Oh God. He likes me. Why do I always attract the weird ones?
I forced a laugh that sounded nothing like me and shot for a quick subject change. “Where’s Keiko? She brought us here on the boat.”
“Yes, she did. And just in time.” His grin widened. “Tomorrow, the fun begins. The start of Nokoribi. A four-day celebration.”
Nokoribi? Celebration? My head spun. I was more confused than ever.
“Is this place part of the Leftovers? Did you compete in Chef Sakamoto’s apprenticeship?”
“Me?” Ginji laughed, tossing his head back. “No, no, no. I’m not a cooker. I’m an eater.”
“But you know the Leftovers. He’s a Chopman.” I jabbed a finger at the guard. “And I met Flame Toro and Flame Aji in Tokyo.”
“Yes, you did.”
“So what is this? A school? Something like what Akiko went through?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as if he were weighing how much to give away. “I would say there are similarities… but it’s very different.”
I set my flute down on the nearest table. “Look, I’m not a fan of games and riddles, which clearly you are. If you won’t give me straight answers, I want to leave. Now.”
His grin widened. “Nokoribi is nothing like what Chef Sakamoto had with Kage Ryu.”
“But it’s just as fucked up, right?”
A devilish smile curled his lips. “I like that fight in you. It’s one of the reasons I had you brought here. But to answer your question—yes. It’s just as fucked up.”
“Is Reina here? She’s alive, isn’t she? Only she would be behind something this twisted.”
For the first time, his smile faltered. “That’s where you’re wrong. Sadly, Reina is dead. I know for a fact…” His eyes fixed on mine. “She was my sister.”
28
Jiro
One of Sana’s men pushed me from behind, sending me tumbling across the arena floor. I lay there, my side aching from the fall.
“Stand him up,” Sana ordered.
I was jerked to my feet, made to face Sana.
“Why am I being forced to participate in another round of challenges?” I asked. “I have no desire to be an apprentice or a chef. You yourself already said I can’t cook.”
A smirk formed on Sana’s face. “Who said anything about participating? Nokoribi’s an honor, one you haven’t earned. You? You’re barely worth dragging across the floor.”
He began to walk, and his men shoved me from behind to keep up.
“I don’t understand. Then why am I here? Why was I taken?”
“You’re considered Half-Plated. Didn’t win, didn’t lose. There’s no place for that. You either rise to be a Silver Spoon or rot in the dirt. The few who crawl away”—he held up his iron fist—“become Leftovers. Scars and all.”
We reached an area blocked by a latticework iron gate. His men raised it with a pulley system, the metal screeching as it lifted, and we continued on.
The corridor opened into a larger chamber with smaller passages branching off. We took one, walking until we came upon what looked like individual jail cells—concrete rooms secured with iron bars. Each cell was bare save for a wooden platform. The floors were dirt, the walls stained with mold, some weeping water. A rat darted from one cell to another.
“So what does being Half-Plated earn me?”
“Nothing.” Sana sneered. “You’re actually below that. The first of a new class. Slaves. It’s because you have zero cooking ability. Though if you’re tough enough, you might just make a decent Chopman.”
