The night bled into the early hours of morning, and one by one, the students of Polar Star Dormitory succumbed to sleep. Only a few remained awake.
Among them, Ayanokoji Kiyotaka lay flat on his back, eyes unblinking as he stared at the ceiling in utter stillness. Megumi and Sakaki were curled up peacefully beside him, lost in their dreams, the remnants of laughter still faintly lingering on their lips.
Isshiki sat lazily on the floor, arms resting on his lap. "Tonight was a great party," he said with a tired but genuine smile. "Again, Sōma, Kiyotaka... welcome to Polaris. We're glad to have you."
"Yeah," Sōma answered, a small, contented smile on his face. "Happy to be here."
They waited for Kiyotaka's reply, but none came.
Instead, he remained perfectly still, gaze unwavering at the ceiling as though seeing something far beyond it.
"Is P equal to NP?" Kiyotaka suddenly muttered.
The words were soft but clear enough for Isshiki and Sōma to exchange baffled looks.
Kiyotaka's voice remained low and steady, almost mechanical, as he drifted into quiet contemplation.
P... problems that can be solved efficiently in 'reasonable time'. NP... problems where solutions can be verified efficiently but may take eons to find the solution itself. If every problem whose solution can be verified in polynomial time can also be solved in polynomial time, the hardest, most complex problems could be solved as quickly as they are verified. It would collapse the cryptographic assumptions modern security relies on.
So if P equals NP it would have huge implications for cryptography, and even everyday algorithms. But if P is not equal NP, it means that some problems are truly hard to solve, even if checking a solution is easy.
He remained silent, his breathing even, expression unchanged.
Then, after a long pause hung in the air, almost inaudible, he whispered:
"Ah. So that's how it is..."
Isshiki, both concerned and deeply entertained, carefully took out his phone and began recording, quietly framing the half-mumbling Kiyotaka like a natural phenomenon to be documented.
Just as Isshiki leaned closer, Kiyotaka, without moving his gaze from the ceiling, muttered coldly:
"That's rude."
Isshiki flinched so hard he nearly dropped the phone. "H-He noticed?!"
Sōma burst out laughing. "What is he even saying?!" he whispered between wheezes.
Kiyotaka, unmoving, simply closed his eyes and muttered incohesive under his breath, before his gaze again returned to the ceiling.
Then, Isshiki murmured, looking around the room. "Hm? Uh-oh, are we really out of food?"
He scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. "I think I had some seer fish steaks stashed somewhere. Let me whip something up."
"Uh, are you really gonna cook dressed like that?"
Sōma asked, raising an eyebrow at Isshiki's apron-only outfit.
Isshiki only nodded in response, offering no verbal answer, and casually left the room like this was the most normal thing in the world.
Minutes passed in a quiet, comfortable silence, the room dimly lit.
Eventually, Isshiki returned, proudly holding two plates in his hands. "Alright, done! Pepper-grilled seer fish with spring cabbage purée. Enjoy—"
He trailed off mid-sentence, his brows knitting together in confusion.
"...Huh? Where's Kiyotaka?"
Sōma, lazily reclining back, blinked in confusion. "What do you mean? He's right—" He turned his head to where Kiyotaka had been lying just moments ago.
"—AH?! WHERE DID HE GO?!" he screamed, bolting upright.
The sudden shout shattered the calm like a bomb.
"W-Wha—?!" Megumi jolted awake, jumping to her feet.
"Grrh...wha's goin' on..." Satō mumbled, half-conscious.
The entire dorm room that was just a few seconds ago so quiet, evolved into chaos.
"HE WAS RIGHT THERE A MINUTE AGO!" Sōma yelled, waving his arms at the empty spot where Kiyotaka had been lying.
A sudden, perfectly calm voice cut through the noise.
"I am here."
Everyone froze. Slowly, they turned around.
There, standing in the doorway, was Kiyotaka, completely unfazed, as if he hadn't just vanished without a trace.
Megumi pressed a hand to her chest, still catching her breath. "P-Please don't scare us like that..." she whispered shakily, her eyes wide with lingering panic. The poor girl looked like her heart might burst out of her chest after Sōma's sudden shout had yanked her out of sleep.
Sakaki, rubbing her temples and giving Kiyotaka a tired but amused smile, asked, "Seriously though... where did you even go?"
