I spent what felt like hours turning from side to side, the creak of my makeshift bed reminding me each time that I hadn’t escaped Reina’s nightmare. I was trapped in it all over again.
No matter how hard I tried to stay positive, to pretend this was something else, it was impossible. We’d been given respite only to be yanked back into the same horror. To survive Kage Ryu—Chef Sakamoto’s torturous apprenticeship—only to end up here again was heartbreaking.
Why did I ever believe it was behind me? Why did I think I could have a normal life—the life I’d dreamed of? To be a sushi chef. To be surrounded by people who cared about me.
I’d been fighting for normalcy ever since my father disappeared. Fighting through hardship with my mother. Fighting through loneliness after her death. Supporting myself. Dragging myself through university. I thought I’d finally caught a break with the apprenticeship.
I was wrong. So very wrong.
The outside door creaked open, snapping me fully awake. Shuffling feet followed, wheels rattling over stone. I sat up, eyes fixed on the corridor outside my cell.
My breath caught when Jiro appeared, pushing a small cart with a steaming pot and a stack of bowls. He stopped at Kai’s cell first, never glancing my way. The ladle clanged against the bars before he filled a bowl and passed it through with a bottle of water. Kai accepted without a word.
Jiro moved methodically from cell to cell, serving each in turn, saving me for last.
I stepped to the bars. When his eyes finally met mine, I braced for the same flat treatment he’d given the others. But then he flicked a quick glance at the door and exhaled, and his shoulders eased.
He reached through the bars and pulled me close. Our faces found the narrow gap, and our mouths met. Heat rushed through my chest as we kissed. For a moment I wanted to stay there forever—to fall into his arms, to be held and protected.
But just as quickly, he broke it off. The look in his eyes told me why.
“I love you so much,” Jiro whispered, “but we can’t get caught. Please know I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”
He picked up the ladle, scooped okayu—rice porridge—into a bowl, and slid it through the bars along with a spoon.
“What’s happening, Jiro? Tell me so I can prepare myself. I already know I’m back in some twisted competition again. If you really want to help me, tell me everything.”
He swallowed hard. “You’ll have to compete against others.”
“Like we did before?”
“Similar. I’m still trying to find out the details so I can prepare you.”
“But how?”
“Sana is here. Remember him?”
My stomach dropped. “So he didn’t die, he survived. He’s a Leftover.”
Jiro nodded. “He’s a Chopman now. I sort of work for him. That’s what they want me to be too. I can’t cook, so it’s either that or be a slave.”
“Why are they doing this to us? We made it through the apprenticeship. We survived.”
“We did… sort of. Neither of us trained directly under Chef Sakamoto. Technically, we never finished.”
“He’s dead,” I hissed. “How could we?”
Jiro’s explanation echoed exactly what Keiko had told me before. Whoever was in charge had no intention of making me a Flame, even though I could cook. I was being punished for bringing down the Sakamoto dynasty.
“So I’m the example,” I whispered. “The one to blame.”
Jiro looked away and nodded.
“What about the others?” I flicked my head toward the cells.
Jiro leaned in close, his voice low. “Their fate… worse.”
“Hurry up!” a Chopman barked.
