Chapter Text

Prologue: A Night Sparrow Far From Home Can Sing Only Melancholy
Edited by: Kumiho

Singing softly as she cooked a lonely meal for herself, Mystia Lorelei, proud Night Sparrow owner of Mystia’s Izakaya, smiled because otherwise she would start crying.

Life had been going so well for her just six moons ago. She had finally paid off the last of the debt to the Yakumo Family. She had, somehow, earned enough prestige and respect to open up branches of her Izakaya all across Gensokyo. And, best of all, Chojuu Gigaku had earned enough funds to throw a concert for all of her friends on her journey!

And she may have also inadvertently, accidentally, kinda on purpose averted a small, localized apocalypse fueled by the embodiment of hunger possessing Lady Yuyuko, but that was a bit too stressful to acknowledge, so Mystia decided to just… not think about that too much.

An easy job for a birdbrain like her!

The point was that Mystia had been living her best life. For a weak youkai such as herself, it was unfathomable to think that she had made friends with kami and oni, mages and monsters, and Hakurei Reimu, but befriended them she had, and her business had grown because of it. Life had been good. Life had been so good.

Then she woke up one morning in an ocean town outside of Gensokyo. Where, who knew, but outside and half-drowned was what Mystia had woken up to that day, and every day she wished she had just gone back to sleep.

At least Mystia finally got to see what the fuss was about the sea. Majestic, very blue, far too salty. Her wings had gotten all crusty and nasty from the salt in the air, and it was such a pain to clean.

The people at the local ryokan had been so kind, and Mystia had been content to wait. Surely, someone would notice and come for her?

Needless to say Mystia had helped out where she could at the Shokei’en Ryokan; cooking, cleaning, singing, and doing whatever needed to be done. She had even struck up a camaraderie with the innkeeper’s daughter over cooking, and that was where the problems began.

The innkeeper’s daughter was talented, capable of butchering a hanging goosefish, a delicacy that Mystia had never even known existed. Naturally, Mystia had to learn. In exchange for the lessons, Mystia had taught the girl how to use music to keep time in the kitchen and a few recipes.

That wasn’t the problem. The problem began when the little girl had begun preparing to go to what was apparently the premier school for cooking. As an izakaya owner herself, Mystia had of course wanted to go to learn more. She had never thought of butchering a monkfish—let alone known that monkfish existed in the first place, but to know that there was a school for more fantastical recipes like that?

If Tōtsuki Academy was the place to learn cooking, and if cooking was what Mystia was to be a master of, then Mystia would go to attend Tōtsuki Academy!

In retrospect, Mystia should’ve just stayed in place and waited for somebody to come pick her up. Dreams were stupid and dangerous and why oh why didn’t she just stay and wait for Lady Yukari or Hakurei-chan or anybody to come find her? Chasing after dreams was dangerous! It was a miracle that Mystia had succeeded at making a concert, so why did she push her luck yet again!? She already used it all up on the concert! And maybe also making sure Saigyouji-sama didn’t devour Gensokyo.

She had made it to Tōtsuki all right. If one could call eking out a meager existence hiding from the Academy residents all right. Mystia certainly wouldn’t call it all right. She’d call it down right horrid.

Three hours of flying. One terrible, terrible exam with the most accursed of ingredients. And what was looking to be the second month of living like a madao, hiding from the guards of the Academy. Thank the gods and blessings upon the devils, but somehow Mystia had been able to forage and live in the Academy’s forests.

Now here she was. Back at the start. Less even. At least in Gensokyo, She’d had her cart. Here, she had a little ramshackle stand made of leaves and twigs and twine. It was, quite literally, held together by belief and magic.

…She missed her cart. She missed Gensokyo actually, and she really, really missed her bed. Yes, Mystia had been alive before mattresses and futons had been introduced to Gensokyo, yes, Mystia remembered how to sleep upright on the branches like the sparrow she was, and yes, if she so wished, she didn’t mind sleeping on a bed of leaves, but, and this was quite important, Mystia liked sleeping on an actual bed filled with ethically donated feathers.

…She missed home. She missed so many little things about home. She missed her little Izakaya that had grown so big, her friends that all helped her run it, she missed the impossibly obtuse demands of everybody, she missed, she yearned, Mystia wanted to go home.

…Mystia wiped her tears and gathered herself.

Stiil, it wasn’t all that bad. She had found discarded pots and pans, most of which were in surprisingly good condition beyond a few dents. Nothing compared to her lovely, custom-enchanted Night Sparrow cookware, but serviceable enough. A few knives and tools here and there, and Mystia had slowly accrued enough for a moderate home kitchen. Nothing like her old Izakaya, but then again, that wasn’t quite fair to compare literal garbage to her personal tools. Why, she’d even found a discarded grill she could use, mostly clean and only a little rusty. The lands of Tōtsuki Academy were plentiful and foraging was a cinch even for things that weren’t technically edible.

A few stones moved into a clearing to act as tables and chairs, a little stand made out of sticks and twine, and Mystia had herself a cozy little Izakaya in the middle of the forest. Just like her old stand from when she started. Just less professional. More slapdash. Ah! But there was even a merry little lantern she had made, burning soft red in the night swaying lightly in the wind.

…The very cold, very strong wind. Her lantern wasn’t swaying so much as swinging and—
Snap! There went her lonely lantern into the night, candle blown out and tumbling away and away into the night…

Much like her hopes and dreams and life and…

Hah. It was enough to make a miko cry, let alone a small night sparrow such as herself.

Regardless, Mystia returned to singing and cooking, finding small merry in the familiar acts even as she sang a song that reflected her dampened mood. Tonight may have been the latest in a series of long and lonely nights, but at least there would be good food if she had anything to say about that.

And who knew? Maybe a guest would come along soon.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Demon King of Tōtsuki Academy Dines at a Certain Night Sparrow’s Izakaya

Edited by: Kumiho

Following his usual route across the academy grounds at the peculiar hour of twilight, Nakiri Senzaemon, the Demon King of Food and Tōtsuki’s Director, was deep in thought. The new semester had begun, and more importantly, so had The Plan.

Turning right, the mountainous old man sighed as he thought about the opening speech today. Yukihara Sōma truly was his father’s son, immediately setting the entirety of the Academy on fire with his combative words, calling the Academy a mere stepping stone and declaring he would take the first stop. He doubted that Joichiro’s son knew the true weight of the challenge he had placed down, but… somehow Senzaemon knew that he would lay down those exact same words.

Time would tell whether the boy would have the skill to back up his words. He certainly hoped so. This generation had many stones that could be polished, and the heavens be merciful, perhaps Joichiro’s son would be the catalyst that would transform this generation into jewels. The boy’s Transforming Furikake Gohan certainly had hinted at immense potential for his growth, and Senzaemon was… saddened at the misjudgement his granddaughter, Nakiri Erina had placed, her grading tainted by her bias against ‘commoner food’. An override on his part had fixed that, allowing Yukihira Sōma’s enrollment to go through, but Erina’s brash actions then were only a symptom of the larger problem.

Once more, he cursed his son-in-law. Senzaemon cursed his change from an optimistic, hopeful chef to the cold, utilitarian merchant he was today, brought upon by failing to please the impossibly high rubric. He cursed his bloodline and mourned the loss of his daughter and her husband. Talent was a blessing but too much was a curse. Perfection was not meant for mortals, and the God’s Tongue would never fail to find the most minute of imperfections.

