All the students were stunned.
The fragrance filling the room wasn't the usual blend of meat and tomato sauce. No. It was something more… dangerous. Like a predator lurking in the jungle—its deadly scent hidden beneath layers of refined aroma.
"What the hell? Is that really lasagna?" someone whispered in disbelief.
Fuyumi, usually calm and expressionless, furrowed her brow slightly. Her gaze locked onto Damian, intrigued. She wasn't someone easily swayed by emotion, but this… this stirred something in her she hadn't felt since graduation. A rare spark of culinary curiosity had been reignited.
All eyes were on Damian. Even Konishi, typically a chatterbox, stood frozen.
"What *is* that?!"
Gasps rippled through the room. Everyone stared at Damian's lasagna. It wasn't golden—it was black. Pure black. Glossy, like obsidian. Compared to traditional lasagnas, this one looked like it came from another world. Its layers didn't follow a neat square pattern; they were organic, irregular—like ocean waves shaped by the wind.
Damian remained silent. Calmly, he garnished the plate with fresh basil leaves and chopped parsley. The simple tones of green on a white plate enhanced the dramatic intensity of the dark lasagna. It was, without exaggeration, a perfect dish.
With the precision of an artist, he sprinkled the final crumbs of crispy bread—seasoned with black pepper and a pinch of salt—then placed a lemon wedge delicately on top.
Sighing softly, he said:
"Konishi. Grab the drink. It's time to serve."
"Yes!" Konishi replied, his chest swelling with pride.
"Is that really lasagna?" a student murmured.
"That's a seafood lasagna with squid ink sauce," Damian answered calmly.
"The irregular shape minimizes waste, preserves a rustic feel, and prioritizes flavor."
"Squid ink? So that's why it's black…" another student noted.
"But all that cheese with seafood? That's going to be too heavy…"
Damian and Konishi walked toward Fuyumi. With a subtle smile, Damian placed the plate on the small table beside her.
"*Buon appetito,*" he said, stepping back.
Fuyumi leaned forward, her gaze sharper than ever as she examined the dish.
She picked up her knife and fork in silence.
As she cut the first portion, cheese oozed between the layers like golden lava. It was definitely lasagna—perfectly alternating pasta, sauce, filling, and topping—but its presentation transcended the ordinary.
A warm heat and rich fragrance filled the air.
With elegance, Fuyumi squeezed the lemon over the slice. A fresh citrus scent cut through the creamy intensity. She sliced a bite and brought it to her mouth.
And then… the world around her changed.
Suddenly, Fuyumi shrank.
She found herself swimming in an ocean of melted cheese, surrounded by sweet shrimp and dancing squid tentacles like silk ribbons. The white sauce flowed around her like a warm current, carrying her into a whirlpool of flavor. Waves of cheese burst like glowing foam—each bite an explosion of taste in a starry sky.
Damian appeared, cloaked in squid ink, floating serenely through the sea, conducting an orchestra of lobsters playing violins carved from parmesan.
Fuyumi opened her eyes. Her body trembled. She kept eating, unable to stop. Bite after bite.
"Delicious…" she whispered, a rare gleam in her eyes.
Everyone swallowed hard.
What… what had Damian done?
The pasta was soft, yet firm. Despite the squid ink, there wasn't even a hint of bitterness. Instead, it elevated the seafood's flavor. The sweet Arctic shrimp filling was chewy, tender, and lightly sweet. The shrimp were coated in a sauce made from ground lobster, parmesan cheese, onions, red pepper, olive oil, and rosemary. Every element harmonized.
The true heart of the lasagna, though, was the sauce—a rich blend of butter, fresh cream, and layers of melted cheese.
On top, a parmesan crust—golden like sunset—crowned it all. The final touch: crispy breadcrumbs with a hint of lemon, adding both texture and brightness.
It was a bomb of heat, aroma, and flavor.
Everything exploded in the mouth. Nothing else mattered. Calories? Diet? All those concerns vanished before that marvel.
Fuyumi let out a long breath and took a sip of the citrus drink Konishi had prepared. The acidity cleansed her palate, making each bite feel like the first.
She looked at Damian and said with serene authority:
"An excellent flavor. Like swimming with seafood in a sea of cheese. And the drink—with that fizzy lemon touch—was the cherry on top. Elegant presentation. I'm impressed."
"You pass."
"WE DID IT!" Konishi shouted.
"*Grazie mille, signorina Mizuhara,*" Damian replied instinctively, bowing in Italian.
Fuyumi took another sip, her expression unreadable.
"But before you go… I have a few questions about this lasagna."
"Of course," Damian nodded.
"Well… but first…"
She glanced at the clock and said softly, "You still have one hour and ten minutes left. Those who are done may begin serving..."
All the students snapped back to reality and hurried to finish their own dishes.
Damian remained by Fuyumi's side in silence. Konishi stood beside him, proud but visibly nervous.
Seeing the others return to work, Fuyumi slowly turned back to Damian.
"First question," she said, her voice calm but sharp like a sashimi knife.
"Why did you choose squid ink as the sauce base? Weren't you afraid it would overpower the other flavors?"
