My first thought was Akiko. Under these terms, she’d be considered Half-Plated—and in danger. Would she be the next to be taken? Was this where they would keep her, locked up? If so, why hadn’t I been thrown into these cells too? There were many of them, all empty.
I needed to escape. To find a way back to Kyoto. To protect Akiko.
We rounded a corner, and up ahead was a large room lined with shelves. On display was an arsenal of weapons—double-sided axes, scimitars, war hammers, wooden shields, long daggers, even flails of every kind. The weapons, the barred cells, the twisting corridors, the arena—it all reeked of ancient Rome.
Sana hefted a double-edged axe, testing its weight. “Chef Sakamoto may be gone, but what he started still lives on. The Flames cook for a different appetite—the kind Silver Spoons won’t touch. Strange, filthy cravings only the Leftovers can satisfy. The wealthy handpick the best to cook for them, like personal trophies.”
“Keeping a person as a trophy? Like property? Who would want that?”
“Losing the apprenticeship takes away normal opportunities. As Leftovers, we’re lucky to have what we have. The Flames who excelled at their craft but fell short in Chef Sakamoto’s challenges are cherry-picked by the rich and turned into Blades—their personal chefs.” He tapped the axe head against the stone floor. “The rich, in turn, become the Handles. They swing them as they please, gambling fortunes on who owns the best. The Blade who walks away from Nokoribi the winner is called Shin’en—a True Flame.”
“Sounds like you’re still training chefs in a cruel way.”
Sana gave me a humorless grin. “Not training. Showcasing. Three days of battles to find out who’s the best of the best. By the end, only one Blade will be chosen—or still standing.” He swung the axe, splitting a piece of wood clean in two. “Understand this—there’s no fear. Not like when we were forced to compete. The Blades… they crave it. To fight for your Handle, to win Nokoribi—that’s the highest honor a Blade can achieve. Higher than a Michelin star.”
Akiko was Half-Plated, like me. That meant they’d need to place her too. She could cook, so maybe a Flame? If a Handle wanted her, she’d become their Blade.
Sana shrugged. “But you? You didn’t get into the apprenticeship because you can cook. Your family’s money bought your entrance. So at best, it’s slave or Chopman.”
My stomach dropped. All those Reina sightings—the ones she swore were real, the ones I brushed off as paranoia. Was that the Leftovers laying the groundwork for this?
If so, Akiko had been right. She’d seen the danger coming, and I didn’t believe her. Guilt clawed at my chest, sharper than any blade.
Sana slid the battle-axe back into its place.
“This year’s event is highly anticipated—sold out months in advance. From what I hear, it’s the biggest in years. You should be proud to be here, helping pull off what’s bound to be the spectacle of the year. You’ll have a front-row seat to all of it.”
“You mean people are paying money to see this?”
“Who’d pass up the chance to see the little sushi chef compete?”
29
Akiko
I lay on my side on the wooden platform that masqueraded as a bed, knees drawn up, the chill of the stone wall seeping into my shoulder. A drip echoed somewhere outside my cell, steady and relentless.
Miki had Keiko pegged from the start. I should’ve listened instead of brushing her off, convincing myself she was being unfair, maybe even jealous. And now here I was, locked away, while she was out there—where, I couldn’t say. She’d been right, and because I didn’t believe her, I hadn’t just endangered myself, I’d dragged her down with me.
All she’d done was try to protect me, like she always had.
What would become of us now? I didn’t know. But I did know one thing: It was my turn. I had to protect her. I had to find a way to get her out of this place alive.
But what even was this place? Keiko had led us here as if she belonged, and now I was trapped in something I barely understood.
I’d already crossed paths with the Leftovers—Flame Toro, Flame Aji. Men who’d once been cooks, now twisted into something else, their pride stitched together with scars and cruelty. Had they been locked up like this once, waiting for someone to decide what to make of them?
The thought made my stomach turn.
Was that my fate now? To be remade into something like them? Or worse—to cook unspeakable things for the sick appetites of the wealthy, serving meals no sane chef would ever create?
A clanking echoed down the corridor. Moments later, two Chopmen appeared, dragging a young man between them.
For a flicker of time, I felt relief: At least I wasn’t the only one stuck down here. He didn’t look like Toro or Aji, didn’t carry the scars of someone already chewed up by the apprenticeship program. He looked… normal.
Was he like me—snatched unprepared, waiting to learn what he’d been dragged into? Or was he playing a role I hadn’t been made aware of yet?
Had Keiko brought him here too? Or were there others like her—pulling strings, gathering pieces for a game I still didn’t understand?