Stopping at a bench lit by a lamp-post, Senzemon took a small break after drinking from the nearby water fountain. When he returned to his office, he’d have to return to filing paperwork. An annoying task, for sure, but a necessary one. Beyond the baseline tasks of making sure supplies were coming through properly, that the various teachers were teaching properly, and the organization for the various events of the Academy, dealing with various outside organizations making a nuisance of themselves, make sure that the groups connected under Tōtsuki’s banner were well protected, and combating and breaking up the tenuous alliances of various Noir chefs. The usual gardening and weeding of Japan’s culinary landscape. The work never ended, but so long as it was done, food, cuisine, and good taste would be protected and continue to evolve.

…Ah, Senzaemon grew maudlin at the Twilight Hour. He’d best finish his evening job, return to finish the work, and eat a good mea—

The lamp-post suddenly flickered, once, then twice, before fading entirely.  Pinching his nose, Senzaemon sighed. Yet another thing to add to the ever-expanding list of tasks to be completed.

It was a shame, but he’d have to cut his run short tonight just for safety. Turning around, Senzaemon braced himself against a sudden and sharp wind. Then, reacting before realization, he found himself holding a tattered lantern, the words faded beyond recognition. Was this a leftover from the Local Cuisine Research Society? He’d have to speak with the President later and remind them to clean up after themselves properly.

Before he could give it any further thought, the night’s ambience shifted nearly imperceptibly, and Senzaemon was suddenly overly aware that this was the Twilight Hour, Omagatoki, the beginning of the time where the boundary between this world and the next muddled.

His first instinct was of rationality, dismissing such superstitious thoughts from his mind, but then… the lamp-post flickered back to life as the wind suddenly reversed.

The faint sound of birdsong reached his ears, a melancholic melody that called for him to come and rest, even if just for a moment.

A chill down his spine, Senzaemon steeled his soul and followed the song. It wasn’t wise to follow the source, but to step off the beat of the tale could invite worse, so Senzaemon decided dignity was the way to go and stepped into the story.

Quite aware of every step he took as the rustling of the leaves gave an unnatural supporting choir to the song, the creaking of the branches kept a surreptitious beat, Senzaemon wandered, shoulders set but hackles unraised, holding the bearing of a Demon King of Food. As the shadows crept closer and closer in, Senzaemon held the lantern in his hand lightly, prepared to fight.

Pushing past the forest and overgrowth into a clearing, when Senzaemon finally saw the source of the song to be a ramshackle nightstand and its harried little owner freezing in shock, all of Senzaemon’s fears dissolved into embarrassment. How silly of him to be carried away by old wive’s tales and gossip of the old.

“O-o-o-Oni!?” The poor owner seemed more scared of him than he had been walking over. Quivering behind the stand, Senzaemon estimated that she would barely reach up to his waist even if she was standing on her tip-toes.

“Ah.” Senzaemon stroked his beard, just a bit off-kilter. He wasn’t… that big, was he? Bowing slightly, he introduced himself, “I am Senzaemon. May I ask—”

“Of course, you are!” the little lady said, cutting him off and stepping out and around, “Of course, you are! Apologies! It must be quite annoying when people call you by your species and not your actual name. Many, many, many apologies, Senzaemon-sama!”

Blinking twice, Senzaemon had the odd feeling that they were having two very different conversations.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Sorry again for my twittering.” The little Lady bowed again, frantically showing him to a table, not quite pushing him but certainly guiding him. Still off-kilter, Senzaemon allowed himself to be seated as the little lady babbled. “It’s just that I haven’t had a guest in so long, much less a distinguished oni such as yourself! I should really know better; some of my best friends are oni! Please, please sit. What would you like to drink? Order? I don’t have a menu up right now, but I’ll make whatever I can to best fit your tastes!”

Again, there was that nagging feeling of having two very different conversations. Who in this day and age believed in oni? More importantly, who decided to simply serve a hypothetical oni? These were all pertinent questions, but the thing that Senzaemon focused on was the subtle boast that she could make whatever he wished for then.

An omakase. A tradition borne from the time where the innkeeper would make a custom snack for the regulars, a favor between host and patron. The tradition had evolved into a boast of the chef’s skills. Not only was skill required but insight into the individual’s taste as well, each dish of the omakase custom-tailored to them and only them.

By all rights, he should’ve executed his duties as Director and demanded the little lady to explain herself. Even if her setup was below even substandard, to cook without permission on the grounds of Tōtsuki Academy was dishonor at best and an insult at worst.

…But what was the Academy if not a proving ground for chefs and cooks alike? If not a battleground for skills and cuisine to be honed and tested?

If the little lady wished to boast, then the Demon King would gladly test her skills.

“I’ll leave it up to you then.” Senzaemon nodded.

“Nothing else?” The little lady bowed, tilting her head just to the side of adorable.

“Hmm…” Senzaemon hummed in thought. If this was to be a test, then it’d only be fair to have a few criteria. “I’ve just come from a run, so perhaps something to cool me down then?”

“Very well then!” The little lady chirped, hands clapping together excitedly. She turned around and then turned around again to point excitedly, “Oh, is that my lantern?”

“I found it tumbling in the road,” though caught might be more accurate. He held it out. “Is it yours?”

Taking hold of it and giving it a quick look over, the little lady trilled, actually trilled with delight. “It is! Oh, thank you, kind sir! Let me just hang it up again and tie it down. Then I’ll get started on your order right away! What kind of drink would you like?”

A bit taken back by the sudden enthusiasm, Senzaemon had the strangest thought. Did the little lady not know who she was about to serve? Surely not, but… based on her attitude, it was either ignorance or arrogance that colored her interaction with himself.

Regardless, it did not matter, so Senzaemon simply shrugged. “Whatever pairs well with the dish.”

“Ah! Very well, it’ll be but a moment, sir!” Hanging up the lantern, the little lady hurried behind the stand and pulled out an extremely battered pot that she set on the stove. Laying one arm on the table, Senzaemon rested his cheek on his fist to carefully watch the little lady’s preparations, enjoying the song that she was singing all the while. He wished he had gotten her name, but the little lady’s enthusiasm had swept away his focus.

Ah, well, he’d ask after the meal. Watching a cook’s food prep was an excellent way to gain insight into the cook’s character. It was a shame that the only source of light was the tattered lantern’s red glow, so Senzaemon was finding it a bit difficult to see exactly what the little lady was preparing.

…Wait, when did the little lady have time to light the lantern?

Again, something felt off here, but what could it—

“And finished, Senzaemon-sama!” the little lady bowed, serving a bowl of pink soup and a… was that bamboo? Was that… alcohol? “Please enjoy!”

“And what is this?” Senzaemon asked, partly out of habit from judging Shokugeki and mostly out of concern of a minor serving alcohol. Also, hadn’t the meal prep been entirely too fast? It felt as if it had been mere seconds between the order and the food being served.

“Peach Tapioca and Sparrow Sake,” the little lady chirped, completely unaware and uncaring of the law that she was breaking.

…It was entirely too late in the evening to care, Senzaemon decided, and he picked up a spoon to begin eating. Even though he tried not to, Senzaemon simply did not have high expectations after seeing the setup and the hasty pace that the food had been served in. This indulgence was an idle folly. After he finished, he would give the little lady a light lecture, offer to house her for the night, and then—

Fantasy bloomed upon his tongue, pink flowers blooming as age returned to youth. Chilled to wash away the exhaustion, light enough to raise his spirit, and fragile like a dream, the heavenly taste of peaches permeated Senzaemon’s body, invigorating his soul even as his body relaxed. Powerful in its subtlety, Senzaemon found himself reflecting on pink.

Of pink longevity in peaches. Of pink brashness in youthful love. Of pink spontaneity in sakura.

