"It's nothing special; I just want to ask—are you interested in becoming my follower?"
"Huh?"
After Shiraki said this, not only Kuga Terunori but also Erina and Alice were stunned. Shiraki's words were simply incredible.
Who was Kuga Terunori? He was the Eighth Seat of the current Elite Ten Masters of Totsuki Academy, a figure who stood at the pinnacle of the academy's second-year students. As the head of the Chinese Cuisine Research Society, his status was indisputable. For Shiraki to casually ask someone of his caliber to "become my follower" was absurd.
Erina couldn't help but wonder if Shiraki had been provoked into some irrational state. The Shiraki she knew wasn't someone who would make such bold remarks. Moreover, it was impossible for Kuga Terunori to agree to such an outrageous proposal. Even if, by some miracle, he did, the Elite Ten Council would never approve it. After all, the reputation of the Elite Ten represented the entire Totsuki Academy.
But was Shiraki truly out of his mind? The answer was, of course, no.
The night before, during the celebratory party at Polar Star Dorm, Shiraki had been pondering a question while eating the food others had brought to celebrate.
Compared to the Totsuki Resort, Totsuki Academy itself seemed like a true treasure trove for gathering "gourmet points." Many students there had excellent culinary skills but lacked practical experience. For instance, Yoshino Yuki's dish from the previous night was rated "B-level" by Shiraki's system. This meant that students stronger than Yoshino could create at least "A-level" dishes.
By extension, the Elite Ten could potentially produce dishes rated "S-level" or higher.
Every taste of an "S-level" dish awarded 100 points. With three meals a day, that meant 300 points daily—or 9,000 points a month. If the dish was "SS-level," the points doubled, meaning Shiraki could potentially earn 18,000 points monthly just by sampling their food.
Meanwhile, the food in the Polar Star Dorm, while delicious, was generally "B-level." Mrs. Fumido's meals were satisfying but didn't contribute much to Shiraki's system. Every bite felt like a missed opportunity to earn points.
Thus, Shiraki naturally turned his sights to the Elite Ten.
Why Kuga Terunori first? That was purely coincidental. Among the Elite Ten, he was the only one specializing in Chinese cuisine, specifically Sichuan cuisine. Coincidentally, Shiraki happened to be a Sichuan food lover in his previous life. His cravings led him straight to Kuga.
If Soma Yukihira knew that while he was scheming to challenge Isshiki Satoshi for the seventh seat, Shiraki was already plotting to turn the Elite Ten into his personal "gourmet point machine," Soma might not know whether to laugh or cry.
While others dream aimlessly, Shiraki dreams with a plan to turn those dreams into reality.
In contrast, Soma's approach was far more direct. Instead of strategizing, he had bluntly challenged Isshiki early in the morning without even understanding the rules of shokugeki. Shiraki, however, had prepared meticulously. The sulfur dioxide gas in his dish, for instance, was specifically crafted for Kuga Terunori. If persuasion didn't work, there was always the option of "chemical negotiation."
As for obtaining the eighth seat? Shiraki wasn't particularly interested. If it were the first seat, he might consider it. From his perspective, the Elite Ten's privileges—such as access to premium ingredients and increased authority—held little appeal for someone focused on dark cuisine. The administrative duties and politics that came with the position felt more like a burden than a perk.
"Huh? Did I hear you wrong?" Kuga finally broke the silence. "I don't know your name, so I'll just call you Black-Haired Boy. Were you talking to me just now?"
"That's right. I was talking to you."
Shiraki's calm reply left Kuga momentarily speechless.
"Are you serious?!" Kuga laughed in disbelief. "This has got to be a joke. I'm honestly shocked."
His smile vanished abruptly, replaced by a serious expression. "Do you even understand the weight of being in the Elite Ten?"
"The weight of the Elite Ten?" Shiraki repeated, his smile unwavering. But to Kuga, that smile seemed almost dismissive, as if Shiraki didn't even acknowledge his status.
For a brief moment, Kuga felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine, as though an immense pressure was bearing down on him. The feeling was absurd—he reminded himself that Shiraki was merely a first-year student. Yet the sensation lingered.
Before Kuga could recover, Shiraki stepped forward and opened the kitchen door.
Instantly, a gas bomb of aromas, brewed to perfection, wafted out.
"Huh, this smell…" Alice, unable to resist, dashed into the kitchen. She found a beautifully plated dish, resembling an oil painting. The extended fermentation time and the interaction between the gas and the moisture in the air had intensified its effects. Merely inhaling the scent made her feel relaxed and invigorated.
"Nee, can I try a bite of this dish? Just a small one—is that okay?" Alice asked, her expression dazed as she turned to Shiraki.