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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

I waited much longer than usual for Iron Face to arrive for inspection. He acknowledged me with a grunt before moving through the rows of hanging linens with his hands clasped behind his back, scrutinizing each tablecloth as if hunting for a microscopic stain that would send me back to square one.

I trailed a few steps behind him, my stomach grumbling with hunger. Each time it did, Iron Face would pause and tilt his head slightly in my direction. It was enough to give me a complex.

When he finally reached the last row of linens without uttering a word of criticism, he gave me a curt nod of approval. Relief rushed over me. Even laundry felt like a matter of life and death.

I glanced back at the mansion as Iron Face disappeared. The window where I had last seen Reina remained empty. I stared until Jiro’s face appeared in my sight line.

“Why are you still standing here?” he asked.

I blinked, nearly stumbling as I took a step back. “I, uh, I had to wait for Iron Face to inspect my chore. He just left.”

“Well, it’s lunchtime. Shall we?” He held out his arm, and I ignored it.

I made sure to keep a step behind him as we walked. Whenever we fell into step, our arms occasionally brushed against each other. I didn’t need reminding of our time dating.

“Was anyone else in the library earlier?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Taka and Dori were just leaving when I got there. They were flipping through books on ramen noodles.”

“Ramen? Do you think that’s the next challenge?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or it was a misdirect to throw me off. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

The idea of planting false flags hadn’t occurred to me before, but of course it made sense. Fantastic. Just one more delightful way to meet my end here.

Inside the dining room, everyone sat in their usual seats. The arrangement felt more like a battlefield than a dining hall. Jiro and I on the high ground. Taka and Dori in the valley. And Kenji, lurking along the edges of a tangled black forest where shadowy creatures roamed.

The tension broke as Taka lifted the cover off his bento. “What the hell?”

The bento held only shrimp tempura. No rice. No vegetables. Just golden-fried shrimp.

“What’s this about?” I muttered, glancing at Jiro.

He picked up a shrimp and bit into it. “Tastes fine to me. Maybe they’re trying to use up the shrimp before it spoils.”

Nice leftovers.

I took a bite and begrudgingly admitted it was perfectly cooked. The batter was light and crisp, just as it should be. Whoever made this had known what they were doing.

As I chewed, a thought struck me. “Do you think this is a clue?” I asked Jiro.

“What do you mean?”

“We were all served the same thing. Maybe it’s hinting at the next challenge.”

“Cooking shrimp tempura?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or something related to tempura. Everything here is a test. It wouldn’t surprise me if this meal is part of it.”

“That’s true.” He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve made tempura a million times before.”

“And you? Have you done it even once?”

“Let’s just say I’m better at eating tempura than cooking it. But knowing how these challenges work, if it is about tempura, then it’s not about tempura.”

“Agreed.”

All through lunch, my mind investigated the possibilities. What could the twist be? Maybe we’d have to fry something unexpected, like an entire lobster or even a sea snake. Jiro joked it might be something absurd, like mochi candy. Either way, we both agreed it wouldn’t be shrimp. That would be too predictable.

The door creaked open, and Iron Face entered, silencing the room. “Did you enjoy your tempura?”

No one dared to answer.

“Your next challenge will take place now,” he declared.

“Now?” Dori blurted out. “But we haven’t had time to research?—”

Iron Face turned to him with a look that curdled the air between them. “Do you need to research how to prepare soft-shell crab tempura?”

My jaw nearly hit the table. Soft-shell crab? Seriously? While it wasn’t shrimp, it wasn’t a curveball.

“Today, you will cook for Chef Sakamoto,” Iron Face continued, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Do you think you can accomplish this without embarrassing yourselves?”

We all nodded. It was the safest response.

“Follow me.”

Iron Face led us to the same area where his instruction class had been set up. I wondered why we weren’t in the training kitchen, where the stoves were.

In the center of the clearing stood a raised platform surrounded by a solid circular wall. The sides were too tall to see over, but five staircases, one for each of us, led up to the top. Something about this setup felt off.

