Iron Face took over, spinning the tabletop again. He called out, “Kaiyo, come here.”
Kaiyo stepped forward, his face pale. The table slowed to a stop, revealing a grilled fugu dish in front of him. “Taste,” Iron Face commanded.
There’s the twist. We were the guinea pigs.
Kaiyo hesitated, his chopsticks trembling in his hand. He glanced back at us, uncertainty showing on his face.
“Taste!” Iron Face barked again.
With reluctance, Kaiyo picked up a piece of fish and placed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, as though bracing for something terrible to happen. We all were.
The seconds stretched on until he stopped chewing and finally swallowed. A pause that felt like a lifetime before a small smile crept onto his face. “Hey, that’s pretty good.”
Relief rippled through the room as we all exhaled.
My name was called next.
“You got this,” Kenji whispered, giving me a reassuring nod.
I moved to the front, my steps heavy with dread. The tabletop spun again, the plates blurring together.Please let it be sashimi. Please.The table slowed, revealing a fried fugu dish. Meat, bones, and organs mixed together. I sucked in a sharp breath. I remembered this recipe. It was one I’d avoided for its difficulty and risk.
“Taste,” Iron Face ordered.
My heart pounded as I picked up a piece with my chopsticks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jiro, his eyes locked intently on me.
Into my mouth I placed the bite, the fish warm, crispy, savory. It tasted fine—delicious, even. But then a tingling sensation spread across my tongue and throat. My hand flew to my neck as panic set in. Was this it? Was I about to die?
“She’s been poisoned!” Taka shouted.
His words sent the room spiraling. My throat tightened, and I gasped for air, waiting for the inevitable. But the seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. The tingling remained, but my breathing was steady. Slowly, I lowered my hand.
“You’re excused,” Iron Face said, his tone devoid of sympathy.
One by one, the others took their turns, each tasting another’s dish. No one showed signs of poisoning. I relaxed, knowing the hard part was over. But when I looked at Iron Face, the expression in his eyes told me otherwise.
“Did you know the effects of fugu poisoning aren’t immediate?” Iron Face asked, a dark edge in his voice.
Just then, Hideo began to cough.
“It can take forty minutes to manifest.” He turned to Hideo. “It’s subtle at first, but then the affected person begins to?—”
Hideo collapsed, clutching his stomach as a guttural howl escaped his lips. His body convulsed violently, thick white foam bubbling from his lips and spilling down his chin. His eyes rolled back into his head, leaving only the whites. The room froze—every breath held, every eye locked on the horrifying scene.
“It paralyzes its victim while they’re still fully conscious,” Iron Face continued, his voice colder than ever.
Hideo choked and thrashed on the floor, his violent spasms breaking the fragile silence in the room.
“They feel every second of it,” Iron Face added, unflinching. “Their heart slows, their lungs seize, and they suffocate—fully aware but completely helpless.”
Hideo arched his back, his body taut and trembling, poised there for a terrifying moment, before collapsing, motionless.
Two men in black uniforms appeared. Without a word, they grabbed Hideo’s lifeless body and dragged him out of the room, his heels scraping against the floor.
The door slammed shut behind them, leaving us in a dumbfounded silence as the deadly reality of the challenge sank in.
Iron Face grabbed the dish Hideo had eaten from. “Who prepared this?” he demanded, his voice like thunder. The room remained silent. No one dared step forward to claim ownership.
Chef Sakamoto shook his head, his disappointment this time eclipsing anything in the past. He turned and left the kitchen without a word, Reina following close behind.
