The Gourmet Seven Knights moved with practiced efficiency, each mounting a different Camping Beast. The creatures—formed from discarded scales, shed carapaces, and molted shells of the legendary Seven Beasts—trembled with residual power, their bodies flickering between solid and translucent.
"We'll return before you know it," Amiu called out, his Camping Beast already gliding toward the distant horizon. "Prepare the kitchen!"
The seven figures disappeared into the mist, leaving behind a trail of golden light.
Komatsu turned back to the Permanent Kitchen, his mind already racing. Six hundred thousand years. The number echoed in his skull like a funeral bell, but he pushed the fear aside. Together, he reminded himself. We do this together.
Toriko slumped against a cooking station, his body still recovering from the life-drain of cooking [GOD]. "Six hundred thousand years," he muttered, half to himself. "Even with the time difference... that's a long time to be away from the Human World."
Rin knelt beside him, taking his hand. "We'll be here. All of us. And when we return, the famine will be over. Everyone we've lost... we can bring them back."
Sunny, uncharacteristically subdued, stared at his reflection in a polished pot. "My hair will be magnificent after six hundred thousand years. Absolutely magnificent."
Zebra snorted. "That's what you're worried about?"
"Someone has to maintain standards."
Coco was already calculating, his future-sight flickering as he tried to peer into the accelerated timeline. "The perceived time will be real to us. Six hundred thousand years of cooking, of waiting, of being. Our minds will need... maintenance. We can't simply work without rest."
Golden Chef Gigi nodded approvingly. "Wise observation. The Permanent Kitchen has chambers for meditation, for rest, for dreaming. You will not be working every moment. There will be time to think, to remember, to hope."
Saitama, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, raised his hand. "Six hundred thousand years is a long time. What if I get bored?"
Garou glared at him. "You're immortal. You have literal eternity to be bored."
"Yeah, but this is structured boredom. That's worse."
Komatsu laughed—a surprised, genuine sound that broke through the tension. "Mr. Saitama, I promise I'll cook something new every day. You won't be bored."
Saitama considered this. "Every day?"
"Every day."
"...Okay. I'm in."
Garou threw up his hands. "That's all it takes? Food?"
"What else is there?"
The argument dissolved into familiar bickering, and the tension in the kitchen eased. Even Gigi smiled, his ancient eyes crinkling beneath his golden chef's hat.
On the cliff above, King watched with Frohze beside him, her form shimmering like heat haze.
"They're remarkable," she said softly. "My sons. Their friends. This... family they've built."
King nodded. "They'll need that family. Six hundred thousand years is a long time, even for the strong."
"Will you be going with them?"
"Eventually." King's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the Seven Knights had disappeared. "I have other matters to attend to first. A stubborn old man to retrieve. A promise to keep."
Frohze's lips curved. "Ichiryu won't go quietly."
"Nobody ever does."
Below, the Permanent Kitchen was transforming. Cooking stations were being rearranged, ingredients catalogued, timetables drawn up. The scale of the undertaking was staggering—six hundred thousand years of work compressed into a manageable plan.
Komatsu stood at the center of it all, his Dragon Tooth Knife gleaming in the golden light. He looked young, almost too young for the weight settling on his shoulders. But his eyes were clear, his hands steady.
"We can do this," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "One dish at a time. One day at a time. Together."
Toriko pushed himself upright, crossing to stand beside Komatsu. "Together," he agreed.
Starjun joined them, then Rin, then Coco, Sunny, Zebra. Saitama and Garou lingered at the edges, but their presence was felt—anchors in the chaos.
Golden Chef Gigi raised his voice: "The Golden Cooking Utensils will arrive within the week. Until then, rest. Prepare. And remember—" He looked at each of them in turn. "—what you are about to accomplish will echo through eternity. The dishes you create here will be tasted by generations unborn. The famine you end will be remembered as the turning point. You are not just cooking a meal. You are saving a world."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Then Komatsu picked up his knife, and the work began.
In the depths of the Soul World, a figure stirred.
Ichiryu had been resting—not sleeping, not truly, but existing in a state between. He had felt the tremors from the living world, the cooking of [GOD], the preparation for the great feast. He had felt her presence, flickering at the edges of his awareness.
"Frohze," he whispered, the name tasting like memory.
He should go to her. Should speak with her, explain himself, apologize for... everything.
But his body—his soul—would not move. The weight of years, of regrets, of responsibilities laid down and never picked up again, pressed him into the gray soil.
Let them handle it, he told himself. They don't need me.
But even as he thought it, he felt the approach of something. Someone.
"Get up, you lazy brat."
Ichiryu's eyes snapped open.
Frohze stood over him, her silver hair glowing in the dim light of the Soul World. Her arms were crossed, her expression was that of a disappointed teacher—the same look she had given him when he had burned his first soufflé.
"I... Frohze... you're..."
"Dead? Yes. So are you. That doesn't mean you get to lie around while your children face Acacia's hunger alone."
Ichiryu sat up slowly, his joints creaking with the effort of moving after so long. "The children are strong. They have Komatsu. They have—"
"They have you. Or they should." Frohze extended her hand. "Get up, Ichiryu. It's time to come home."
He looked at her hand, then at her face—the same face he had loved as a teacher, a mother, a friend. The same face that had watched over his first steps, his first dishes, his first failures.
"I don't know if I can," he admitted. "I've been gone so long..."
"Then you start by trying." Her voice softened. "That's all any of us can do."
Ichiryu reached out and took her hand.
The Soul World trembled.
In the Permanent Kitchen, Komatsu looked up suddenly, as if sensing something.
"Komatsu?" Rin asked. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know." He frowned. "I thought I felt... something. A presence."
Toriko followed his gaze to the cliff above, but there was nothing there. Just the mist, the light, the endless gray sky.
"Probably just the cooking," he said. "It's been a long day."
Komatsu nodded, but he couldn't shake the feeling.
Someone was coming.
Someone who had been away too long.
Someone who was finally ready to come home.