Chapter Eighteen: Residential Study

After a long day of work, the Polaris Dorm received a brochure advertising a so-called “Residential Seminar for Friendship and Exchange.” Though the illustrations looked adorably cheerful, most of the dorm residents wore expressions as if they’d just picked up a demonic contract. Mei, in particular, was so shocked she seemed to turn to stone on the spot.

Truly, this was the world of anime: even the petrified, ashen texture of her transformation seemed perfectly natural. Only after everyone chimed in with their explanations did Mei finally faint from shock.

Feng Xue watched this dynamic scene, his brow twitching involuntarily. The live-action version really was different from the animation—in fact, he could feel a few of his own eyebrow hairs falling out from the stress!

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Though he was already familiar with the peculiarities of this world, Feng Xue couldn’t help but marvel at the opulence of the Nakiri family. The enormous chain resort rose like a fortress among the mountains, radiating an awe-inspiring presence. Vast woodlands and meadows stretched out, teeming with fresh ingredients at every turn, the air crisp and invigorating, and of course, an extravagant hotel whose interiors were nothing short of palatial.

Even the most modest room here went for about five thousand yuan a night, but the environment was certainly worth the price. And to think, such a luxury resort existed only as a subsidiary “blood supply” for a single culinary academy—Feng Xue now understood the scale of this world’s reality on a deeper level.

To put it in perspective, imagine if you learned that the Shangri-La Hotel chain was merely a subsidiary resource for a cooking school—how would you react?

Far Moon Resort, in terms of environment, far surpassed even the Shangri-La!

Dozens of buses brought the students here, and the nearly routine address from school leadership was about to begin. Yet, contrary to the usual pre-speech clamor, nearly a thousand people in the grand hall sat in eerie silence.

It was a silence so oppressive it was almost hateful.

If one had to describe it, it was the uncanny stillness of a wake. Even the few whispers that broke the quiet only made the atmosphere more desolate.

Feng Xue sensed the scent of unease in the air, so thick it seemed to infect even those who normally wouldn’t care, making everyone tense. Except, perhaps, for Sōma Yukihira, the blissfully ignorant rookie—surely, all the other students had already been affected by this oppressive mood. Even the taciturn, unreadable Jun Ibuzaki now wore a clearly grave expression.

As the silence, laced with anxiety and fear, slowly spread, the familiar Chef Chapelle stepped up to the podium.

“The time is up. Close the doors!” Chapelle announced with military precision. “Anyone who hasn’t arrived will be sent directly back to the academy for expulsion proceedings.”

The echo of the doors shutting, combined with Chapelle’s intimidating presence, made everyone even more nervous.

Feng Xue, on the other hand, remained calm. In three months, he had only taken seven of Chapelle’s classes, but had earned an A each time. He genuinely admired the chef’s meticulous and rigorous style.

“I’ll briefly introduce the content of this training camp,” Chapelle continued, his tone severe. “As detailed in your handbooks, over the next six days and five nights, you will continually face culinary challenges. Those whose evaluations fall behind will be sent back to the academy and expelled!”

Many students, already anxious, felt their hearts sink even further upon hearing this, and the silence finally broke as whispers began to ripple through the hall.

“Silence! Let us now welcome the lecturers invited from around the world for this residential training—each an outstanding graduate of Tōtsuki!” Chapelle declared.

“Tōtsuki graduates?”

“Are you serious? Aren’t they all big names in the restaurant world, or run their own places?”

“All over the world… the academy really went all out for this!”

“Hey, I know that one! His photo’s in ‘Between Moon and Heaven’—he’s Chef Shigekuni, First Seat of the 79th Generation!”

“And that woman in the apron—isn’t she Hinako Inui, the ‘Empress of Mist,’ head chef at the Japanese cuisine restaurant Kiriyu?”

“And over there, the one dressed like a sushi master—could that be Kanemori, head chef of Ginza Nichirin Sushi?”

“There’s more, so many more…”

One after another, these culinary luminaries—idols to countless Tōtsuki students—emerged from behind the podium. Some students, catching sight of their heroes, blushed with excitement.

For most, however, the pressure was overwhelming.