Of honor and glory inherited  in the name Nakiri. Of battles of skill fought in the Halls of Tootsuki. Of all the failures and victories that were oh-so-important and oh-so-ephemeral.

Memories of his youth, of his daughter’s youth, of the time when the Nakiri Family was pink and whole and soft and beautiful fluttered through his mind like petals in the wind, and Senzaemon mourned and reminisced in the same tear that fell from his eye.

Food, tasty, delicious food was already good. That was more than enough to win a Shokugeki, and to prove a Chef’s mettle.

Food that brought forth feeling… Now that… That was the essence of an omakase. To serve food that thought of the customer’s desires and fulfilled them past that and to the need.

Wiping away the soft tear and taking a sip of the Sparrow Sake, Senzaemon reflected upon the soft sting that the alcohol brought and chuckled. Just before he was lamenting Erina’s inability to let go of her biases and here he was already preemptively failing a chef based on first impressions and mere appearances.

Finishing his drink, Senzaemon turned his gaze to the little—to the itamae and bowed his head. “What is your name?”

“Mystia! Mystia Lorelei!” The Itamae panicked, hands out and flailing, “No need to bow, sir! I’m just a little night sparrow. Also, please put on your clothes!”

Before he had wondered if it was ignorance or arrogance for the little lady to offer an omakase. Now, he was certain that it was simple ignorance.

“My apologies,” Senzaemon chuckled, not truly sorry as he fixed his jersey. “Those of the Nakiri Family have the strange trait of stripping when we taste good food. I hope you’ll not hold it against me?”

Stripping came up in a myriad of ways. Most commonly was clothes, but sometimes it was more metaphorical and metaphysical; things such as the stripping of habits, the stripping of inhibitions, and, as one particularly strange record wrote, the stripping of mortality whatever that meant. Recalling the tear, Senzaemon smiled at the thought that perhaps he had stripped himself of an emotional barrier too.

“...Ah, that must have been your [Spellcard],” Mystia murmured, “...If only there were more customers so I could see what it actually does…”

“Hm?” Senzaemon questioned. What on earth was a spellcard?

“Oh, nothing, nothing! Just the silly ramblings of a sparrow, never you mind.” Mystia waved a hand, “Far be it from me to judge how one enjoys food! MOre importantly, what would you like next?”

“I believe I’ll just have another cup of Sparrow Sake for now.”

“Nothing to eat? Very well.’ the itamae turned around and shook her head as she rifled underneath the table, “The Outside World is quite strange. Imagine only ordering a drink! I could never…”

As he waited patiently, something niggled at his sensibilities, and Senzaemon found himself wondering. Where were the ingredients coming from? There was no fridge to be seen, and he supposed there could be an icebox hidden away, but where would the bamboo cut have come from then?

Before he could ponder any longer, Mystia had brought forth another green bamboo cup. “Order up!”

Sipping at the sake, Senzaemon found himself wondering once more at the legality of a minor serving alcohol. He couldn’t bring himself to care too much. He’d just use his influence to shield such a talented chef. This Sparrow Sake was also one of the smoothest he had ever tasted, positively a dance upon his taste buds.

…He hoped that this wasn’t made by Mystia herself. He’d hate to have to wait for her to come of age before she could make it once more.

…Perhaps he’d direct her to one of the alcohol-associated Research Societies. The alcohol content would naturally have to be much lower since they would be underage, but hopefully the taste would pull true and through.

”So what brings you here to Tōtsuki?” Senzaemon asked.

“Oh, it’s quite the funny story,” Mystia trilled as she busied herself, mindlessly and needlessly reorganizing her things, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear the woes of a smallfry such as me.”

“But I do,” Senzaemon wheedled, allowing himself to fall back into a demeanor he had almost forgotten. Small-time hometown izakaya rarely had food good enough to trigger the Nakiri’s Stripping, but he had always enjoyed the easy and personal ambience of those cozy shops. “Come now, tell me how an itamae such as yourself came to Tōtsuki.”

Shyly, hesitantly, Mystia shuffled side to side as she began, “I used to run a little Izakaya back where I lived, but due to… circumstances, I got quite lost.”

A runaway? Perhaps it was a similar story to Isshiki Satoshi. Not quite ashamed, but seeking to stand upon one’s own two feet.

“It was really quite strange,” Mystia continued, fully caught up in the flow of her own story, “I woke up on a beach in the… Tohoku region I believe, and almost froze during that cold, cold winter last year.”

Senzaemon blinked twice at that unexpected turn in the story. Perhaps it wasn’t quite the same as Isshiki’s story?

“Luckily, the people at Shokei’en Ryokan were quite nice,” Mystia smiled at the memory, “I lived there for a bit, helping out and learning quite a bit. I even got to try out teaching for a bit! I wonder if she got in…”

Tohoku region. Ryokan… Shokei’en Ryokan… Was that not the Tadokoro girl’s hometown?

“Did you perhaps teach Tadokoro Megumi?”

“Oh! You know Megumi-chan?” Senzaemon had to lean back from the sudden enthusiasm the itamae suddenly showed. Near immediately, she backed off, hands up in apology, “Sorry. Sorry. Still, you know of her?”

“Bit of a shy girl,” Senzaemon nodded, “I spoke with her mother about sending her over when I saw her skills.”

“The goosefish-cutting, right?” Mystia clapped her hands in glee, “Oh, she’s wonderful. I’m so happy she got in unlike silly old me. She’s an excellent teacher but a better student! I had so much fun teaching her. Excellent student, did I mention? Not only in cooking but also singing. Quite the voice when she gets the courage to sing. She’s the one who inspired me to come to Tōtsuki, you know, you know!”

Something niggled at how Mystia spoke of Tadokoro. She spoke of her not as one would a kouhai, but as an adult would speak of a child.

Taking a sip, Senzaemon idly asked, “How old are you?”

An idle and errant thought, but one better answered sooner than later. It wouldn’t do to have unsupervised underage brewers on campu--

“Oh, I’m about forty winters, give or take a few,” Mystia chuckled, “Quite young for our ilk, I know, but I’ve done what I like to think is a fair bit.”

It was only experience that prevented Senzaemon’s demeanor from shifting. As it was, he coughed slightly as the sip went down the wrong pipe. Forty. Forty years!? She looked like she was Erina’s age.

That nagging feeling wasn’t back so much as pounding on his sensibilities. A lesser man would’ve ignored it. He himself was not, and so Senzaemon allowed that feeling to shatter his sensibilities. Immediately, his perception changed as his previous misunderstandings were lifted.

The first thing that Senzaemon noticed was that Mystia Lorelei had wings. Small, hazel wings that folded neatly, almost blending into the brown kimono that she wore. That was all he needed to know that the old tales were in fact real, and that he was very much an idiot for choosing to dine at a mysterious izakaya at the hour of Omagatoki.

Pulling on every bit of experience he had from his younger days, Senzaemon held a poker face as he continued the conversation as naturally as possible, “Forty years is a bit old to be joining an Academy such as Tōtsuki.”

“I know. I know,” Mystia sighed, fanning her face in embarrassment, “But I was hoping that the humans would take things at face value and let me in anyways. I look quite young by their standards.”

There were… several things wrong with that idea. For one, Tōtsuki did need to check on papers and documented history, and Senzaemon felt it safe to assume that Mystia had none whatsoever. Senzaemon doubted his proctors would even allow one without documentation in.

“I almost got in too,” Mystia sighed, “A pretty song, a little glamor, and I was in the testing room, ready to enroll!”

Or perhaps there would be classic youkai trickery. Senzaemon dismissed the errant thought of investigating the proctors. No reasonable human would suspect or even begin to prepare for the supernatural.