Kiyotaka's gaze swept over them, calm and matter-of-fact. "I stepped outside for some air. The stars were bright tonight—I wanted a better view."
The room went quiet for a moment, everyone staring at him like he'd just confessed to something absurd.
"...That's it?" Sōma finally blurted, still processing.
Kiyotaka nodded, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "That's it."
Isshiki finally set the plates down with a light chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, since you're back, sit down and eat already."
Kiyotaka stepped forward silently, taking his seat without a word.
Sōma eyed him, still clearly baffled. "Seriously though, how did you even leave the room without me noticing? I mean, I was literally facing the door the whole time."
Kiyotaka, expression blank, offered a single, clipped response. "Secret."
He had no intention of admitting he'd quietly slipped out the window and scaled down from the second floor like it was nothing.
Shifting his attention to the plate in front of him, Kiyotaka inspected the meal. "Seer fish? Where did you even get that from? I thought the kitchen was completely empty."
Isshiki gave a carefree laugh. "Ah, I had some stored in my room."
"You had raw fish... in your room?" Kiyotaka asked, tilting his head slightly, though his tone didn't suggest surprise—just curiosity.
Before Isshiki could answer, Yoshino jumped in, pointing accusingly. "Hey, Isshiki-senpai! Why are there only two plates?! Where's our share?!"
Isshiki smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Well, you were all passed out, and these two were still awake... seemed fair."
Yoshino pouted but slumped back with a dramatic sigh. "Ugh... fine, makes sense, I guess."
Kiyotaka calmly pushed his plate forward a little. "You can have some of mine."
Yoshino's eyes lit up immediately, her pout vanishing in an instant. "Aww, see?! Kiyotaka-kun is nice!"
Megumi, still regaining her composure, gave a small smile. "That's really kind of you..."
Meanwhile, Sōma and Kiyotaka each picked up their chopsticks and took a bite of the fish with the spring cabbage purée.
The moment it hit his tongue, Sōma froze, eyes widening, his voice dropping to a stunned whisper. "Whoa... this is... amazing..."
Kiyotaka brought a piece to his mouth. As the delicate flavors unfolded, the seer fish perfectly balanced by the velvety smoothness of the purée, his eyes widened in a rare display of surprise. His mind processed every nuance of the dish with razor focus.
'This is... the best dish I've ever tasted,' he thought, his mind racing. 'The balance, precision, the dish... It's all on another level. In a true cooking battle, I would lose against him, without question.'
His gaze flicked to Isshiki, who stood grinning, like it was all just casual fun.
'Like I thought,' Kiyotaka mused, his thoughts sharpening, 'he must be part of the Elite Ten. There's no way someone could create something of this caliber just by being part of the regular top ten percent of students who have made it through to the second year. And judging by that relaxed smile, he didn't even break a sweat making this.'
Kiyotaka's face settled back into its usual expression, but internally, there was a spark of something new, an acknowledgment of true skill. He reached for another bite without hesitation.
'This academy... really is extraordinary.'
Isshiki's playful grin widened as he crossed his arms. "Sōma, Kiyotaka," he began, his voice turning more serious, "allow me to reintroduce myself—Isshiki Satoshi, Seventh Seat of the Elite Ten Council."
Sōma's eyes shot wide open, his jaw dropping. "Wha—?! You're on the council?!" he blurted, genuinely shocked.
Isshiki only smiled, unfazed by the reaction. "Anyway, your turn now! I've shown you my cooking... so how about it? I'd love to see what kind of dish you two would whip up for me."
Sōma chuckled, a grin spreading across his face even as cold sweat beaded at his temple.
But before the tension could build any further, Kiyotaka cut through it with his usual flat tone. "With what ingredients?" he asked. "The kitchen is empty. Besides... It's two in the morning. You want us to cook at this hour?"
The room fell silent for a beat before Sōma let out a little laugh. "He's got a point..."
Isshiki's grin only grew as he shrugged playfully. "Aw, fair enough. Guess I got a bit carried away. But next time, you're both on the hook."
"Boo, Kiyotaka-kun, you killjoy..." Yoshino pouted, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sulk.
Without a word, Kiyotaka calmly reached forward and began sliding the shared bowl of food back toward himself.
