There was no doubt it was him. I could pick him out of any lineup, even with just a glimpse of his profile. An uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach. And to think I’d thought Kenji showing up was the wild card of the day.
If there was anyone I had hoped would never enter my life again, it was Jiro Tachibana. We had dated during university, but I ended things before graduation. He hadn’t taken it well at all. If there was ever an enemy I wanted to avoid, it was him.
And I’d managed to, up until now.
For five years, I’d successfully kept him out of my life. No accidental encounters, no awkward sightings in public. It was as if we’d agreed to exist in entirely separate worlds. At least, that’s what I’d thought.
I stared at him, old memories and emotions clawing to the surface. But they weren’t the warm, fuzzy kind that left you feeling nostalgic. No, this was something entirely different. I certainly wasn’t conflicted or thinking that maybe I’d been too harsh on him all those years ago. I was sure of those red flags I’d seen back then. What I felt now was pure, unfiltered anger.
Because I knew Jiro too well. I knew how he thought, what drove him, what made him tick. As soon as he discovered I was here, he’d use every opportunity to attack me, ridicule me, and, worse, knock me off my game.
This day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it, Akiko? Not only are you stuck in a glorified prison with a dictator for an overseer, but now you’re competing against your crazy ex. Still think you want to be a Michelin-starred chef?
It was a fair question. Nothing about this experience so far was turning out the way I’d imagined. If this was just the beginning, how much worse could it get?
I stared at Jiro, needing to confirm that I wasn’t imagining things. That it really was him. And then, as if sensing my gaze, he turned his head. Our eyes met, and he smiled.Smiled.
Was that a friendly smile? A mocking one? Or something worse?
“Any questions?” Kanshisha-san’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. His sharp tone demanded immediate attention, and I straightened, my gaze darting back to him.
“Dinner will commence in thirty minutes,” he continued, his voice final. “I’ll return to escort you to the dining room.”
A collective breath of relief filled the hallway as soon as he disappeared. Shoulders relaxed, necks rolled, and tension drained from everyone like water from a sieve.
Kenji turned to me, stepping into my line of sight and blocking my view of Jiro. “That was something, huh?” He gave me a small smile, though I couldn’t tell if it was nervous or playful.
“I don’t even know what to think,” I said, shaking my head. “This is nothing like what I expected.”
“Same here. But,” he added, his tone shifting, “no matter how strange or unconventional this program is, Chef Sakamoto’s results speak for themselves. Kanshisha-san made that pretty clear. Maybe this is what it takes to be great. To make it to the top.”
I couldn’t argue with him. There were other apprenticeship programs, but none had the track record Chef Sakamoto’s did. He was the gold standard every aspiring sushi chef dreamed of surpassing. Maybe Kenji was right. Maybe pushing the envelope was what it took.
Kenji’s hand landed on my shoulder, the gesture warm but firm. He gave a light squeeze, his expression softening. “May the best chef win.”
I smiled back. I knew I could count on Kenji. And even though we were now rivals, we were friends first.
But still, there was something about the words Kanshisha-san had uttered. The way he laid out those rules that in no way seemed normal. It made me think for a moment that maybe, just maybe, this place wasn’t about teaching us but about breaking us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
You’d think my stomach was possessed and speaking in tongues with the noises it was making. But hunger wasn’t even the worst of my problems. I had to pee.
I paced my room in a desperate attempt to distract myself from the burning pressure in my abdomen. Fifteen minutes felt like fifteen hours. I swore the second Kanshisha-san returned, I would demand to know where the bathrooms were. Let him glare all he wanted.
The sound of the dormitory door opening was music to my ears. I bolted out of my room with the others, ready to plead my case, but someone beat me to it.
“Excuse me, where are the bathrooms?” asked one of the apprentices.
Big mistake.
The poor guy got hit with a glare so icy, it could’ve frozen a bowl of ramen solid. He shrank back into line like a scolded child.
“If looks could kill,” Kenji muttered under his breath. “I was about to ask the same thing.”
“Why is he torturing us like this?” I said, performing a little shuffle-dance.
Without a word, Kanshisha-san spun on his heel and motioned for us to follow. We trudged behind in a single file to a smaller building next to the dormitory.
