The platform jerked and swayed like a seesaw, each motion growing more erratic. The remaining oil in Kenji’s skillet tipped over, splashing onto Taka. He screamed as the searing liquid burned his skin. His arms flailed wildly, striking Dori, who was flipping his crab. Dori staggered, his foot slipping off the edge.
He reached out blindly, grabbing Taka’s uniform in desperation. Taka wasn’t ready for the sudden weight, and with Dori pulling hard, they lost their balance. Taka’s hands shot out, trying to grab the table’s edge, but one landed on a burner. He yanked it back with a cry of pain, but the damage was done. The momentum dragged them over the edge.
It all happened in slow motion. Their bodies twisted as they fell, a tangle of limbs and panic. Dori’s eyes locked onto mine, wide and terrified, while Taka’s back was to me, his arms flailing uselessly.
The vat erupted as they hit the oil. A furious cascade of bubbles and steam swallowed them whole. Their screams were muffled almost instantly, drowned out by the snapping and crackling of the boiling liquid. The oil frothed and churned violently, leaving no trace of them.
Then, for a brief moment, a blistered hand broke the surface, fingers clawing at the air. It lingered for a heartbeat before sinking back into the bubbling depths.
Jiro yanked me back into him, steadying us both as the sudden weight imbalance rocked the platform wildly. His arms tightened around me as we rode out the shaking, neither daring to move until the structure stilled.
“Don’t look, Akiko.” Jiro turned me back toward the cooking station. “We can finish this.”
He was right. I forced myself to focus, dropping my crab into the skillet, the batter sizzling as it hit the oil. Just a few more minutes, I told myself. Just a few more minutes and this nightmare would be over.
Kenji was already off the platform, his plate neatly on the table. He stood there like a child waiting for praise, the look in his eyes unapologetic. I wanted to scream at him, to throw him into the oil like he’d thrown away Taka’s and Dori’s lives.
With our crabs perfectly cooked, Jiro and I plated them carefully and began the treacherous journey back across the rope bridges. Deliberate, careful, and measured steps kept the wobbling to a minimum. When we finally placed our dishes on the table, the air horn sounded, signaling the end of the challenge.
We stood at attention, three survivors facing the aftermath. Chef Sakamoto and Reina appeared moments later to inspect our work. I couldn’t believe it. Chef Sakamoto was about to taste our dishes. It was the first semblance of normalcy in this insane program.
He approached Kenji’s plate first and cut a small piece. He chewed slowly, his gaze never leaving Kenji’s face. Then, without a word, he moved to Jiro’s dish and repeated the process. Finally, he reached mine, sliced a bite, and placed it in his mouth. His expression gave away nothing.
When he was done, Reina stepped forward and cut a piece from my crab. She chewed, her eyes meeting mine briefly before she nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Then she turned and walked away, leaving me feeling that I’d just passed another test I hadn’t known I was taking.
Chef Sakamoto nodded to Iron Face and followed Reina, disappearing into the house.
“You have all passed the challenge,” Iron Face announced, his tone devoid of enthusiasm. “One point each.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was closing in on midnight, and everyone had long retired to their rooms. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Two days had passed, and I still couldn’t shake the image of Taka and Dori falling. Dori’s eyes locked onto mine in that final moment, pleading for help. The guilt continued to weigh on me.
I hadn’t tried to help. I hadn’t done anything. I’d stood and watched, as useless as someone filming on their phone.
Jiro had told me over and over that there was nothing I could’ve done. The challenge was designed for failure, and someone had to fall. But knowing that didn’t ease the guilt clawing at me. It didn’t change the fact that their deaths didn’t feel like accidents. Kenji’s actions had tilted the scales. His deliberate malice had turned a gamble of chance into a calculated death sentence.
Would it have ended differently if Taka had been faster or if Dori hadn’t panicked? Or had Kenji sealed their fates the moment he stepped onto the rope?
Two challenges left. Three of us remained. If Jiro’s theory was correct and Chef Sakamoto intended for only one person to survive, the math was simple. But it contradicted what Reina had told me: Chef Sakamoto chose his apprentice. And then there were the points, which still made no sense to me.
Why Chef Sakamoto had bothered to give us points in the last challenge was a mystery. Each of us having one point was no different from being tied at zero.
I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball.
Three soft knocks broke the silence. I froze, staring at the wall that separated Jiro’s room from mine. It was our signal to talk. If the other responded, it was a go. I debated for a moment before sliding out of bed and knocking back.
A few moments later, I opened the door just enough for Jiro to slip inside.
“Am I disturbing you?” he asked as I climbed back onto the bed.
“No,” I said, pulling the blanket over my legs. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Everything,” I replied honestly, tilting my head to look at him. He sat at the foot of the bed and leaned against the wall. My feet were close enough to touch him if I straightened them. “And you?”
“I’ve been giving the game a lot of thought,” he said. “Mostly about what would be the best strategy moving forward.”
