Chapter 239: Culinary Abilities, Slaves to the Ingredients
While her delicate fingers hovered in deep contemplation, choosing between a vintage Château Lafite and a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti inside the opulent, mahogany-carved wine cabinet, she heard it.
A sudden, utterly scandalized shout ripped through the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the suite.
It was Sōryūin Shion's voice, echoing from the adjacent lounge.
Amou Kirukiru let out a long, weary sigh. She withdrew her hand from the glass doors and rubbed her temples, a look of helpless amusement crossing her striking features.
"Why did I forget to remind her not to play the 'coffee' game with Kirari?" Kirukiru muttered to herself, fully aware of the dangerous, manipulative waters the Kakegurui president loved to tread.
Down the lavish hallway, tucked away in her own private bedroom, Sōryūin Akemi was abruptly jolted awake by her older sister's scream.
Her sore, aching muscles protested as she shifted on the mattress. She had just finished a grueling, high-intensity muscle-hypertrophy session at Silverman Gym, and her body was practically begging for uninterrupted recovery sleep.
To think that Shion, usually the epitome of composed elegance, could be angered enough to shriek like that... it seemed Momobami Kirari was once again wildly scheming against people, pushing their absolute limits for her own twisted amusement.
Akemi scratched her messy hair, her eyes narrowing into a dead-fish glare as she stared at the ceiling.
"Sigh... It looks like my sister will be so worked up she'll have insomnia tonight," Akemi grumbled to the empty room. "Kirari-nee's 'coffee' must truly be undrinkable to get a reaction like that..."
After tossing out that innocent, blissfully ignorant assumption, Akemi immediately flopped back onto the luxurious mattress. She pulled the thick, down-feather covers high over her head, burying her ears into the pillows.
After a heavy lifting session, sleep quality always drastically improved.
Akemi firmly decided that no matter how irritable or flustered her sister got tonight, she absolutely wouldn't get out of bed.
Meanwhile, miles away in her own dimly lit, extravagantly decorated study, Momobami Kirari leaned back in a plush leather armchair.
She weighed a sleek, silver voice recorder in her palm, a dangerously predatory smile curling on her icy blue lips.
"Now, now, Sister Shion, don't be so angry," Kirari purred into the device, her voice dripping with sadistic sweetness. "You'll get premature wrinkles, you know. Besides, Kirukiru should be back with the drinks soon, right?"
Back in the suite, Sōryūin Shion stood gripping her smartphone, her knuckles turning white. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her massive chest heaving as she desperately tried to calm her racing heart.
"How would I know?" Shion snapped back, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you always this quick at picking out red wine?"
"Yes," Kirari's voice crackled smoothly from the phone's speaker. "Because when I'm happy, I exclusively drink Conti."
"And when you're not happy?" Shion fired back, trying to find an edge in the conversation.
"Oh, Shion..." Kirari chuckled, a sound like clinking crystal. "I'm never unhappy."
Shion almost couldn't catch her breath. The sheer, overwhelming arrogance of the Kakegurui president made her want to faint out of pure frustration.
Kirari's soft laughter continued. "I'm just kidding, of course."
"I drink red wine purely as the mood strikes me," she added. "There's no such thing as being artificially happy or unhappy for me."
Kirari paused, the sound of her shifting in her chair faintly audible. "But Kirukiru should be returning to you shortly. Tell me, Sister Shion, what kind of monster are you planning to use to fight our 'White Butler' this time around?"
Shion aggressively rubbed her forehead, feeling a migraine beginning to form behind her eyes.
"I found a guy named Kiryu Setsuna," Shion finally admitted, her tone turning strictly business.
[Akarin's Note: Kiryu Setsuna is a major antagonist and fighter in the Kengan Ashura series. He uses the Koei Style, a deadly martial art known for the 'Rakshasa's Palm', which twists the opponent's flesh upon impact. He is notoriously unhinged and obsessed with the protagonist, Tokita Ohma.]
"He seems to be participating purely for some incredibly strange, twisted personal hobbies," Shion continued, waving a dismissive hand even though Kirari couldn't see her. "But whatever."
"He fights his fights, and I play my game. As long as he wins, his mental state doesn't concern me."
"Eh? That's really quite impressive," Kirari praised, though her tone sounded entirely too amused. "But speaking of which, Sister Shion... Are you planning to finally do something this time to make a solid decision?"
Shion's face instantly reddened, a deep, furious blush spreading from her cheeks all the way down to her collarbones. She lightly coughed, desperately trying to maintain her authoritative persona.
