Both chefs set to work, another chorus of cheers rising up in anticipation. Whether their support was for Hayama or Sōma, each spectator was united in their eagerness to watch the upcoming battle. They watched the chefs move around their stations, marvelling at the precision with which they worked.

"Now, there's no specific theme for the match, per our challengers' request. But a noted criteria that they will be judged on is the depth of flavour of their dish, with special attention paid to the seasonings!" said Urara, her voice echoing out across the arena.

Hayama pulled out several small containers, laying them out one after the other. Curiously, despite them bearing black labels, there seemed to be nothing written on them. He pulled a baking sheet from a drawer, placing it on the counter while simultaneously reaching into a plastic bag. A quick movement of his hand saw several potatoes lined up on the sheet and another one saw them all dashed in canola oil. With a few deft flicks of a brush, each spud was fully coated in an oily sheen before the entire sheet was placed into an oven.

Across the hall, Sōma had pulled a wrapped package from a cooler. He unveiled it, tossing the wrapping aside to reveal a bundle of fish, freshly purchased if the color of their gills and scales was anything to go by.

"Ah, it appears Yukihira will be using salmon in his dish." said one of the judges, smiling as he thought about what the young chef could do with the fish.

"What are you smiling for? This is Yukihira we're talking about. No matter how good it tastes, you won't enjoy it." muttered another judge bitterly. He'd judged more than one of Sōma's recent cook-offs, and he found himself more than frustrated with the Central cook's peculiar style.

"No, no Fushima-san. You weren't there, I judged Yukihira's match against Nakiri Alice last week and his dish then was exquisitely done! It's my theory that you can only enjoy Sōma's cooking when he's against a challenging opponent."

"Really now…" murmured the second judge, turning to follow Hayama's movements as he pulled something from a sealed bag.

"It appears Hayama-kun is going to be cooking some sort of chicken dish! It's a very versatile meat, as most of you know, so I can only imagine what he has in store for us!" announced Urara happily, drinking in the good cheer of the crowd as they watched the dark skinned youth work.

Hayama laid his chicken out, the bird covered in glistening liquid that spoke of some sort of prep work. He drew out his knife, cutting at the bird and separating it into its component parts while ensuring each and every bone was removed and put to the side.

"Such speed…" marvelled the third judge, watching as the pile of bones to the side grew at an insane rate until Hayama was left with a pile of meat on one cutting board and a pile of bones on another. He tipped the bones into a pot before turning up the heat on it and covering it. He moved to another counter, proceeding to cut at a collection of peppers, onions and celery that he'd brought out earlier.

In the audience, Jun smiled as she watched Hayama work. He'd discussed this match several times with her over the past few days, and they'd worked together to come up with a plethora of ideas before settling on one that would really speak for both Hayama and the Shiomi seminar as a whole.

'This isn't like the Autumn Elections, Jun. I'm not fighting for me this time. I'm fighting for us. And this dish will represent that.'

Jun placed her hand over her chest, feeling a warmth there that was becoming more and more persistent these days.

'Do your best, Akira-kun,'

As if he could hear her thoughts, Hayama's eyes snapped up and he caught her gaze, returning her soft smile with one of his own, before resuming his work.

"Ah, a rare display indeed. With Sōma cleaning his fish and Hayama deboning his chicken, it's almost as if we were watching two hunters stripping their prey as opposed to two cooks in the kitchen." commented Urara, watching as Sōma cut his fish into thin strips, stripping the meat from the bones with expert precision, with not a shred of the fish's flesh left behind.

As both chefs started preparing their pans, aromas started to slowly trickle into the arena. The rich scent of animal fat was accompanied by the spicy, green scent of various spices. Mouths started to water as the air began to slowly but surely fill with delectable smells.

"Oh…these scents. I can't believe it. They haven't even started cooking any of their meat yet." said an onlooker, looking down at the empty pans in wonderment.

His words were soon proven false as Sōma placed several of his cuts into the pan and, with a sizzle, the scents in the room practically flared up in excitement as it washed over the crowd, bathing them in spiced fragrance.

In contrast, Hayama merely started browning his chicken, the scent no less delicious, but much less prominent than Sōma's, an oddity for the aromatic chef.

"It seems Hayama-kun is holding back on us." commented Alice from her seat in the stands. Flanking her were Ryo and Erina, who'd both decided to come and witness what would certainly be one of the most momentous duels of the purge.

Ryo looked angry, his gaze dangerously sharp even with his bandanna safely tucked away in his pocket. Alice elbowed him, pouting.

"Come now, Ryo-kun. Don't be like that, I'm sure you'll get your rematch someday."

"Don't patronize me, ojou. I'm not a child." muttered Ryo, the bitterness in his voice belying his words.

"Ah, I see, I see." said Alice, smiling cheekily.

Erina said nothing, instead just watching the match closely. It was clear that Hayama's talents had only improved since the Autumn Elections, but it was unclear as to whether they would be enough to deal with Yukihira Sōma as he was now.

"It would seem that Sōma-kun is preparing a sauce of his own design!" announced Urara excitedly.

Indeed, Sōma was now stirring a dark red colored mixture in a small sauce pan, adding in several dashes of seasoning from the many bottles on his station. He drizzled a small portion onto a spoon, tasting the mixture, before nodding and adding in a few more pinches of dark powder. The simmering sauce's scent started to filter into the air, only adding to the scent of Sōma's gently cooking fish filets.

