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CHAPTER TWELVE

We had just finished breakfast, and I was expecting to be given my chore duty for the day when Iron Face announced that the first challenge would commence instead. We gathered in the training kitchen, standing side by side in a single line.

The room was immaculate, as always, the stainless steel counters gleaming under the fluorescent lights. In front of us, a long steel table split the space, and resting on it were ten skipjack tuna, each about two feet long. The fish gleamed under the lights, their silver-blue skin a reminder of the task ahead.

“I thought we were torching mackerel,” Kenji said out of the corner of his mouth.

Each fish was paired with a fillet knife and set neatly on a plate. But the more curious items on the table were the ten cylindrical tanks, each attached to a short rubber hose ending in a flared nozzle. They looked like something out of a survivalist’s bunker, part scuba tank, part fire extinguisher.

“What the hell are those things?” Kenji whispered, but I shook my head, not wanting to draw Iron Face’s attention.

The door opened suddenly, and all eyes turned. Chef Sakamoto walked in. He was dressed in a black uniform and red belt similar to ours and exuded an air of authority. This man turned every restaurant he touched into a Michelin-starred success. Seeing him in person was surreal, and pride swelled in my chest for a brief moment.

Trailing behind him was a woman who couldn’t have looked more out of place in a kitchen if she’d tried. Her cream-colored skirt suit and gold-checkered scarf radiated wealth, as did the diamonds glinting in her ears and the jeweled brooch on her lapel—a chef’s knife dripping rubies that looked like blood. Her long black hair was perfectly styled, her makeup precise, not a smudge in sight. She had the kind of beauty that turned heads, with a slim frame and legs that belonged on a runway, not navigating kitchen floors. Her bright smile and kind eyes were a stark contrast to Iron Face’s perpetual scowl.

“That’s his wife, Reina Sakamoto,” Kenji murmured. “I heard she used to be a top model.”

She nodded at each of us as she passed, her gaze lingering just long enough to feel intentional. There was something magnetic about her, something that made you want to believe she was on your side.

Chef Sakamoto exchanged a few quiet words with Iron Face before stepping aside with Reina. They positioned themselves behind a transparent protective barrier I hadn’t noticed before. Then, without a word, they both put on gas masks.

We all glanced around, confused as to why they wore masks. Were they allergic to the smell of grilled fish? And why the barrier? None of it made much sense.

“Your first challenge at Kage Ryu is Yaketsuku Kogeki!” Iron Face announced proudly as he threw his arms up.

Yaketsuku kogeki—scorching attack? What does that have to do with grilling a piece of fish?

“You will each fillet a piece of your tuna, grill it, and plate your dish for Chef Sakamoto. He will decide the winner of this challenge. You have two minutes.”

A digital countdown clock on the wall buzzed to life, its glowing red numbers set at two minutes.

I exchanged a glance with Kenji. Two minutes? That barely gave us time to breathe, let alone fillet, grill, and plate a fish. And what was with the gas masks? The protective barrier? None of it made sense.

Iron Face handed out hachimakis, cloth headbands. On the front was a rising-sun motif and the characters for Kage Ryu . “From here on, you will wear this for every challenge.”

As I tied the strip of cloth around my head, I watched Iron Face turn a knob on one of the tanks. A loud hiss escaped, and the sharp smell of gas filled the air. He moved down the line, repeating the process with each tank. When he finished, he tossed a single lighter onto the table. The metallic clang echoed in the silence.

Iron Face put on a gas mask and stepped behind the barrier with Chef Sakamoto and Reina. With one sharp motion, he raised his hand and then brought it down.

“Begin!”

Iron Face’s hand came down, signaling the challenge had begun. It only took a split second to realize what was happening.

“Gas,” I muttered. “Highly flammable gas.”

Kenji’s eyes widened. “We’ll blow ourselves up if we take too long. Hurry!”

He lunged for his fish, and I followed, grabbing the fillet knife with trembling hands. My blade made swift incisions, head to tail, spine to belly, but my fingers fumbled as the pressure mounted.

