Sometimes, people experience a peculiar contradiction: saying "no" with their mouths, while their bodies speak the truth.
Ikumi Mito, who typically showed no interest in anything less than premium-grade beef, ultimately couldn't resist Zane's cooking. She was utterly conquered by his stir-fried beef with green onions. Bite after bite, she tore through the plate with unexpected ferocity—devouring an entire dish and two bowls of rice without pause.
When she finally finished, she even licked the plate clean until it gleamed.
"…That was incredible," she muttered.
"The heat control was perfect—the green onions were slightly crisp on the outside, yet soaked through with broth and fragrant from the blend of seasonings.
"The beef, although clearly not A5 grade, had no trace of gaminess thanks to the scallion oil marinade. The addition of green peppers and a sesame-forward spicy sauce took the whole dish to another level."
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!"
"This dish… it's the pinnacle of beef stir-fry!"
Ikumi's eyes lit up with genuine admiration. Turning toward Zane, who sat meditating with his eyes closed, her face flushed.
"Owner… I've had stir-fried beef with green onions before, but—how should I put it…?"
"In most cases, the onions overpower the beef. It feels like the main ingredient is the green onion, not the meat."
"Honestly, if the beef's flavor isn't allowed to shine, I consider it a failure."
"But your version is different. The onion flavor is strong, yes, but instead of masking the beef, it enhances it. The two ingredients harmonize—they elevate each other and achieve balance!"
"I doubt I could replicate a dish like this, even with ten more years of practice."
She continued with passion:
"Timing is everything in stir-frying."
"Too few onions, and the beef lacks support. Too many, and the beef loses its voice."
"So the right technique is to fry a generous amount of onions first until fragrant, then add the beef and seasonings and stir-fry over blazing heat."
"Explosive! Quick! Urgent! These are the three principles of stir-fry."
"Only with high heat can a dish like this reach its full potential."
"And it's not always about using the highest-quality beef. For stir-frying, tenderloin is ideal. The slices shouldn't be too thin or too thick."
"As for the onions, only use the white parts, and cut them into angled chunks. Separate the layers so they cook faster—tender yet not mushy. That's how you get that fresh, crisp bite."
"Yes, the treatment of the beef matters, but every ingredient plays a role."
"Even a bit of salt matters."
"If you only obsess over the meat and ignore everything else, the dish becomes a solo performance instead of a full symphony."
…
She paused, her thoughts drifting.
She remembered… it was when she was nine?
It had been her birthday, and her mother had given her a teddy bear. At the time, she adored such cute things—innocent, joyful, full of dreams.
If nothing had gone wrong, that birthday might have been her happiest memory.
But her father ruined it.
Right in front of her and her mother, he tore the teddy bear apart and threw it in the trash, coldly warning her mother not to buy "useless" gifts again.
"Ikumi."
"Listen carefully."
"As the heir of the Mito family, you don't need soft distractions."
"Your only path is to grow stronger and dominate the world of meat cuisine."
That was his message—delivered without compassion.
From that day forward, Ikumi buried her fondness for cute things. She threw herself into mastering beef, researching every variety, technique, and preparation. At age twelve, she passed the Totsuki entrance exam with flying colors.
Unlike Megumi, who came from the countryside, Ikumi was a top-ranked student from the very beginning.
Especially in meat research, she was unmatched—rising through the ranks and earning a place among Totsuki's elite. Eventually, even Erina recognized her talents and welcomed her as a loyal ally.
Her entire cooking philosophy could be summed up in one belief:
The highest quality meat reigns supreme. All other ingredients are beneath it.
This belief had been etched deep into her soul.
But today, after eating Zane's stir-fried beef with green onions, she realized something astonishing.
If handled with care and cooked with mastery, even ordinary beef could be elevated—enhanced—not by domination, but by partnership.
Her understanding of meat cuisine… had quietly broken through a wall.
…
"I was raised in a household where beef was everything."
"My father pushed me to focus on meat, nothing else."
"If I ever had different ideas, I'd be scolded. They left no room for doubt."
"Sometimes I wonder—what does single-minded obsession with meat really contribute to cuisine?"
