean the social itinerary. It wasn’t easy, but I was able to find out who from Totsuki got invited to this thing. The whole squad is coming.”

“Wait, which squad?” While they were in school, there had been an incredibly large friend group that fissioned off into subgroups as needed.

“Labcoat Trio, plus you, Erina, and Hisako,” she explained. “That’s it from our year, but Isshiki, Kinokuni, Tsukasa, Kobayashi, Saito, and Momo all got invites too. Anyway, we’re all going out tonight after the opening ceremonies. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a rager.”

Souma considered this for a minute. Something about treating this trip too much like a vacation made him uneasy. “I don’t know. I mostly came here to pitch my restaurant idea.”

Alice chuckled a bit. “I see that Erina’s gotten to you. But where do you think you’re really going to get to know potential investors? In this world, you gotta work hard and play hard.”

Souma smirked a bit. “I’ll think about it.”

“Nothing to think about,” Alice replied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

A nostalgic feeling came over Megumi as she stood in the kitchen of the Polar Star dorm and cooked alongside Yuki and Ryoko. They had come downstairs early, before six, so all the food would be ready by the time guests started to arrive.

“I’m surprised you’re up so early, Yuki,” Ryoko teased, and Megumi laughed. Back in high school, Yoshino Yuki could always be counted on to sleep until noon.

The brown haired woman merely shrugged. “My sleep schedule has been all over the place since I started working on the cruise ship. Besides, Alice has been posting about the WCC and I literally can’t stop watching.”

“Isn’t it just a bunch of talks and business deals?” Ryoko asked with a shrug.

“Um, no!” Yuki turned her phone so her friends could see the Instagram photos herself. “At least not at night, anyway.”

“Oh wow,” Ryoko said. “They’re basically just club hopping at this point.”

“Right! I’m so jealous!” Yuki whined.

Megumi didn’t exactly want to look, but she did anyway. And when she saw the pictures of her boyfriend popping champagne in a smoky nightclub with Alice and company, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Lovely priorities.

“What’s the matter, Megumi?” Ryoko asked.  

“Nothing.” But she kept scrolling, and the more she saw, the more this new frustration mounted. She stopped at an image of the six of them clustered around a table lined end to end with tequila shots—Souma next to Erina, probably daring her to take another.

She sighed, handed the phone back to Yuki, and resumed making her onigiri, squeezing the rice a bit more tightly than necessary.

“It’s okay if you’re a little angry with him,” Ryoko said with a knowing smile. “It’s perfectly normal.”

“Why would I be mad?” Megumi asked. “It’s a great opportunity.”

“But he already had plans with you.”

The executive chef shrugged, noting how much tension in her shoulders she had to push through in order to do so. “No one gets invited to that kind of event and doesn’t go.”

“Well, Isshiki-senpai didn’t go,” Yuki chimed in. “Personally, I think he’s insane for passing up the invite, but he said Fumio-san will only turn 85 once.”

Erina smirked; Alice could never manage to be cross with Kurokiba for more than thirty seconds at a time. "I hope that's true for your sake."

"So when are you heading back to Japan?"

"Tomorrow," Erina said. "Kanon added an event at Totsuki to my schedule, although I don't remember there being any meetings."

"Maybe you're just getting old, Er-i-na."

The Nakiri in question rolled her eyes. "You say that, but you're the one with all the aches and pains."

"It's just because of my spawn!"

"If you say so," Erina said. "And how long are you going to keep calling my nephew that?"

"Forever," Alice replied with a flippant wave. "My spawn is going to help me achieve my goal of world domination, naturally. And he'll become the first seat and lead the Totsuki Network to new heights."

Erina raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"Of course not," Alice said before slurping up the rest of her noodles. "He's also gonna be a science prodigy and a gifted athlete and a great big brother to my future spawn."

"What if he can't manage all that?" Erina knew her cousin always erred on the side of childlike optimism, but this was a bit much even for her.

Alice shrugged. "He will. But even if he doesn't, I'll love him anyway."

At this, Erina gave a gentle smile. "Sounds nice," she said as she gazed out the window. "You might actually be a good mom."

"Were you seriously doubting it?"

"Well…."

"How rude, Erina! You come to my place and question my parenting skills?"

"I just said that I was wrong, so it's fine! If nothing else," she said, her voice lowering. "You and Kurokiba will raise a happy child."

Alice only shot her a sidelong look. "Not if he never has a cousin to hang out with."

Erina groaned. "You're the worst."

"Yes, but that's why you love me," Alice said. "Now can you make me and my spawn a tuna?"

