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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Days passed without any word on Miyo’s fate, making it hard to deny the obvious—he hadn’t survived.

I tried not to dwell on it, but the image of him burning haunted me. The others seemed unfazed, treating it like another fleeting headline in a twenty-four-hour news cycle. Sana even joked that Miyo got what he wanted, saying he was now famous for something besides Yokohama Tires.

The laughter that followed, including Kenji’s, caught me off guard. I didn’t understand how they could shrug off something so horrific. Was I the only one who saw the gravity of what had happened? The next challenge could easily claim another victim. Didn’t they realize that?

On my hands and knees, I scrubbed yet another bathroom tile, my raw fingers aching from the harsh cleaning solutions. Every day, I hoped for a new chore, and every day, Iron Face assigned me the same task.

My apprenticeship dreams of learning knife techniques, precision cooking, and sushi artistry had morphed into a nightmare of forced labor. The thought that I might have made a mistake coming here crept into my mind more often than I cared to admit.

Since the fire in the kitchen, Kenji and I kept our distance from the others, though it was impossible to avoid them during meals. Jiro used those moments to hurl insults at me, always finding a way to undermine me in front of the group. Even Kenji, usually calm and collected, grew tired of his taunts.

It wasn’t just Jiro’s hostility that cast a dark cloud. The fire had changed everything. The easy camaraderie of the group had shattered. Wary glances replaced banter, and whispered conversations filled the air. It was clear now that our challenges weren’t just tests of skill. They were battles for survival.

We all knew there was no way out. The six-week program was a cage, locking us in with no escape. Survival wasn’t a choice—it was the only option. Because second place wasn’t an honorable mention; it was a trip to the morgue.

“Hey, you almost done?” Kenji’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He poked his head into the bathroom, his expression softening as he saw me.

“All done.” I stood, stretching out my sore back.

Kenji placed his hands firmly on his waist as he glanced around the gleaming bathroom. “Man, you’ve got this chore down to a science. It’s spotless.”

If that was his attempt to lighten the mood, he failed. “Practice makes perfect,” I said dryly. “Let’s head to the library. I want to get some reading in before lunch.”

We had made it a point to spend all our free time in the library. Even if we didn’t always find helpful information, it felt productive. The others rarely joined us, which was a relief. Being around them only heightened my anxiety.

Lunch came and went with no word from Iron Face about the next challenge. We were at the two-week mark, and the silence was unnerving. Was there one challenge per week, or did challenges happen whenever Chef Sakamoto felt like it?

As usual, Kenji sat beside me in the library, our arms brushing slightly. I didn’t mind. His presence was a comfort and a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone in this madness.

“You know what I’ve been wondering?” I said, flipping through a book on traditional plating techniques. “If Chef Sakamoto chooses one apprentice yearly, where’s the current one? Shouldn’t they be here?”

Kenji frowned. “Good point. They might work in the restaurant.”

“I wonder if Miyo managed to talk to them. Maybe that’s how he knew about the first challenge.”

“Could be. He might have run into them during chore duty or something. Sadly, it didn’t help him.”

I smiled faintly but couldn’t shake the thought that had occurred to me during chore duty. “You know, every night, just on the other side of this wall, people are dining on Chef Sakamoto’s signature dishes, completely unaware of what’s happening here. Can you imagine?”

“We were once just like them, unaware.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Sometimes at night, I lie in bed, knowing the restaurant is packed with guests. But I can’t hear anything. No voices, no laughter, nothing. It’s like we’re completely sealed off from the world.”

“Look, I know it’s hard to forget what happened, but we need to focus on what’s coming and keep our heads in the right space. What happened to Miyo is terrible. But what’s done is done.”

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Kenji was right. “I just don’t understand why Chef Sakamoto can’t train us all and then pick one person at the end to continue. Why make us go through these challenges? It makes no sense.”

Kenji reached for my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Nothing makes a lot of sense right now. We were warned that Chef Sakamoto does things differently. It’s a test, like you said. Who really wants to be the best?”

“Do you think the restaurant staff knows what’s happening to us?”

