Spirits can enhance anything they touch.
This is especially true in desserts.
Whiskey, brandy, rum, and various liqueurs are frequent stars in the world of pastry and baking. Even wine, often used sparingly, can be considered the "soul" of a dessert.
"Alcohol?"
Momo tilted her head as she tasted the dessert, her expression shifting into deep thought.
"This alcohol… it's different from the usual."
A moment passed—then her eyes lit up with realization.
"Amarone?"
"A dried grape wine from Italy," Zane confirmed beside her, smiling faintly.
The process behind Amarone involves partially drying the grapes after harvest. With over 80% of a grape's content being water, drying them concentrates their flavor, sugars, and tannins—ideal for a bold, complex wine.
What surprised Momo was that this wine—so rich and assertive—had been chosen for a Zabaglione.
Amarone, with its low tannins and vibrant pomegranate hue, is known for its aging potential and deep flavor profile. In theory, it was an exceptional pairing for the fluffy, custard-like dessert.
"Owner," Momo asked curiously, blinking up at Zane, "what made you think to use this wine?"
"At the tavern, we experiment with all kinds of alcohol," he replied calmly. "But for Zabaglione, Amarone is the best match—for now."
Her eyes sparkled. "Does that mean there's something even better than Amarone?"
"Of course," Zane said, with a slight smirk. "Good dessert wines need more than just sweetness—they need acidity, too. That contrast gives the wine dimension, stops it from being cloying."
"Most dessert wines come from white grapes," he continued. "And one of the best is Marsala—alcohol content around 16% to 20%, rich and sweet, but balanced."
"Used properly, it can elevate a Zabaglione to another level."
Marsala was versatile—excellent as a chilled aperitif, but also ideal in cooking. It imparted a subtle nuttiness, hints of plum and vanilla, and a velvety texture that lingered like sweet raisins on the tongue.
"I've tried lots of dessert wines," Momo admitted, a bit bashfully. "Even rum… but I always struggled to balance the wine aroma in my Zabaglione."
She looked down at the dessert again, her respect for Zane quietly deepening.
Everyone has their blind spots.
Momo knew desserts better than almost anyone—but when it came to wine pairings, she still had room to grow.
With her mood lifted, she took another bite.
The warm, silky egg custard carried the distinct aroma of the wine, paired perfectly with the cool, sweet strawberries at the bottom of the cup.
A single thought bloomed in her heart:
Delicious.
Absolutely delicious.
The dessert was melting on her tongue—and so was she.
Meanwhile, at Totsuki Academy…
The conference room glowed under bright lights as the Elite Ten members gathered around the long table. Most of the seats were filled—except one.
With a glance toward the vacant seat beside Fuyumi Mizuhara, Tsukasa Eishi sighed.
"Momo won't be attending tonight," he announced. "She's… indisposed."
"Well, moving on," he continued, "this emergency meeting was called to address the rising number of Shokugeki and disputes since the semester began."
"Just today, I had to mediate two Shokugeki."
He scratched his head and turned his gaze toward Erina.
"Erina… I'm begging you. After tomorrow's takedown of the Donburi Research Society, can you please ease up a little?"
He looked thoroughly worn down, the pressure of his duties clearly wearing on him.
"Senpai," Erina replied coolly, "you're well aware of the academy's current financial situation."
"Those research societies that just drain resources without any meaningful output? They need to go."
"Hmm," Rindō said, chewing on a dumpling. "But isn't the point of those societies to let passionate people gather and explore a cuisine they love? That kind of joy isn't measured in profits."
Erina's expression didn't change. "Do you know how much the Sumo Hotpot Society wastes on research costs every year? And how little they've contributed in return?"
"That kind of waste is exactly why the value of our societies is deteriorating."
Rindō shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm not joining any of them anyway."
"I agree with Erina," Rui said, adjusting his glasses. "Some are using their 'societies' to recruit freshmen en masse, expanding their influence through shady tactics."
"More than a hundred students follow him now. Impressive… if a bit suspect."