"You little girl, lecturing me on romance?" Shion scoffed defensively. "Have you even made up your mind?"
Buzz...
A sharp message notification sounded from Shion's phone.
Frowning, Shion switched away from the call screen and opened the newly arrived image.
For a second, the world seemed to stop.
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, her pupils shrinking in sheer, unadulterated shock. The screen displayed a perfectly lit, scandalous selfie of Kirari.
The Kakegurui president was looking up at the camera with half-lidded, blissfully hazy eyes. A telltale smear of thick, glistening white liquid rested suggestively at the corner of her lips, her tongue playfully darting out to catch it.
The implication of what—and who—she had just swallowed was impossible to misinterpret.
The heat in Shion's face practically reached boiling point. She stared at the screen, her mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish.
"You... you little brat!" Shion suddenly shrieked in disbelief, her voice cracking. "You... you actually did it?!"
Kirari's delighted giggles poured through the speaker. "Relax, relax, Sister Shion."
"I simply found that when that tiny bit of true courage finally arrives, you become entirely fearless. And taking that first, messy step? It really doesn't feel so hard anymore."
Shion kept staring at the explicit photo Kirari had sent, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird. She forcefully locked her phone screen, tossing it onto the sofa as if it had burned her fingers.
She let out a long, defeated sigh. "We... we'll talk about this in person then."
Shion paused, chewing her bottom lip nervously. "...By the way, where did you even learn to do... that?"
"Oh, I've already sent you the book title in the next message," Kirari said casually. "But never mind that."
"You probably won't be able to find it in regular stores. I'll have someone discreetly send you a physical copy tomorrow morning."
Kirari's voice lowered into a teasing, sultry whisper. "Study it hard, Sister Shion. Oh, and I'll also send you a premium bottle of mouthwash."
"I still feel a bit... fishy after drinking it all down. I wonder if you'll feel the same way once you finally work up the nerve~"
"We'll see! We'll just see about that!" Shion stammered irritably, her composure completely shattered.
Just then, she heard the soft, rhythmic click of heels approaching. Shion whipped her head around.
"Hmm? Kirukiru, you're back. Kirari is looking for you."
Amou Kirukiru paused in the doorway. She tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Hmm? Shion, were you seriously tricked by Kirari's provocations again? You're surprisingly naive when it comes to certain subjects."
Shion's mouth twitched in sheer annoyance. Without a word, she snatched her phone from the sofa and aggressively tossed it through the air.
Amou Kirukiru, who was effortlessly balancing a heavy silver tray laden with a bottle of Romanée-Conti, a crystal decanter, and two delicate wine glasses in her left hand, didn't even flinch. She simply raised her right hand and casually snatched the spinning phone out of mid-air.
Bringing it to her ear, Kirukiru spoke with absolute deadpan calmness. "What do you want, Kirari?"
A brief pause followed as Kirari spoke on the other end.
"Hmm? Are you serious?" Kirukiru's eyebrows raised slightly. "Whatever."
Another pause.
"Huh? I always feel like you're just teasing me... This joke really isn't funny, Kirari."
Kirukiru sighed, shifting her weight. "Alright, I know. We'll talk about it in detail once we're on the ship, then."
Without bothering to formally say goodbye, Kirukiru hung up. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the phone across the room. It bounced twice on the plush mattress and landed perfectly next to where Shion was sitting.
Shion looked up, her curiosity momentarily overriding her intense embarrassment. "What's wrong? Why did Kirari specifically ask to speak with you?"
Kirukiru gracefully set the silver tray down on the mahogany coffee table and began uncorking the wine.
"Kirari said that if we were planning to surprise Ren on the cruise, we shouldn't bother. He's apparently already guessed it," Kirukiru explained, smoothly pouring the dark, velvety liquid into the decanter to let it breathe.
"Also, she mentioned there might be more people joining our little faction, but whatever. That's her problem to manage."
Kirukiru poured a generous glass for herself and took a slow, appreciative sip. "Finally, she explicitly told me to supervise you. She wants me to make sure you finish reading that 'book' she's sending, and suggested we could even read it together."
Kirukiru paused, her sharp eyes locking onto Shion's flustered face. "What book is she talking about?"
Shion's face violently flushed all over again, the memory of the scandalous photo burning fresh in her mind.
"This Kirari... she really is entirely too much!" Shion groaned irritably, burying her face in her hands.
"Forget it. I honestly can't help but admire her sheer shamelessness."
Shion peeked through her fingers at the martial artist. "As for what book it is, you'll know exactly what it is when you see it tomorrow. I guarantee it."
