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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

AKIKO

We had just been briefed by Iron Face on our next challenge: It would involve the poisonous fugu blowfish. Reina’s haunting warning about poison had come true. Iron Face’s instructions were vague, as always, but everyone assumed we had to prepare a dish using the fish. The bitching started immediately after Iron Face left us and continued into the dorms.

“Twelve hours?” Kenji muttered as we headed to his room. “What’s next, six hours’ notice?”

“I have something to tell you,” I said.

I plopped down on his bed and began telling him about my second meeting with Reina. If he was jealous about the attention I’d received from her again, he was hiding it better this time. Maybe he realized by now that whatever Reina told me, I’d pass along to him.

“She was right about the poison,” I said.

“But why stop there? She’s just as vague as Iron Face. Do you think she doesn’t know more? She’s enjoying it, just like Chef Sakamoto and Iron Face. And really, she told you—what, fifteen minutes before the next challenge was announced? It seems helpful until you think about it.”

“Maybe she can’t say more, or they’d know she was helping,” I said, rubbing his arm to calm him down. “Come on.” I stood and pulled him to his feet.

We pushed past Taka and Dori in the hallway and made our way to the library. Kaiyo and Hideo were already inside, huddled around the table, flipping through books on fugu preparation.

We dove into the research, and our goal was clear: find the simplest, safest dish we could prepare. We had to assume someone, probably Chef Sakamoto, would taste our dishes. Killing him would end more than just the competition.

I glanced at Kenji, who was furiously jotting notes. “You good?” I asked, trying to gauge his state of mind.

“Yeah,” he replied without looking up. “Just focused.”

Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Focused on the challenge and not on me.

The books were clear that the most important part of preparing fugu was removing the poison. Most of the fugu’s deadly toxin was concentrated among its organs. One wrong cut and the meat would become lethal. Even cooking the tainted meat wouldn’t neutralize the poison. It was a tightrope act, and none of us had the safety net of past experience.

From what I read, the toxicity varied by fish. Some were less dangerous; others were instant death waiting to happen. It was like drawing straws, except the loser didn’t get the short one. They got a death sentence.

Kenji whispered to me, “You know this is illegal, right? Preparing fugu without certification? The government forbids anyone near this stuff unless they’ve been trained.”

“Yeah, well, nothing about this program is exactly aboveboard,” I replied, flipping a page. “But you’re not wrong. This is insane, even by Sakamoto’s standards.”

I looked up. Kaiyo and Hideo were busy researching, paying us no attention. We’d left Taka and Dori back in the dorms. Where was Jiro? His absence was suspicious. I didn’t think he’d slack off on this challenge, not with this much at stake.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was up to something. Something I wouldn’t like.

Kenji and I stayed in the library until the last possible moment, barely making it to the training kitchen on time. Iron Face’s glare followed us as we entered the lineup. Blowfish were spread across individual cutting boards, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at us.

Chef Sakamoto entered, followed by Reina, who offered a polite but forced smile. Iron Face turned to us, a twinkle in his cold stare, indicating his favorite part was next: telling us the menacing name of the challenge.

“Tonight at Kage Ryu, you face Shinigami Fugu!” He raised both arms as if speaking to a crowded coliseum in ancient Roman times.

Death God Pufferfish. Did I call it or what?

“Half of you will prepare the torafugu variety; the other half, the mafugu. Both are equally deadly.” His words hung heavy in the air, causing the lineup to fidget.

Kenji and I had already decided to play it as safe as possible. Our dish would be thin slices of raw sashimi. Simple, clean, and, hopefully, nonlethal.

“You have twenty minutes to prepare and plate your dish,” Iron Face instructed. A large round tabletop had been set up for us to present our finished creations. “Begin.”

I waited, half expecting the inevitable twist that would ratchet up the stakes and send us scrambling. But none came. No added obstacle. Just us, the fish, and the clock.

The timer buzzed, and I snapped into action. Carefully, I slid the knife into the belly of the blowfish, my hands steady despite the hammering in my chest. Carefully I removed the organs like a ticking time bomb I had to defuse. If one wrong cut was made, the flesh would be contaminated.

From what I’d read, even properly prepared fugu carried a faint trace of the toxin. A tingling sensation on the lips or tongue was expected, but any more than that could be deadly. The thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Kenji finished before me. “You’ve got plenty of time left,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Don’t rush.”

Across the room, Jiro’s voice rang out. “Yeah, Akiko, take all the time you need. It’s not like we’re on the clock or anything.” Laughter rippled through the room.