Hayama moved the thoroughly cooked chicken to a bowl, pouring the remaining oil into another pot before adding in flour and stirring the resulting mixture vigorously. With his other hand, he grabbed one of the small, sealed jars he'd brought. With a flick of his thumb and index finger, the cap came off and Hayama poured, a dark collection of flakes dropping into his dish.

The effect was almost instantaneous, as an invisible stream of flavour and scent started to flow up and clash against Sōma's in a discordant blast of weighted air. Peppers, thyme, basil, sage, rosemary. The scents of all of these and more floated on the air, roaring for dominance. It was like two great beasts meeting on a plain to challenge one another for the right to reside in this space.

"These flavours, I've never smelt anything like it." said the third judge who'd remained silent up to now. Fushima patted the man on the shoulder, smiling conspiratorially.

"This is what it's like when two cooking giants truly clash against one another, Sadao-dono. It's certainly a sight to see, isn't it?"

"Or smell, as it were." chimed in the first judge. The pun earned him exasperated looks from both of his colleagues.

"It looks like Hayama-kun's roux is coming along nicely, at least from here." commented Alice, squinting down at the stage and thanking herself for having the foresight to reserve front row seating in advance.

"A roux is a classic sauce thickener, composed of flour and fat, usually butter." said Erina thoughtfully, eyeing the brown, viscous liquid in Hayama's pot. "Most roux are much lighter than Hayama-kun's, however. His appears to be rather thick and fragrant, most likely due to his skill with spices and the use of chicken oil over butter. I've never witnessed a roux that smelt so strongly before."

"Indeed. And the aroma of Sōma's dish is nothing to scoff at either." commented Alice, inhaling the heavy air around them, her nostrils pleasantly tingling as they were caressed by the variety of smells in the air.

"This air…this is the scent of battle; of two chefs using potent flavours to beat their opponent into submission." growled Ryo, his bandanna adorning his head. He couldn't help but grin at the thought of the advancement his opponents had made. He would show them too, when the time came, just how far he had progressed.

The chefs worked furiously, the scents in the air only growing more and more over time. Hayama slid the chopped vegetables into the pot containing his roux, lowering the heat while increasing the pace of his stirring. Now, the scents of onions and celery joined the conglomeration, adding a fresh, young taste to the air. Sōma was tossing rice in a pan, sharp little pops echoing as it began to toast.

"Sōma-kun appears to be toasting his rice now! While most typical Japanese dishes call for plain white rice or sticky rice, toasted rice is an interesting alternative." noted the third judge, as a muted, nut like smell started to permeate and add to the duel of aromas.

Sōma opened up his pan, eyeing the colour of the fish fillets critically. He used a small ladle to scoop out a portion of his sauce, which he'd transferred to a bowl earlier, and poured it across the simmering fish. With a sharp snap, Sōma's fragrance beast grew, overtaking Hayama's with a mighty roar tinged in spiciness and heat.

"Oh my! The aroma of Sōma's fish dish is completely overpowering Hayama-kun's!" gasped Urara, her cheeks red as she sniffed at the new, spicier quality in the air.

Hayama's nose twitched as it took in the new information, his stride unbroken as he opened the oven to take a glimpse at his potatoes. Judging them done, he pulled the pan out and bisected each potato, after which he removed the soft insides with a spoon and added them into a bowl. A few quick movements saw the potato innards mashed and mixed together with a combination of butter and sour cream.

'The fat content will even out the starchiness well.' thought Hayama as he began to season the mixture with the remainder of his chopped vegetables and a few more spice combinations from his unlabelled jars. A few dashes of milk rounded off the composition of the mashed potatoes.

He scooped out the mixture, adding it back into the potato shells, lightly topping each refilled spud with cheese before placing it back in the oven and turning down the heat.

"Twice baked potatoes. How delightful!" proclaimed Fushima, eyeing the stainless steel appliance hungrily, as if he would eat it just to get at what was inside.

"Fushima-dono, what exactly are twice baked potatoes?" asked Sadao, looking confusedly at the salivating judge.

"It's a decidedly Western dish where you bake the potatoes before removing the inside and mashing it with other food items before placing it back inside of the shell and back into the oven to cook through." explained Fushima. "It's a very versatile dish, as you can use anything from bacon and sour cream to other vegetables as the filling. I can't wait to see what someone as skilled as Hayama does with it!"

Despite such praise, Hayama still seemed to be trying to play catch-up, if the war in the air was anything to go by. Sōma's beast was prowling and snapping at Hayama's, keeping it docile and mild with its own new, sharper edges.

Hayama smirked as he started to hear murmurs of discontent in the crowd. He moved to a large pot that he'd left unattended, covered and simmering for much of the match and removed its lid. People waited, expecting a new surge of flavour to join the fight but, other than a mild, broth-like smell, nothing changed.

"There's something about that stock…" muttered Erina, watching Hayama bring the pot over to pour into his simmering roux mixture. "It seems like ordinary stock, but I just can't shake this feeling…"

Whatever Erina was pondering was completely silenced by what happened when Hayama's stock hit the roux. With what was an almost audible shockwave, waves of flavour started to pour out of Hayama's pot, his beast growing until it matched and then surpassed Sōma's in sheer strength and presence as Hayama also added the chicken to the pot before stirring it all together. Above, the beast had become a dragon, beating back Sōma's creature with almost contemptible ease.