…Gah, how was he going to explain this new issue to the Elite Ten? Oh, youkai are real, so we should have procedures to address these issues!? Ugh…

“So why’d you fail the exam? You’re quite skilled,” Senzaemon asked, and immediately kicked himself in the head for bringing up what was surely a sore point for this youkai. More importantly, why was he still here idly chatting with said youkai!?

Mystia was silent before heaving a hefty sigh, “Chicken. The test was… chicken.”

…Senzaemon was thrown at that. Of all the things to come to have trouble with. Why chicken?

He did not jump when Mystia suddenly snorted derisively—though it was a close thing.

“I see that look, you think it’s silly.” Mystia crossed her arms and huffed, looking away with her nose upturned. “I suppose an oni wouldn’t understand, but I happen to respect my relations with other birds. Even a crow tengu refrains from dining on other birds and they’ve already justified all sorts of things with their newspapers. I am a night sparrow. To ask me to cook chicken is like… like asking me to cook my own cousin! Absolutely not!“ the little lady pouted before tapping her chin thoughtfully, “...Though I will admit the same does not go for all bird youkai. Niwatari-san did have a strangely disappointed face when I informed her that I did not serve poultry dishes, and she’s the Goddess of Chickens! I shudder to think of the implications of that face.”

Senzaemon remembered going to a few rooster fights in his youth. While he found the practice unappetizing, he had endured the experience for the sake of gathering allies. One memorable instance was when one rooster had not merely slaughtered the competition but also began dining on said competition’s remains.

“Chickens are… practical,” Senzaemon allowed, even as his thoughts latched onto the oni comment.

Oni. The night sparrow thought he was an oni . Well, he supposed that he was called the Demon King of Food, but still, for a youkai to confuse him for an oni? If he played his part well, Senzaemon thought that he could get out safely.

“Yes. Chickens truly are practical,” Mystia nodded, “And vicious! Pecked more times than I care to count just for trying to get some eggs. I tell you, Niwatari-san did give me a smoldering look from time to time, but whether it was in the carnivorous sense or the carnal sense, I”m quite a bit wary to find out.”

Chuckling as appropriate, Senzaemon marveled at how easily he’d slipped back into being a simple guest. This… night sparrow was a talented host and cook—even if she was a youkai. Now that he thought about it, there was no reason to be so fearful of Mystia Lorelei. Did she not admit that she wanted to learn from Tōtsuki Academy? Had she not reminisced fondly of teaching Tadokoro Megumi? Though that did raise questions on whether Tadokoro was truly human. Something to investigate later.

The seeds of a plan began to sprout within Senzaemon’s mind. Steepling his fingers and laying his chin on top of them, he asked languidly, “So you say you taught Tadokoro-san?”

“Oh, yes!” Mystia smiled, placing a hand on her cheek demurely, “She couldn’t pick up the finer parts of the song, but she could most certainly picked up on the broad strokes! A good song makes for good food!”

Metaphorical for most, but Senzaemon had a suspicion that it was perhaps more literal for her.

“Is that how you cook so fast?” Senzaemon asked, remembering how quickly the Peach Tapioca had come out.

“No?” Mystia questioned before pursing her lips, “Perhaps? I don’t know. I know sometimes my dishes come out faster than expected once I have a proper melody going, but I wouldn’t know for sure.”

“Did you teach her anything else?” Senzaemon asked.

“A few recipes here and there,” Mystia suddenly gasped, hands cupped over mouth, “Oh, no. Is she in trouble? I hear some teachers don’t like it when the student has had prior experience. Something, something about two tigers not living on a mountain! Or something!”

Smiling placatingly, Senzaemon reassured her, “No! No. Nothing of the sort. That thing is more for martial artists! Chefs and cooks are encouraged to steal anything and everything, learning from wherever and whenever they can. She’s simply following a fine tradition of learning.”

Stagiaire. Interning under a more experienced chef and stealing their skills. Most would use this moment to learn cooking techniques, but if Senzaemon was guessing correctly, Mystia’s magic was primarily used for cooking. Senzaemon would definitely be keeping an eye on Tadokoro-san if she truly had learnt this magic.

…Perhaps this magic could help with the curse of the God's Tongue. Food, mortal food, would eventually become naught but ashes to those blessed with God's Tongue, but what of cuisine that hailed from fantasy? Heaven or Hell, angel or devil, Senzaemon would become an oni in truth if it meant he could save not only his granddaughter but his daughter also with the strange magic of this night sparrow.

“Oh, that’s good, that’s good,” Mystia sighed, placing a hand on her chest in relief before her eyes widened and her… headfeathers shivered, “Ah, I twittered and gossiped the night away when I shouldn’t have! Apologies, dear customer. I’m usually not so absentminded. What would you like next?”

“Your specialty perhaps?” Senzaemon tried before immediately regretting it. How could he have forgotten that despite how friendly Mystia was, she was still a youkai? Heaven’s forbid, had he accidentally just ordered human fle--

“You’re in luck!” Mystia chirped, “I have some freshly caught lamprey today!”

“Lamprey?” Senzaemon frowned. He didn’t think there were any lamprey on the Academy grounds. Or perhaps they were in the rivers? That was something he usually left to the Agriculture and Land Departments, but now he was going to have to check.

“Indeed! Are you feeling hungry?”

“I am.”

“Then let me serve all my best lamprey dishes.” Mystia rolled up her sleeves as she brought out a pot, a pan, and a grill. “Please wait warmly, I'll have it finished in a jiffy~!”

Watching the night sparrow sing and hum, carefully observing how her knifework sliced the slippery lamprey as if the slime didn’t even exist, seeing how—Where’d she get a pufferfish!? Senzaemon kept careful track of how quickly each dish was prepped and in conjunction with one another.

“Food is ready!” Mystia trilled and immediately four plates of varying lamprey were served, “From left to right, they’re Kabayaki Lamprey, Shirayuki Lamprey, and my personal favorite, Grilled Lamprey!”

Looking at the Shirayuki Lamprey that had barely taken a minute to cook, Senzaemon was leery of the pufferfish within that dish. Regardless, he was a gambling man, so he took a quick bite from each dish and found fantasy once more.

Powerful was the taste of the dishes and magical was the skill of the chef, Senzaemon found himself reminiscing on The Plan once more. The pieces were already set, the play already in motion, but perhaps there would be time to add one more player to the field.

“Oh!” Mystia sang as she twirled over to place another green bamboo cup. “And another Sparrow Sake, Senzaemon-sama! Sorry, almost forgot! Don’t mind me, I’m being silly.”

Lifting his cup as if in toast, Senzaemon sipped and spoke, “No need to worry, Mystia-san. Your service has been impeccable! Your skills are above reproach!”

“Aww, thank you,” Mystia smiled, “I’ll be here every night whenever I can, so just come again!”

“I will,” Senzaemon nodded, already imagining how best to use the Night Sparrow for Tōtsuki Academy. “I most definitely will.”

Tonight truly had been a good night for a run. Good food, good drink. Senzaemon did so love finding a new place to dine.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: A Night Sparrow is Admitted to School
Edited by: Kumiho

 Whistling a silly tune as she cleaned her cooking utensils, Mystia found the nostalgia pleasant and melancholic in equal measure. To cook for a customer, even if it was just one, felt like a reclamation, a celebration of something.

 Of what, she didn’t know, but Mystia had fun for the first time in a long time. Oh, serving dishes at the Ryokan by the sea had been interesting, and the owners had been nice enough to allow her to be head chef from time to time, but it just wasn’t the same.