"No fish, remember?"

"A steak then? Please, Erina."

"Whatever." At this point, part of her wanted to have a kid just to make her cousin return the favor.

"Kanon, are you sure about this?" Erina asked as she slid into the limo beside her assistant, dressed in her whites. "It's unusual for me to do a cooking demonstration."

The young woman, a university student who looked quite a bit like Erina herself, gave an apologetic smile. "I believe Doujima-dono thought it would raise morale among the students. It's been a difficult year for the academy, and this is the first time in generations that the headmaster hasn't been a member of the Nakiri family."

"That's fair," Erina said as they left the main office. "Although, I see no flaws with the current administration." She doubted that even her Uncle Soe could have done a better job. "Do you know what dish I'm supposed to make for this demonstration?"

"Naturally, it's up to your discretion, Nakiri-san," Kanon said. "But there was a theme listed in the memo."

"And that would be?"

"The egg."

A small smile tugged at Erina's lips. "That's an interesting theme."

"Really?" Kanon asked. "Does it have some special significance to you?"

"Maybe." Erina glanced out the window as they neared Totsuki. The academy's opulent towers were peeking out over the trees, all dressed in their vibrant autumn colors. "Kanon, what's on my schedule for tomorrow?"

"Nothing until your dinner service," she replied after quickly scanning the calendar. Erina was so glad Yukihira convinced her to hire this girl. "Is there something you need me to add?"

"A flight to Australia. On my jet, preferably, so I can get back in time…" She paused, her eyes narrowing. "What are you smiling about, Kanon?"

"Oh nothing," she said as they pulled up in front of Chandra's Hall. "It's just, a year ago, you would have never asked for something like that."

Erina sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. What had she been thinking? "I really am losing focus, aren't I?" she said. "You know, part of your job is to keep me in check. The way Hisako does."

"Arato-san made me explicitly aware of that responsibility," Kanon said, some of the attitude Erina knew she had seeping into her tone. "But I think it's good to make time for the things that are important to you—even if they feel frivolous sometimes. That's why I always pack my lunch instead of buying it."

"Is that so?" Erina asked as they got out of the car and climbed the stairs to the arena.

She nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow Nakiri-san," the girl said before leaving her side to join the audience. She left before Erina could remind her that there was still some paperwork to attend to at the office.

The strobe lights were always blinding in Chandra's Hall, more so than in any other shokugeki stadium. The last time she had cooked there—when she lost her first seat to Yukihira—she had tripped and nearly fell on her face halfway to the elevated platform. This time she avoided that mistake by keeping her eyes low, focusing her attention on the chattering of the student spectators.

That was probably why she didn't notice the three judges until they were at eye level—Hisako on the left, her grandfather in the middle, and none other than Saiba Jouichirou on the right hand side. "What the—"

"It's been a while, Erina," Jouichirou said with a casual wave. "Nice job with the menu at Canvas, by the way."

"S-Saiba-sama!"

"You know, after today, you're going to have to stop calling me that."

Erina hardly had enough time to process what he said before she turned to the apparent head judge. "Grandfather, when did you leave Denmark?"

"A few hours before you did," the old man explained. "There are some things that a person simply cannot miss."

Erina's brow furrowed. "But this is just a simple cooking demonstration. Why are you all—"

"It's going to make sense in a minute, Erina-sama," Hisako chimed in, her eyes welling with what appeared to be tears of joy. "Although it's strange for me to say, I hope you lose."

"Have you all lost your min―"

"Yo, Nakiri."

As soon as she heard his voice, that teasing tone, Erina knew for certain that this wasn't just an absurd dream.

She turned around slowly. He was dressed in his OG Restaurant Yukihira gear, smirking at her and leaning against one of the cooking stations.

Erina stomped over to him, her hands balled into tight fists. "Of course you're responsible for this," she said. "Why did you bring my grandfather here for some weird spectacle? And aren't you supposed to be in Australia?"

"Nakiri, breathe," he said, taking her hand in his. For a moment, she was tempted to rest her forehead against his chest, breathe in his scent. She remembered that she had been missing him before all this craziness began. "You'll accept it, won't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"A shokugeki," he finally said as he pulled something from his back pocket.

"We could have done this at home," she almost groaned. But then he dropped to one knee, and Erina could hear her heart hammering beneath her ribcage. "W-what?"

"Nakiri Erina," he said. "The last time we were here, ten years ago, you gave me a shot at the thing I wanted most in this world. You entertained the request of an idiot, even though you had no reason to accept. Today, I'm asking you to do that for me one more time."