"Oh my!" shouted Urara as she swayed in place, practically blown off of her feet. "It seems Hayama was only toying with us earlier. He is truly the Sultan of Spice!"

"It unlocked it." murmured Erina, her eyes widening as she had an epiphany. "Hayama-kun's stock, while mild and borderline bland on its own, unlocked the latent flavours of his roux mixture, elevating it to new heights!"

Ryo laughed, loud and brash as his bandanna fluttered in the air currents of Hayama's power. Alice's face was one of concentration however, as she stared down at Sōma, who was almost being ignored in favour of marvelling at Hayama. From this distance, she could barely tell, and so she was sure that no one beside her companions would be able to either, but…

Sōma was smiling. It was tiny, practically invisible, but his lips were indeed upturned ever so slightly and his eyes were bright whereas before they were dull. It was a return of the old Sōma, but an aspect of him that was different from what Alice had encountered in his room a few days ago.

She saw the light of battle and challenge in his eyes, along with a supreme confidence that would've shaken her had she been more weak-willed. This was the part of Sōma that challenged an alumnus to a Shokugeki, the part of him that challenged an Elite Ten member's sales at the Moon Banquet Festival with a push cart stall. This wasn't Sōma's kindness. This was his passion and will to win, no matter the odds or opponent.

Despite the tension, she couldn't help smiling. It seemed Sōma wasn't quite done yet.

Sōma moved to the simmering fish, turning down the heat even further and adding in something from an unlabelled jar before covering the pan completely. With that manoeuvre, Sōma's beast admitted defeat, stymied by the seal over its birthplace. It faded into nothing as it growled submissively.

Hayama grinned as he, above all others, smelt the difference in the air. His dragon stood triumphant, roaring for all to inhale as it flexed its wings throughout the entire hall. He moved to cover the pot, leaving the seals open so air could circulate as he let it simmer further, his dragon diminishing as it prowled the arena, smaller but no less vicious.

"Well, that was certainly impressive everyone! It seems both chefs are reaching the ending stages of their dishes."

Urara was correct. Both of them were simmering their meat dishes and putting the finishing touches on their accompaniments. Sōma was sprinkling some herbs into his rice, accentuating its nutty smell with the gentle tones of chives and parsley. Hayama pulled his potatoes from the oven, the starchy scent invading the air alongside his dragon, plodding along beside it like a faithful companion.

Soon, both chefs had plated their dishes, Hayama's dragon roaring back to full life as he uncovered his pot and ladled it into three separate bowls. A single half of a potato accompanied each bowl on a separate saucer. He pushed his cart forward towards the judges' table.

"Hayama's finished first! While there's still a few minutes left on the clock, it seems Hayama-kun isn't interested in waiting."

"I hope you don't mind if I take the lead here, Yukihira." said Hayama mildly, not stopping as he wheeled past Sōma's station. The aforementioned chef shrugged silently, eyeing his pan. Hayama glanced back and took a deep sniff, letting the scents in the air dance across his legendary sense of smell.

"You sure you don't want to offer me one of your infamous deals, Yukihira? I'd say you have a real chance of losing here."

"I wouldn't want you to go out here, Hayama-san. It would be a little too regrettable." said Sōma, scooping his rice into plates to await judging. Hayama brushed off Sōma's arrogant jab with ease, wheeling his cart to the front of the judges' table and placing a bowl in front of each of them.

"This smell…" said Sadao, leaning over to inhale and suddenly finding himself swept away. He wore tarnished armour and had a rusty sword in his hand, which he held pointed at a majestic dragon with dark brown scales and a white mane. Its noble gaze eyed Sadao as if he was but a mere insect.

"It's not done yet." said Hayama, leaning over with a bottle and throwing a dash of something into Sadao's bowl.

Suddenly the dragon opened its mouth, breathing in and roaring out, a large torrent of flame reaching out to encompass Sadao's armoured form. The flames didn't burn, rather they caressed his nose and tongue in a fusion of spiciness and heady savouriness that left Sadao almost comatose from the smell alone.

The other judges had similar reactions as Hayama dashed their bowls with spice as well, three peasants armoured shoddily before a mighty, bronze dragon breathing flaming life into their bodies.

"H-Hayama-kun!" exclaimed Fushima. "Just what is in that bottle? It's like…like…"

"Like dragon's fire! But in the most magnificent way!" exclaimed Sadao excitedly.

"Oh, this?" asked Hayama casually, holding up the unlabelled bottle. "It's a personal blend of spices and seasonings developed by the Shiomi seminar. Without giving away too much, I'll just say that it combines the spiciness of crushed peppers with the strong flavouring of other herbs to give any dish built around it a strong taste, without completely overwhelming it."

Fushima picked up his spoon, almost hesitant to taste the dish before him. Was he worthy to face that beautiful dragon?

"Hayama-kun!" clamoured Urara, bounding forward to stand in front of the chef. "What do you call this dish?"

"Shiomi Chicken Stew, with Twice Baked Potatoes." Hayama said, bowing slightly.

Sadao picked up his spoon, dipping it into the stew and bringing it to his mouth.