These were chefs who had survived Tōtsuki’s brutal graduation rate—barely a percent, in some years—some even former members of the Elite Ten. What kind of trials awaited them now?

As the graduates took the stage and the tension mounted, a sharp-eyed, pink-haired chef at the center suddenly called out: “You, ninth row, the boy with the scar by his brow!”

He pointed in the direction of the Polaris Dorm group. Only Sōma, the sole member with a brow scar, looked around in confusion and then pointed at himself.

The sharp-eyed chef hesitated, then clarified, “No, the one next to you. You may leave.”

The one singled out was a newcomer, still struggling to process what was happening. “L-leave?”

“That’s right. Go handle your withdrawal paperwork,” the chef replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Your hair gel has an overpowering scent of citrus—it will mask the aroma of your dishes. While appearance matters—a chef mustn’t look too sloppy, or guests will be put off—this is simply unacceptable. In the future, please pay attention to your grooming.”

The student protested in disbelief, “Just for something so trivial, you’re expelling me?”

At the word “trivial,” the four-eyed chef’s already formidable presence became downright dangerous. His eyes narrowed threateningly as he retorted, “Trivial? That could cost me customers! Are you trying to ruin my restaurant?”

The student was so cowed by this aura he couldn’t muster a reply.

“So, this is the opening shock tactic?” Feng Xue murmured to himself. But his attention wasn’t really on the confrontation. Instead, he was picking up a strong “scent” of deliciousness from these so-called “senpai.”

Not a literal scent, but a feeling—like the way Toriko could instantly judge another chef’s skills at first meeting. This was a strange intuition born from a gourmet cell’s relentless pursuit of flavor. Previously, Feng Xue had only sensed this from Mei.

That’s not to say Yukihira or Isshiki weren’t good chefs; it was just that this peculiar, indefinable quality—the power to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary—was exceedingly rare. Perhaps it was talent, perhaps hard work, or something else entirely. Yet now, he could see a dozen chefs radiating this power. Was it something all Tōtsuki graduates possessed? Or was it only those who had it that could graduate?

“No, that’s not it!” Suddenly alarmed, Feng Xue realized that, as the senpai mingled with the crowd, he could observe their “scents” more closely. What surprised him most was that, while each had their own unique attribute, Senior Shigekuni’s aura was especially unusual.

This wasn’t a good thing. Compared to the lively energy of the others, Shigekuni’s aura was listless—stagnant, almost lifeless, as if it had been sealed away.

“Why do I get this feeling?” A strange gleam appeared in Feng Xue’s eyes. He sensed that this sealed aura might be the key to understanding that mysterious power.

“But how can I determine why his aura is sealed? This isn’t some fantasy world—there shouldn’t be weird things like ‘gourmet seals,’ right?” Feng Xue frowned, running through possible scenarios in his mind, paying no attention to what the other chefs were saying.

…………………

“As you can see,” said Gin Dōjima, “all the graduates assembled here are head chefs in their own right. Over the next six days, we will hold you to the same standards as our own staff. If you fail to satisfy us, you’ll be expelled. Each instructor’s personal judgment is grounds for expulsion. Now, the residential seminar begins! Find your assigned kitchen according to the numbers displayed on the screen.”

As Dōjima finished, the screen behind the stage lit up, and everyone began searching for their student number and assigned kitchen.

“Looks like we’ll be split up for now. Good luck, everyone!”

“Don’t forget to meet in Zenji’s room tonight!”

“Hey, is that really necessary at a time like this…”

The Polaris Dorm members scattered to different kitchens. Feng Xue noticed he’d been placed in the same kitchen as Ryōko and Yūki, which meant his story was diverging from the original plot.

“It’s starting… I wonder which graduate I’ll face first?” Feng Xue felt a thrill of anticipation, his gourmet cells practically cheering him on to sample more dishes from these masters—though, of course, that was wishful thinking.

As Feng Xue followed his assigned group into the kitchen, he saw a woman with short, grayish-green hair (though some claimed it was blue or brown; the author was colorblind, so grayish-green it would remain, no matter what others said), expressionless and clad in the typical attire of a Western chef, squatting at the head of the room, seemingly lost in another world…