"Ahhh—wait, no! I'm sorry, Kiyotaka-kun—!" Yoshino yelped, practically diving to stop him, clutching the bowl as if her life depended on it.
The sight of her panic sent another ripple of laughter through the room, the tension dissolving completely into a warm, familiar buzz of amusement.
Kiyotaka, calm but eyes filled with amusement, let the bowl stay put. "Then don't test your luck."
The laughter only grew louder, echoing through the room as the night slowly began to wind down once more.
𓌉◯𓇋
When I opened my eyes, it was still dark outside. The faint glow of the moon crept in through the cracks of the curtains, but inside the dorm room, everything was still and quiet.
Well, almost everything.
Satō and Aoki were snoring like it was a competitive sport, their rumbling breaths shaking the silence. Scanning the room, I spotted Sōma... sprawled in what could only be described as a creative sleeping position, one leg dangling and his arm covering his face like he'd just passed out mid-thought.
I sat up, rubbing my temples as a sharp, pounding headache made itself known. A deep throb settled behind my eyes.
'So this is what people call a hangover?' I mused, sighing slightly.
Yeah. I feel horrible.
'Shouldn't have eaten that whole stew...'
I sighed and decided there was no point wallowing. Carefully, so as not to wake anyone, I slipped out of the room, changed into the spare set of running clothes I'd packed, and headed outside.
The clock on my phone read 5:00 AM. Perfect. I had about three hours before class started. Less than two hours of sleep, a splitting headache, and a queasy stomach—what a brilliant way to kick off my second day at Tōtsuki. Truly inspiring.
After stretching and warming up, I started jogging at a relaxed pace—five minutes per kilometer. The cold air bit at my cheeks, but the quiet of the campus was refreshing. The gravel crunched softly under my shoes as I moved along the school paths, the towering buildings watching silently as the sun began to stir.
At this pace, I figured I could easily crank out two, maybe three consecutive marathons if I really felt like it. That would take me about 10 hours and 32 minutes for the three combined, or around 3 hours and 30 minutes for just one. Nothing groundbreaking.
Of course, the current record was light years ahead. Eliud Kipchoge—the man who conquered the marathon in under two hours. His average pace? A blistering 2 minutes and 52 seconds per kilometer.
I did a quick calculation in my head as I ran. That's roughly 21.1 km/h, or about 5.86 meters per second. He ran 17 seconds per 100 meters for over 42 kilometers straight.
A pace that many people would struggle to sprint... and he held it for the entire marathon. 420 times in a row. No breaks. No slowdowns.
Truly superhuman.
I wondered, absently, whether I could reach that level if I committed myself to the kind of training.
That thought lingered, and my feet began to move faster. My pace sharpened, picking up to match Kipchoge's speed.
Let's see how far I can take it.
Almost an hour later, I'd already completed the first half of a marathon, roughly 21 kilometers, having circled the massive Tōtsuki campus four full times.
Sweat dripped steadily from my face and soaked through my shirt, clinging to my skin. But that was all. My breathing remained steady and controlled. My legs moved without strain. My joints felt solid. I could keep going, though I was starting to feel tired.
As I passed the school's main plaza for the third time earlier, I'd noticed clusters of students gathering and heading toward a huge, domed building that stood out like a centerpiece on the campus grounds. Now, on my fourth loop, the trickle of students had turned into a full-on river, streaming toward the same place.
Curiosity tugged at me. Without a second thought, I slowed my pace and eventually came to a stop, watching the flow of bodies gravitate to the arena-like structure.
After a brief moment of consideration, I wiped the sweat from my brow, caught my breath, and blended into the crowd, quietly slipping inside the massive building.
The interior was buzzing with excitement—whispers and hurried footsteps echoing off the high walls.
"Did you hear? Nakiri Erina is actually cooking today!"
"We're gonna see the God Tongue in action!"
"I heard it's a Shokugeki. She's going to obliterate her opponent."
"Man, I can't believe I'm about to witness this in person... This is insane!"
"I swear, if she even tastes one of my dishes someday, my life will be complete..."
"She's untouchable. No one stands a chance against her."
The murmurs blended together in a hum of pure anticipation.
I stepped further in, my eyes trailing over the setup of the arena. Spotlights gleamed down on a massive stage outfitted with multiple cooking stations. Rows upon rows of seats were filling fast.