"Amazing!" he cried. "The strong Cajun undertones of the dish blend well with the strongly flavoured herbs in a way that shouldn't be possible. How did you get so many strong flavours to, for lack of a better term, get along inside of the same dish?"

"The secret is their freshness." said Hayama, holding out the bottle for them to see. "The Shiomi seminar specializes in cultivating plants that are out of season. Practically every single spice and herb I used here today was specially prepared by myself from the raw form of the plant itself as early as yesterday."

"I see…" said Sadao in between bites. "Such a strong, spicy undertone wouldn't be achievable with anything but the freshest of cayenne peppers. Wonderful work Hayama-kun!"

"And the starchiness of the potato adds a neutrality to the dish that allows you to cleanse your palate and take breaks from the depths of the stew's flavour. Meaning everyone from spice connoisseurs to children could enjoy this dish equally. Truly marvellous!" exclaimed the third judge, looking as if he was going to cry tears of joy from the food alone.

In but a short time, there were three empty bowls and saucers left in front of the judges, who all seemed satisfied. You could almost see the bronze dragon coiled around their sated forms, slumbering as they digested their meal.

"It seems Hayama's dish was a resounding success with the judges!" shouted Urara, the applause following her announcement almost deafening. As the match wore on, it seemed more and more people had leant towards supporting Hayama, as they saw the potential for Central's first true upset in him.

"And now, we'll have Sōma-kun's dish!"

Sōma wheeled his cart forward, placing three plates of warm, slightly browned rice in front of the judges. On his cart sat his pan of fish, still tightly covered. However, unusually, Sōma had brought a portable burner that was still lit under the pan, keeping it simmering even as he brought it forward before the judges.

"Interesting. Yukihira-kun, may I ask why you have a burner under your pan even now?" asked the third judge curiously.

"With this sort of dish, it's essential that it remain hot until the very last possible moment. I trust that you'll see what I mean on your very first bite, Moto-san."

"If you don't mind me asking, Sōma-kun, what is your dish?" questioned Urara, holding the mic up to his mouth. Sōma glanced at Hayama, matching his confident stare with complete apathy.

"Buffalo Salmon." he said simply.

"Buffalo…Salmon?" asked Urara confusedly. "As in…buffalo sauce?"

"That's correct." said Sōma, holding up a black labelled bottle filled with bright red liquid. The entire hall went silent as everyone tried to process what he said. Then, the laughter started. It was hard to say who broke first, but soon the entire crowd was laughing.

"Yukihira's going to try and take on Hayama with fish in wing sauce?" jeered one boy, elbowing his friend who couldn't even respond as he was too busy holding his sides in laughter.

The noise level rose until it seemed the entire world was looking down on Sōma, laughing into his face. The only ones that refrained were those smart enough to realize that this was Yukihira Sōma, tenth seat of the Elite Ten and Central's premier enforcer that they were talking about. Things were never that simple.

"Buffalo sauce…to make it the centrepiece of a dish judged for its flavour seems like an inexcusable error. It's plebeian beyond words. The flavour is simple and not nearly complex enough for a shokugeki of this magnitude." said Erina, narrowing her eyes.

"Which means there's something more to this." finished Alice, looking down curiously as she resisted the urge to strike out at the boy behind her who seemed to have a particularly horse like bray of a laugh.

Hayama wasn't laughing along with the rest of the crowd, but he was certainly smirking as he looked at the bottle in Sōma's hand. How dare he think that some brand name hot sauce would compare…

Hayama blinked, looking closer at the bottle of hot sauce. While it was indeed labelled, there was nothing written on the label. No picture, no words. In fact, now that Hayama looked, the bottle looked familiar. Very familiar. But that didn't make sense. Why would he…?

Hayama's eyes widened as he felt his heart begin to race. He looked up at Sōma, who was ignoring the gales of laughter surrounding them and staring directly into his eyes. His flat, golden gaze had been replaced by one Hayama recognized, one of challenge and fiery passion that was all Yukihira. The barest quirk at the corner of Sōma's mouth was all the warning that Hayama got before Sōma reached over and snatched the lid off of his pan.

Almost instantly, every single chuckle was silenced as veritable torrents of flavour burst from the pan, screaming out and encompassing the air as if angry that they had been kept sealed for so long. Hayama's dragon had been a magnificent beast, noble and powerful, but this…this was practically a force of nature. Even a dragon couldn't fight nature, and Hayama's was crushed under the tsunami that was Sōma's beast, brought back to life stronger and angrier than ever before. But Sōma's beast had changed. It was a simple beast no longer.

Instead it was a dragon, one of such magnificence and strength that it made Hayama's look like a kitten in comparison. It roared, flavour spreading throughout the arena and striking fear into each and every spectator's heart as they witnessed its anger through their olfactory senses.

The dragons were…similar. Eerily similar. But Sōma's was larger, stronger, hotter. In every category through which one could gauge a dragon's strength, Sōma's won out.

"This flavour profile…" said Hayama, his nose twitching as it fed him information. But it must be a lie. There was no way what he was smelling was accurate, it couldn't be.

"Do you remember our classmate, Mimasaka Subaru?" asked Sōma nonchalantly, serving the fish cutlets onto the toasted rice, the nutty aroma only being brought forth even more as it accented the scent of the fish.

'Mimasaka…Subaru. He was a contestant in the Autumn Elections, the Perfect Tracer…'

Hayama felt a fear he'd thought he'd disposed of start to crop back up in his heart and Sōma glanced over, as if he could hear Hayama's accelerated heartbeat.