 The control she felt choosing her own dishes, having to play cook, waitress, and host all in the same breath; it was quite unlike her usual timid to say this, but having to dance with the whims and wiles of a being stronger than herself? Oh, it was fun running her izakaya, small as it currently was, once more.

 To be protected only by the rules of propriety and hospitality was a dance she had missed.  A dance she wasn’t done with quite just yet, as now came the tricky part—presenting the customer with the bill.

 “How was your meal?” Mystia asked, bowing shallowly. While she genuinely did wish to know Lord Senzaemon’s opinion on the meal, this was also her way of subtly asking for payment.

 “Ah, it was a most excellent meal, Mystia-san.” Lord Senzaemon nodded, arms crossed as he leaned back.

 “Thank you!” she chirped. Compliments were nice and lovely and she could listen to them forever, but Mystia was running a business and she would like… well, there weren't any stores for her to shop at, and when she thought about it, did the Outside World even use the same currency as Gensokyo?

 …Even if she didn’t know a lot of things, Mystia would still like to be paid. The constant [Spellcards] were fascinating and Lord Senzaemon’s muscles were captivating for sure, but again, payment—preferably monetary—would be much appreciated.

 “Though I’m afraid I brought no money with me to pay,” Lord Senzaemon sighed dramatically, patting his pockets more for show than any actual searching. “I didn’t expect to find such a fine Izakaya tonight.”

 “Ah,” Mystia frowned, but quickly covered it with a smile. While it was a bit annoying to not receive payment, this was an oni. What could she do in the face of such might? Life was already quite enough for herself. She wouldn’t be bringing out the top-shelf liquor any time soon though, “That’s quite alright. Tonight was my first time serving in a long time. Still, why would one such as yourself not bring money?”

 It was a bit petty of her to point out such a fact, but… darn it, she had wanted a bit of spending money. Just because she could tolerate not being paid, didn’t mean she enjoyed being extorted.

 Lord Senzaemon raised an eyebrow, “How could I have expected a mysterious restaurant suddenly opening on my own grounds?”

 Tilting her head in confusion, Mystia frowned. Then, thinking a bit, something clicked and dawned and Mystia’s wings began twitching. Oh. Oh, this was just a mite bit beyond the realm of not paying for food, wasn’t it? Licking her lips, Mystia forced her instinctive urge to fly away, squawking warning to her fellow birds, and asked, “What do you mean ‘own grounds’?”

Arms crossed once more, Lord Senzaemon explained, “While I do not technically own the lands of Tōtsuki, I do my best to maintain the Academy as is my duties as its Headmaster.”

Mystia felt faint, almost floating which was strange since she could quite clearly feel the ground beneath her feet. Should she say something? Apologize? Fly away? Run? Danmaku? Oh, no. That last one would be so rude—especially after accidentally trespassing!

“Apologies for not fully introducing myself. I am Nakiri Senzaemon, Dean of Tōtsuki Academy.” The giant of an oni bowed, confirming the extent of Mystia’s gaffe. “I find myself in a bit of a conundrum because of you.”

 “...Ah,” Mystia croaked, a dry note leaving an equally dry throat. Well, from what she had heard, Tōtsuki Academy was a very cut throat cooking academy, so it only made sense that an oni would run it. And she had—without permission—opened up her stand.

 In retrospect, being alive was not only a great payment, it was an immense mercy. Youkai stronger than her had been destroyed for lesser blunders.

 “Yes, by all rights, I should have you banished for trespass,” the ruler of Tōtsuki shook his head ruefully, “Still, I would be remiss if I did not offer some form of recompense for the excellent meals that I enjoyed tonight.”

 Oh, no. Oh, no. This was entrapment. Mystia knew this song and dance; Chen had pulled it upon her once. A debt from either end was simply another way to chain one down. Smiling shakily, Mystia shook her head, “Ah, I really don’t—”

 “You mentioned that you had tried to attend Tōtsuki Academy as a student,” Senzaemon cut her off, “As the Dean of the Academy, I have the authority to hire anyone I find acceptable.”

 Though was it really a chain if one chose to place on the binding?

Raising one hand close to her body, Mystia sought clarification. “You mean…”

 “Yes. I would like to welcome you to Tōtsuki Academy, Miss Lorelei,” Lord Senzaemon inclined his head, offering far too much respect to a little night sparrow such as herself. “I do so look forward to working with you.”

 “Oh, thank you!” Mystia nodded, bowing once more. She reached out for a hug before aborting it and keeping a due diligence back. Realizing that she hadn’t actually accepted, she threw out another hasty bow to rectify that, “And I, Mystia Lorelei, humbly accept this admittance to the Academy.”

 “Ah, bit formal, are we?” Lord Senzaemon chuckled, voice deep with pleasure and pride. “I look forward to seeing your contribution to the Academy then.” Standing up, he placed a stack of bills upon the table. “Go north and seek the Polar Star dorm. Tell Fumio that I sent you. Any further correspondence will be through her.”

 “Hai,” Mystia nodded, bowing once more. She remained so until she heard the oni hum in approval and felt his presence disappear.

 Holding it just for a bit longer, once she was sure the oni had left, Mystia wobbled over to the vacated seat and collapsed. Remember how she said it was pleasant to dance amongst the rules of propriety and hospitality?

 She’d like to retract that. Not only an oni, but an oni with a Title and Position and Lands. She wished the best of luck to Lord Senzaemon on doing whatever an Oni in charge of a school did, but she did so hope that he didn’t eat children. It may have been the thing to do back in the day, but it was considered a… what did the residents of the Scarlet Devil Mansion call it? It was a bit of a faux pas to eat children nowadays.

 Ah, she was rambling. She did that when she was panicking, but to do it alone was just pitiful. Sitting up straight, Mystia slapped her face twice and refocused. She had a mission, she had goals, and she had things to do. This Night Sparrow didn’t wallow—didn’t need to wallow. What use was there in panicking over what could’ve gone wrong when one could appreciate what went strangely right?

Looking over her stand, Mystia did a quick assessment and decided that as proud as she was for building the stand, the stand was… unsalvag-- A pillar broke off, and Mystia winced as the roof caved in. Yes. Definitely unsalvageable. Oh well.

Collecting what could be used, the pots and pans and utensils, clearing away the spell formation that granted her access to her pantries, Mystia replayed the conversation and came to an unsettling but familiar conclusion.

 She was definitely being manipulated, wasn’t she?

 Stupid sparrow she may be, but even birds learned from past mistakes. This manipulation was much more clumsy to the schemes of Lady Yukari, but this was an oni. It was already a pleasant surprise for there to simply not be a fist above her head and a shouted demand. By oni standards, and even by decent small-fry youkai standards, Lord Senzaemon had been positively chivalrous with only the barest hint of threats. No, barely a threat, more of a chastisement. Why Lord Senzaemon wanted to have herself at the school, Mystia didn’t know, but she had long learned that it was simply better to go with the flow.

 It had worked out for her before. Sure, she had to deal with the nightmare that was Lady Yuyuko’s apocalyptic appetite, but it had all worked out in the end.

 On the list of pleasant coercions, this was definitely a top 10, no, a top five for Mystia. Possibly a top three! No kneecaps being threatened, no forced contracts, why, she had been accepted to the Academy. She still didn’t like being used for a plan, but then who would?

 …Eh, Mystia was used to being manipulated for stranger and more dangerous things. So long as there was no impending apocalypse, this was a bona fida win for this Night Sparrow. Again! not only did she not have a surprise debt, not only were her kneecaps completely safe, she would be allowed to join Tōtsuki Academy and learn!