Miyo and Sana finished filleting their fish first, sprinting toward the single lighter on the table. Miyo snatched it from Sana’s hand with a triumphant laugh and hurried back to his torch. “I’m gonna win!” he shouted, pumping a fist. “You all laughed at me during lunch. Who’s laughing now? Watch and learn, amateurs.”

The room went still as everyone’s attention shifted to Miyo. He stood there, a cocky grin plastered across his face, basking in his moment of victory.

With exaggerated flair, Miyo performed a quick, showy dance, waving the lighter around as if taunting the rest of us. Then, he held the lighter to the hose, and with one confident flick…

A fireball roared to life, swallowing him whole in an instant.

Kenji tackled me to the floor as the explosion rippled through the kitchen, a wall of unbearable heat rolling over us, setting off the other torches. I thought we would be set on fire next as the flames unfolded.

Through the haze, I caught sight of Miyo, his body ablaze, his screams cutting through the panic. My stomach lurched as he stumbled, flailing in desperation. Seconds later, the sprinklers roared to life, dousing the flames, but the damage was done.

Miyo collapsed in a charred heap. My throat tightened as I turned my face into Kenji’s chest, trying to block out the horrific sight.

“He’s…he’s not moving,” Kenji whispered, his voice shaky.

Two men in black uniforms and wearing black medical masks appeared, silent as ghosts, carrying a stretcher. They lifted Miyo’s limp body onto the stretcher with mechanical efficiency and vanished as quickly as they’d arrived.

The room fell into stunned silence, save for the water dripping from the sprinklers above. Iron Face shut off the gas valves on the cylinders.

Chef Sakamoto and Reina removed their gas masks. From the look on Sakamoto’s face, he was disappointed, while Reina portrayed indifference. Neither acknowledged us. They simply turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Iron Face’s voice shattered the silence. “You call yourselves apprentices?” His disgust was visible, and each word felt like a slap. “Weakness is not tolerated here, and neither is failure. If this is the best you can do, you don’t belong at Kage Ryu.”

The metallic tang of burned flesh lingered in the air, making it hard to breathe. One by one, the others hurried out of the kitchen. Kenji grabbed my hand, pulling me along with him.

Outside, the whispers started, low and frantic. Faces were pale, eyes wide with confusion and terror. Miyo had been burned alive, and yet Chef Sakamoto, his wife, and Iron Face hadn’t even acknowledged it. Instead, Iron Face had critiqued our performance like it was a classroom exercise.

“This is insane,” Kenji said, his breaths fast and shallow. “What the hell just happened in there?”

Jiro stopped beside us. “You saw what happened in there. This program just showed its true colors. Don’t expect it to get easier. It won’t. Good luck, Akiko. You’ll need all you can get.”

“I’ve heard not everyone makes it to the end, but I thought it was just rumors,” Sana said.

“Are you saying people are supposed to die here?” Hideo adjusted his glasses, a slight tremble in his voice.

“It’s what I heard,” Sana replied. “The ones who don’t win, it’s like they just…disappear.”

“That’s because of the NDA,” Hideo reasoned, though his voice wavered. “They can’t talk even if they wanted to.”

Kenji’s grip on my hand tightened. “What if this isn’t just about cooking? What if they’re deliberately trying to weed us out?”

Iron Face’s earlier words echoed in my mind: Everything you need to know is in the library.

“We missed something,” I whispered. “The books in the library are not all about cooking. Some of them were about emergency first aid and trauma injuries. What if the challenges are traps, and the books are the only way to prepare?”

Kenji’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s true, then Jiro’s right, and more people could end up like Miyo. We can’t let that happen to us. Akiko, we need to stick together. If we protect each other and use every advantage, we have a real shot at being the last two standing, or…”

“We’ll end up like Miyo.”

We sealed our partnership with a firm handshake. This wasn’t about cooking anymore. It was about surviving a program designed to destroy us.