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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

After breakfast, Iron Face announced the second challenge would commence immediately. As we filed into the training kitchen, the unease among the apprentices was apparent. The rustle of uniforms betrayed everyone’s nerves.

At the center of the long stainless steel table sat a massive cornucopia made of rattan, its narrow tip pointing skyward while the wide, flared end spilled over with fruits and vegetables. Berries, pineapples, carrots, and turnips. It was a vibrant mess of color. Four knives were spaced evenly in front of the basket. But not just any type of knife. If I wasn’t mistaken, those were yanagiba, long blades used by sushi chefs.

“They expect us to use those knives,” I told Kenji. “They’re extremely sharp and dangerous.”

“No cut-resistant gloves on the table,” he said. “And there are only four knives but nine of us. What’s up with that?”

The fluorescent lights flickered briefly, casting a sickly green hue on the room, making everyone look ill. The strong smell of bleach stung my nostrils. It was always present in the kitchen, but that day it seemed overpowering, as if Iron Face had given the space an extra scrub in anticipation.

My thoughts drifted to Miyo. His accident haunted me more than I cared to admit. Since that awful day, no one had spoken of him. It was easier, I suppose, to pretend he’d never been here than to confront the grim reality that the same fate could await any of us. Would I be just as easily forgotten?

The kitchen door creaked open, and everyone straightened instinctively as Chef Sakamoto entered. His black uniform was immaculate, his expression cold. Had he already decided that we’d failed?

Reina followed a step behind, her elegance and grace in stark contrast to her husband. She always dressed as if she were attending a high-end fashion show rather than watching a challenge. Her perfect makeup and polished demeanor seemed so out of place in this sterile kitchen. Why even bother attending the challenges?

As she took her place beside him, she looked directly at me, her gaze lingering longer than necessary.

“Teacher’s pet,” Kenji said playfully under his breath, earning him a sharp elbow to his ribs.

Iron Face’s gaze swept across us. And then with dramatic flair he raised a clenched fist and delivered a triumphant pump as he announced the challenge. “Your second challenge at Kage Ryu is Ayatsuri no Odori!”

Dance of the puppets? What a strange name for a challenge that involves cutting fruit.

“If it isn’t clear,” Iron Face continued, pulling out three glossy photos, “today’s challenge involves mukimono.” He held the pictures up; they depicted various flower designs. The designs were simple, nothing with too much detail.

Reina’s words rang in my ears: The challenges are designed to be deceptively easy.

“You will be working in pairs.” Iron Face scanned the room. “One team will have three. Make it work.”

Kenji shot me a grin. We didn’t need to say it. We both assumed we’d pair up.

“But don’t get any ideas,” Iron Face added, his tone ice cold. “I’ll be assigning the teams.”

Just like that, a storm cloud formed over me, and the downpour began.

“When your name is called, join your team and stand to the side,” Iron Face commanded. “Team One: Sana and Osamu.” The two stepped aside without a word. “Team Two: Kaiyo and Kenji.”

My stomach dropped as Kenji gave me an apologetic look and joined Kaiyo.

“Team Three: Taka, Dori, and Hideo.” The trio exchanged quick glances before moving to the side. Taka and Dori had been inseparable since the program began. It made sense they’d be grouped together.

That left Jiro and me. The moment I realized Kenji and I weren’t paired, I knew I’d be stuck with Jiro.

“And Team Four: Jiro and Akiko.”

Jiro flashed me a cheeky smile as he made his way over. I couldn’t decide who was enjoying this more—Jiro or Iron Face.

“One of you will cut, the other will direct. A puppeteer and a puppet.”

Iron Face moved down the line, pointing to each group and assigning roles. In the trio, Hideo was designated the cutter, with Taka and Dori as the puppeteers controlling one hand each.

I was the puppet for my team, which meant Jiro would be guiding my hands and the razor-sharp knife they held. If he wanted, this was a chance to slice a finger and ruin my chances in future challenges. I had to stay sharp and control his hands as much as possible to avoid any so-called accidental slips.

Iron Face ordered Jiro to stand behind me, then tore into a roll of duct tape with a sharp rip that echoed through the room. He bound Jiro’s wrists to mine tightly, before wrapping the tape around our torsos, forcing Jiro’s entire body against mine. I felt the solid weight of him at my back, the closeness unbearable. Awkward didn’t even begin to describe it, and I sure as hell wasn’t ready for it.

Iron Face moved from team to team, binding them the same way.

“Well, isn’t this cozy. You the little spoon, I the fork you could never resist,” Jiro whispered, his mouth just a hair’s breadth from my ear.

I delivered a sharp elbow into his rib cage. “Don’t confuse cozy with consent.”

“Akiko, you never could resist a good fight. It always led to your surrender in the bedroom.”

I gritted my teeth, determined not to let his words get to me.

He leaned in farther, the warmth of his solid chest intensifying. The tip of his nose brushed against my hair. “You’re not using that shampoo I always liked,” he murmured, inhaling softly as if savoring the scent.