 …Definitely a top three in pleasant coercions. This was  an absolute victory on all accounts. Oh! And Senzemon-sama had directed her to a place to stay! Fantastic! She’d finally get to sleep in a proper bed for the first time in moons.

 A song spilling forth as she leaped into the sky, Mystia was so happy that she never noticed that Lord Senzaemon had never said she’d be attending Tōtsuki Academy as a student.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Small Hometown Girl Yearns For Her Heart to Be Still

Edited by: Kumiho

One stroke sweeping from high to slanted left. Second stroke at the midpoint of the first to sweep to the right. In this manner, Megumi drew the kanji for human upon her palm and devoured it, repeating the process again and again and again and again and again as she waited for what was probably (definitely) her last class at Tōtsuki Academy.

Her partner for this class was the infamous Yukihara Sōma. A transfer student who was somehow even more of a bumpkin than herself, he had the arrogance to announce in the opening ceremony his intent to rise to the First Seat, immediately setting himself up as a target for hatred and disdain by the elite of the elite, the heirs to vast and varied culinary dynasties—basically, anybody who was anybody at Tōtsuki hated Yukihira Sōma.

And this idiot rookie fu— (No, no, bad Megumi. You can’t let your seaworthy mouth betray the bumpkin-ness) and this brash young fool was Megumi’s partner.

Her only hope was that he somewhat knew how to cook which… he probably did? Side-eying her partner, Megumi found that Yukihara-san was… juggling a potato. How he could juggle a potato under the weight of all these glares and mutterings, Megumi didn’t know. If she was in his place, she’d be a wilted stick, something not even worth burning for a cooking fire. And Sōma bore the disdain by casually tossing and catching a potato, juggling one item one-handed. This was going to go horribly, horribly, horribly.

No! Megumi switched from eating the kanji for human to slapping her face. She had to think positive, be positive, be like Isshiki-senpai and smile with positivity! This was fine, right? Plenty of cooks juggled potatoes. That was… that was… just a way of checking a potato’s freshness, right? Right, right. Everything was going to be just fine. She just had to wait for the teacher to come in, make the recipe, and then pass.

Easy-peasy.

“All right, class,” a strict voice of doom spoke, killing all of Megumi’s hopes and dreams. A distinguished man, hair gray with age but slicked with professionalism walked in and set down his book. “Quiet down and return to your stations. We have a lesson to cover.”

Tōtsuki Academy was the strictest of academies. Enough E’s on one’s rubric and it was immediate expulsion, with no second chances allowed. The curriculum was harsh, the teachers ruthless, and the students cutthroat. (Megumi used to think it was metaphorical. Nowadays, she sometimes wished it wasn’t just so somebody could put her out of her misery.)

Of the teachers, Roland Chapelle, was an infamous French cook. His old age equated to a wealth of experience—but that wealth of experience only served as a weight that crushed his students. Once, he gave an entire class of fifty students an ‘E’ grade, eighteen of which were expelled because of it.

Megumi was already one ‘E’ grade away from expulsion. And now she had the strictest teacher in Tōtsuki Academy. And… Megumi looked to the side and sighed as she found Yukihira-sama still juggling the potato. Right, she had this fu- fool for a partner.

…Her mother would be sad, but hopefully she’d be willing to take in Megumi again when she came home after being expelled? Plenty of people found fulfilling careers after expulsion, right?

“Before I forget, allow me to introduce a… guest to our class,” Chapelle-sensei announced.

Looking up from her despair, Megumi briefly wondered why there was a strange hitch before—

“Oh! Hello Megumi-chan!” a familiar youkai waved from the front of the classroom.  Dressed in a pleasant but practical brown kimono, Megumi was pleasantly surprised that her old teacher had remembered to keep her wings hidden. Her feathery ear-tufts had been forgotten, but hopefully those would be seen as an eccentric quirk to be ignored rather than questioned. A head and a half shorter than Chapelle-sensei, Lorelei-sensei was positively diminutive, and a small part of Megumi wondered how a human could be more terrifying than a self-proclaimed youkai. The rest of her was filled with immense concern and fear that melded together into an all-too-familiar constant anxiety.

It also didn’t help that all of her classmates were staring at her. Doing her best to ignore the stares, Megumi weakly waved back. “Morning, Lorelei-sensei.”

Bowing his head slightly as he ignored his… guest’s outburst, Chapelle-sensei gestured to Mystia. “This is Mystia Lorelei, who will be an… observer today.”

“Please, just call me Miss Lorelei,” Lorelei-sensei said as she bowed.

“Hello, Miss Lorelei.” the class chorused, somehow staring both at Lorelei-sensei and Megumi at the same time.

A silence filled the space and Megumi hated it. She also hated Yukihara-san who was still tossing the stupid fu— potato up and down. She wished he would stop doing that.

“Is she a TA?” Yukihara-san drawled, finally catching the potato.

“...I just said that she was an observer.” Chapell-sensei glared.

Lacking a survival instinct, Yukihira-san scratched his head. “Shouldn’t she be a student then?”

Before Chapelle-sensei could (rightfully) tear into Yukihara-san, Lorelei-sensei stepped forward and bowed politely. “Ah, despite my youthful looks, I’m a bit too old to join your class proper. I would still like to learn, however, so Lord Senzaemon was kind enough to allow me to join whichever classes piqued my interest. I hope to learn alongside all of you.”

“You’re a chef?” another student blurted out. A small, uncharitable and not-very-nice part of Megumi snorted derisively. It was obvious that Lorelei-sensei was a chef just based on her outfit, never mind everything else. Lorelei-sensei was one of the nicest and best teachers that Megumi had ever had.

She missed learning from her. Oh! That was a thought. When Megumi inevitably got expelled after today, maybe she could volunteer as being Lorelei-sensei’s aide and still attend Tōtsuki Academy that way! That could work.

“I am!” Lorelei-sensei chirped, nodding happily, “I run a small izakaya in Gen— in my hometown. Due to chance and circumstance, I’ve been on a journey to expand my skills. Just treat me as any other student please. But, ah! Don’t be afraid to ask for help and advice either. I may be bird-brained, but I do know a thing or two about cooking and running a restaurant!”

Uncertain murmurs and mumbling abound, one student separated from the din and hesitantly raised a hand to ask, “Uh… how old are you, Mystia-san?”

“Uh… For—” Lorelei-sensei coughed twice, “Thirty winters old.”

Megumi felt her soul leave her body. Her plan to leech— Her plan to help Lorelei-sensei to help herself wouldn’t work if Lorelei-sensei got caught for being a youkai on the very first day. Oh, no. Megumi had forgotten how… horrid Lorelei-sensei was at lying. There was no way anybody would believe—

“...She looks good for a forty year old,” a student whispered, just loudly enough for Chapelle-sensei to overhear and glare at him.

A friend smacked her face before smacking her partner’s head “Shush! She said she’s thirty, so she’s thirty.”

“Ah, right. Right,” the other student rubbed the bump, agreeing ruefully. “My bad.”

“Wonder why she counts her age in winters? She talks like she’s in a Jidaigeki film.”

“It’s a bit strange, but maybe she’s just old-fashioned?” another student whispered, “She looks good for a for— thirty year old. What’s her skincare routine like, you think?”

Hearing the idle gossip completely misinterpret the reasons behind Mysta-sensei’s peculiarities, Megumi’s soul returned to her body with a relieved whistling noise.

It immediately left again when Chappelle-sensei slapped the blackboard and silenced the class. “Enough gossip, we are chefs, not housewives and high school girls learning to cook. Discipline yourselves!” he scolded. Tapping the blackboard with the back of his hand, he drew the class’s attention to the words written in chalk. “Today’s dish shall be beef bourguignon. It is considered a staple of French cuisine. I have written the recipe on the board should you need it—though you should all already know it as it was part of the lecture and homework. You have two hours to cook. When you finish, report to me.”