“The Sakamotos have a perfect view,” Jiro murmured, gesturing toward the balcony jutting out from the house. Chef Sakamoto and Reina stood there now, watching us like hawks. “Looks like we’ll be performing on a stage for them.”

“Today at Kage Ryu, you will face Kumo Tempura!” Iron Face announced, glee dripping from every syllable. “A dish that demands skill, precision…and balance.”

Spider tempura? I frowned, realizing he must be referring to the look of a soft-shell crab. Once it’s fried, it does resemble a spider. But what that had to do with balance, I had no idea.

“The challenge is simple,” Iron Face continued. “Prepare your crabs, fry them to perfection, and plate your dish for Chef Sakamoto.” He gestured to the balcony, where Chef Sakamoto stood stoically beside Reina. “When the challenge begins, ascend the stairs to your assigned station. In the center, you’ll find everything you need—crabs, skillets, and ingredients. Once finished, place your dish on the table. You have fifteen minutes.”

No one said a word.

“Take your positions,” Iron Face ordered.

We moved to our assigned staircases. I stood between Jiro and Dori, with Kenji directly opposite me, out of view. Taka and Dori exchanged a quick glance before taking their places. The air buzzed with unease.

Iron Face raised an air horn. The sharp blare signaled the start, and we bolted up the stairs.

At the top, I froze. This wasn’t a stage. It was a giant steel pool filled with boiling oil.

The rising heat licked at my skin as I took in the full scope of the setup. Five rope bridges stretched across the oil, leading to a central cooking station. Each bridge had a single rope to walk on and another to hold for balance. The cooking platform in the middle was circular and unsteady; the entire design resembled a spider’s web.

Oh. That’s why it’s called the Kumo Tempura challenge. How stupid of me to think it had something to do with the FREAKING CRAB!

“This whole setup is completely unstable!” I shouted to Jiro.

“I think that’s the point,” he said.

Taka was the first to step onto a rope bridge. It swayed wildly under his weight.

Jiro stepped onto his bridge next, gripping the top rope for balance. Kenji and Dori followed. My legs locked in place, the commonsense part of my brain screaming to stay put.

Come on, Akiko. You’ve got this. Don’t be the one who can’t even make it to the cooking platform.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the rope. It wobbled, and I steadied myself, focusing on one step at a time. Reina’s advice about balance came flooding back. She had warned me, but I wished she’d been clearer.

As I crossed, the bubbling noise hissed beneath me, a reminder of the danger below. The skin around my neck quickly turned slick, and I used the back of my hand to wipe away a trickle.

“Hurry, Akiko!” Jiro called.

The bridges swayed in tandem as we crossed, each contributing to the motion. By the time I reached the platform, Kenji was already there, prepping his batter with laser focus. The cooking station itself was no better than the bridges. It shook with every step, and there was barely enough room for us to maneuver. One wrong move could send me, or someone else, straight into the boiling oil.

I started mixing my tempura batter, my hands trembling. The heat, the instability, the stakes: Everything about this challenge was designed to break us.

A sharp crackling erupted as Kenji dropped his crab into his skillet filled with boiling oil, sending a spatter across the platform. Jiro and Taka recoiled as the droplets hit them.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Kenji!” Taka yelled, shaking his hand.

Kenji’s grin stretched wide, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto me. He looked like a devil child who had just set off firecrackers in the house, pleased by the chaos he’d caused.

Then he did the unthinkable. Kenji grabbed the edge of the tabletop and began rocking the platform deliberately. The entire setup wobbled violently, sending tremors through the structure. Oil from the skillets splashed everywhere, sizzling.

“Cut it out, Kenji!” Taka shouted, his voice filled with panic.

Kenji only laughed as he flipped his crab with tongs, the batter crackling loudly. Then he stomped his feet, shaking the platform even harder. Dori flailed, barely keeping his balance.