“Of course not, you idiot. We’re not allowed personal belongings.” I twisted my shoulder back sharply, catching his chin in the process. “And stop smelling me.”

“Feisty.” He chuckled, unfazed. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

“And don’t even think about trying to cut me with the knife,” I said firmly. “Remember, I can cut you back just as easily.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “But now that you mention it…”

Iron Face returned to our team, a black strip of cloth in hand. “The puppet in each team will be blindfolded.”

Wait, what? That’ll leave me totally dependent on Jiro!

Just before Iron Face covered my eyes, I stole one last glance at Reina. She seemed lost in thought, her gaze drifting beyond the line of competitors in front of her. Did she even want to be here? The thought disappeared as Iron Face secured the cloth tightly around my head, plunging me into total darkness.

“Trust,” Jiro whispered after Iron Face left us. “It’s the foundation of any successful relationship.”

“Partnership,” I corrected quickly, keeping my voice firm.

“Relationship, partnership,” he said with a light chuckle. “Semantics, really. Speaking of relationships, though…” His tone dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do I detect a little lovey-dovey action between you and Kenji? If only you could see the daggers he’s throwing my way. He must be broiling right now, knowing I’m pressed up against you like this, my hips at just the right… Well, I’m sure he gets it. Has he gotten this close yet?”

I refused to dignify his comment with an answer, clenching my jaw to keep from reacting.

“Wait, I bet he hasn’t. Poor guy.” Jiro’s voice dripped with exaggerated pity. “He’s followed you around like a lost puppy, and now the pack’s alpha has taken what he wants. Perception is reality, Akiko. And right now? We look like the perfect couple.”

“You didn’t take anything,” I shot back, my tone sharp. “I’m being forced.”

“You are,” he said, his smirk practically audible. “But does anyone else see it that way?”

“You haven’t changed one bit,” I grumbled. “You’re still the asshole I dumped.”

“We all make mistakes,” he said lightly.

Before I could fire back, Iron Face cleared his throat. “Think hard about how you move forward. Slow. Fast. What will it take to win?”

“I think slow and steady is the right strategy,” Jiro said, suddenly serious.

“From what I remember, your style was more like a rabbit, fast and furious,” I replied, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

He ignored my jab. “There’s something we’re missing here. It can’t just be about speed.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted. “But the setup, our hands bound, you blindfolded… Moving slowly and cautiously eliminates the danger that the blindfold intended.”

“So, you think there’s something else that hasn’t been revealed yet?”

“I do. For now, we take it slowly. Agree?”

I nodded.

“You will have five minutes,” Iron Face shouted. The countdown clock reset, its mechanical beep echoing through the room.

“So much for moving slowly,” I said.

“I expected the time limit,” he said. “But I don’t think that’s the big twist.”

The buzzer rang out, and Iron Face shouted, “Begin!”

“Trust me, Akiko,” Jiro whispered, his lips brushing against my earlobe. A jerk, and we were moving, our bound arms working in unison. Blindfolded, I had no choice but to let Jiro lead.

“We need fruits, vegetables, and a paring knife,” he said, calm and steady despite the chaos erupting around us. I felt our hands move forward, his grip on my hands firm and deliberate.

“Let me grab the items.” He let go of my hands and continued. His movements were quick and precise. A second later, I felt something cool and firm shoved into my uniform through the opening near my neck.

“What are you doing?” I said, shifting uneasily as he continued stuffing items inside my uniform.

“Everyone’s doing it,” he replied, unfazed. “It’s the best way to carry our fruits and vegetables.”

He tucked the items into my uniform one by one before placing my left hand on a pineapple. “Grab. I’ll take the knife with my other hand.”

Just then, someone barreled into us hard. The clink of metal hitting the floor echoed loudly.

“Watch it, assholes!” Jiro barked, frustration creeping into his voice. “We need to get down. Our knife fell under the table.”

Awkwardly, we bent down together and scrambled to recover the knife, the produce in my uniform moving further down around my belly and the sides of my waist. When we stood and returned to the table, I was sure we were the last to start.

“Talk to me, Jiro,” I said, trembling. “What’s everyone else doing?”

“They’re moving slow and being overly cautious,” he said.

Suddenly, a sharp tug at my uniform caught me off guard. My lapels were yanked open, and the contents spilled onto the table with a dull thud. Heat rushed to my face as I realized my chest was exposed to anyone not blindfolded. Jiro reached inside, his hands fumbling near my hips. Before I could fully process the moment, he was done, and my uniform was closed again.

“Grab,” he commanded, guiding my right hand toward something cool and rough. I closed my fingers around it—dragon fruit. He moved my hand over to the handle of the knife, and I picked it up.

“Remember, let me guide. Don’t try to fight my movements, okay?”

Jiro started slow and precise, the sound of slicing filling the air.

Then a sharp cracking noise rang out, followed by a blood-curdling scream, shattering my focus. “What’s happening?” I whispered.

“It’s Iron Face,” Jiro said. “He’s using a whip on anyone moving too slow.”