I didn’t look up, but his cockiness made me wonder. Did he know something the rest of us didn’t? Had Reina spoken to him too? Was that why he was MIA earlier?

“Ignore him,” Kenji muttered, his tone protective. “You’re almost there.”

I placed the last slice on the plate and carried it to the tabletop, my steps measured and deliberate. Kenji and I weren’t the only ones who’d chosen sashimi; two others had taken the same route. Taka and Dori were the last to finish, placing their dishes on the table just before the timer buzzed.

I cast a quick glance at Jiro. He winked at me and blew a kiss.

Iron Face stepped forward and closely examined each dish before turning to Chef Sakamoto and nodding. He approached the table, spinning it slowly, his gaze lingering on each plate. An emptiness developed in the pit of my stomach. Would Chef Sakamoto really taste each dish? Did he trust us enough? After a long moment, he nodded to Iron Face and returned to Reina’s side.

Iron Face took over, spinning the tabletop again. He called out, “Kaiyo, come here.”

Kaiyo stepped forward, his face pale. The table slowed to a stop, revealing a grilled fugu dish in front of him. “Taste,” Iron Face commanded.

There’s the twist. We were the guinea pigs .

Kaiyo hesitated, his chopsticks trembling in his hand. He glanced back at us, uncertainty showing on his face.

“Taste!” Iron Face barked again.

With reluctance, Kaiyo picked up a piece of fish and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, as though bracing for something terrible to happen. We all were.

The seconds stretched on until he stopped chewing and finally swallowed. A pause that felt like a lifetime before a small smile crept onto his face. “Hey, that’s pretty good.”

Relief rippled through the room as we all exhaled.

My name was called next.

“You got this,” Kenji whispered, giving me a reassuring nod.

I moved to the front, my steps heavy with dread. The tabletop spun again, the plates blurring together. Please let it be sashimi. Please. The table slowed, revealing a fried fugu dish. Meat, bones, and organs mixed together. I sucked in a sharp breath. I remembered this recipe. It was one I’d avoided for its difficulty and risk.

“Taste,” Iron Face ordered.

My heart pounded as I picked up a piece with my chopsticks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jiro, his eyes locked intently on me.

Into my mouth I placed the bite, the fish warm, crispy, savory. It tasted fine—delicious, even. But then a tingling sensation spread across my tongue and throat. My hand flew to my neck as panic set in. Was this it? Was I about to die?

“She’s been poisoned!” Taka shouted.

His words sent the room spiraling. My throat tightened, and I gasped for air, waiting for the inevitable. But the seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. The tingling remained, but my breathing was steady. Slowly, I lowered my hand.

“You’re excused,” Iron Face said, his tone devoid of sympathy.

One by one, the others took their turns, each tasting another’s dish. No one showed signs of poisoning. I relaxed, knowing the hard part was over. But when I looked at Iron Face, the expression in his eyes told me otherwise.

“Did you know the effects of fugu poisoning aren’t immediate?” Iron Face asked, a dark edge in his voice.

Just then, Hideo began to cough.

“It can take forty minutes to manifest.” He turned to Hideo. “It’s subtle at first, but then the affected person begins to?—”

Hideo collapsed, clutching his stomach as a guttural howl escaped his lips. His body convulsed violently, thick white foam bubbling from his lips and spilling down his chin. His eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites. The room froze—every breath held, every eye locked on the horrifying scene.

“It paralyzes its victim while they’re still fully conscious,” Iron Face continued, his voice colder than ever.

Hideo choked and thrashed on the floor, his violent spasms breaking the fragile silence in the room.

“They feel every second of it,” Iron Face added, unflinching. “Their heart slows, their lungs seize, and they suffocate—fully aware but completely helpless.”

Hideo arched his back, his body taut and trembling, poised there for a terrifying moment, before collapsing, motionless.

Two men in black uniforms appeared. Without a word, they grabbed Hideo’s lifeless body and dragged him out of the room, his heels scraping against the floor.

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving us in a dumbfounded silence as the deadly reality of the challenge sank in.

Iron Face grabbed the dish Hideo had eaten from. “Who prepared this?” he demanded, his voice like thunder. The room remained silent. No one dared step forward to claim ownership.

Chef Sakamoto shook his head, his disappointment this time eclipsing anything in the past. He turned and left the kitchen without a word, Reina following close behind.

We had come so close to completing the challenge. But one of us had ruined it. Was it an honest mistake or a calculated move to thin the competition?