The hairs on my arms stood on end the moment I resumed walking. An inexplicable wave of panic rolled over me. I picked up my pace, practically running when I reached the dorm. I darted into my room, slammed the door shut, and wedged the chair under the doorknob.
I stood there momentarily, catching my breath, and then it came.
The front door opened, followed by hurried footsteps down the hallway. My heart pounded in my chest as the footsteps stopped right outside my door.
I crawled under the covers, forcing myself to stay still and quiet, even as my lungs begged for air after my sprint. Then it happened. The doorknob jiggled.
I froze, gripping the blanket tightly as though it could shield me from whatever was on the other side of that door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We had just finished breakfast, and I was expecting to be given my chore duty for the day when Iron Face announced that the first challenge would commence instead. We gathered in the training kitchen, standing side by side in a single line.
The room was immaculate, as always, the stainless steel counters gleaming under the fluorescent lights. In front of us, a long steel table split the space, and resting on it were ten skipjack tuna, each about two feet long. The fish gleamed under the lights, their silver-blue skin a reminder of the task ahead.
“I thought we were torching mackerel,” Kenji said out of the corner of his mouth.
Each fish was paired with a fillet knife and set neatly on a plate. But the more curious items on the table were the ten cylindrical tanks, each attached to a short rubber hose ending in a flared nozzle. They looked like something out of a survivalist’s bunker, part scuba tank, part fire extinguisher.
“What the hell are those things?” Kenji whispered, but I shook my head, not wanting to draw Iron Face’s attention.
The door opened suddenly, and all eyes turned. Chef Sakamoto walked in. He was dressed in a black uniform and red belt similar to ours and exuded an air of authority. This man turned every restaurant he touched into a Michelin-starred success. Seeing him in person was surreal, and pride swelled in my chest for a brief moment.
Trailing behind him was a woman who couldn’t have looked more out of place in a kitchen if she’d tried. Her cream-colored skirt suit and gold-checkered scarf radiated wealth, as did the diamonds glinting in her ears and the jeweled brooch on her lapel—a chef’s knife dripping rubies that looked like blood. Her long black hair was perfectly styled, her makeup precise, not a smudge in sight. She had the kind of beauty that turned heads, with a slim frame and legs that belonged on a runway, not navigating kitchen floors. Her bright smile and kind eyes were a stark contrast to Iron Face’s perpetual scowl.
“That’s his wife, Reina Sakamoto,” Kenji murmured. “I heard she used to be a top model.”
She nodded at each of us as she passed, her gaze lingering just long enough to feel intentional. There was something magnetic about her, something that made you want to believe she was on your side.
Chef Sakamoto exchanged a few quiet words with Iron Face before stepping aside with Reina. They positioned themselves behind a transparent protective barrier I hadn’t noticed before. Then, without a word, they both put on gas masks.
We all glanced around, confused as to why they wore masks. Were they allergic to the smell of grilled fish? And why the barrier? None of it made much sense.
“Your first challenge at Kage Ryu is Yaketsuku Kogeki!” Iron Face announced proudly as he threw his arms up.
Yaketsuku kogeki—scorching attack? What does that have to do with grilling a piece of fish?
“You will each fillet a piece of your tuna, grill it, and plate your dish for Chef Sakamoto. He will decide the winner of this challenge. You have two minutes.”
A digital countdown clock on the wall buzzed to life, its glowing red numbers set at two minutes.
I exchanged a glance with Kenji. Two minutes? That barely gave us time to breathe, let alone fillet, grill, and plate a fish. And what was with the gas masks? The protective barrier? None of it made sense.
Iron Face handed out hachimakis, cloth headbands. On the front was a rising-sun motif and the characters forKage Ryu. “From here on, you will wear this for every challenge.”
As I tied the strip of cloth around my head, I watched Iron Face turn a knob on one of the tanks. A loud hiss escaped, and the sharp smell of gas filled the air. He moved down the line, repeating the process with each tank. When he finished, he tossed a single lighter onto the table. The metallic clang echoed in the silence.
Iron Face put on a gas mask and stepped behind the barrier with Chef Sakamoto and Reina. With one sharp motion, he raised his hand and then brought it down.
“Begin!”
Iron Face’s hand came down, signaling the challenge had begun. It only took a split second to realize what was happening.
“Gas,” I muttered. “Highly flammable gas.”
Kenji’s eyes widened. “We’ll blow ourselves up if we take too long. Hurry!”
He lunged for his fish, and I followed, grabbing the fillet knife with trembling hands. My blade made swift incisions, head to tail, spine to belly, but my fingers fumbled as the pressure mounted.