Damian answered without hesitation, his tone steady.
"It's not the base. The ink is a veil—it conceals and enhances. It's the dark backdrop, allowing the seafood to shine beneath the spotlight of the white sauce and parmesan. The bitterness is softened by cream and lemon to create balance."
Fuyumi narrowed her eyes, carefully analyzing the response.
"Hmph. Second question: you used parmesan cheese in a seafood dish. Many chefs avoid that. Explain."
"The parmesan was used sparingly," Damian said.
"Only in the upper layers and breadcrumbs. Its saltiness and crunch balance the shrimp's sweetness and the richness of the sauce. The lemon cuts any excess heaviness. I aimed for contrast—not conflict."
Fuyumi crossed her arms, clearly intrigued now.
"Third question: why didn't you trim the lasagna sheets? They were completely irregular."
"That's simple. Because the ocean has no straight lines, Mizuhara-senpai. I wanted the dish to feel organic—almost wild. The irregularity brings authenticity and emphasizes that flavor, not form, is the protagonist."
Silence fell. Fuyumi reflected for a moment, then pulled a notebook from her pocket and jotted down notes with practiced precision.
"Squid ink, sweet shrimp, lobster, fresh herbs, citrus, crisp topping… even the white plate for thermal control. Impressive."
Damian simply nodded.
"Damian Gray, right? I'd like to record this recipe and study it further."
"Of course. I'd be honored, Mizuhara-senpai."
Fuyumi nodded with satisfaction.
"One last question, Damian Gray…"
"Yes?"
"How old are you again?"
Damian raised an eyebrow.
"Sixteen."
Fuyumi smiled—just a little. Almost imperceptibly.
With a graceful wave of her hand, she dismissed them.
They bowed slightly and walked off, while other groups approached her with confidence and high expectations. Three pairs—six students—presented their steaming creations.
Konishi observed closely.
"Wow… it's beautiful. Perfect layers… classic lasagna." His eyes sparkled.
"Ah… meat and tomato sauce. The traditional type…"
Damian muttered under his breath.
"They'll have to remake it or they'll fail."
Konishi blinked. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Before he could ask, his eyes followed Fuyumi. She had already cut into one of the lasagnas and calmly set the fork down.
"There's still one hour and three minutes left. You may remake it." Her tone was calm but cold as ice.
"What?! They really have to remake it?! Why?!"
Damian shrugged. "Apparently, they have hearing problems."
"Eh?!"
Konishi stared at the lasagnas, dumbfounded.
"But… but it's perfect! The structure, the sauce—it's textbook lasagna!"
Damian didn't answer. He simply turned and walked away. Konishi stood frozen, listening to the stunned whispers around him.
Fuyumi, in her usual composed tone, explained:
"Anyone with basic culinary skills can make good lasagna. Yours are technically perfect—visually appealing, aromatic, balanced."
"Then why?" one of the students asked.
She fixed them with a cold stare.
"Because I asked for creativity. Lasagna is a dish anyone can replicate. But where's your identity? Your boldness? Your unique touch?"
Her voice never rose, yet the weight of her words hit like a wall.
"A chef who only knows how to follow recipes will never go far. Sooner or later, people will get tired of your food."
She paused—then delivered the final blow.
"Do you want my restaurant to go out of business?"
The air turned heavy. Her title as the former Second Seat of the Elite Ten suddenly felt *very* real. The six students trembled.
"You still have one hour. Redo it, or walk away. But understand this—failure means expulsion."
"We'll redo it!" they shouted in unison, terrified.
Konishi, sweating bullets, muttered:
"Ugh… She's cute but *incredibly* scary… Thank goodness you're here… huh? Damian?"
He looked around. Damian was already gone.
"You want to take the test again?"
Fuyumi's eyes slowly turned to him. The look in them froze Konishi to the core.
"N-no! Thank you very much! Goodbye!"
He bowed deeply and bolted away like a rocket.
Fuyumi sighed softly, watching him disappear down the hall.
"That hair… looks like a corn broom." She glanced down at her clipboard.
"Damian Gray, huh… this Totsuki generation is getting interesting…"
---
Later, in the makeshift cafeteria, a long buffet-style table had been set up so students could relax between tests.
Damian picked up a few assorted dishes and sat in silence. He ate calmly, unhurriedly, like someone solving a puzzle with his palate.
To him, this training camp felt like beating a game on easy mode. In fact… it didn't even feel like a game. More like a tutorial.
Still, there was one good thing about it—it helped him avoid Becky.
She had long since crossed the line into romantic madness and was teetering on the edge of full-blown *Yandere*. A few days ago, holding a giant bouquet of roses, she had looked at him and declared:
"Damian-kun, I'm ready for our wedding. I even invited a priest."
The next second, she was knocked out by Rindō and launched out the window with the grace of a runaway truck.
It's worth mentioning that Damian later found out she intended to charge him for the priest, because—*and he quoted*—"Love shouldn't be bound by logic."
Her pursuit was getting more intense.
Remembering that, Damian shivered slightly.
"What did I do to deserve this…?" he murmured, staring at the ceiling.
---
(End of Chapter)
Give me some power stones there you go~😉