Kenji tilted his head, considering. “Hard to say. They probably signed NDAs too. And I bet Chef Sakamoto pays them well to keep quiet.”

“There’s no amount of money that could make me work under these conditions,” I said firmly. “I’m willing to learn from him, but I’d never work for someone like him.”

“Weren’t you singing his praises not too long ago?”

I pulled back and looked up at Kenji to gauge whether he was joking. He wasn’t smiling.

“I watched Miyo get torched alive, and Chef Sakamoto didn’t even flinch. Tell me you’re not still idolizing him.”

Kenji sighed. “I’m not. But I can’t help but think that you have to be different to get to where he is. His methods are unconventional. If the normal way worked, everyone would be at the top.”

Kenji kissed the top of my head before wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close. I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. We’d never talked about us as anything more than friends. Sure, we flirted, and I enjoyed his playful teasing, but this—this kiss—felt different. His lips lingered longer. It also felt like something he’d done a hundred times before. And the strangest part? It felt normal to me.

“Here’s a question for you,” Kenji said, leaning back slightly but keeping his arm loosely around me. “What if Chef Sakamoto offered you the chance to head up his new restaurant? You know, make you the head chef. Would you take it?”

“No,” I said without hesitation. “I want my own restaurant. I’ll settle for nothing less.”

“Not even to train?” he pressed. “You could make mistakes on his dime. Running a restaurant is a lot more than cooking. It’s payroll, inventory, marketing, all the boring stuff no one tells you about until you’re knee deep.”

“Stop,” I groaned, pulling a book off the shelf and plopping it before us. “This program is already an unthinkable hurdle. Thinking about all of that on top of surviving this? You’re killing my vibe, Kenji.”

“Just trying to keep it real,” he said as he flipped open another book. “But speaking of restaurants, have you noticed something weird? Most of the chefs who trained under Sakamoto left Japan to open their own. None stayed here.”

“What’s your point?” I asked, blowing dust off the pages of an older book.

He shrugged. “It seems like a pattern. Maybe they thought the same thing you do—learn from him, then get the hell away. Or,” he added with a dark glint in his eye, “maybe he scares them into leaving. ‘The Restaurant on the Other Side of the Wall’—sounds like a horror movie, doesn’t it?”

He lifted his hands like claws, growling softly for effect. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop it! You’re making me imagine some ghost chef lurking in the shadows with a cleaver.”

“That’s the sequel,” he said, deadpan, flipping a page. “I’m telling you, there’s a story here.”

“Or maybe,” I said, with exaggeration, “a clause in our contract bans us from competing with him in Japan. That’s how he stays number one, by ensuring no one can rise against him.”

Kenji’s expression shifted to thoughtful. “That actually makes sense. That’s probably it.”

I smiled despite myself. In a place that seemed determined to crush us, Kenji made me feel lighter. Despite everything so far, he somehow found a way to look for the silver lining. His humor, his warmth… It had become a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.

But it was more than that. I liked being around him. I liked how his hair sometimes flopped into his eyes and how he’d casually toss it back with a quick flick. More than once, I’d caught myself wanting to brush it back for him, like a doting girlfriend.

And that thought scared me.

We’d been spending all our free time together, and I’d grown comfortable, maybe too comfortable. But then I’d remember why I was here, the promises I’d made to myself, the dream I was chasing. There was no room for distractions, no matter how safe or wanted he made me feel.

Kenji let out a yawn, and for a fleeting moment, I imagined pulling his head into my lap and running my fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep.

“Hey,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Would you mind if we head back to our rooms? I could use a quick power nap before dinner.”

“A quickie before dinner?” I teased, arching an eyebrow. “You naughty boy.”

“Guilty as charged,” he shot back with a grin.

I laughed, shaking my head as I grabbed my books and followed him out of the library. On the walk back to the dorms, I tried to ignore the warmth of his arm brushing against mine, the way my chest warmed every time he smiled.

I couldn’t stop replaying that moment in the library when he kissed the top of my head. It felt like a promise. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to believe in promises again.