Glare to the left, glower to the right, Chapelle-sensei nodded decisively and declared, “Commencez à cuire!”

Soul popping back into her body, Megumi looked at Sōma rubbing his chin in confused consternation at the recipe. Looking forward again, she looked at Lorelei-sensei inadvertently fanning Chapelle-sensei’s ire with a myriad of questions about the recipe on the board. It looked like the backup plan of depending on Lorelei-sensei wouldn’t work either.

Partner a menace in chaos, her old sensei clueless and unfamiliar with the ways of the modern world, her current sensei completely unapproachable for any aid, Megumi was, to use the no-no words, completely fucked and most likely, (definitely) expelled from the Academy.

Clasping her hands together in prayer, Megumi closed her eyes and wrote a mental apology to home for failing and being expelled and a spiritual plea to heaven for a softer, kinder life next time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: An Ordinary Chef Fears Not Certain Failure

Edited by: Kumiho

Tōtsuki Academy sure was something.

Bourguignon. Fancy French dish taught by a cool old French dude. Rubbing his chin in thought, Sōma nodded to himself. Yeah. Makes sense that you would have French cuisine taught by a French guy. Kinda weird that they called the TA lady an ‘observer’ but maybe there was some weird French stuff?

He wondered why Miss Lorelei had wings, but since nobody else was commenting on it, it must be normal, right? Upper-class folk were weird, so maybe it was, like… what’s the word… cosplay? There were those gals that came into the diner a while back dressed in PreCure outfits, so had to be the same thing.

Shonen logic dictated that she was real good at cooking then. The weirder characters always had cool gimmicks to steal.

“Sōma-san,” his partner murmured, tugging on his sleeve, “Do you— Do you know what the recipe is?”

“Eenope,” Soma shrugged, “But that’s why we’re here, right? To learn?”

…His partner was broken or something because she started squeaking like a leaky balloon. Eh, whatever. Best thing to do with a new recipe was to look at the actual recipe. He started with the ingredients first before going into the process.

Gotta have beef since, y’know, beef bourguignon. Butter because it’s French. Sōma remembered his Pops saying that when in doubt, just add butter for flavor in European style cooking. Mushrooms, onions, garlic, carrots, cauliflower for vegetables. Red wine for special stuff. Seemed like a potato would fit right in, absorb the sauce real nice-like, but Soma figured he’d make the recipe all proper-like for the first time before experimenting . Salt and pepper because of course ya gotta have those things, but what the hell was bouquet garni?

…His partner, what was her name again? …His partner might know, so Sōma went back to ask her. Everything else seemed pretty easy. Prep the beef by pounding it to tenderize, cook the sides of that. Fry the veggies, sauté the mushrooms, then put all that crap in a pot with the meat and then just slow simmer. Seemed easy enough.

Wait, wasn’t this just beef stew? But with… red wine? And the Old Man thought Tōtsuki Academy would teach him some stuff. Sōma shook his head ruefully. Still, kinda nice to go to a high school where you basically did nothing but cook. Old Man better watch out next time they dueled.

But first, gotta actually pass this class, so Sōma went and gathered the ingredients, grabbing them from the communal freezers and fridges. Bit weird that everybody was so clumsy, kept on bumping into him, but eh, nerves, right? Not to be arrogant, but Sōma bet none of these kids had ever been in a real restaurant at peak rush hours. The Diner would chew them up and spit them back out.

“Yo,” Sōma called out, dropping the ingredients at the work station, “You have any idea what bouquet garni is?”

“How do you not know what bouquet garni is!?” his partner babbled, doing something weird with her palms.

Well, that was a bit rude. Before Sōma could point that out though, a musical voice interrupted, “It’s a valid question, Megumi-chan! I don’t know either! If one doesn’t know, one must ask. It’s less important to question ignorance and more important to resolve ignorance.”

Megumi! That was the name. Sōma noted that down in his memory.

“Oh, apologies, Mystia-sensei!” The girl hastily bowed to the winged lady, “To answer your question, bouquet garni is a bundle of herbs and spices, typically a set of parsley, thyme, and bayleaf.”

“Toss in the stew later then,” Sōma nodded, “You mind grabbing it? I don’t know what it looks like.”

Sōma wondered why the girl’s cheeks were puffing up and her fists were clenched. She looked pissed, but why?

“Oh, and grab one for me too!” Miss Lorelei added. “I’m following along.”

Huh? Guess she really was an observer. Was that normal? Eh, whatever.

Megumi tensed before sighing explosively. All that pent up tension left and all that was left was a shell of a girl numbly shifting through— So that’s where the spice cabinet was!

Grabbing the necessary tools, Sōma quickly began prepping the ingredients. Even if he couldn’t start making the stew base or work with the stove, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tenderize the meat and chop up the veggies.

As he finished pounding up the meat and shifted to chopping the carrots, Sōma idly asked, “So what brings you here?”

“Oh, you know, expanding my horizons,” Miss Lorelei giggled as she swept her chopped carrots away to start working on the onions. Wait, they started cutting carrots at the same time, how’d she finish before him? “I love my restaurant, and I like to think I have a broad selection of recipes, but it could be broader, you know?”

Sōma was silent as he focused on chopping up the onions, looking up only when he was done. He was pleased as punch to see that he had finished before Miss Lorelei despite starting later. Rolling his neck, he drawled, “I guess that makes sense. Seems like this is just beef stew though. Easy enough.”

He didn’t know why the heat in the room went up. It wasn’t like he was wrong?

“Oh, I suppose, but there’s different versions, right? Oh, set it down over there, right next to the pot please, thank you, Megumi-chan,” Miss Lorelei pointed out gesturing with one hand for Megumi to place down the bouquet garni. Oddly enough, she didn’t continue with chopping even as her cutting board held the cauliflower, her knife was simply hovering instead of— Oho, she was waiting on him. Smirking, Sōma switched out the mushrooms for the cauliflower.

Challenge accepted.

At an unspoken signal, they began slicing and dicing the cauliflower, but even as they did so, Sōma kept up an air of ease as he chatted. “I guess. My Old Man taught me a bunch of stuff though, and there’s overlap, you know?”

Sweeping away the cauliflower in unison with Sōma, Miss Lorelei set her board with mushrooms as she spoke. “Oh, I have many friends who’ve taught me many dishes too. I actually thought this was beef Wellington, but bourguignon is quite different from Wellington, wouldn’t you say?”

Dang, Miss Lorelei was a riot. She was also damn good. Soma had to finish chopping the mushrooms just to keep up. Deep breath out, Soma huffed, “Yeah, I guess. Hope they go with harder stuff in the future though.”

“It’s the beginning of the year. Of course, it’ll get harder,” Miss Lorelei smiled as she began sauteing the mushrooms and cauliflower at the same time as she was frying the carrots and onions. “You have to work your way up first. Basics, basics, basics!”

It took Sōma a few moments to realize what had happened, but he could only laugh when he did. Damn, he thought he was hot shit, but here comes this little winged lady who was already two steps ahead of him.

“You’re not wrong, Miss Lorelei. You’re not wrong.” Soma nodded, subtly acknowledging his loss. The bright smile the winged lady sent back was a bit embarrassing, but well, that’s just the right of the winner to gloat, eh?

Shaking his head ruefully, he grinned widely as he began frying the mushrooms. He knew the world was bigger than he thought, but this was a good reminder. He had debated trying to fry the carrots and onions too, just as another challenge with Miss Lorelei, but Megumi had already taken over that, warning him off with a glare.