Desperate to change the subject, Shion pointed accusingly at the wine glass in Kirukiru's hand. "Also, are you seriously planning to drink an entire bottle of red wine right before bed?"
"Do you really think red wine has no alcohol content? You'll be hungover tomorrow!"
Kirukiru smirked, swirling the crimson liquid. "It's simply a matter of superior physical fitness. When it comes to bodily metabolization, Shion, you still have a very long way to go."
"Tsk..." Shion clicked her tongue, feeling as though she was systematically shutting down.
In the span of a single night, her intelligence and romantic courage had been utterly crushed by Kirari, and now, her consistent, grueling fitness efforts were being casually mocked by a transcendent martial artist.
Suddenly, a competitive spark ignited in Shion's eyes. She thought of the one undeniable advantage she held over the Empress.
Shion sat up perfectly straight, squaring her shoulders to face Amou Kirukiru directly. She deliberately pushed her shoulders back, forcefully thrusting her overwhelmingly massive, proud chest forward into the air.
The sheer, physics-defying volume of Shion's bust strained against the fabric of her silk nightgown, creating an intimidating, mountainous silhouette.
Kirukiru's mouth twitched uncontrollably at the display. She slowly looked down at her own chest, then back up at Shion's.
She took a long, silent sip of her wine. Against that particular weapon, Kirukiru knew she couldn't possibly compete.
Meanwhile, the warm, inviting lights of Ren's restaurant offered a stark contrast to the chaotic teasing at the Sōryūin estate.
The air inside the dining room was thick with the mouth-watering aroma of simmering broths, toasted spices, and the distinct, savory scent of perfectly rendered animal fat.
Sitting at the wooden counter, Eishi Tsukasa let out a long, deeply satisfied exhalation.
"Phew... Shopkeeper Ren's cooking is truly, terrifyingly amazing," Eishi murmured, his usually anxious silver eyes practically glowing with reverence.
He carefully set down his fork and knife. On his plate rested the remnants of an authentic German Weisswurst—a pristine white sausage.
Eishi had just experienced a sensory explosion. The moment his knife had pierced the delicate pork casing, a rush of piping-hot, aromatic juices had bled onto the plate.
The finely minced veal and back bacon inside were impossibly tender, perfectly balanced with the sharp, earthy notes of fresh parsley, cardamom, mace, and a brilliant, cutting hint of bright lemon zest. Dipped in sweet Bavarian mustard, every single bite had sent a shiver of pure ecstasy straight down Eishi's spine.
"I heard Hojo-san mention before that your mastery of Chinese food was absolutely flawless," Eishi continued, shaking his head in awe. "But I honestly didn't expect your grasp on other global cuisines to be exactly the same."
"This white sausage... it's even more delicious and texturally perfect than the authentic, traditional Weisswurst I've had in Munich."
Standing behind the counter, wiping down a spotless cutting board, Ren looked at the First Seat of the Elite Ten.
Ren offered a modest, easygoing smile. 'It's probably just about trying my best to recreate the exact taste I want to eat at that moment,' Ren thought to himself.
'Cooking is just cooking, after all. There's no need to overthink it. I just make food that I feel genuinely satisfied with.'
"I understand your humility," Eishi said, leaning forward intently. "But Shopkeeper Ren, you are truly the most amazing chef I have ever met in my entire life."
"And do you know why? It's because you can consistently create such transcendent, soul-shakingly delicious food... without possessing any actual cooking abilities."
"Cooking abilities?"
Two highly confused voices echoed from the corner booth.
Lucifer and Cerberus, who had been happily stuffing their faces with a towering plate of chocolate-drizzled pancakes, froze mid-bite. They both slowly turned their heads to stare at the white-haired teenager.
What the hell was he talking about? Cooking with abilities?
Was this really the human world they had descended into?
Lucifer blinked her crimson eyes, a piece of pancake hanging limply from her fork. Why didn't she know human beings were so utterly absurd? Even that bastard God up in Heaven probably didn't know humans were walking around using supernatural superpowers just to boil sausages!
Ren chuckled, drying his hands on a towel. He leaned against the counter. "It seems that the ability Rindou told me about nearly a year ago... the one where you can supposedly talk to ingredients... it really does exist?"
"Talk to ingredients?!"
Cerberus and Lucifer blurted out the exact same phrase in perfect unison, their demonic minds utterly dumbfounded.
Could such a ridiculous, reality-bending ability truly exist within a mortal?!
Driven by pure, unadulterated curiosity, Cerberus dazedly reached out with one hand. She picked up a glass shaker filled with smoked paprika from the edge of the table. She brought the glass right up to her lips and whispered into it.
