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Chapter 101: A Generation Destined to Be Extraordinary
🕑 Added 2025-12-08 16:13:43 +0000 UTC“This thing... this dish that looks so unappetizing?!
I don't believe it. How could something like this possibly beat me?!”
Junichi Wasu stared at the dish Natsuo offered him, his eyes bloodshot as he spoke. He then grabbed a nearby spoon, scooped up some of the thick paste, and shoved it into his mouth.
Hot!
That was Junichi Wasu's first sensation.
The rough, scalding mush touched his tongue, nearly burning his taste buds in an instant.
But immediately after, an unimaginably pure flavor exploded like a silent tsunami, overwhelming every sense in his body the moment it hit his mouth!
The sweetness of the wild potatoes, after long baking in soil and charcoal fire, released a mellow depth.
The aroma of wild carrots was barbaric yet stubborn, carrying a hint of wild bitterness that perfectly neutralized the dense sweetness of the potatoes.
The pungency of thyme, the pine-like scent of rosemary, and a faint, indefinable damp mossiness like that from a forest after rain.
These flavors concentrated in this small bowl were not isolated; they coexisted solidly, blending into one where each permeated the others.
“The stone you took from the charcoal fire at the end and dropped into this soup bowl... it wasn't a real stone, was it? Though it's very hard, the flavor of the paste near it is distinctly more unique.”
Junichi Wasu's voice was hoarse as he spoke.
“Of course. This is a composite of morel mushroom roots and matsutake stipe bases, processed using our temple's century-old ground furnace wood-smoking method.”
“It's as hard as stone, and when added to a dish, it releases a unique umami. Just one piece turns vegetable soup into top-grade stock.”
Natsuo pulled several new 'stones' from his cloth bag, then let them drop with a clattering ping onto the cooking station.
Junichi Wasu rushed forward at the sight, fingering their rough, hard texture with a manic expression.
“Autumn deep-mountain morel mushrooms with roots rich in fungal polysaccharides, amino acids, and unique aromatics—the flavor is denser and more grounded than the caps or gills.
“And the tough stipe base of aged matsutake, usually discarded, has a dense fibrous structure rich in guanylate and other flavor compounds. After processing, it produces a deep umami like top-grade crab miso.”
“As for how to process and fuse them, that's a temple secret. If you wish to learn, Benefactor, you may go to Guangzhou's Wanshou Temple to take a master.”
Watching Junichi Wasu's frenzy, Natsuo simply introduced the true nature of this 'stone.'
“This extremely deep, rich, almost meaty umami base that firmly 'binds' all the loose flavors together...
Comes from a small piece of dried mushroom?!”
Junichi Wasu murmured in disbelief, staring at the hard 'stone' in his hand. He scooped another spoonful of the murky soup, closed his eyes, and savored it deeply.
The next moment, he was deep in the mountains.
Black soil soaked by rain, fungal hyphae quietly sprouting under decaying leaves, wild carrots struggling through rock crevices, and rampant, intertwining herbs...
All life grew wildly here, competing to grow taller than others for more sun and rain.
Their roots tangled secretly underground, leaves rubbing in the wind, ultimately forming this land's unique, vigorous, primal essence.
This murky soup was the concentrated essence of that forest.
Rough, yet brimming with life's rawest power.
Compared to it, his own dish—crafted with carefully selected morels, pea cakes, and yams—was like...
Forcibly assembling precious plant specimens from different eras and regions in a museum under a gorgeous glass dome.
Each exquisite in isolation, but devoid of vitality, separated by cold glass—no dialogue, no resonance.
“Clatter.”
The spoon slipped from Junichi Wasu's limp hand, clinking crisply on the cooking station.
The anger, unwillingness, and ferocity drained from his face like receding tide, leaving blank bewilderment—and in its depths, spreading icy despair.
He had lost.
Not to elaborate techniques, not to premium ingredients, not even to so-called creativity.
