The morning of the Autumn Elections preliminary rounds arrived with unseasonable cold—as if even the weather understood the pressure awaiting the sixty competitors gathered in Totsuki's largest cooking arena.
Ryu stood among them, surveying the competition. The arena had been divided into five separate cooking areas, each equipped with professional-grade kitchens and surrounded by spectator seating. Each area would host twelve competitors cooking simultaneously, with the top two from each group advancing to the main tournament.
The atmosphere was electric with tension. Some students looked confident—Erina stood with perfect posture, her expression serene. Akira Hayama radiated quiet intensity. Alice Nakiri chatted cheerfully with her aide Ryo Kurokiba, who looked half-asleep without his bandana.
Others looked terrified—Megumi was practically hyperventilating, and several other students had gone pale.
Soma bounded over to Ryu with his characteristic grin. "This is so exciting! Sixty of us, but only ten make it through! The competition is going to be insane!"
"You seem remarkably calm," Ryu observed.
"Why wouldn't I be? This is a chance to cook against the best, learn from watching everyone else, and show what I can do. Win or lose, it's all good experience!" Soma's enthusiasm was infectious.
Takumi appeared, his expression serious. "Nakamura, Yukihira—we're in different preliminary groups. When we meet in the finals, I expect you both to be at your absolute best. Defeating you at anything less than your peak would be hollow."
"Same to you," Ryu replied.
The announcer's voice boomed across the arena. "Competitors, please proceed to your assigned cooking areas! Group A to Area One, Group B to Area Two..."
Ryu was assigned to Group C in Area Three. His group included some formidable competitors: a third-year transfer student specializing in Chinese cuisine, several students from prestigious culinary families, and to his surprise—Hisako Arato, Erina's loyal secretary.
The five judges for their group were introduced: a restaurant critic from a major publication, a three-Michelin-star chef from Kyoto, a food scientist from Tokyo University, the head chef of a famous hotel chain, and a television food personality.
Professional judges. People whose standards were even higher than Totsuki instructors.
The head judge, the Michelin chef, stood to address them. "Good morning, competitors. Your preliminary theme is: CURRY. You have three hours to create a curry dish that showcases your skills, creativity, and understanding of this global category. Any type of curry from any tradition is acceptable—Japanese, Indian, Thai, Malaysian, British, fusion. The only requirement is that we must recognize it as curry."
Three hours. Curry. Ryu felt his confidence surge. This was his domain.
"Ingredients are available at the central station. You may begin selecting in five minutes. Cooking begins immediately after. Any questions?"
No one spoke.
"Then prepare yourselves. This is where your Totsuki journey either continues or ends."
The five minutes of preparation time felt eternal. Ryu used it to center himself, thinking about what curry meant to him. Not just a dish—a philosophy. A way of building complexity through layering spices, of balancing heat with richness, of creating something that was more than the sum of its parts.
"Begin!"
The scramble for ingredients was controlled chaos. Twelve students rushing to claim proteins, vegetables, spices, and specialty items. Ryu moved with purpose, gathering ingredients for a dish he'd been perfecting in his mind for weeks.
He was making rendang—technically a curry, though some purists debated the classification. But rendang was the king of curries in Southeast Asia, and Ryu knew he could execute it flawlessly now after months of practice.
But not just rendang. He was making a presentation that would showcase the evolution of the dish—three different preparations representing tradition, refinement, and innovation.
He grabbed beef chuck, coconut milk, and his essential spices. Then he added some non-traditional elements: wagyu beef for a luxe version, squid ink for a dramatic color variation, and yuzu for brightness.
Around him, other competitors were making their choices. Hisako was gathering ingredients for what looked like Japanese curry—the thick, slightly sweet variety served in homes across Japan. The Chinese specialist was assembling ingredients for a complex-looking Sichuan curry. Others were going for Thai green curry, Indian butter chicken, Japanese katsu curry.
Ryu returned to his station and immediately began the most time-consuming element: the traditional rendang that would need to cook for the full three hours.
His hands moved through the familiar motions—pounding the rempah with meditative rhythm. The mortar and pestle sang their song, spices surrendering their essence. Galangal, lemongrass, ginger, shallots, garlic, chilies, candlenuts, belacan, turmeric. Each addition changing the paste's color and aroma, building complexity one ingredient at a time.
The judges walked by, observing. One leaned in to watch his pounding technique.
"Traditional mortar and pestle," the judge murmured. "Time-consuming but authentic."
Ryu didn't respond, focused entirely on the paste. The rhythm couldn't be broken, the conversation with the spices couldn't be interrupted.
Twenty-five minutes of pounding. His arms burned, but the paste was perfect—smooth yet textured, aromatic beyond belief, the right balance of all elements.
He toasted the paste in oil, cooking it until it split, then added the regular beef chuck. The traditional rendang began its long simmer—coconut milk, lemongrass stalks, kaffir lime leaves, spices, slow reduction that would transform over hours.
While that cooked, Ryu began his second preparation—the refined version using wagyu beef. Same rempah base, but cooked faster at higher heat, the premium beef cut into smaller pieces to absorb flavors quickly while maintaining tenderness. This version would be ready in ninety minutes, showcasing how luxury ingredients could elevate tradition.
For his third and most innovative preparation, Ryu made rendang paste but added squid ink, creating a dramatic black curry. The protein was seafood—scallops and squid—cooked in the black coconut-squid ink curry for just minutes to avoid overcooking. This represented innovation while respecting the fundamental principles of rendang.
The judges made their rounds, tasting dishes as they were completed. Some students finished early with simple curries—competent but uninspiring. Others struggled with timing, their curries either undercooked or reduced too far.