"Hello in there... Can you hear me?" Cerberus muttered, her dog ears twitching as she waited for the paprika to reply.
Lucifer aggressively slapped the back of Cerberus's head, nearly sending the demon dog face-first into her pancakes.
"Come on, you idiot, that's obviously not how you talk to things!" Lucifer snapped irritably. "And furthermore, that's a heavily processed spice, not a fresh ingredient! It's already dead!"
"Oh... oh, right, right..." Cerberus whimpered, rubbing the back of her head as she set the shaker down.
Ignoring the chaotic demons in the background, Eishi Tsukasa offered Ren a polite, somewhat melancholic smile.
"Yes, it is true," Eishi admitted softly. "I can indeed communicate with ingredients. I can hear their voices, their desires."
"By listening to them entirely and erasing my own ego from the process, I get the most absolute, perfect cooking solution every single time."
"The most perfect?" Ren repeated, raising a single eyebrow.
"Yes! Without a doubt," Eishi nodded firmly, his conviction absolute.
Ren didn't say a word. He simply turned around and walked back into the prep area of the kitchen.
A moment later, he returned and placed three distinct items onto the wooden counter right in front of Eishi: a small glass bottle of toasted sesame oil, a single brown egg, and a raw, slightly dirty potato.
"Let's make a simple potato and egg soup," Ren proposed, his tone calm but carrying an undeniable weight. "Tell me, Eishi. What do these three specific things tell you right now?"
Eishi closed his eyes. His breathing slowed as he tapped into his terrifying culinary domain. When he opened his eyes, they gleamed with an ethereal light.
"The potato speaks first," Eishi began, his voice taking on a hypnotic, purely analytical cadence. "Due to its starch content and current moisture level, it must be peeled exactly 1.2 millimeters deep, diced into perfectly uniform 0.5-inch cubes, and immediately soaked in cold water to prevent oxidation."
"The egg requires a gentle whisking motion to incorporate air without breaking the protein chains too violently. The sesame oil demands to be added only at the very final second, exactly three drops, off the heat, to preserve its volatile aromatic compounds..."
Eishi continued to speak, listing out hundreds of precise, mathematically flawless instructions dictated by the items themselves.
Ren leaned on the counter, patiently listening to the entire thesis.
"Are you done?" Ren finally asked when Eishi took a breath.
"Hmm... yes. That is the perfect path they desire," Eishi confirmed.
"Alright," Ren said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Then, hypothetically, let's say this were a high-stakes Shokugeki competition. You are midway through your prep."
"Suddenly, I tell you that your potatoes were actually left out too long and have shriveled up, entirely changing their cellular structure. Or, I tell you that the kitchen has completely run out of sesame oil."
"Or perhaps, you only have half the required amount. What would you do then?"
Eishi's breath hitched. "Eh? This... I..."
He stared at the potato and the oil, his mind suddenly spinning. If the ingredients couldn't fulfill their optimal, 'perfect' path, his entire structural foundation would collapse. He wouldn't know how to compensate because he relied entirely on their ideal state.
Ren looked at the deeply troubled, silent Eishi and offered a gentle, reassuring smile.
"This is undoubtedly a very powerful ability you possess," Ren said softly. "But Eishi, you must always remember one fundamental truth. Cooking is ultimately done by the chef, not by the ingredients cooking themselves."
Eishi looked up, his silver eyes wide with shock.
"If the dish you just planned out was truly the singular, objective 'perfect' state," Ren continued, pressing his point home. "Then wouldn't adjusting it slightly to suit a customer's specific palate—like adding just a little extra pinch of black pepper because it's raining outside and they want something spicier—be considered superfluous and wrong in your eyes?"
Eishi Tsukasa was entirely stunned. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Ren's words were violently tearing down the rigid, self-effacing walls he had built around his culinary identity.
Ren reached out and gently tapped the raw potato.
"Eishi-kun," Ren said, his voice carrying the warm, guiding tone of a true master. "A chef is meant to be a friend to the ingredients."
"You should absolutely trust them, listen to them, and respect their qualities. But you must never let the ingredients blindly lead you around by the nose."
"Otherwise, you lose your own soul in the kitchen. You become nothing more than a slave to the ingredients."
Ren picked up the bottle of sesame oil and placed it back on the shelf.
"After all," Ren concluded with a knowing smirk, "some dishes don't require you to meticulously showcase the inherent, pristine deliciousness of the raw ingredients at all, do they? Sometimes, the chef's sheer will and technique force an entirely new, magical flavor into existence... Just like that fried tofu puff."
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