“But why stop there? She’s just as vague as Iron Face. Do you think she doesn’t know more? She’s enjoying it, just like Chef Sakamoto and Iron Face. And really, she told you—what, fifteen minutes before the next challenge was announced? It seems helpful until you think about it.”
“Maybe she can’t say more, or they’d know she was helping,” I said, rubbing his arm to calm him down. “Come on.” I stood and pulled him to his feet.
We pushed past Taka and Dori in the hallway and made our way to the library. Kaiyo and Hideo were already inside, huddled around the table, flipping through books on fugu preparation.
We dove into the research, and our goal was clear: find the simplest, safest dish we could prepare. We had to assume someone, probably Chef Sakamoto, would taste our dishes. Killing him would end more than just the competition.
I glanced at Kenji, who was furiously jotting notes. “You good?” I asked, trying to gauge his state of mind.
“Yeah,” he replied without looking up. “Just focused.”
Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Focused on the challenge and not on me.
The books were clear that the most important part of preparing fugu was removing the poison. Most of the fugu’s deadly toxin was concentrated among its organs. One wrong cut and the meat would become lethal. Even cooking the tainted meat wouldn’t neutralize the poison. It was a tightrope act, and none of us had the safety net of past experience.
From what I read, the toxicity varied by fish. Some were less dangerous; others were instant death waiting to happen. It was like drawing straws, except the loser didn’t get the short one. They got a death sentence.
Kenji whispered to me, “You know this is illegal, right? Preparing fugu without certification? The government forbids anyone near this stuff unless they’ve been trained.”
“Yeah, well, nothing about this program is exactly aboveboard,” I replied, flipping a page. “But you’re not wrong. This is insane, even by Sakamoto’s standards.”
I looked up. Kaiyo and Hideo were busy researching, paying us no attention. We’d left Taka and Dori back in the dorms. Where was Jiro? His absence was suspicious. I didn’t think he’d slack off on this challenge, not with this much at stake.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was up to something. Something I wouldn’t like.
Kenji and I stayed in the library until the last possible moment, barely making it to the training kitchen on time. Iron Face’s glare followed us as we entered the lineup. Blowfish were spread across individual cutting boards, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at us.
Chef Sakamoto entered, followed by Reina, who offered a polite but forced smile. Iron Face turned to us, a twinkle in his cold stare, indicating his favorite part was next: telling us the menacing name of the challenge.
“Tonight at Kage Ryu, you face Shinigami Fugu!” He raised both arms as if speaking to a crowded coliseum in ancient Roman times.
Death God Pufferfish. Did I call it or what?
“Half of you will prepare the torafugu variety; the other half, the mafugu. Both are equally deadly.” His words hung heavy in the air, causing the lineup to fidget.
Kenji and I had already decided to play it as safe as possible. Our dish would be thin slices of raw sashimi. Simple, clean, and, hopefully, nonlethal.
“You have twenty minutes to prepare and plate your dish,” Iron Face instructed. A large round tabletop had been set up for us to present our finished creations. “Begin.”
I waited, half expecting the inevitable twist that would ratchet up the stakes and send us scrambling. But none came. No added obstacle. Just us, the fish, and the clock.
The timer buzzed, and I snapped into action. Carefully, I slid the knife into the belly of the blowfish, my hands steady despite the hammering in my chest. Carefully I removed the organs like a ticking time bomb I had to defuse. If one wrong cut was made, the flesh would be contaminated.
From what I’d read, even properly prepared fugu carried a faint trace of the toxin. A tingling sensation on the lips or tongue was expected, but any more than that could be deadly. The thought lingered in the back of my mind.
Kenji finished before me. “You’ve got plenty of time left,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Don’t rush.”
Across the room, Jiro’s voice rang out. “Yeah, Akiko, take all the time you need. It’s not like we’re on the clock or anything.” Laughter rippled through the room.
I didn’t look up, but his cockiness made me wonder. Did he know something the rest of us didn’t? Had Reina spoken to him too? Was that why he was MIA earlier?
“Ignore him,” Kenji muttered, his tone protective. “You’re almost there.”
I placed the last slice on the plate and carried it to the tabletop, my steps measured and deliberate. Kenji and I weren’t the only ones who’d chosen sashimi; two others had taken the same route. Taka and Dori were the last to finish, placing their dishes on the table just before the timer buzzed.
I cast a quick glance at Jiro. He winked at me and blew a kiss.
Iron Face stepped forward and closely examined each dish before turning to Chef Sakamoto and nodding. He approached the table, spinning it slowly, his gaze lingering on each plate. An emptiness developed in the pit of my stomach. Would Chef Sakamoto really taste each dish? Did he trust us enough? After a long moment, he nodded to Iron Face and returned to Reina’s side.
