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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

A few days later, Jiro came over to the apartment. Miki wanted to make it a group thing—she felt I was too fragile to be alone with him. Mostly she was worried he would pull some type of dumb shit with me. I told her it wasn’t necessary.

A knock on the door, and Miki invited Jiro in.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she warned him.

“I promise. Nothing stupid,” Jiro assured her as he stepped inside.

“Akiko, I’ll be at the coffee shop down the street if you need me.”

Miki eyed Jiro once more before leaving.

“Thanks for seeing me, Akiko. I really appreciate it.”

We took a seat on the sofa, next to each other. I’d made a pot of tea and poured us each a cup. We didn’t waste much time on pleasantries—I was eager to get answers. I’m not sure why I asked about it first, but I wanted to know what happened to the other apprentices. What about their families? Surely they had questions like I did.

“They did have questions,” Jiro said. “But it’s not something you’d ever hear publicly.”

“So, they fell in line like everyone else, bullied into silence.”

Jiro was quiet for a moment. “They had small, private funerals, from what I’ve heard. Just family.”

The powerful elite were that untouchable, according to him. Everything that had happened had been swept under the rug. News reports about the burning compound faded quickly, inquiries stopped, and it became just another blip on the news cycle, forgotten by everyone except those who survived it.

It was clear to me that Jiro knew more than he let on but insisted it was too dangerous to talk about. Besides, he said, knowing wouldn’t bring me the closure I sought.

Still, he told me what he could, though it wasn’t much.

“Bodies were recovered from the wreckage, but they were burned beyond recognition,” he said. “DNA analysis was inconclusive due to the intensity of the fire—that part is true. I don’t think it’s bullshit.”

“So, everyone assumes the remains were those of Chef Sakamoto, Reina, Kenji, and Iron Face?”

“Yeah.”

“What about those mystery men the investigators never believed when I mentioned them?”

“As far as I know, they’re not in the report.”

“Figures.”

Jiro shifted in his seat. “Reina’s family demolished what was left of the compound, including the famed House of Sakamoto.”

I hadn’t heard that, or maybe Miki had decided not to tell me. An empire of culinary greatness, gone just like that—vanished from the history pages and erased from the culinary guides.

“I heard all that’s left is an empty lot for sale.”

The weight of the silence grew heavier between us. I knew I was avoiding the real conversation. Yes, the investigation’s outcome gave me some answers, but I couldn’t shake the question gnawing at me. Was Jiro’s insane declaration to die for me out of love the truth? Or just a spur-of-the-moment reaction, fueled by the horrors unfolding around us?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said as he stared into his cup of tea. “I’ll make it easier and just get started.”

He explained his actions during the program—the calculated cruelty, the cold indifference. It had been vital that everyone, including me, believed he hated me. If anyone discovered his true intent, we’d both be killed. Still, I was bothered by his admission and felt foolish, realizing how easily I had been manipulated.

“I joined the apprenticeship to save you, Akiko. That’s the truth. When I found out you were accepted, I couldn’t just sit back. It wasn’t about trying to win you back. If I’d contacted you to warn you about what was coming, you wouldn’t have believed me. And I knew that.”

He was right.

“The deal my father and I orchestrated with the Sakamotos—mostly Reina—was stupid and dangerous when I think back on it. She said yes on a couple of conditions. I had to make sure you made it to the end. I also had to play the game like a real player. No special treatment. I entered the program knowing full well I might not leave.”

“Your father actually agreed to that?”

“Not initially. He was against it. But I pushed a few of his hot buttons and was able to change his mind.”

“But you could have died. What kind of father?—”

“My father isn’t the typical father. Let’s just leave it at that. I never told him the worst part. Reina insisted that if I failed on my part of the bargain, she’d see to it that I was killed.”

In exchange for allowing him to participate, the Sakamotos would gain access to his father’s valuable contacts and influence. He had taken all the risk while they stood to reap all the rewards.

“Did Reina say why she wanted me to make it to the end?” I asked before taking a sip of my tea.

“She never said. From what I gathered, I think she wanted you to believe you were going to win only to tear you down at the last minute. It’s sick, I know. Can you think of a reason?”

“The only reason I can think of is my father. He and Chef Sakamoto were best friends. She mentioned my father more than once while I was there. Enough to make me believe something happened between the three of them.”

“Do you think she knows what happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice hollow. “But I’ll never find out now.”

In the end, Jiro had agreed to everything Reina demanded. He entered the program knowing he had six weeks to find a way to save both of us without revealing his true intentions.

I accepted that full closure would never come and thanked Jiro for being as honest as possible.

“About us…” he started.

“Jiro, I’m sorry, but right now, my focus is on myself and my recovery. I hope you can understand that.”

“I do. You probably think none of this bothers me, but it does. I’m not immune to it.”

We talked a little more about how we felt and how we were coping. Jiro was making better progress, though much of it was due to his overbearing father riding his ass, as he put it. As far as his father was concerned, Jiro had had more than enough time to get over it. It was time to move on.

At some point, the conversation stalled, hovering in the space between what we had been and what we were now. We had to address what happened between us. I thought about the night we spent together—the heat of it, the intensity. It hadn’t been a mistake, but it also hadn’t changed anything.

Jiro must’ve been thinking the same thing because he let out a slow breath and said, “I know I messed up. But that night we were together… It wasn’t a lie. For me it was real. It meant a lot…to be with you again, like that.”

I nodded, acknowledging the truth in that, even if I wasn’t ready to give him more. “I need time right now. Small steps, okay?”

He smiled at me. “Of course.”

“Miki has been a blessing,” I said, wanting to change the subject. “She hasn’t left my side at all.”

“I know. I practically talked to her every day. Never ever saw that coming, with our history.”

I chuckled. “I’ve heard.”

I told Jiro how the charred remains of the Sakamoto compound haunted my dreams every night, making it hard to move on. “It’s like the events of that night play over and over in my mind. No matter how hard I try to bury it, I can’t shake the memory.”

“I have nightmares too. But I have to believe it’ll get better. Time heals all, right?”

It was cathartic to talk about this with him—he understood. No explanation was needed. He’d lived through the same thing. Before he left, I agreed to keep talking over the phone; it would help us both.

That conversation marked the start of my true recovery. Day by day, things improved. I ventured out with Miki for walks, shopped at the markets, and even began to smile and laugh regularly. But the one thing I still couldn’t bring myself to do was cook. The kitchen triggered something inside me. It was my last block to overcome.

But one morning I woke up and made a decision: Enough was enough. I couldn’t keep moping around in self-pity. I needed to reclaim who I was—the Akiko who was vibrant, determined, and destined to become the greatest sushi chef.

And it began with a step back into the kitchen.