"Congratulations on your advancement to the high school division," the chairman said, looking at all the students present. His voice carried an authority that demanded respect.
"During your years in the junior high school division, you attained a basic competency in cooking and developed your understanding of each ingredient..." The chairman continued to talk about what the students had learned in their junior high.
This didn't matter to Tomoe; she wasn't a student of junior high.
Tomoe feared that the speech would bore her to death and make her sleep, If everything the chairman talked about had little to do with her.
The chairman talked about sacrificing hundreds of students to the cooking god in order for a few to attain a cherished graduate spot.
The school's competitiveness stunned Tomoe as she hadn't thought the school would be that ruthless. The number of graduates from her batch could be counted on one hand.
From thousands, a mere handful would graduate.
She couldn't imagine herself failing. It isn't an option, I need to pass. She recalled the examiner's reaction, a spark of confidence chimed in her heart.
The surrounding students shook with fear, except for the person beside her.
She looked at her. The red-haired girl was tapping the back of a white-haired boy, who was visibly trembling.
When the chairman finally stepped down, everyone started moving toward their classrooms.
From there, they were divided into different classes and marched directly into the practice kitchen.
Tomoe stood behind a cooking station, awaiting her teacher's arrival. To her side was a giant figure.
It was the same guy she had met during the entrance exam. A bit further away from them stood a short, purple-haired girl.
She was glaring at Tomoe, mumbling a non-stop stream of curses.
The mumbling cut off the moment a professor entered.
"Good morning, my young apprenti." His voice was stern and strict.
The people behind Tomoe whispered, "Is that Professor Chapelle?"
She could hear fear in their voices.
Professor Chapelle continued, "You became responsible for creating delectable dishes the moment you stepped into this kitchen."
"Neither status nor experience can excuse you from this duty." Professor Chapelle paused; it was the quiet before the chaos.
"In my class, any dish that fails to deserve an A rating will automatically get an E."
"Remember that." Chapelle looked at the students.
Most of the students panicked.
Hmph, he snorted. "Today's menu item is Coq au Vin... it has centuries of history behind it... in the past, it fed both peasant and king alike, so try not to embarrass yourselves."
Chapelle sat down in his seat as his assistant wrote the recipe on the board.
"You have three and a half hours on your hands."
"Let us begin... start cooking!"
As soon as the words ended, everybody started looking at the board, trying to paste everything from the board into their minds.
Tomoe did the same. Before starting, she stretched her limbs and cracked her neck, grabbing the attention of those around her.
The big guy didn't care. He asked, "Do I handle the chicken?"
Tomoe looked at him. It was the first time she had genuinely heard his voice, an uninterested voice, as if nothing interested him.
"Have you ever done Coq au Vin?" she asked.
"No."
"What will you do with it?"
"Cut it into pieces."
She scanned the students, watching their techniques and temperament.
"Let me do it," Tomoe said. With her mind clearing, she could at least pull this off.
"I will do the veggies then." He moved and occupied one side of the station to start cutting the veggies.
His knife skills were good, Tomoe noted with relief. Let's not overdo it like last time. Her eyes were glued to the chicken, and with a swift motion, she tore the chicken apart, piece by piece.
One, two, three... she made thirteen pieces. All of them were cut with precision. She glanced over her shoulder, relieved that nobody was watching. Thank god.
She looked at her partner; he had cut all of the veggies. The leeks were sliced into neat parts, and the carrots had been chopped along with the onions.
He was about to pour the red Burgundy wine into it.
"Wait!" Tomoe slapped her hands above the veggies.
"Hmm?" He tilted his head.
"Um—" Her mouth opened, but her voice refused to leave.
I can't tell him he is wrong and lecture him. What if he... feels disrespected and comes after me?
"Sorry." She stepped back, averting her gaze.
Tomoe heard a sound as she noticed the veggie plate had been pushed toward her. She looked at him to clarify.
But he was in his own world. Taking up the chicken bones, preparing to make a stock.
He didn't seem to mind it. Her body relaxed.
She put a pot of water to boil, and another pot filled with cold water. She blanched all the veggies, each for a different amount of time.
Her focus slipped, a wave of dizziness colonizing her mind. She dug her fingernails into her palms, making sure nobody was watching.
The pain overrode the dizziness for a moment.
It's done, she poured the wine into the veggies. Her gaze fell on her partner. He was done with the dry brine and was massaging the chicken dipped in wine, while the stock bubbled nearby.
He came up with this by himself? By dry brining the chicken, it draws out the moisture from the meat and creates little pathways, which will make it easier for the wine to travel through.
Have I been looking down on him? Tomoe asked herself. Maybe because I am feeling a bit sleepy.
Tomoe passed him the marinade, and he put the chicken in there. Now they had nothing to do.
The marination would take 90 minutes. After that, they could proceed with the dish.
Both stayed there in silence. Tomoe was thinking about ways to ask his name. She could not handle being silent, especially right now.
It might lead her to sleep.
She racked her brain and came up with at least something.
"Tomoe. You can call me Tomoe," she said, fixing her eyes on the board.