"Four-eyes, if you've got a problem with me, just say it," Terunori snapped, slamming the table. "You think I recruited those freshmen by force?"
"Do I look upset?" Rui countered coolly. "I just don't respect your methods."
"You cook spicy food and call it Chinese cuisine. Who gave you the right to represent it?"
The two glared at each other, tension crackling like a fuse about to ignite.
"Alright, let's settle it with cooking, then," Terunori growled. "Let's see whose cuisine speaks louder!"
"If I wasn't busy making money lately," Rui shot back, "I'd have taken the eighth seat already."
"Enough!" Eishi groaned. "This meeting is about reducing student conflict—not causing more!"
Before he could continue, a chill swept through the room.
Rindō narrowed her snake-like eyes, exuding pressure like a coiled predator.
"Terunori," she said, voice dangerously quiet, "if you keep this up… you won't live to see another sunrise over Totsuki."
The warning landed like a bomb.
Terunori instantly sat down, Rui clamming up beside him.
"Honestly," Eishi muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, "I just hope the Elite Ten can act with some restraint."
"If this keeps up, I'm going to burn out."
He sighed again. Had he known the First Seat came with this much stress, he would've let Rindō have it from the start.
"Anyway," he continued, "next topic…"
"The residential internship."
The room quieted.
Everyone knew this was no small matter.
As Instructor Roland had said during class: there are limits to what teachers can teach.
That's why, every year shortly after the semester begins, Totsuki Academy—partnering with the Totsuki Resort—hosts a residential internship for first-year students.
And in the Food Wars world, it's a pivotal arc.
While the internship helps students hone their practical skills, its real purpose is more ruthless: re-screening.
Only 1% of Totsuki students are destined to reach the top. The internship is where they begin separating the wheat from the chaff.
This year's event was no exception.
Several alumni had been invited as guest judges, and the bar was high—not just to cook delicious food, but to win over experienced professionals.
For some, it was a challenge.
For others, it was a rare opportunity to shine.
Under a sky full of stars, the Polar Star Dorm glowed faintly from within.
Downstairs in the hall, Soma placed a fresh bowl of beef donburi in front of Madame Fumio.
The beef had a light reddish hue—just cooked enough to stay juicy. Paired with glossy rice, vibrant scallions, tender egg, and a flavorful broth, the dish looked both rustic and inviting.
"Soma, this is your third bowl of donburi today," Fumio said, side-eying the dish with exasperation.
"Grandma Fumio, the competition's tomorrow," he said, hands pressed together in a bow. "Please taste it once more and tell me if anything still feels off."
"I really can't with you," she muttered, but picked up the bowl anyway.
She sniffed.
Rich egg aroma. Savory beef fat. Sweet, fragrant rice.
She took a bite.
Grain-fed brisket—tender and satisfying. Mushrooms and carrots were cooked just right. The onions and beef complemented each other beautifully. Meat and vegetables danced in harmony with salty-sweet depth.
"Well?" Soma asked eagerly.
"Hm… you added a bit of Sichuan pepper powder, didn't you?"
She paused, thoughtful.
"The aroma's sharp—it cuts through the beefiness and pulls the rice and meat together."
But then—
"Wait."
She blinked, then looked sharply at him.
"You added pickled plums."
Soma grinned. "Yup. Just a little."
Beef donburi is heavy—high in calories and fat. Fumio had already eaten two bowls, so this time, he added something to lighten the dish.
Pickled plums.
They refreshed the palate, stimulated the appetite, and brought a welcome acidity that contrasted the fatty richness of the beef.
Just one bite, and the sourness sang through the mouth—sharp, yet sweet, yet savory.
"Not bad," Fumio said, setting her chopsticks down. "Using pickled plums to cut through the fat was smart."
But her tone turned serious.
"The beef, though… it's still missing something."
Soma's brows knit. "The beef?"
"Don't underestimate it," she said. "Only when the beef itself is truly perfected will your donburi reach the next level."