Finishing up the preps of the veggies, all that was left was a simple pan-fry of the beef sides before placing the lot into a pot to simmer.

And wait. Wait a long time. Damn, like, Sōma glanced at the board and winced. Dang, you had to wait an hour for it to stew in the sauce?

Beef stew was nice, but this version seemed kind of a hassle. You could cook beef stew in a big pot and serve out scoops of it, but this was… what, a single serving for one person? Awful lot of work for one single dish. It was gonna be tasty, duh, but no way could he serve such a slow dish like this one at a fast-paced diner. You’d have to be magic or something to make this work at peak rush hour where the customers were clamoring and the line was long as hell.

…Still, there was a nice tune to chill too. Sōma blinked as he realized that it was weird for there to be music here in the classroom.

“Mysta-sensei,” Megumi sighed, eyes still intently glued on the pot, “Please don’t sing too much.”

Huh, that answered where the music was coming from.

“Oh, apologies,” Miss Lorelei chirped and obliged. Shame too, the song was nice.

“Come on, Megumi,” Sōma wheedled, “Miss Lorelei’s got a nice voice. Shame to keep that locked up, eh?”

“We wouldn’t want… incidents to happen,” Megumi scowled, “Also, aren’t you a bit too familiar, Yukihira-san?”

Wait… Ooh, right, dang, Megumi was her first name. Shit, Sōma wished he was better with names; he couldn't remember her family name. He knew the first part was Tado-something. Maybe if he played it off as a nickname… “Sorry Tado-chan, I’ll be better.”

“That’s not—” Megumi cut herself off with a hefty sigh. “Just focus please.”

The three of them settled down and waited. It was… a while. Going to be a long while. Ugh, Sōma knew that you had to be patient with cooking, but at least at The Diner, there was always more stuff to do while you waited for a dish to finish. Cleaning, prepping other stuff, it was never this still.

“Oh! Megumi-chan! Sōma-chan!” Miss Lorelei called out. “Look at how many spices there are! I’ve never seen some of these! Do you know if there’s a place to learn how to use them?”

Perking up, Sōma quickly followed to marvel at the spice selection with Miss Lorelei. Dang, some of these spices were weird. Five-stars, flowers, straight up freaking stems. Some of the labels weren’t even in Japanese or English, some kind of weird Middle Eastern or Indian language.

This class was easy, but Sōma was looking forward to figuring out how spices work if this was the selection. He was maybe… half as excited about this as Miss Lorelei though. The winged lady had her face pressed up against the glass, positively chirping with delight and… Were her wings fluttering? They were, they actually were.

Damn, cosplayers sure were advanced nowadays. Must be normal since nobody else was commenting, but damn, those feathers looked realistic from behind.

“Mystia-sensei! Control yourself!” Megumi scolded as she dragged her teacher away. Then, lowering her voice, she whispered, “You’re going to reveal yourself if you keep this up.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Thank you, Megumi-chan,” Miss Lorelei whispered back.

Pursing his lips, Sōma felt that he probably shouldn’t have heard that. In his defense, those two were pretty bad at whispering.… Eh, Miss Lorelei was cool. If she was a secret mutant in hiding, well, Soma knew how to keep his mouth shut and not narc. Still weird that nobody else noticed, but maybe Miss Lorelei was a magical mutant and there was an illusion hiding it?

Whatever. Not his problem. Besides, Sōma wanted to pick at Miss Lorelei for tips and tricks for cooking. She was a downright beast with her knife skills.

He kinda wanted to pet the wings now though. Would that be weird? To ask if he could touch the wings? Probably, so Sōma left the two on their own to check on the pot.

…Why was the lid off? He took it off to peer in.

A white powder had been poured into the stew. Heart pounding in his ears, Sōma reached in and dabbed at the powder to lick. Salty. It was salty like salt because somebody had dropped a shitton of salt into his dish as it was stewing.

Sure, the beef was supposed to be tender, and yeah, salt helped soften up meat, but who the fuck put this much salt in? This much salt would not only do the fucking opposite, it was going to ruin the flavor balance by a metric shit ton. Who the--

Hearing the snickers, Sōma looked around and found that not a single fucker would meet his gaze. He calmly placed the lid to the side and gently laid his hands flat on the countertop. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in and slow breath out.

…Man, upperclass folk weren’t just weird, they were downright fucking petty. Sōma liked to think he was a chill guy. He didn’t get pissed or even annoyed easily.

But fucking with his food? Now that’s a surefire way to get shit started.

“Yo, Megumi,” Sōma said, his voice suddenly cutting the din of the classroom to silence, “We got a problem.”

“Yukihira-san, please don’t—” Megumi trailed off as she saw what was in the pot. Silent for a bit, she covered her face with her hands as tears began to trail from her eyes, “Oh, no. Oh no. Oh nonononono, Why? No. Please. I can’t— We’ll fai— I can’t—”

Quietly guiding Megumi into her arms, Miss Lorelei’s wings grew to envelop her student in a hug. Any other time, Sōma would wonder at the weirdness going on here, but Miss Lorelei was nice and there were bigger shits to stomp.

“...Sabotage?” Miss Lorelei spoke.

And when Soma said spoke, he meant spoke. The thing he had noticed about Miss Lorelei was that she was a very… sing-songy person. She moved to a beat, she was fluid in her movements like a harmony, and each word she spoke, every syllable that passed her lips was only just barely not a song.

When she suggested sabotage, there was no rhythm to be had, no mercy. Sōma felt no fear at her quiet fury, but he did spare a milli— nah, a nano-liter of pity for the poor schmucks at the end of her fury.

“Eh, probably,” Sōma shrugged, “What can ya do?”

“I could give you my dish,” Miss Lorelei offered, rocking Megumi to and fro as she hummed comfort, “I can’t promise it’s the best, but…”

Dang, mighty generous of her, but… Sōma had his pride. Before he could refuse though, Megumi surprised him when she pulled away from the feathery hug, wiped her face, and glared as she declared, “No.”

“No?” Sōma repeated, less out of question and more out of surprise that the shivering partner he had was the one to refuse.

“No,” Megumi whirled, “No. We don’t use Mystia-sensei’s dish. That’s her dish. Not ours.”

…Damn. For such a shy thing, she had spine. Hot damn indeed.

“Well said, my dear,” Miss Lorelei murmured, stepping forward to cup Megumi’s cheeks, “I’m sure if we talked with Chapelle-sensei, we could come to an arrangement of some sort.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—” Megumi trailed off, any and all hints of steels melting to slime at the thought of asking for help from the teacher.

Bit weird since Sōma had seen Chapelle-sensei looking over with concern and he was relatively certain the French Dude was cool enough to be flexible about this, but… this worked out fine. Sōma liked to think he was a chill dude, but if he was honest? Real honest with himself?

…He was a petty as fuck sore loser. The idea of turning this shitshow around and showing these shitheads what for?

The thought was fucking delicious.

“...Man, I usually like doing the recipe all proper-like first time around,” Sōma sighed purely for the drama, pulling his white bandanna out of his sleeve, “but eh, if you gotta, you gotta.”

“Wh-whaddya mean, Yukihara-san?” Megumi stammered. Aw, she had a cute accent. She should let that out more.

“The teach said something real good earlier,” Sōma smiled as he wrapped the cloth around his head, “We’re chefs. We’re here to learn, yeah, but we’re here to cook first. The customer’s gotta eat, so we gotta cook.”

Knotting the tie, he pulled it tight and declared, “So let’s do this.”

If the problem was that the steak was going to be salty, well, then, let’s make shit sweet, eh?