Shokugeki, huh?
The infamous duels of this academy—the currency of power and prestige here at Tōtsuki.
...
At the same time, back in the Polar Star Dormitory...
The students shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing their eyes and stifling yawns after the long, rowdy night.
"Yaaaawn..."
"Morning..."
Their groggy greetings trailed off when they spotted Sōma, sitting cross-legged on a chair, headband tied firmly around his forehead, eyes blazing with determination.
"We didn't get the chance yesterday, Isshiki-senpai," he said boldly. "So I'm challenging you now—for the seventh seat!"
A flashback to the night before...
Sōma had been standing, arms crossed, wearing a cocky grin. "Hey, Isshiki-senpai... if I beat you in a match, does that make me seventh place in all of Tōtsuki?"
Most of the dorm had already fallen asleep, except for the same trio as before, consisting of Isshiki, Sōma, and Kiyotaka.
Isshiki's smile had curled into something sly, almost villainous, while Kiyotaka sat back, amused by Sōma's boldness but not bothering to correct him.
Then Isshiki's grin broke into bright, theatrical enthusiasm. "Amazing! Such fiery ambition, Sōma! I'm touched, truly touched! That's the kind of spirit we need in Polaris!"
"Uh... thanks?" Sōma blinked, a little thrown off by the sudden mood shift, but by now, he was getting used to the dorm's quirks.
Isshiki's tone softened again, more casual. "But... I think I'll have to pass for tonight. Like Kiyotaka mentioned, it's late. Let's both get some rest."
Sōma, a little deflated, had reluctantly agreed, while Isshiki's gaze turned thoughtful, his smile fading into something more serious as he looked forward to the future.
Back to the present...
Sōma's challenge hung in the air. The other residents stayed quiet at first, barely reacting as they slumped into their seats, except for Isshiki.
"I'm starving..." Yoshino groaned, suddenly perking up at the mention of food.
Isshiki finally spoke, his tone light but carrying weight. "I'm sorry, Sōma. It looks like I didn't explain thoroughly enough. Here at Tōtsuki, 'challenges' are special..."
...
Back at the Shokugeki Arena...
Cheers exploded through the packed arena as both competitors stepped onto the massive stage. The noise was deafening, excitement pulsing through the air as anticipation built.
The first contender caught my attention immediately, a towering student with the build of a sumo wrestler. Above us, a giant monitor displayed the stage in perfect detail, along with his name and status: Kiyoshi Godabayashi, Second-Year.
And across from him stood the true focus of the crowd's admiration. The cheers reached a new pitch, and the gazes from the audience were filled with something close to reverence. There was no mistaking her—Nakiri Erina.
Clad in a white cooking uniform, her long hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, exuding an effortless grace. This was my first time seeing her in action, and it was sheer coincidence that brought me here to witness it.
Despite the roar of the crowd, Nakiri stood utterly unmoved, calm and poised, as if none of this noise even registered. The arena's energy didn't seem to touch her, like she was in a world entirely her own.
It was Godabayashi who finally shattered the silence between them, his deep voice echoing across the arena, amplified through the speakers.
"The Chanko Society is a venerable clubhouse as old as the institute itself. If you insist on tearing it down... what do you intend to build in its place, Miss Nakiri?"
His words were clear and precise, easily heard thanks to the excellent acoustics. I could spot several small microphones scattered around the platform, ensuring no part of the conversation was lost to the audience.
Chanko Society, huh? I mused. A club that researches chanko nabe dishes? Seems oddly specialized... but if that exists, there must be dozens of other clubs with unique focuses. I should take a closer look around campus later.
Erina's response came cold and crisp, slicing through the tension in the air:
"My sixth personal cooking wing. I'm running out of space with only five."
Even I had to pause for a moment, caught off guard by the sheer audacity of that answer. My face gave nothing away, but inwardly, I was dumbfounded.
Six? What in the world does she need six entire cooking wings for? And how does one even run out of space with five?
Clearly, I wasn't the only one thrown by her response. Godabayashi looked thunderstruck, his eyes wide with disbelief as he pointed an accusatory finger.
"You've got to be kidding me!" he bellowed, his voice practically shaking with outrage. "That building holds decades of tradition and the passion of hundreds of students! And you'd tear it all down for your own personal gain? And you call yourself a chef?!"
