True to my word, I was dressed and ready within minutes. Kenji led the way to the bathrooms, doing a quick sweep to ensure the coast was clear before letting me inside.
“Okay,” he said. “The shower’s all yours. I’ll be right outside.”
When we returned to the dormitory, Kanshisha-san was waiting for us. We lined up in a single file and followed him to the training kitchen.
As I followed Kenji, I tapped him on the back. “You think we’ll get breakfast?”
“I hope so. I’m starving.”
“You know,” I said, lowering my voice, “I’ve been thinking I should ask Kanshisha-san to remove the lock on my door.”
Kenji glanced over his shoulder. “Really?”
“Yeah. I know I said I wanted to wait, but I want everything to be equal between me and the other apprentices. That includes not having a lock on my door. Besides, I’ve got your chair trick to keep people out.”
“Plus, it’s a total fire hazard.”
“Exactly,” I said with a nod. “I’ll bring it up when I get a moment alone with him or at least when no one else is around.”
“Good idea,” Kenji said.
And for the first time that morning, I felt a smidgen of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could navigate this program without losing my mind.
As we entered the training kitchen, a smile formed on my face. I could already picture myself at the countertop, perfecting sushi techniques or learning a secret trick only Chef Sakamoto’s apprentices were privy to. After all, that was the reason for the ironclad NDA, right?
I couldn’t wait to start training with Chef Sakamoto. But something gnawed at me. It was strange that he still hadn’t made an appearance. No introductions, no welcome dinner to kick off the program, just rules, chores, and Kanshisha-san barking orders.
Kanshisha-san led us into the tiny dining room. My spirits lifted at the sight of the bento boxes and miso soup neatly arranged on the table. Kenji claimed the same two chairs we’d sat in the night before. I noticed Jiro, unsurprisingly, taking his seat at the foot of the table again. In fact, everyone seemed to be gravitating toward their spots from the previous meal. No way I could live with this as my permanent seat for six weeks.
“Switch with me,” I whispered to Kenji.
He complied without question, moving to the seat that put me out of Jiro’s direct line of sight. I exhaled, relieved. At least now I wouldn’t feel his eyes burning into me during the meal.
The other apprentices were chatting now, their voices weaving a lively hum around the table. Kenji and I stayed quiet, listening.
“We should introduce ourselves,” Jiro said, his tone carrying that infuriating arrogance I knew all too well. “We all know who Akiko Ono is, but we should learn each other’s names. That way, she doesn’t feel too special.” He smirked as he turned to me. “I’ll go first. I’m Jiro Tachibana. My last name might sound familiar since my father is a prominent politician.”
A murmur rippled through the group. Jiro had set the tone, one of superiority. Of course he had.
“I’m Hideo Nakata,” said the thin man seated to Jiro’s left. He adjusted his thick-framed glasses. “My family owns a chain of well-regarded restaurants. You could say cooking is in my blood.” I watched his unusually large Adam’s apple bob with each word. “It’s expected of me to take the reins once I’m done here.”
Next up was a stocky guy with a cheerful, high-pitched voice. “I’m Kaiyo Uchida. My family doesn’t own restaurants, but I can out-eat and out-cook anyone here. Just wait. You’ll see.”
“Apparently you also outweigh all of us,” one of the others teased.
Kaiyo adjusted his uniform, which was clearly too tight for him.
The next person cleared their throat, waiting until the laughter settled. “My name is Miyo Yokohama,” he said with a self-satisfied grin. “Yes, my family is the Yokohama behind Yokohama Tires. But I suspect I’ll be known for something else after this apprenticeship.”
What was this, a bragging contest? Who cared what their families did? I glanced at Jiro, who was enjoying the spotlight he’d orchestrated. He knew I had nothing to contribute, and he was loving it.
All eyes fell on me. The room quieted, expectant. “You already know my name is Akiko Ono,” I began. “And yes, as Jiro mentioned, I’m here because of Chef Sakamoto. Not out of pity, though. He thinks I’m the best, a certified rising star. Do what you wish with that information.”
The room froze. If there were a sound of jaws collectively hitting the floor, it would’ve echoed off the walls. Everyone except Kenji and Jiro seemed to buy my sarcastic declaration. Kenji gave me a grin of approval, while Jiro’s glare could’ve incinerated me on the spot.
Kenji cleared his voice. “I’m Kenji Sanada. I don’t have a famous family name or a prestigious background, but I love cooking and am grateful to be here.”
I smiled at Kenji’s straightforwardness.