"Tosuke Megishima. Just call me Megishima," he replied, looking at her.
Tomoe nodded and stayed silent; her dictionary of words had run out.
Tomoe wanted to talk more but feared he would get the wrong idea, like she was hitting on him.
No, no, no, I would rather sleep than let others think I am hitting on someone.
She stayed silent. The clock was ticking, and so was the urge to close her eyes and succumb to the sleeping demon.
After asking Professor Chapelle's permission, she went to the bathroom.
She stayed there, constantly splashing water onto her face. She watched the clock; 5 minutes had passed.
She ran back to the practice room.
After all, nobody wants to give the impression of taking a dump in school.
The splash of water did help, but not for long. She started feeling the sensation again. She did the pinching again and again.
Inevitably, 90 minutes passed. They still had one and a half hours left.
Without even talking to each other, they had assigned roles to themselves. Tomoe was handling the cooking, while Megishima was handling the cutting and other tasks.
Tomoe heated up the pan and added oil.
Stay awake, don't sleep.
She dropped the small baby onions into the pan, letting them roll through the oil, while Megishima was cutting the smoked bacon into small box-shaped pieces.
Tomoe took the bacon pieces and added them.
Don't sleep.
As the fat started to render out, it left behind an aroma. It hit their faces, and both of them took a deep breath. They could taste it, the juicy fat of that smoked pork.
Tomoe sprinkled some salt and black pepper.
Absolutely don't.
Tomoe looked at the bread. I can't do it. "Can you carve the bread?... Anything of your choice."
This might have been the longest sentence she had spoken in a while.
Megishima gazed toward the board; there was no mention of bread on the instructions. He looked at her. Her stern and serious gaze made him not say anything.
Her eyes were wide, as if she wanted to burn him down with lasers if there was any retaliation.
Megishima quietly accepted the task, carving the loaf into a heart-shaped chunk. He sliced it into many little heart-shaped pieces.
He trusted her, or maybe he was just being lazy.
Pushing the onions and bacon to the side of the pan, Tomoe made space for the bread. The rendered fat stayed there, sizzling in the pan.
She put the bread in the pooling fat, waiting for both sides to turn golden brown as the fat caramelized it.
After it was done, she took it out.
It was time for the mushrooms. Megishima had done the prep, allowing her to dump the mushrooms straight into the pan.
How long can I go on?
She moved them around, letting the mushrooms soak in all those juices, and finished it with thyme.
I want to sleep.
Tomoe took a breath, and the smell went inside her, the juices, the smell of mushrooms, and the bacon coated with onions.
Does it even matter? All my efforts to prevent the transmigration.
She halted. A thought that had never been on her mind surfaced. Because of the fear and panic, she hadn't thought much about it at yesterday.
All that mattered to her was running away, but now it hit her.
She put the garnishes out of the pan and added oil, while her mind stayed elsewhere. Megishima was done preparing the flour seasoned with salt and black pepper.
She took out the marinated chicken and dipped it into the flour, coating it thoroughly. It would protect the chicken in the pan and add thickness to the sauce.
The whole pan was filled with chicken. She waited for both sides to get golden brown.
A unique scent traveled through the air; it was the cooking of the wine soaked into the chicken.
She took out the chicken and dropped the marinated veggies; they soaked up the residue of the chicken.
The urge was getting stronger. "Can you handle it for a sec?" Tomoe asked.
"Alright, I will," Megishima replied.
She asked permission again from the professor and soon went back to the bathroom.
Megishima glanced at her back. He let out a breath and started focusing on the cooking.
He added the marinated wine and reduced it down.
Putting the chicken back in, he poured chicken stock and pushed it inside the oven. It would be there for at least an hour.
Megishima looked beside him. She had yet to arrive. Did something happen? He started thinking about all the time he had spent with her.
From halfway through, he felt something was wrong. What gave it away was her constant rubbing of her left arm.
He had heard that when girls become uncomfortable, they sometimes do this.
He looked at the other students. They averted their gaze. Maybe.
The clock was ticking.
The door opened, and finally, Tomoe arrived. Her breath was haggard.
She came to his side. "Thank you."
"Hmm."
An hour passed. Only half an hour was left.
Opening the oven, Megishima took out the dish, all the fats had rendered, floating above the chicken.
Singling out the stock, he reduced it down to a sauce.
Adding back the garnishing, the baby onions and the bacon, he added some fresh parsley before putting in the chicken, glazing it, coating it thoroughly.
He looked to take out the re-heated bread, while Tomoe stayed there, hanging on for dear life.
I am making him work all alone... I will have to apologize later.
She was thinking about ways to apologize while Megishima made mashed potatoes to go along with it.
Megishima dipped the reheated bread into the sauce, only half of the side and sprinkled some parsley on the dipped side.
Megishima started the plating, carving out a beautiful art. The contrast between the sunny mashed potatoes and the red-sauce-coated chicken was alluring, and the cherry on top was the heart-shaped bread buried like a flag in the mashed potatoes.
It was time to present it to the professor.
Thud...
A paired of student walked past them.