"But no one ever answered me. No one guided me."
"And so… meat was all I ever saw."
Despite her doubts, Ikumi saw results. Her deep knowledge of meat helped her outshine her peers. So she accepted it, even embraced it.
If someone had once told her that ordinary beef could rival A5 grade through technique alone, she would have scoffed.
But now—after tasting Zane's dish—she wasn't so sure anymore.
"Hisako… is this why you sent me to that tavern?"
She whispered to herself, finally understanding the meaning behind the hand-drawn map Hisako had secretly given her.
…
"Owner… could I have another plate of stir-fried beef with green onions?"
She took a deep breath, steadied her emotions, and looked up with a smile.
"Sure. Just a moment."
As the tavern owner, Zane naturally hoped his customers would eat well—and eat more.
With practiced ease, he returned to the kitchen.
Soon, another steaming plate of stir-fried beef with green onions was placed in front of her.
This time, Ikumi didn't wolf it down. She ate slowly, thoughtfully—like she was trying to savor the essence of the dish with every bite.
But then, tears began to fall.
"Wuwuwu… what… what's happening to me?"
"Why… why can't I stop crying…"
And in the end, she sobbed bitterly.
…
She was undeniably gifted in handling meat.
It showed in her bold, brash personality—yet when working with beef, her movements turned gentle and precise, like a pianist playing a delicate sonata.
Perhaps, when it came to beef, no one could match her.
But those who know the original story will recall: in the Donburi Research Society duel, Ikumi ultimately lost to Soma.
She had to leave Erina and reluctantly joined the Donburi club.
The reason wasn't just Soma's skill—it was her narrow focus.
She had poured all her effort into perfecting the beef, but neglected the rice, the sauce, and the other ingredients.
Her dish was powerful, but unbalanced.
…
"Truth is…"
"Ingredient quality matters, yes."
"But more importantly, you have to consider the diner—their tastes, their needs."
"At my tavern, most customers are locals: office workers, students, homemakers, teachers…"
"Most of them may never taste A5 grade beef in their lives."
"But that doesn't mean they can't enjoy food."
"For them, a well-made, affordable dish—like stir-fried beef with green onions—can be the best thing they've ever eaten."
"Meat or vegetables, each ingredient has value."
"As chefs, our job is to bring out that value and create dishes people love."
"That's the real meaning of cooking."
These words weren't flashy—but to Ikumi, they were profound.
…
At 10 PM, Totsuki Academy was unusually quiet.
In a cooking lab, Alice Nakiri had just finished testing a new recipe. Exhausted, she wandered to the window and gazed into the night sky, her mind adrift.
She had been at Totsuki for a while now—but one person stayed lodged in her thoughts, filling her with an odd sense of longing.
"…Mom," she murmured.
She thought her mother, Leonora, would have contacted her. Checked in. Called. Asked how she was doing.
But… there had been nothing.
With a sigh, Alice picked up her phone and dialed.
No answer.
She ended the call and sent a video chat request instead.
It connected.
The screen revealed Leonora, fresh out of the shower, her silver hair still damp, her flawless face unadorned, wrapped modestly in a towel.
That beauty—save for the moon and Alice—was hidden from the world.
"Hmm? Alice?" Leonora smiled warmly. "Why the sudden call? Did you miss me?"
"Mom!"
"I've been at Totsuki for so long and you haven't called once! Am I still your daughter?!"
Alice pouted, half-whining, her voice trembling slightly.
"Well… the lab's been busy," Leonora replied sheepishly, drying her hair. "I meant to call, but…"
It was true—sending Alice back to Japan had been hard for Leonora. But for her daughter's growth, she made the choice.
Afterward, she thought about calling every day. But work overwhelmed her. And besides… she never quite knew what to say.
"Have you had any fun at Totsuki?" she asked at last, breaking the silence.
Alice rolled her eyes. "It's just a cooking school, Mom. Nothing dramatic."
"But… there is this tavern."
"The owner's… pretty interesting."
And with that, Alice began to share, her voice animated as she recounted the stories of Zane and the little tavern that quietly changed everything.