"It seems Mimasaka-san is just as skilled as always in ferreting information out about his targets. And it took little effort to procure some of Shiomi-san's magnificent work for myself." said Sōma, drizzling the sauce over the judges' plates with one hand while tossing the bottle to Hayama with his other one.

Hayama caught it instinctively, looking down at the glassware, turning it over in his hands as he stroked over the black label. He noted the three marks at its top and that prompted him to grip the bottle tightly, his hands straining the glass. He knew this bottle of hot sauce. He'd made it.

"You…you stole from us?" whispered Hayama, his rage practically a tangible thing as he thought about Sōma using her work…their work against him. It was sickening.

"I stole nothing." said Sōma, watching as the judges ate his dish, taking bites of it and finding themselves filled with a blameless rage that suffused them, causing them to grit their teeth and shove Sōma's dish away from them, almost sending the plates careening off of the edge of the table.

"Then how? How did you get this bottle?"

Sōma looked over at Hayama, before extending his arm and pointing to the side, at his work station.

"It wasn't just one bottle, Hayama-san."

Hayama looked over, at the many unlabelled containers at Sōma's station. With a start, he realized that he recognized each and every one of them as containers that he, Jun or both had worked on together, marked in their own special shorthand to differentiate them.

For each jar and bottle Hayama recognized, his rage only grew, threatening to break the persistent calm that he was known for. The self-control he'd painstakingly developed from a young age to hide his feelings from those who would use it against him on the rough streets of his hometown.

"The Shiomi seminar, for all its independence, is still an organization under Tōtsuki. I simply asked Mimasaka-san to put in a request on my behalf after he'd traced you and given me his best guesses on what flavour profile you would use."

Hayama thought back, struggling to keep himself calm and his thoughts clear. It wasn't rare for their seminar to take requests for spices from both students and alumni. It was no exaggeration to say that the Shiomi seminar's spice quality was the finest in the region, if not all of Japan. And, with dread, Hayama realized that he did remember seeing Mimasaka's name on the request sheet a few weeks back. He'd simply filed it as always and let the delivery crew handle the rest, thinking nothing of it.

A glaring mistake, clearly.

"I kept my seasoning very distinct, and only fused them together as you did near the very end, before I sealed my pan completely. That gave the salmon time to become thoroughly infused with the full flavours of the seasonings I'd used, with not a single drop of it escaping and being wasted until it was time to unveil it."

Sōma looked over at the judges appraisingly, glancing over their mostly filled plates. His dragon loomed over his shoulders, still holding the arena in its mighty grip, larger and fiercer than Hayama's had any hope of being.

"So, dear judges, what's the result?"

Moto looked up at Sōma angrily, struggling to restrain himself. He didn't even understand WHY he was so angry. He simply was, and there was nothing to take it out on. He hadn't understood it when his colleagues had warned him against judging one of the boy's shokugekis, but now he did. He understood it all too well. With trembling fingers, he pressed a button on his controller.

Sadao and Fushima followed suit, their expressions more controlled but no less angry than their compatriot.

Yukihira Sōma – 3

Hayama Akira – 0

Hayama looked at the scoreboard in disbelief before he looked around, searching for a particular face before finding it. Jun looked back at him, a smile on her face but tears in her eyes.

'It's okay.' she mouthed, even as she began to cry silently, tear tracks making their way down her face.

"Well, Hayama-kun. I believe that, as they say, is that." said Sōma, looking over at the boy who looked like he'd just lost it all without a single ounce of compassion.

"And there you have it folks! While it was a closely fought battle, Yukihira Sōma is once again victorious! The Shiomi seminar will be immediately disbanded, with its associated resources going to Sōma-kun! That is our final shokugeki for the day, and I hope you all have a good one!" shouted Urara cheerfully to scattered applause.

The majority of the crowd was just looking at Hayama as they watched him fall to his knees, still staring into the crowd at the face of the woman he loved. A face he'd hoped to never see besmirched with tears.

"It would appear Hayama-kun lost." noted Alice somewhat sadly, sighing. While she counted herself as one of Sōma's allies, she felt more than uncomfortable as she looked at Hayama's fallen form. She didn't know him all that well, but she knew it must be devastating to lose both his residence and life's work in one fell swoop.

"Yes, I'm rather surprised Yukihira-kun would resort to such a tactic. It's not exactly his style to go with such a blatantly cheap trick." said Erina as she looked down at the product of her father's machinations with a heavy heart. She would use this as a reminder; as motivation for her training with Sai-Yukihira-sama. If he wasn't going to rescue Sōma from whatever idiotic plan he had set up, then she would.

"Cheap or not, Sōma got the win. Knowing what you're up against can be half the battle, sometimes. Know thine enemy and all that." said Alice flippantly, standing up and straightening out her skirt.

Ryo said nothing, his bandanna tucked away as he stared down at Hayama. The stronger dish had won today, that was all. Nothing more and nothing less.

Hayama walked listlessly through the halls of the seminar, his mind going back over the duel again and again. He was so sure that he'd won, that his dish was superior. But Sōma had completely shattered his expectations, and now he'd lost everything.

No, he had lost nothing. It was SHE who had lost everything.

He looked around at the familiar walls, at the place that had been his home for years.