Hisako's Japanese curry looked perfect—thick, glossy, served over rice with katsu (breaded cutlet) on top. Traditional comfort food executed with precision.
The Chinese specialist's Sichuan curry was intensely aromatic, the Sichuan peppercorns creating that distinctive numbing heat.
With thirty minutes remaining, Ryu began his final assembly. He'd decided on a tasting menu presentation—three small portions showcasing the evolution of rendang.
First: Traditional rendang with coconut rice and sambal on the side. The beef had reduced perfectly, the sauce clinging to the meat in that characteristic dark coating, the flavors deep and complex from three hours of patient cooking.
Second: Wagyu rendang with jasmine rice and pickled vegetables for contrast. The premium beef was incredibly tender, the faster cooking time resulting in a slightly lighter sauce that let the beef's natural richness shine.
Third: Black seafood rendang with cauliflower rice and crispy shallots. The dramatic black color from squid ink, the seafood perfectly cooked, the curry showcasing how rendang principles could be applied to non-traditional ingredients.
"Time!" the head judge announced.
Ryu stepped back, looking at his three-part presentation. It told a story—tradition, refinement, innovation. Past, present, future.
The judges began their tasting. They started at the far end of the area, working their way through each competitor's dish methodically. Ryu watched them react to different curries—nodding at some, looking disappointed at others, occasionally showing surprise.
When they reached Hisako's station, they spent considerable time tasting. Her Japanese curry earned approving nods and comments about "perfect comfort food" and "flawless execution of homestyle cooking."
The Chinese specialist's Sichuan curry made one judge actually step back from the heat, but the others seemed impressed by the bold flavors.
Finally, the judges reached Ryu's station.
The head judge looked at the three-part presentation with interest. "Explain your concept."
"Three interpretations of rendang—Malaysian beef curry," Ryu began. "The first is traditional, cooked for three hours using techniques passed down through generations. The second is refined, using premium ingredients to elevate while respecting tradition. The third is innovative, applying rendang principles to seafood and creating a visual impact with squid ink. Together, they show how great dishes can honor their roots while evolving."
The judges exchanged glances, then began tasting.
The traditional rendang first. The head judge took a bite and his eyes closed. He chewed slowly, analytically, then took another bite.
"This is authentic," he said quietly. "I've had rendang in Malaysia, in Singapore, in high-end restaurants and street stalls. This is as good as the best I've tasted. The beef is perfectly tender, the sauce is concentrated without being dry, the spice balance is masterful. This tastes like it was made by someone who's been cooking rendang for twenty years."
The food scientist judge examined it closely. "The coconut milk reduction is perfect. You've achieved the Maillard reaction on the beef while maintaining moisture. The spice integration is complete—I can't distinguish where one flavor ends and another begins, yet I can taste all of them. This is chemical precision disguised as rustic cooking."
They moved to the wagyu version. The restaurant critic tried it and actually made a sound of pleasure.
"The wagyu elevates this into luxury territory," she said. "But you haven't let the premium ingredient dominate—you've used it to enhance the rendang rather than the rendang serving the beef. The balance is exquisite. This could be served at any high-end restaurant in the world."
The black seafood rendang made them pause—the visual was striking, the black curry dramatic against the white cauliflower rice.
The television personality tasted it and her eyes widened. "This is unexpected. The squid ink adds brininess that complements the seafood without overwhelming it. The scallops are cooked perfectly—just seared on the outside, tender inside. And using cauliflower rice shows restraint—you're not piling on heavy carbs, letting the curry be the star."
The hotel chef tried all three versions together, moving between them. "This is a sophisticated tasting menu disguised as curry. You've taken one fundamental dish and shown its versatility, its adaptability, its timelessness. This isn't just cooking—this is culinary storytelling."
As the judges moved on to finish tasting the remaining competitors, Ryu allowed himself a small moment of relief. He'd cooked his truth, shown what he was capable of, honored his heritage while pushing it forward.
After all twelve competitors had been judged, the judges convened privately while students waited in agonizing suspense.
Finally, they returned to announce the results.
"This was a strong group," the head judge began. "We saw competent curries, some very good curries, and a few exceptional ones. The decision was not easy."
He paused for effect. "Advancing to the main tournament from Group C: Ryu Nakamura and Hisako Arato."
Ryu felt relief wash over him, but it was tempered by seeing the faces of those who'd been eliminated—ten talented students whose Totsuki journey had just ended.
Hisako looked shocked but pleased. She caught Ryu's eye and nodded respectfully.
As Group C's results were announced, the other preliminary groups were completing their judging. The main arena screens displayed results as they came in:
Group A Qualifiers: Erina Nakiri, Shun Ibusaki
Group B Qualifiers: Soma Yukihira, Akira Hayama
Group C Qualifiers: Ryu Nakamura, Hisako Arato
Group D Qualifiers: Alice Nakiri, Ryo Kurokiba
Group E Qualifiers: Takumi Aldini, Megumi Tadokoro
Megumi had made it. Ryu felt genuine happiness for her—she'd overcome her anxiety and self-doubt to earn her place.
The ten finalists were called to the center of the arena for the official announcement.
Senzaemon Nakiri himself appeared to address them. "Congratulations to our ten finalists. You have proven yourselves among the best of the best. The main tournament will begin in one week. The format will be single-elimination—five matches in the quarterfinals, reducing to four semifinalists, then two finalists, then one champion."
His gaze swept across them. "The themes and matchups will be announced the day before each round. Prepare yourselves. The entire culinary world will be watching."