He lost in understanding the essence of 'vegetarian' food. Obsessed with simulating meat's lavishness and richness with plants, pursuing perfect mimicry and layering of form and flavor, he forgot vegetarianism's soul.
Perhaps it lay in returning to the plants themselves, to the soil that birthed them, revealing their rawest, wildest, most harmonious vitality.
Natsuo watched him quietly, his gentle smile unchanged, eyes devoid of sorrow or joy.
“Benefactor, did you taste the flavor of 'new life'?”
His voice was steady and resonant: “Not the delicate seedlings nurtured in a refined greenhouse, but that struggling, rough taste of breaking through aged humus, pushing aside stones, first touching forest sunlight and rain...
Full of infinite possibilities.”
Junichi Wasu opened his mouth, but no sound came.
He staggered back, seeing the deathly silent, ashen-faced club members in the audience seats, then looking up at the glaring three 'X's by his name and three perfect 'O's by his opponent's on the big screen.
The Shokugeki arena's cold light shone on him.
He had lost—along with the Vegetarian Research Society's years of pride and territory.
The first weekend at Polaris Dormitory.
“Hyah!”
The hoe plunged swiftly into the soil. Okabe, shirtless, tilled the land at astonishing speed, soon plowing a large patch.
“Really putting in the effort... but this efficiency is insane...”
Rindo Kobayashi appeared on the dirt field at some point, watching Okabe's superhuman efficiency with mixed emotions.
This kid was so young yet so capable; his plowing was practiced too. Truly all-rounded in virtue, intellect, body, beauty, and labor.
What kind of environment, what figures, could raise such a 'monster'?!
“After all, it's our home for the next six years.
Plowing and planting early means roots and harvest sooner.”
Okabe propped his hoe on the ground, smiling at the approaching Rindo Kobayashi.
“You have a point. So, what are you planting? Buying nursery seedlings from the market has higher survival rates than seeds.”
Seeing Okabe pause, Rindo Kobayashi pointed at the seeded plot.
“My seeds are special; no seedlings on the market. I have to raise them myself.”
“Rare variety? Those have quirky environmental needs—not every backyard works...”
Rindo Kobayashi frowned after hearing him.
Unlike common produce, rare veggies demand precise conditions; not just any patch suffices.
“Rare, but not finicky about soil. Ordinary dirt works. You'll see.”
“You tease...”
Rindo Kobayashi pouted at his vagueness, curiosity piqued about his veggies.
“Okabe-kun, Rindo-senpai, breakfast time.”
Just then, Megumi Tadokoro's voice came from afar. The girl approached with a basket, surprised to see Rindo.
“Coming. What's for breakfast?”
Okabe dropped his hoe and strode toward her expectantly.
“I made glutinous rice balls. Per your last suggestion, just fresh-fried youtiao bits and zha cai dice inside—nothing else.”
Megumi unveiled the cloth, revealing plump white rice balls.
“Is there a difference from Japanese onigiri? Besides cylindrical vs. inverted triangle, they look similar.”
Rindo picked one up, puzzled.
“Just shape. Japanese onigiri seasons the rice; glutinous balls rely on filling flavors.”
Okabe explained, biting one. All rice balls bind ingredients' deliciousness in glutinous rice.
“True, but just youtiao and zha cai? What flavor...”
Rindo doubted the plain ingredients, took one from Megumi, and bit an end.
“Soft, chewy, salty, crisp—a tiny glutinous ball with so many textures!”
Rindo's face showed surprise at the cross-section.
Crispy youtiao clung to sticky rice, zha cai scattered everywhere for crisp, tender, salty freshness.
Paired with golden-fried youtiao and chewy glutinous rice, each part harmonized perfectly!
“Simple pairings aren't bland. For glutinous balls or onigiri, deliciousness is in flavor combos and ingredient prep.
Fry youtiao crisp without softening, steam rice soft yet chewy, zha cai salty-crisp—result is great.