"You tell her!"
"Stop her tyranny!"
A chorus of angry shouts erupted from a small crowd clustered near the arena's edge. They all looked like carbon copies of Godabayashi, and they waved a banner high over their heads, emblazoned boldly with: OPPOSE NAKIRI.
Nakiri let out a soft, almost bored sigh. "You have accomplished nothing of note for years. Your time is spent doing little but praising past glories. Tōtsuki has no need of worthless clubs like yours."
Godabayashi retorted, enraged. "You abuse your authority to do whatever you please. We will not let you throw your weight around anymore!"
His voice boomed in the arena, fist clenched tightly. "If I win today, you'll give up the tenth seat! I challenge you, Nakiri Erina!"
I watched closely, intrigued by the situation. It reminded me faintly of the old power struggles back at ANHS—Nagumo, obsessed with merit-based reward systems, pushing to modernize and break down tradition, while Horikita stubbornly clung to the old ways.
The dynamics here weren't all that different: Godabayashi, desperate to preserve his club's legacy, versus Nakiri, wielding her authority and ambition to sweep away what she saw as obsolete.
Nakiri didn't flinch. Calmly, she pulled on her cooking hat, the motion smooth. Her lips curled into a small, self-assured smile that practically dripped condescension.
"If I win," she said crisply, "the construction of my new wing will proceed without delay. Very well, Godabayashi-senpai—I accept your challenge."
The tension crackled as the match began, but the outcome? That was obvious from the moment Nakiri picked up her knife. I stayed rooted in place, watching her with cool detachment, absorbing every movement, every precise slice and stir. She was clinical—no wasted motions, no faltering, pure skill on display.
In the end, it wasn't even close.
The head judge stood, clearing his throat with authority. "The verdict is unanimous! The winner is... Nakiri Erina!"
The announcement rang out sharp and final. No hesitation. No drama. The judges wouldn't have even needed to taste her opponent's dish—they likely decided the moment her plate was presented.
A wail of despair erupted from the Chanko Society. "NOOO! OUR SOCIETY!" They looked like they were about to crumple to their knees in grief.
And Nakiri? She walked right up to Godabayashi's plate without so much as asking and daintily sampled his dish.
The reaction was immediate.
"I can identify twenty-seven distinct flaws in this dish, Godabayashi-senpai," she said, her tone razor-sharp.
Oof. That was brutal.
She didn't stop there. "First, you blanched the spiny lobster for two seconds too long. Second, a small amount of bitterness from the oysters had contaminated the entire dish. Third, your handling of the vegetables was—"
"Enough!" Godabayashi bellowed, his face twisted with frustration. "SHUT UP! If my dish is so awful, what makes yours so much better?! I've trained nonstop for this! You can't be that much above me!"
In a burst of anger, he lunged toward her plate of Ravioli Langoustine, grabbing a forkful in sheer defiance.
His hand was shaking with defiance, but the moment the first bite touched his tongue, everything changed. His eyes widened in shock, and before anyone could blink, he tore through the entire dish like a man possessed, practically inhaling it.
And then he dropped to his knees, eyes glassy, face flushed, shoulders sagging in pure defeat.
I rubbed my temple, sighing internally. What a sight. I'm going to need to bleach my eyes later.
Just then, a man in a sharp suit stepped onto the stage, briskly approaching Nakiri and offering her a phone.
Nakiri, composed as ever, took it with practiced grace. "Yes, it's me," she said smoothly. "You may begin."
From the floor, Godabayashi jolted back to life, his voice raw and ragged. "N-NO... DON'T!"
His cry echoed through the arena, but it was too late.
The massive monitor overhead flickered and changed, switching from the Shokugeki feed to a live broadcast. The camera zoomed in on an unfamiliar sight.
"STOP!" Godabayashi wailed, but his desperation went unanswered.
The screen showed a demolition crane swinging its massive wrecking ball toward the structure. With a deafening crash, it smashed into the side of the building, splintering wood and sending debris flying.
Another blow. Then another. And just like that... the Chanko Society was no more.
I exhaled slowly, tilting my head. Harsh. Broadcasting the destruction live, ensuring the loser was forced to witness not only their defeat but the literal erasure of their passion project? How cruel and yet brilliant.