"Y-Yukihira—"

He opened the velvet box to reveal a gorgeous ring. It was a stunning black diamond, haloed by six traditional ones, on a magnificent white gold band. "We've gone back and forth a million times trying to beat each other, but if I win today, will you marry me, Nakiri?"

"I…" Erina tried to prevent it, but two tears escaped from her eyes. If it wasn't for her grandfather and all the minors watching, she would have had him right then and there. "I suppose I have no choice but to accept," she said, trying to keep her composure. "Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you went and proposed to me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Souma said as he stood up. "What's the time limit?"

"Thirty minutes." She wanted this settled fast. "And you better impress me."

"You better not lie about being impressed."

"That was one time!"

"Just kidding, Nakiri." Souma winked at her, then placed the engagement ring on the judges' table, right in front of her grandfather. "Gramps, hold on to this for a minute."

Before she could think much about her strategy, Erina found herself creating a spin on the omurice he cooked for her the first time she spent the night at his place in Paris. She remembered sitting on the couch in one of his T-shirts, thinking that this thing between them would only last until he and Tadokoro-san got back together.

As she moved on to her plating, Erina thought less of the past and more of the future, of all the joys and sorrows yet to come. She wondered what she would ask for if she won the match, and nothing came to mind.

"Hey, Nakiri, is that my omelette?" Souma asked as he glanced up from his own work. "You even did the souffle thing!"

"Please. I took your pedestrian street fare and elevated it. Is there a problem with that?"

"Nope," he replied. "It's funny. I tried something similar."

With the understanding that she would spontaneously combust if she acknowledged whatever sweet thing he did, Erina decided to ignore him until she was finished. By the time she submitted her dish for judging, all the students in the audience were swooning over the smell of it. Her grandfather gave a small nod of approval.

"Can't believe my stupid son got a girl like you," Jouichirou said after he tried his portion.

"You saved some for me, right?" Souma asked once he had presented the judges with his dish.

Erina rolled her eyes. "Obviously." She gave her hair the tiniest of flips. "Knowing you, you probably got so wrapped up in planning this that you didn't eat anything all day."

He gave her a long look. "Nakiri."

"What?" she asked.

"We're not even engaged yet and you're already nagging."

"S-shut up!" Erina shoved a plate into his hands, blushing all the while. "I'm going to nag you forever, so you may as well get accustomed to it."

As the judging continued, Souma served a portion of his dish to Erina. She nearly gasped when she saw it. It was a play on the oyakodon she had created in the regiment de cuisine as a play on his rice with seasoning from the entrance exam. He had truly gone back to the beginning of them.

"I've got one question for you, Nakiri," he said as she stood poised to take the first bite. "Is it delicious or disgusting?"

Erina carefully blew on the first steaming spoonful and brought it to her mouth. She could feel a heat growing in her core, heard a blissful aria on the wind—a song of hope. It would be their song.

"You're an idiot," she said, and kissed him, just as the judges declared the match in his favor.

"I love you too," he replied; it seemed like he finally understood her feelings. "And I love how you still won't answer the question."

"As if that's even the point right now!" she huffed.

Souma shook his head at her. "Always an excuse with you." Then he went back to the judges' table to grab the ring.

"Congratulations to you both," Hisako said.

"Thanks for all your help with this, Arato."

"Really, Hisako?" Erina asked her friend. "You couldn't even give me a hint?"

"W-well..."

"I'm trusting you to do right by her, Yukihira Souma," Senzaemon told him before handing back the little black box.

"I promise I will, Gramps."

The old man nodded his approval.

"You may have lost to me 750 times," Jouichirou said. "But at least you didn't screw up the one that mattered, eh Souma."

"First of all, it was only 743 times—" Souma paused when he felt Erina's impatient glare on his back. "And I do not have time for this right now."

He went back to her and pulled out the ring, taking her left hand in his right. "Nakiri Erina, will you marry me?"

"You should know the answer already," she said. "For all those affiliated with Totsuki Academy, the rules of the shokugeki are absolute."

He slid the ring onto her third finger, then kissed her. "What would you have asked for if you won?"

"I honestly don't know." In truth, she probably would have made him stop smoking or something, but there would be time for that later.

"Let's head home," he said.

"I'd like that."

With all his usual finesse, Nakiri Senzaemon declared the shokugeki finished, and the participants, spectators, and judges all went their separate ways.

Later that night, as they rested in bed after much sex, champagne, and neglected paperwork, Souma turned to his fiancee, brushing the hair out of her face.

"What is it?" she asked around a little yawn.

"I hope I can make you happy," he said, his golden eyes unusually serious.