"Akira-kun! Akira-kun!"

Hayama didn't turn around, but he did stop walking as he heard the soft pitter-patter of Jun's footsteps behind him.

"You did great, Akira-kun! Even though we made so many of those stew dishes for practice, I think the one you cooked today was better than all of them!"

Hayama's shoulders started to shake, the movement catching her eye.

"How can you say that Jun? After…after I lost? How can you stand there and still say that my dish was amazing?"

"Because it was, Akira-kun." said Jun, smiling even though he couldn't see it. "I told you already, right? Even if you lost, we'd still be together, so you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried about me, Jun. I'm not the one who just lost everything they've worked so hard to build over the years. You are."

"We are." corrected Jun gently, placing her hand on Hayama's shoulder, which must've looked rather ridiculous as the boy was several inches taller than she was.

"Don't exclude yourself from this, Akira-kun. We both worked to make the Shiomi seminar what it is today. We share in its loss, that's how being a team works."

"But I'm…I'm…" Hayama cut himself off, not wanting to say it out loud.

"I know, Akira. I know." said Jun, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it.

They both knew that, while Hayama had endless potential with his future, Jun's was…limited. It wasn't so much a matter of age as it was skillset and passion. Jun had found her calling working for Tōtsuki. It was one of the few institutions with the money and resources needed to fund her exhaustive spice research. Few other places would be so willing to invest what Tōtsuki had invested into her, it was one of the perks of being the top culinary institute in the entire world.

Jun was a Tōtsuki graduate, meaning she would be able to practically pick and choose her employment at a variety of restaurants worldwide if she didn't want to continue on as a professor under the Azami administration but that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted to continue her work with spices, she'd already done so much and there was still so much left to do!

But with Sōma's victory, Tōtsuki now owned each and every last piece of her research. Without its explicit permission, she couldn't do anything.

Hayama turned to face Jun, his face stricken. It was a sight few ever saw, that of a distressed Hayama Akira.

"I'm sorry, Jun. I should've won against Yukihira. For you, for us." he said, holding her shoulders. His voice wavered and bobbed with restrained sobs and his breath was coming in pants. Jun smiled up at him and leaned towards him, embracing him around his waist.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Akira-kun. You never have anything to apologize to me for."

Hayama slowly returned her embrace, clutching the smaller woman to him as he struggled to regain control of his breathing. He hadn't cried since Jun had adopted him, all those years ago, and he refused to now. This wasn't about him, this was about Jun. He refused to burden her with his tears.

Lost in their own world as they were, the pair didn't realize they had a spectator. That they'd had a spectator for a while now, since Jun had first met up with Hayama in the hallway.

Sōma looked on, his form hidden behind a large bookcase. He hadn't originally intended to eavesdrop, but he'd found himself stuck in place, frozen by the raw outpouring of emotion he was witnessing. As he saw the tears in Hayama's eyes and the unshaking support of his guardian, Sōma had become unsure of himself.

He'd originally planned to come here to sway Hayama to his side forcefully, perhaps dangling Jun's ongoing tenure as a professor as a sort of carrot, with her termination being the stick. But he…something in him wouldn't let that plan commence. Why did he suddenly find that plan distasteful? Why did he…feel something warm, where his heart usually sat?

And why were things getting so blurry? Sōma blinked, his eyes clearing as he felt wetness on his cheeks. Tears. Sōma looked down at his chain in surprise, inspecting it for damage. It wasn't coming loose at all, it held firm, meaning that this emotion was all…him. This side of Sōma wasn't used to this. This vulnerability, this…positivity. He was strength, anger, willpower and cunning. There was no room for softheartedness in this half of him.

He flicked the clasps on the chain, pulling it free with a yank. He shuddered, retreating within himself as his other side came to bear. The side of Sōma meant for…whatever this was.

Sōma wiped the tears from his eyes, smiling to himself. He walked forward, rubbing at his eyes, ensuring they were free of any moisture before clearing his throat pointedly.

Hayama and Jun both jumped, clutching each other even tighter for a second before realizing just what they were doing and breaking apart. They looked at each other before looking away in embarrassment, Jun resembling a tomato more than anything else as Hayama coughed, trying to regain his composure.

Finally noticing who'd interrupted them, Hayama froze, his eyes lowering as he spoke.

"What the hell do you want, Yukihira? Have you come to serve us our eviction notice already?"

Sōma laughed softly, startling the both of them. Sōma didn't laugh. At least, not in recent memory. The expression took Hayama back briefly, to days he'd spent with both of his runner ups in this very building, trading jibes and dishes alike. It was familiar, which only served to make Hayama more wary.

"Relax, Hayama. I've just come to talk this time is all, I promise."

"Then say what you have to say. I'm not interested in wasting anymore of my time on you today."

Sōma pouted, his expression almost comical.

"So mean, Hayama. Well, I suppose I can't really blame you. So I'll just hop right into it."

Sōma looked around at the peeling wallpaper and vague sense of disrepair that evoked more than one fond memory of the Polar Star Dormitory.

"Hayama, do you know exactly what the terms for your loss to me today are?"

"I'm more than aware." bit out Hayama, narrowing his eyes further as he glared at Sōma. "Have you simply come here to gloat?"

"I assure you, I haven't. For me though, can you state them again?"