A brutal and brilliant system, I mused, my eyes lingering on the last bits of rubble displayed across the towering monitor. The stakes here... they're not just high—they're absolute.
Watching an entire club be dismantled in real time, its history and effort wiped away in minutes, I couldn't help but see the bigger picture. If entire buildings and legacies could be gambled away in this system... then the opportunities were limitless.
Demolitions, acquisitions, control over resources, even authority shifts... The wheels turned quietly in my mind. All bound by the same simple rule: win or lose.
This place is full of potential.
As the last echoes of crumbling brick faded, the arena fell into a heavy silence. The Chanko Society members wept openly, while the other students stared in quiet horror at the spectacle that had just unfolded.
And then, slowly, I raised my hands and began to clap.
Clap. Clap.
The sound echoed through the stunned arena, sharp and deliberate.
Others hesitated... then joined in, one by one, until the entire space erupted into thunderous applause—applause for the overwhelming, merciless victory that had sealed Nakiri Erina's dominance.
A fittingly dramatic end to a Shokugeki.
And soon... it would be my turn to stand on that stage.
𓌉◯𓇋
Back in the Polar Star kitchen...
Isshiki sat across Sōma, his usual relaxed smile in place as he continued his explanation.
"To start with, the whole idea of the 'challenge' was created as a means for Tōtsuki students to resolve their conflicts. But these battles have strict conditions."
"Sōma, if you were to challenge me to acquire my seat on the Council of Ten, you would have to offer up something of equal value in exchange."
Isshiki put his hand to his chin in thought. "Something that would be worth the Seventh Seat on the Council of Ten... Hmm... Not even your expulsion would be enough."
Sōma's jaw dropped. "What? Seriously?!"
"Not even close," Fumio interjected, stepping in with a knowing smile, her arms crossed. Her eyes gleamed with fond nostalgia. "Council seats are far more valuable than that."
She sighed dramatically, eyes glazing over slightly. "Ahh, back in the good old days, this dorm was home to multiple members of the Council. Every year, someone new would come... those were truly our golden days."
But her wistful expression turned sharp in an instant, eyes narrowing as she glared at the group. "Compared to them, you kids are pathetic!"
"Gah! I'm so sick of hearing that!" Satō shouted from his seat, slamming his hands on the table.
"At least you've got one Council member now, Miss Fumio," Aoki added, shaking his head with a grin. "Be happy with that."
As the mini-uproar died down, Isshiki continued on. "Anyway, if I accepted, then it would be possible for the challenge to go through, but I wouldn't want to see you run out of the institute."
Sōma sighed, slumping forward dramatically. "Seriously? Man, I even got up at 5 AM all pumped for this."
"Trying for the Seventh Seat is crazy in the first place, I'd think," Megumi said softly, concern lacing her words.
Yoshino added, shoving a fork into her mouth. "Well, I think he's just plain stupid."
Isshiki's voice cut through the chatter again, drawing Sōma's attention back. "And it isn't like people can go around challenging anybody they want, any time they want to. For a challenge to be official, there are three key requirements."
He raised a finger. "First, you need an official to authorize the challenge and confirm its legitimacy."
A second finger was raised. "Second, an odd number of judges must be appointed to oversee and decide the match."
And finally, a third finger was raised. "And third, both parties must agree on the terms of the challenge—what's at stake and what each side stands to lose or gain."
Isshiki's smile sharpened. "Only once all three conditions are met does it become official."
"In Tōtsuki, every opponent must be crushed through superior cooking. This is the school's legendary one-on-one cooking duel! It's called..."
His voice dropped theatrically.
"Shokugeki!"
"Shokugeki..." Sōma repeated in awe, eyes wide. Then, as realization struck, he jolted upright, pointing as if he'd just cracked a mystery. "Wait! We need to tell Kiyotaka all of this too! Otherwise, he might challenge someone the wrong way!"
Yoshino groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead, sighing loudly. "Oh my god... seriously?"
Sakaki chuckled softly, her tone gentle. "I really don't think Ayanokoji-kun's the type to go sprinting around campus throwing down cooking challenges..."
Isshiki laughed, shaking his head. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Kiyotaka-kun already knows all of this. He doesn't seem like the type to miss details."
