Chapter Thirty: Heart

A week passed in the blink of an eye. Once again, Feng Xue arrived at the Moonlit Hall. Though the atmosphere was thick with competition between Alice and Soma Yukihira, Feng Xue’s gaze was never fixed on their duel. His true aim remained the enigmatic aura swirling about the venue—an indescribable presence.

Whether neither contestant had reached the level required to stir this aura, or if it was simply an impurity born from the mingling of countless chef’s spirits, the mysterious presence remained dormant. Even as Soma Yukihira triumphed over Alice and secured a place among the final four, nothing unusual manifested from that peculiar energy.

Instead, it was the lingering culinary spirits of past generations of the Elite Ten that shone brilliantly. In Feng Xue’s unique, imaginary vision, a multitude of distinct chef’s auras, each with their own affinity, attached themselves to Alice and Soma as the two devoted themselves wholly to their craft—raising the already exceptional dishes to even greater heights.

Yet, Alice’s cooking lacked “heart” from the outset, and molecular gastronomy, so reliant on machinery, was the least likely to give birth to a chef’s spirit. Even with a trace of it present, it was difficult for her dishes to carry true soul.

On the other hand, Soma Yukihira, as the protagonist favored by fate, was naturally blessed by fortune. Not to mention, his father—the strongest of them all—had once displayed his talents in this very hall. As soon as Soma began to cook, a fierce and domineering chef’s spirit surged toward him, and soon, even more auras converged upon him. True to his role as protagonist, Soma subdued and even commanded these spirits with his own, forging a dish that reflected his own heart rather than being overwhelmed by the chaotic energies.

This may sound esoteric—such is the way of the “heart”: for those who believe, it exists; for those who do not, it does not. Belief in traversing worlds does not guarantee the feat, but disbelief ensures failure. The mystical is a peculiar force, narrow in origin yet vast in effect, born from the smallest moments, but shaping the entire multiverse.

When masters of the way of Go vie for supremacy, the clash of their minds rings like the sound of arms and horses. Though merely a board game, it holds the potential for great violence—the legend of time forgotten while watching a match is no mere myth, but the result of transcendent will that ignores or even resists the flow of time itself.

A master swordsman, wholly devoted to the blade, can, with sincerity alone, transcend the limits of the human body and strike with speed beyond mortal reflexes. Even in the previous world, where the mystical had all but vanished, there were swordsmen capable of cleaving bullets in two.

In worlds of fantasy, techniques rooted in the heart are countless.

Li Xunhuan’s flying daggers have become legend, yet in the hands of others, they are merely powerful throwing weapons. Only with Li himself does the move become truly unfailing.

The Rare Dragon Chess Game is, at heart, just a match, but within its moves lie deadly intent. When hearts reflect one another, it can manifest obsessions and awaken one’s inner demons.

Fu Hongxue’s swordsmanship is the simplest draw technique, and his blade the most ordinary, yet under the principle of sincerity, nothing can withstand his cut, despite his crippled body.

Within all these examples, the true power lies in the heart.

As he pondered this, Feng Xue’s brow furrowed in sudden realization, though he did not speak. It felt as though he had grasped some crucial point, yet it slipped from his memory whenever he tried to recall it—an intuition that seemed intimately connected to his own path.

Was there something he lacked?

What was it, truly?

He could not capture that fleeting thought, but vague hints lingered, like flowers glimpsed through mist, indistinct and unreachable despite their proximity.

Feng Xue did not dwell on it. What is his will remain his, and what he needs to know will reveal itself in time. With his heart at ease, he found himself more attuned to the flow of vital energy—not merely an illusion, but the result of having learned a certain serenity in that instant.

Though the culinary ideal approached the clarity of a still mirror, it was not yet the true stillness that could shape reality itself. For a moment, Feng Xue felt closer to achieving this ultimate state of mind.

Buoyed by this breakthrough, his spirits soared. He did not cultivate the path of emotionless detachment; when happy, he allowed himself to feel it. Pocketing a large sum of cash and clutching a gourmet magazine, Feng Xue set out onto the streets in search of a fine meal.

Because there were two matches each day, Feng Xue returned to the Moonlit Hall after a hasty lunch.

With the announcement of the next match, Megumi Tadokoro and Ryo Kurokiba each began preparing their broths.

“As expected, Megumi’s chosen a seafood broth—an elegant, delicate one at that!” Yuki remarked upon seeing the milky white soup Megumi crafted with dried scallops.

Like Kurokiba, who hailed from a northern European port city, Megumi had grown up in a portside restaurant. Though the kitchen atmosphere back home in Aizu was much friendlier than that of northern Europe, both were skilled in seafood cuisine.

Naturally, both selected a seafood base for their ramen.

Yet their styles could not be more different. Kurokiba’s ramen was a direct assault—like a rising dragon punch, it struck straight to the mind. Megumi’s, by contrast, was like a gentle spring rain: its warmth enveloped you before you realized it, and only then did you notice you were drenched.

However, such gentle power was ill-suited for high-stakes culinary battles. Dishes with greater impact were far more likely to seize the judges’ attention.

Kuga, the current Eighth Seat of the Elite Ten, relied on the blistering shock of spicy cuisine to conquer rivals of equal or even greater skill.

Even Senzaemon demonstrated Megumi’s potential through his own eccentric methods.

But Feng Xue’s attention was elsewhere, for he had witnessed the truth behind Senzaemon Nakiri’s bursting attire.

It was not a mere comedic effect. Upon tasting exquisite cuisine, the energies within Senzaemon’s body—like internal martial power, generated from the synergy of the Moonlit Hall’s chef’s spirits—would be instantly unleashed. Surging through his body with wild abandon, these energies would set his muscles, bones, and skin all vibrating, cleansing his body in a manner akin to the “tiger-leopard thunder” technique of traditional martial arts. The resulting tremors were enough to literally burst open his clothes.

“Good heavens, I thought it was the awakening of Gourmet Cells!” Feng Xue muttered to himself, patting his chest in relief the first time he noticed Senzaemon’s wardrobe malfunction, his expression a perfect mix of shock and amusement.