Hayama maintained his glare for a few seconds, before sighing as he beheld the expression on Sōma's face. It seemed he was serious. Hayama thought back to the terms of the shokugeki ruling he'd reviewed only just this morning.

"If I were to lose, then the Shiomi seminar is given over to Tōtsuki, along with its resources. Effective no less than one week after the official result of the match is declared. There, are we done now?"

Sōma shook his head, smiling in a cheeky manner that would've been funny if the situation wasn't so serious.

"That's not quite correct, Hayama. If you lost, then the Shiomi seminar is surrendered to, not Tōtsuki, but to one Yukihira Sōma."

"Yea, but you work for Central, it isn't like there's much of a difference." said Hayama before he thought about exactly what he'd just said and his eyes widened. Sōma grinned as he saw Hayama come to the right conclusion.

"Exactly. I have full authority over the seminar as a student of Tōtsuki and a member of the Elite Ten Council. Meaning its fate is in my hands. But, to be quite honest, I don't have much interest in spices and all that, at least not the finicky details that Shiomi-chan seems so adept with."

Sōma jerked his thumb at the aforementioned professor, who glowered at him for his affectionate address. Hayama looked at Sōma, his eyes locked on Yukihira's, which were filled with a warmth and playfulness that was all too lacking in them these days.

Hayama's expression was one of both desperation and distrust as his mind started to go, thoughts bouncing around in his head at a frantic rate. He bowed his head as he clenched his fists, feeling his hands tremble.

"So…if I serve you, then you'll let Jun continue doing what she loves?"

"Hayama-kun…" said Jun, shocked. Hayama's pride was one of the most valuable things he had. When he had nothing, it was the only thing he held onto. No matter the situation and no matter cost. But here he was, surrendering it for her.

"Nah, that won't work." said Sōma casually, causing Hayama to look up at him in surprise before Sōma laughed, inciting even more confusion in the white haired boy.

"That's not gonna work because I'm not looking for servants, Hayama. I'm looking for allies."

At such a vaguely worded statement, Hayama's expression became guarded once again.

"What would I have to do?" he asked carefully. Sōma looked at him thoughtfully, as if wondering whether he should answer, before shrugging to himself.

"For now? One thing. One simple thing."

"And what's this one simple thing?" asked Hayama, cautious of the mischievous smirk on Sōma's face.

"Refine your cooking."

Hayama looked at Sōma, who didn't say anything after that, instead just matching his blank stare with a grin.

"My apologies, Yukihira, but…this is a cooking school. Isn't that the whole point?"

Sōma looked at Hayama, his smile dropping as his expression grew serious.

"You're right. It is. But I'm not asking you to do well in classes, or invent one new dish. I'm asking you to take your cooking to new heights, to use whatever means necessary to take a step up. And another one. And another one. Until you're alone, separated from the rest of our generation by a gulf of skill that'll be matched by but a few others."

Some stepped forward, placing his hand on Hayama's shoulder and squeezing it with authority.

"I want you to be among the best. I need you to be one of the elites, Hayama. That is all I'm going to ask of you right now. I want today to be the last time I ever hear of Hayama Akira losing a shokugeki, even if he's facing the Demon King of Food himself."

Hayama's heart raced as Sōma's words stoked a burning passion that was always there. He'd already planned to take the top seat of Tōtsuki anyway, so Sōma wasn't saying anything new. But the meaning he was giving it allowed Hayama to feel as if his goal was tangible. His very real peril had made reality all too clear to him. It wasn't some abstract thing he'd find sometime down the road. It was something he could reach towards, right here and right now with his own two hands. He'd continue reaching until he'd passed everyone else by, including the man before him.

Sōma smiled, seeing the fire in his own eyes reflected in Hayama's.

"For what it's worth, I apologize for the scare, Hayama. Things aren't quite as black and white as they used to be, and that can tie my hands up quite a bit." said Sōma, jingling the chain he held in his hands.

The tongue-in-cheek reference flew completely over Hayama's head, absorbed as he was in pondering the first part of Sōma's statement.

"Are you going to explain just why they aren't that way anymore?" asked Hayama mildly, almost certain of the response he would get.

Sure enough, Sōma shook his head, releasing Hayama's shoulder as he began to walk off.

"Maybe sometime in the future, but not right now. Continue doing what you do Hayama, I expect great things. Later Shiomi-chan!"

"D-Don't call me chan!" shouted Jun angrily, waving her fist.

"Jun, that may have been more effective if you'd said it before the door shut behind him." pointed out Hayama drily. Jun turned to pout at him, running at him and beating her fists on Hayama's chest playfully.

"You're so mean, Hayama-kun." Jun said in mock anger, as her swings started to lose speed until, eventually, she was just embracing Hayama, her face buried in his chest. He couldn't see her face but he could feel her shake silently and the wetness seep through his shirt.

"Why are you crying, Jun?" Hayama asked gently, placing one hand on her head, stroking her hair.

"I…I was lying, Akira-kun." she admitted tearfully. "I was so scared…I didn't know what I was going to do. Half of my life was just gone, and you…I thought I'd lose you too."

Hayama looked down at her in surprise.

"Why would you ever think that?"

"Because…I mean, what use would you have for me if I was just some stuffy lecturer? You'd grow tired of me eventually, and move on to greater things without me too…"

"Jun. If there's one thing you ever know to be true in this world, it's that I will never leave you. Never."

