“Remember, the challenges aren’t what they seem. It probably involves carving something, but there’s more to it.”
“How do you know this is the next challenge? Did Reina talk to you again?” His tone sharpened. “If she did, I’m worried she might be setting you up.”
“It wasn’t Reina,” I said quickly.
“Then who? Wait…” He frowned, and his chopsticks fell out of his hand. “Jiro? You’re kidding me. That guy wants to watch you fail.”
“I thought so, too, but now I’m not so sure.”
Kenji shook his head as he resumed eating. “Don’t tell me you still have feelings for this guy.”
“Kenji,” I sighed, “this isn’t about feelings. We now know how dangerous the challenges are. Maybe he just doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“And you believe that? Akiko, people will do anything to win this apprenticeship. You can’t trust him.”
“Maybe. But I wouldn’t want someone else to get injured just so I could win.”
“That’s the difference between you and them,” he said. “You’re being naive if you think everyone feels the same way. Jiro’s playing you, Akiko. Be smarter.”
“Smarter? Did you just call me stupid?” The words stung more than I expected.
Kenji’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You better not have,” I said sharply. “It was a cruel thing to say.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
I sighed, letting the tension ease. “Look, this isn’t about everyone conspiring against us. Miyo knew when the first challenge was happening. It’s not a stretch to think Jiro came across some information too.”
Kenji leaned back, his brow still furrowed. “You think Reina’s feeding everyone information?”
“Maybe. Or maybe Jiro just got lucky. Either way, this is the best lead we’ve got.”
He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. “You’re right. I’m sorry I blew up. I just…I don’t want you to get hurt.”
His hand brushed mine, his touch lingering. “Akiko, I like you, not just as a friend. I mean, I really like you. You don’t need to respond or anything, but I thought you should know.”
Kenji’s vulnerability softened my frustration. “One day at a time,” I said, leaning into his embrace.
Kenji kissed my forehead, his arms tightening around me. His warmth was comforting, but as he held me, memories of Jiro’s laugh, his teasing words, his touch, resurfaced. I pushed them down, forcing myself to focus on Kenji.
I stared at the book between us as his words lingered. My goals were clear in my mind. Winning this apprenticeship was everything. Relationships, whatever they might become, would have to wait.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
After breakfast, Iron Face announced the second challenge would commence immediately. As we filed into the training kitchen, the unease among the apprentices was apparent. The rustle of uniforms betrayed everyone’s nerves.
At the center of the long stainless steel table sat a massive cornucopia made of rattan, its narrow tip pointing skyward while the wide, flared end spilled over with fruits and vegetables. Berries, pineapples, carrots, and turnips. It was a vibrant mess of color. Four knives were spaced evenly in front of the basket. But not just any type of knife. If I wasn’t mistaken, those were yanagiba, long blades used by sushi chefs.
“They expect us to use those knives,” I told Kenji. “They’re extremely sharp and dangerous.”
“No cut-resistant gloves on the table,” he said. “And there are only four knives but nine of us. What’s up with that?”
The fluorescent lights flickered briefly, casting a sickly green hue on the room, making everyone look ill. The strong smell of bleach stung my nostrils. It was always present in the kitchen, but that day it seemed overpowering, as if Iron Face had given the space an extra scrub in anticipation.
My thoughts drifted to Miyo. His accident haunted me more than I cared to admit. Since that awful day, no one had spoken of him. It was easier, I suppose, to pretend he’d never been here than to confront the grim reality that the same fate could await any of us. Would I be just as easily forgotten?
The kitchen door creaked open, and everyone straightened instinctively as Chef Sakamoto entered. His black uniform was immaculate, his expression cold. Had he already decided that we’d failed?
