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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Since we were down to three apprentices, meals were almost too quiet. Jiro and I focused on eating, exchanging only the bare minimum of words when necessary. We did our best to keep our actions professional and unreadable.

Kenji, however, didn’t hide anything, especially his amusement. His gaze lingered on us, his lips always a menacing smirk. Occasionally, he let out a low cackle as though he’d just thought of a particularly cruel way to get at us.

I decided to keep the break-in to myself. Sharing information now was akin to giving away pieces of armor in a battle. Why weaken myself?

Two more challenges. That was all I had to endure before this nightmare would end. I’d already survived four challenges and one grueling training exercise. Surely I was better prepared now. Surely I could better predict how a challenge would unfold.

That said, I couldn’t shake the growing paranoia. My suspicions extended beyond Kenji and Jiro. Iron Face had always been cold and calculating, and his disdain for me was evident from the start. Could I rule him out? If this place had taught me anything, it was that the rules were mere suggestions to be bent or broken at will.

Sadly, Reina wasn’t exempt either. She had been kind to me, even helpful, but how much of that was genuine? She knew the horrors that took place here, the lives lost, and yet she stayed silent. Her kindness now felt like a cheap Halloween mask, hiding something darker.

And Chef Sakamoto? He was the architect of it all, watching us from his throne with the amusement of a god pulling strings. I imagined his hands red with blood, the lives lost in his program nothing more than minions sacrificed in his toxic kitchen.

As I chewed my food, I couldn’t help but wonder: If I survived this and won the apprenticeship, would I relish the victory? Would I proudly train under Chef Sakamoto, knowing what it had cost?

You wanted to be the first successful female sushi chef, right?

Yes. And?

You dreamed of owning a Michelin-starred restaurant.

Most chefs do.

But you stayed. Even after you realized what was happening here.

I can’t leave. The rules ? —

The rules? Or your ambition?

The thoughts clawed at the edges of my mind. Was I complicit? Could I justify staying, knowing the price others had paid?

No! I wasn’t a bad person for having dreams. I wasn’t a bad person for wanting to succeed. But I was here, and now that I’d endured so much, leaving felt impossible.

Unless there was another way.

Jiro’s theory still lingered in my mind. What if we all survived? What if no one else had to die? It was the only alternative to walking away with what was left of my conscience, but it came at the cost of ambition.

I was trapped in a moral gray area, straddling the line between good and evil. The end was fast approaching, and I had a choice to make. Pursue greatness at any cost or hold on to the last shred of my humanity.