The crack exploded again, closer this time, followed by a gut-wrenching cry. My grip tightened instinctively. “Shit,” Jiro muttered under his breath. “There’s blood. The whip…”

“Hurry!” Iron Face’s voice boomed over the chaos. “Time is running out!”

My arms stiffened, my hands tense as I fought against Jiro’s movements.

“I need you to relax, Akiko,” Jiro said, his voice calm and steady. “Don’t fight me.”

“But the whip…”

“Let me worry about that. You just focus on being the best puppet possible.”

I swallowed hard and forced myself to comply, relaxing my shoulders and letting him guide my right hand. His precision felt sharp, deliberate, though I couldn’t see it. All I could do was trust him and pray he didn’t make a mistake.

Another crack, another scream. My pulse pounded in my ears. “That’s one design done,” Jiro said.

“How does it look?” I asked.

“Good enough,” he replied.

Before I could respond, the whip cracked again, this time so close it sent a sharp, stinging pain shooting through my ear. Jiro let out a guttural yell, his body jerking against mine.

“Jiro! Are you okay? Can you keep going?” Panic laced my voice. The thought of him incapacitated sent a fresh wave of fear through me.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice strained. “Grab.”

I obeyed, reaching out blindly just as a sound—an inhuman cry—froze me in place. It was followed by “My hand! My hand!”

“What’s happening?” I asked, unable to control the fear in my voice.

“Someone’s hurt,” Jiro said in a lowered voice. “Badly.”

The chaos around me grew louder. Screams. Shouts. The clatter of something falling. “You did it on purpose!” someone yelled, followed by a panicked cry: “Oh my God! His neck! His neck!”

I squeezed my eyes shut beneath the blindfold, my body trembling. I couldn’t see what was happening, but the sounds painted a horrible picture. My knees buckled, but Jiro caught me and held me upright.

Iron Face shouted. He was near us. “Only the strong endure! Finish your task!”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“Thirty seconds left!”

Jiro’s grip tightened around me, and then, to my shock, he stopped moving entirely.

“Wait, why are we stopping? We won’t finish if we stop,” I said with panic.

“That’s the plan,” Jiro murmured, leaning in close. His body pressed firmly against mine, his breath warm against my ear. He spun me around with startling force before I could ask what he meant.

The sharp crack of the whip cut through the air, followed by Jiro’s cry of pain.

My body stiffened. He had shielded me.

With the final seconds ticking away, his arms remained wrapped around me like a protective cocoon. “Trust me, there’s no need to finish,” he whispered, his tone unsettlingly calm, as though he knew something I didn’t.

I felt his breath against my neck, steadying me one last time as the timer buzzed. And then, a fleeting sensation. So quick I almost doubted it. His lips grazed my neck.

My pulse raced. Did he just…kiss me?

I stood frozen as the blindfold was yanked off my head. The room spun into focus, blurred and disorienting. In front of me sat our single dragon fruit flower, perfectly plated. For a moment, I felt relieved until my gaze shifted to the carnage around me.

Blood was everywhere.

Sana clutched his arm, his hand hanging by a few tendons, blood pooling on the floor. Nearby, Osamu lay motionless in a spreading puddle of crimson, his neck slashed open. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or…gone.

My stomach knotted. The metallic scent, mixed with the sharp sting of bleach, made breathing unbearable. Other contestants nursed bloody welts from the whip, their faces strained. Kenji looked unscathed as he tended to a welt on Kaiyo’s back. Kaiyo appeared in great pain as Kenji dabbed a cloth napkin at it.

I turned to Jiro. “Are you okay?” I asked, noticing a welt along his neck.

“I got lucky,” he said with a strained smile. “My uniform absorbed most of the hit.”

Two men dressed in the familiar black uniforms and masks entered the room, their eyes expressionless. Without a word, they hauled Sana and Osamu away. I watched, horrified, as Osamu’s lifeless body left a trail of blood behind.

I scanned the table. Every team had completed one flower design—except Sana and Osamu. Did that mean the rest of us tied? Were they the losers by default?

The thought felt wrong. Sana and Osamu had been seriously injured. Osamu might even be dead. While my stomach turned, my mind stayed disturbingly focused on the challenge. I couldn’t forget why I was here. Letting go of that focus would only hurt me. I was already in too deep. I had to see this through, or everything I’d endured—the fear, the manipulation—would be for nothing.

Chef Sakamoto’s face remained unreadable. Was this par for the course in his apprenticeship program? His cold demeanor seemed immune to the chaos that had unfolded. And Reina, standing silently beside him, was just as detached. Did they not see the tragedy unfold with their very eyes? Without a word, they turned and left the kitchen.

Iron Face stepped forward, looking at us with pure disdain. “Another disgraceful showing for Chef Sakamoto,” he growled. “I don’t think any of you truly want this apprenticeship. Your efforts are pathetic.”

He snatched a plate from the table, a sunflower design, and held it up. “You think this is worthy of a Michelin-starred restaurant?”

With a swift motion, he hurled it against the wall, the porcelain shattering into pieces. Without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the kitchen, leaving us in blood-soaked silence.