Valentine's Day.
A day of affection, of sweet gestures and chocolate hearts. But for some, it was also a day of irritation.
"Hey!"
Taki's voice sliced through the early evening calm, laced with exasperation.
"Can't you two save the flirting for after work?"
She scowled at Zane and Sonoka, who were standing a little too close together behind the bar. Their subtle smiles, the comfortable ease between them — it was maddening.
Lately, her mood had been on edge, a quiet storm brewing under her skin. The sudden closure of the Amarillo branch had already left her rattled. Now, with Valentine's Day in full swing, witnessing their not-so-subtle affection was like salt in an open wound.
Were they doing this on purpose?
"What's the matter?" Zane turned, grinning mischievously. "Jealous?"
Taki shot him a withering look. "Sometimes I wish you were mute. No, better — a hideous, useless fool!"
"Hehe." Zane just shrugged, unfazed. "I wish you'd act a bit more ladylike."
Her cheeks flushed in indignation. "What did you just say!?"
She stomped her foot and turned away sharply, arms crossed as she huffed.
Watching from the side, Sonoka tried to hide her smile, but the corners of her lips betrayed her amusement. As someone who had known Taki for a long time — one of her self-proclaimed "ex-girlfriends" from their bizarre connection through the tavern — she understood the truth.
Taki wasn't angry because Zane flirted.
She was angry because… she cared.
Outside, the sky was painted in lavender hues, signaling the start of another lively evening.
With the first stage of the Autumn Election preliminaries complete, several contestants finally found themselves with a rare moment of free time. Unsurprisingly, a few made their way to the tavern — a sanctuary of flavor and comfort for weary chefs.
The tavern's doors creaked open.
And in walked three familiar figures from Polar Star Dormitory: Tadokoro Megumi, Yuuki Yoshino, and Ryoko Sakaki.
"Zane!"
Yuuki's voice rang out with cheer, her face lighting up. "Long time no see!"
In her arms, she carried two large chickens with their legs tied. Despite being restrained, the birds were glossy-feathered, sharp-eyed, and carried themselves with the natural majesty of a proud breed.
"You're early tonight," Zane said, already setting down three steaming mugs of fresh ginger tea.
Megumi bowed politely. "We finished the preliminaries and thought we'd stop by…"
Yuuki plopped the chickens onto the counter with a flourish. "Guess what breed these are!"
Zane barely spared them a glance. "Three-yellow chicken."
Yuuki blinked, momentarily stunned. "You actually know?"
"Of course." Zane smiled. "I'm from China, after all. That breed is famous where I'm from."
Three-yellow chicken — named for its distinctive yellow feathers, beak, and legs — was a well-known regional breed from southern China. The meat was tender and sweet, boasting high linoleic acid and just enough intramuscular fat to make every bite luscious.
It was a breed that had once been purely regional, but had gained worldwide acclaim due to advances in poultry science and modern breeding techniques.
Yuuki nodded in appreciation. "I raised these myself, you know. Pretty good quality, right?"
Zane inspected the birds with a keen eye. "Not bad at all."
She beamed. "I actually used one for my prelim dish — braised chicken."
Zane arched an eyebrow. "Didn't make the top eight?"
Yuuki's smile faltered. "No. I thought the dish came out great… but I guess it wasn't enough."
Zane didn't say anything. He just reached for his knife, the quiet signal that he would cook.
Braised Chicken Preparation:
Soak the chicken in cold water with a splash of cooking wine for an hour — to cleanse and neutralize odor.
Clean thoroughly, especially the interior.
Skip blanching — the soaking will suffice since the spices used are specifically odor-neutralizing.
Prepare the braising liquid:
Old broth base
Zane's custom spice blend
Salt, peanut oil, maltose for sheen
Gardenia pods, Sichuan peppercorns, dried chili
Simmered 40 minutes with ginger and garlic
Then, the whole chickens were placed into the rich, simmering liquid, absorbing every note of flavor. They soaked for another hour before being removed.
When Zane plated the dish, the fragrance alone had the three girls salivating.
Yuuki, predictably, was the first to grab a drumstick and take a bite.
Her eyes widened immediately.
The skin was taut and glistening, but it gave way to meat so juicy and tender that the bone nearly slid out on its own. The flavor wasn't just on the surface — it was layered all the way through, with a savory-sweetness and faint tingle of numbing spice that only a master could achieve.
"Delicious…" Yuuki murmured.
But then the frustration returned to her face. "Zane… why does yours taste better than mine?"
Zane sipped his tea calmly. "Because I've been cooking longer."
"No, I mean — I used the same breed, followed the traditional eight-spice method, even used old broth! But it still didn't make the cut. I don't get it!"
Zane leaned back against the bar, eyes narrowing slightly. "That's because most people misunderstand the basics."
He explained:
The eight-spice formula wasn't sacred. What mattered was balance.
Most chefs guessed proportions, never truly understanding the flavor profiles of each spice.
Quality of each spice — freshness, maturity, even regional origin — greatly affected the result.
Spices were not meant to overpower. Their purpose was to enhance the chicken's inherent flavor, not mask it.
"In short," Zane said, "If the chicken has no natural aroma or taste, no amount of spice will save it."
Yuuki's eyes widened. "Then… I was focusing on the wrong part."
"Exactly. Spices are seasoning. The chicken — the core — must speak for itself."
She listened, absorbing every word.
Her mind flashed back to her own dish — the careful prep, the attention to chicken quality — but now she realized: she had overcompensated with spices, trying to "fix" what didn't need fixing.
Zane's version was deceptively simple — no bay leaf, no star anise, no fennel — but it worked. It tasted clean.
As she continued eating, she found herself analyzing the spices he did use: cinnamon, cardamom, angelica root, tsaoko… spices that didn't dominate, but amplified.
This was no ordinary braised chicken. This was a masterclass in restraint and harmony.
"I get it now…" Yuuki whispered.
"I should have come here earlier. I might've made it through the prelims."
Zane just smiled. "Cooking is about learning. Even failure teaches you something."
Her eyes lit up with new resolve. "I won't waste this second chance."
Meanwhile.
Across the city, in a serene kitchen lined with marble and Scandinavian tiles, Erina Nakiri stood over a plate of golden toast.
She placed a delicate tower of cold shrimp, dill, and chopped egg white over each slice. Caviar and a sprig of fresh herb crowned the top.
Today, she was cooking for her cousin — Alice — who had topped her group in the preliminaries.
The dish was called the Shrimp Tower, inspired by Nordic cuisine. Light, elegant, and celebratory. The toast was crisp, the shrimp creamy with just a hint of brine, the roe bursting with flavor.
"Perfect," Erina murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips as she set the last garnish.
In the elite world of Tōtsuki, victories were rare moments of peace.
Tonight, she'd share that moment with Alice — as chef, rival, and cousin.