Megumi, who'd been quietly listening, tilted her head. "Speaking of Kiyotaka-kun... where is he right now? We need to get ready soon, or we'll be late for class."
She turned to Sōma expectantly. "Sōma-kun, you were already awake earlier... do you know where he went?"
Sōma shook his head, puzzled. "No clue. When I woke up, he was already away, and I checked his room too—he wasn't there either."
Yoshino smirked, crossing her arms. "Seriously, that guy has a habit of disappearing without a trace."
As if perfectly on cue, the sound of the main door creaked open, catching everyone's attention. Curious, the group instinctively rose from their seats and peeked out of the kitchen.
There he was, Kiyotaka, casually stepping inside.
Noticing their stares, he glanced over, making eye contact with them before turning his entire body in their direction.
A beat of silence.
"...Holy crap," Satō muttered, eyes widening.
"Damn," Aoki added, nodding with something like admiration, both of them raising their thumbs in a silent show of respect.
Meanwhile, the trio of girls, Yoshino, Megumi, and even the composed Sakaki, visibly stiffened. Their faces tinted pink in unison, eyes briefly widening at the sight before them
Kiyotaka followed their stunned gazes, glancing down at himself. His shirt was completely soaked from his morning run, plastered tightly against his torso, outlining every lean and defined muscle with clarity.
"...Oh," he said simply, his voice as flat as ever. With a flick of his fingers, he pinched the fabric and tugged it away from his skin slightly, letting some of the trapped head and moisture escape.
"That explains the stares I was getting on my way back," he mused aloud, entirely unfazed.
"W-Welcome back, Kiyotaka-kun..." Megumi stammered, her face red as she suddenly became deeply interested in the floor.
"Geez..." Yoshino muttered, waving a hand in front of her flushed face, "What are you, a manga character or something? That's illegal."
Sakaki hid her small smile behind her hand but didn't bother denying her amusement. "You're... certainly in good shape, Ayanokoji-kun."
Satō and Aoki seemed genuinely impressed for other reasons. Satō whistled low. "Man, no wonder you disappeared all morning. What are you training for, the Olympics?"
"Dude's built like a machine," Aoki added, nodding in approval. "Respect."
Kiyotaka simply shrugged, grabbing a towel and patting his neck and hair. "It's just a habit. Early mornings are quiet and useful for getting in proper conditioning."
Sōma leaned lazily against the wall, grinning. "Heh, I don't think the rest are even awake enough to process all that. But anyway—good timing. We were just talking about you."
"Oh?" Kiyotaka raised an eyebrow, dabbing at his shirt to dry it out a little more. "Hopefully nothing too strange."
Sakaki shook her head, still looking amused. "We were just discussing Shokugekis—Sōma-kun's got the idea in his head to challenge people already, and thought you might be next."
"I somehow doubt you'd run around starting random battles, though," Yoshino added, smirking.
Kiyotaka's gaze flicked over them all, calm and unreadable. "Hmm. Who knows?" he said, tone light but cryptic. "If the situation calls for it... I'll act accordingly."
A brief pause followed, the group exchanging glances.
"...Scary," Satō muttered under his breath.
Megumi finally seemed to snap out of her daze and glanced at the clock. "Ah! We need to get ready for class—we're gonna be late if we don't move now."
"Right!" Yoshino jumped up, suddenly energized. "Let's get going."
"Go on ahead," Kiyotaka said, giving a nod toward the door while glancing down at himself. "I need to shower first—I reek."
Yoshino made a face, waving her hand dramatically in front of her nose. "Phew, yeah, no argument there."
Megumi, flustered, shook her head quickly. "N-No, it's not that bad!"
Sōma chuckled, tossing his bag over his shoulder. "We'll see you in class then."
"Don't be late!" Sakaki added with a small smile as the group began heading out the door, their voices fading.
As the others filed out, only Isshiki and Ibusaki lingered a bit longer, gathering their things as they prepared to leave as well.
Isshiki turned to Kiyotaka with a bright smile. "Ah, Kiyotaka-kun, before I forget—there's a garden out back behind the dorm. Feel free to use any of the ingredients there whenever you like."
Kiyotaka gave a nod in response. "Thank you, Isshiki. I'll make sure to take advantage of that."
And he sure would.