The youtiao's perfect doneness shows Megumi's solid basics.”
Gloved, Okabe devoured five heartily, thumbs-upping Megumi.
“N-Not that great...”
Megumi blushed, thrilled by his praise.
“Full now—let's plow the whole field in one go!”
“Oh! Full of vigor!”
“Ora~ Ora~ Ora~ Ora~”
Hoe in hand, eyes aglow, Okabe madly tilled, speed terrifying.
“By the way, Megumi, why Tōtsuki?”
Watching Okabe, Rindo chatted with Megumi at the field edge.
“My hometown's remote, few visitors—only holidays bring tourists.
Our inn earns only three months a year; rest is sparse, even discounted.”
Megumi pictured her family's smiles, softly sharing.
“Economy down, fewer tourists lately. We drew crowds with chef's 'hanging cut' skill.
But our regular chef retired too old. Double blow tanked business.”
“I learned 'hanging cut' from a town uncle—hard times, but worth it.
Reviving it boosted inn business, making me realize cooking attracts guests.”
She clutched her chest amulet—family and townsfolk's hopes.
Learning cooking wasn't just for the inn, but to boost town economy via more tourists.
“I see, bearing a town's hopes? Stick close to Okabe-kun; you'll succeed.”
Rindo eyed the madly plowing Okabe.
“Stick to Okabe-kun?”
Megumi pondered.
“He's the strongest newbie I've seen.
Strong draw crowds; 'one attains Tao, chickens and dogs ascend.' For normals without solo strength, tailing the strong is fastest progress.”
“Got something—heading out.”
Rindo left, leaving Megumi alone.
“Tail... the strong's steps?”
Megumi eyed her basket, then Okabe's tireless hoeing figure.
Sunlight gleamed on his sweat-slicked, healthy wheat back.
“Okabe-kun, let me help!”
Moments later, Megumi grabbed a shovel from the shed, ran over beaming.
From a second-floor window, interested eyes watched it all.
Rindo nibbled a Pocky, smirking meaningfully.
“Seeds sown... what fruits next? Exciting, Okabe-kun... and Megumi Tadokoro.”
“Heard? A newbie crushed a senior days ago; ancient Vegetarian Research Society became a temple.”
“Heard—my friend watched. Thought no contest, but total domination. Brutal!”
“Yeah, Junichi-senpai's nice. Now, club taken under him, he's dazed. Heard his class dish got F from his fave teacher.”
Exiting the cooking classroom with Hisako Arato, Okabe overheard corridor chatter.
“This is...”
“Days ago, a newbie joined Vegetarian Research Society, beat three non-president experts to bait.
Depreciated its Tōtsuki club value to deter recruits, wagered dropout and campus kowtowing apology for Shokugeki—win gets territory.”
Hisako rapidly explained on her tablet at Okabe's query.
“Personal dropout/apology vs. whole club—not equal stakes?”
Okabe understood, but stakes imbalanced for Shokugeki?
“Yes, but hit vital spot.
No fight admits fear—in cooking-honoring Tōtsuki, shameful.”
“Mainly, club ace never dreamed defeat by newbie—that's root.”
Erina Nakiri interjected.
Natsuo barely beat the three, no crushing show—fooled Junichi.
Meticulous planning, ring-by-ring to goal—deep schemer.
“Our year teems with talent.”
Okabe sighed at their analysis.
“Using cooking to seize wants—that's Tōtsuki.
Clubs desperately recruit newbies to avoid gaps, losing inherited societies.”
Erina's voice was heavy; Tōtsuki had 1-2 Shokugeki daily—she watched intense ones.
All betting everything, full-throttle slaughter—culinary jungle law!
“Benefactor, excuse us.”
Mid-chat, a deep voice came ahead.
Looking up, a gleaming bald head with two mini-balds approached, smiling at the blocking trio.
“Oh.”
Okabe sidestepped silently; the monk nodded smilingly, passing with the kids.