Taka lunged, shoving Kenji hard enough to send him teetering on the platform’s edge. Kenji managed to grab the tabletop and steady himself, his laughter now a low rumble.

“This is getting out of control!” I yelled, my voice cutting through the chaos. “If you two keep this up, we’re all going down!”

“Don’t you get it, Akiko?” Kenji slammed his foot down, throwing the platform off balance. “We’re not all supposed to make it past this challenge.”

His words hit me like a gut punch, a harsh reminder that one of us wasn’t leaving alive.

“Focus, Akiko!” Jiro said as he lowered his crab into the skillet.

“Yeah, listen to your punk boyfriend,” Kenji taunted.

Kenji finished his crab, plating it with a smug look. He grabbed the rope bridge and began his trek back to the stairs. Every step sent violent shudders through the platform, and when he reached the midpoint, he stopped and looked back at us. His grin widened.

Then he started bouncing on the rope.

The platform jerked and swayed like a seesaw, each motion growing more erratic. The remaining oil in Kenji’s skillet tipped over, splashing onto Taka. He screamed as the searing liquid burned his skin. His arms flailed wildly, striking Dori, who was flipping his crab. Dori staggered, his foot slipping off the edge.

He reached out blindly, grabbing Taka’s uniform in desperation. Taka wasn’t ready for the sudden weight, and with Dori pulling hard, they lost their balance. Taka’s hands shot out, trying to grab the table’s edge, but one landed on a burner. He yanked it back with a cry of pain, but the damage was done. The momentum dragged them over the edge.

It all happened in slow motion. Their bodies twisted as they fell, a tangle of limbs and panic. Dori’s eyes locked onto mine, wide and terrified, while Taka’s back was to me, his arms flailing uselessly.

The vat erupted as they hit the oil. A furious cascade of bubbles and steam swallowed them whole. Their screams were muffled almost instantly, drowned out by the snapping and crackling of the boiling liquid. The oil frothed and churned violently, leaving no trace of them.

Then, for a brief moment, a blistered hand broke the surface, fingers clawing at the air. It lingered for a heartbeat before sinking back into the bubbling depths.

Jiro yanked me back into him, steadying us both as the sudden weight imbalance rocked the platform wildly. His arms tightened around me as we rode out the shaking, neither daring to move until the structure stilled.

“Don’t look, Akiko.” Jiro turned me back toward the cooking station. “We can finish this.”

He was right. I forced myself to focus, dropping my crab into the skillet, the batter sizzling as it hit the oil. Just a few more minutes, I told myself. Just a few more minutes and this nightmare would be over.

Kenji was already off the platform, his plate neatly on the table. He stood there like a child waiting for praise, the look in his eyes unapologetic. I wanted to scream at him, to throw him into the oil like he’d thrown away Taka’s and Dori’s lives.

With our crabs perfectly cooked, Jiro and I plated them carefully and began the treacherous journey back across the rope bridges. Deliberate, careful, and measured steps kept the wobbling to a minimum. When we finally placed our dishes on the table, the air horn sounded, signaling the end of the challenge.

We stood at attention, three survivors facing the aftermath. Chef Sakamoto and Reina appeared moments later to inspect our work. I couldn’t believe it. Chef Sakamoto was about to taste our dishes. It was the first semblance of normalcy in this insane program.

He approached Kenji’s plate first and cut a small piece. He chewed slowly, his gaze never leaving Kenji’s face. Then, without a word, he moved to Jiro’s dish and repeated the process. Finally, he reached mine, sliced a bite, and placed it in his mouth. His expression gave away nothing.

When he was done, Reina stepped forward and cut a piece from my crab. She chewed, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Then she turned and walked away, leaving me feeling that I’d just passed another test I hadn’t known I was taking.

Chef Sakamoto nodded to Iron Face and followed Reina, disappearing into the house.

“You have all passed the challenge,” Iron Face announced, his tone devoid of enthusiasm. “One point each.”