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CHAPTER TWO

As soon as I got home, my cell phone rang, and I set it to speaker and started preparing dinner.

“Akiko, I promise I’m on my way!” a high-pitched voice rang out.

Miki Miyamoto was my best friend—my only friend, really. We’d met during our first year at university and had been inseparable ever since despite being complete opposites. She was tall; I was short. Her long hair reached her waist, while mine stayed neatly trimmed in a chin-length bob. She loved numbers, excelling in math; I could barely balance a checkbook. She laughed like a horse; I sounded like a monkey. And when it came to food, we had one thing in common, sort of. I loved cooking, and Miki loved eating.

Miki always believed in me, even when I didn’t. “You should be running a restaurant by now, Akiko,” she’d told me a million times. And every time, I’d laughed it off as a silly fantasy. But deep down, a part of me wanted to believe her.

“Don’t worry, I’m just getting started on dinner,” I said, shaking the thought from my head.

“Did you get the butterfish?”

“I did.”

A loud shriek rang out from the phone. “Wonderful! I’m starving. See you in a few!”

Miki was the only person alive who knew about my dream. She’d always insisted I should have acted on it years ago, and why I’d waited so long was beyond her. But the time had finally come. I wanted to do what my father never had the chance to achieve—become a legendary sushi chef.

But there was one problem: sushi chefs were men.

There were plenty of female chefs. But when it came to the art of crafting sushi, women didn’t exist, not in the kitchens or the apprenticeship programs. How could I ever achieve that dream?

Before his death, I confided in Oji-chan about what I truly wanted to do with my life. He didn’t hesitate. “You can do it,” he said, grinning in that way only he could, “and you’ll be the best sushi chef.”

Part of me wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust that Oji-chan’s unwavering faith in me was enough to overcome centuries of tradition. But another part of me couldn’t ignore the uphill battle I faced. The stares, the whispers, the rejection… It all felt inevitable.

A knock at my front door pulled me out of my thoughts and the kitchen.

“Miki, come in,” I said, holding the door open.

She stepped inside, giving me a quick hug. “I brought alcohol,” she announced, holding up a bottle of my favorite sake.

We made our way back into the kitchen, and Miki wasted no time filling a small bucket with ice and water to chill the bottle. “It smells amazing in here,” she said, inhaling deeply. “I purposely had a light lunch so I could pig out tonight.”

“I figured. That’s why I made more than usual.”

“I love that you know me so well.” She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “How are you doing? Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was the start of everything. I’d been accepted into the country’s most prestigious sushi apprenticeship program, run by none other than Chef Sakamoto himself. I was supposed to report to the House of Sakamoto, his signature restaurant, at 9:00 a.m. sharp.

I drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I think so. I still can’t believe it’s real. Part of me keeps expecting a call or a letter saying there was a mistake, that my spot was given to someone else.”

“That’s absurd,” Miki said, her tone sharp. “I’ve eaten a lot of sushi, and trust me—you’re good. Really good. With the training you’ll get, you’ll be unstoppable. You’ll open your own restaurant one day, and it’ll be a hit.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend and my only hope of escaping the accounting hell I call a job.”

I laughed, the tension in my chest easing. “I promise you’ll be my first hire. You’ll be the social butterfly working the front of the house, ensuring everyone’s having a great time.”

“That, I can do. And well,” she said, raising her hand as if taking an oath.

Then she hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “I do have some questions. Or, you know, concerns.”

I smiled, knowing where this was headed. “Let me guess, you think the program is weird.”

“Weird?” she echoed, her eyebrows shooting up. “Akiko, it’s more than weird. You have to live on-site, and you’re not allowed to leave or talk to anyone. Does that not scream cult to you?”

I laughed despite myself. “Maybe, but it’s only six weeks. I’ll survive.”

“And the NDA? Air-tight, binding for life, and practically screaming ‘Don’t ask questions.’ What’s that about?”

“They don’t want me spilling trade secrets,” I said. “Every person who’s completed the program has gone on to greatness. A lot of chefs who have trained under Chef Sakamoto now have their own Michelin-starred restaurant. This isn’t some gimmick. It’s the real deal.”

Miki frowned, unconvinced. “Give me the paperwork.”

I got up and grabbed the envelope from my desk. “Here,” I said, handing it over.

She flipped through the pages; her expression said it all. “These rules are insane. Listen to this: ‘Rule One: The named apprentice shall arrive at nine a.m. sharp. Tardiness will result in immediate dismissal.’ Harsh much?”

I shrugged. “Punctuality is important.”

“‘Rule Two: The named apprentice will bring nothing but the clothing on their body. No personal items are allowed.’ I hope they’re providing you with deodorant.”

“Miki—”

“Wait, wait, it gets better. ‘Rule Three: The named apprentice shall turn over all electronic devices before starting the program. These will be returned upon completion.’”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatic tone. “Okay, fine. It’s strict. But I’ll manage.”

She shook her head as she continued looking through the paperwork. “All this, and they don’t even tell you what you’ll be doing daily? No schedule, no details, nothing. Akiko, this doesn’t sound like training—it sounds like they’re hiding something. What if this whole thing isn’t what it seems?”

Miki had a point, but I wasn’t about to let my doubts take hold. I couldn’t afford to. This was my dream.

She handed the envelope back to me. “I heard the Sakamotos live in a huge mansion that’s beautiful and luxurious. Living there can’t be that bad, even if the property resembles a prison.” She gave me a cheeky smile.

“I’ll be back here in no time, Miki.”

She shook her head but smiled. “You’d better. I can’t eat this well without you.”

She poured each of us a glass of chilled sake and raised hers in a toast. “Here’s to your dream, Akiko. You’re going to kill!”