"You're just saying that." she said self-deprecatingly, her words muffled by Hayama's chest.

Hayama pulled Jun away from his chest, holding her by her shoulders as he stared into her face. She tried to turn away from him, reaching up to remove her glasses as she wiped at her eyes. Crying had left her eyes bloodshot and her face blotchy. Hayama didn't say a word as he continued to stare down at her.

"Akira-kun, please. What are you looking at?" she asked, blinking up at him.

"You." he said, the one word saying more than a thousand ever could. Jun tried to wave him off, her cheeks now red for an entirely different reason. She laughed embarrassedly.

"Why? I must look hideous right now."

"No. You're beautiful."

Hayama leaned down, his forehead resting gently on Jun's. Her blush grew as she started to fidget.

"A-Akira-kun. Please…stop."

Despite her words, Jun made no move to escape his hold, instead closing her eyes as she breathed in, the heady scent of spice and cinnamon that was Hayama washing over her. She opened her eyes, and found Hayama's looking down at her, and their gazes locked like magnets. Jun raised one hand to his face hesitantly, before reaching up and brushing an errant bang out of his face.

"Jun."

"Akira."

Some miniscule part of Jun screamed at her, told her that this was inappropriate and she should walk away now, while she still had a chance to redeem herself. That part of her was summarily silenced by the rest of her that made the decision to lean in, her lips barely brushing over Hayama's as she closed her eyes.

The kiss wasn't long or deep. It was soft and tender, an expression of what they'd found in each other over years of a growing relationship that spanned guardian and ward, teacher and student and now man and woman. As the kiss broke, they rested their foreheads together, closing their eyes.

"Jun…I…"

"I know, Akira. Me too."

Sōma whistled as he walked down the path from the seminar, his heart light. It was a refreshing feeling, doing a good deed for someone. That went double for someone he called a friend. He understood the need for what he did, what he was still doing really, but that doesn't mean he enjoyed it.

Which made it even nicer when he could do something so unambiguously good. No shades of grey, or justification. Just simple kindness. This night was starting off well.

"Yukihira-kun?"

Sōma turned, smiling widely.

"Hey, Nakiri. What's up?"

Sōma continued walking a step or two, before convulsing, his stride broken as he looked into the face of Nakiri Erina. His heart started thumping wildly in his chest as he stared, his mouth moving with no sound as he stared into her purple eyes.

"Yukihira-kun. I…I didn't expect to see you here." she said, recovering from her surprise gracefully. She smiled softly at him, which only made Sōma step back, his eyes widening as his mouth continued moving, not a single word passing his lips.

She couldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. Why was she here? What were the odds?

Sōma stared at her face, seeing her features change, her cheeks softening as her hair shortened and her eyes became rounder, younger.

"Yukihira-kun, are you alright?"

Tou-san! Please, it's so dark!

Sōma stepped back, stumbling over as he fell onto his butt.

"Yukihira!"

Erina reached out, her hands small and childlike. Sōma's pupils shrank as his heart started to race, starting to hyperventilate.

"Yukihira…Sōma-kun, are you crying?"

Sōma felt like someone was sitting on his chest, like there was a vice around his abdomen as he tried to breathe. Tears dripped freely down his face, something that surprised Erina. She walked over to him, unsure of how to proceed.

She leaned down as if to touch his shoulder and Sōma twitched, scrabbling backwards.

"No. Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." he said desperately, his eyes begging her for forgiveness. Erina was even more confused at Sōma's abrupt reaction, stepping back cautiously and holding up her hands.

"I couldn't do anything, you were so…and I just…I tried but it didn't work and…and…"

Sōma's broken sentence trailed off into incoherency as he stopped speaking, trying to catch his breath.

"Yukihira, you don't seem to be doing well. I'll call someone. Just give me a second."

Go ahead, Erina. Call someone, anyone. No one can help you, no one but me, your beloved father.

Erina pulled out her phone, eyeing Sōma carefully as she tapped out a number.

"Everything's going to be fine, Yukihira. Don't worry."

Everything's going to be fine, Erina. I love you.

"LIAR!" shouted Sōma, springing to his feet and dashing away, ignoring the rapidly fading calls behind him. He ran and ran, heart racing as he started to pant, his ability to breathe coming back with every step he took away from the Nakiri heiress.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…" he said to himself, his legs working beneath him to get him anywhere. Anywhere that wasn't near that girl. It took several long minutes for Sōma to grow tired, slowing down as he panted for an entirely different reason. He put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver chain.

With shaky, trembling hands, Sōma wound the chain around his left wrist, securing the ends with a clink. He continued panting but the trembling ceased and it wasn't long before Sōma stood straight, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. He looked around, wondering just where one of his episodes had landed him this time before noticing that he'd ended up right outside the Nakiri mansion gate.

Sōma would've laughed to himself if he'd had the energy. He walked through the gate, hearing it creak behind him as he opened it. Heading towards the front door, he felt his phone vibrate and he pulled it out, seeing that it was a message from Rindō.

Evening, Sōma-kun. Just wanted to let you know things with Nikumi-chan are going great. She should be ready for evaluation after the break.

Sōma sent off an affirmative reply, walking through the front door to be greeted by a smiling Nakiri Alice.

"Good evening, Sōma-kun! I simply must…Sōma-kun!"

Alice noticed the state Sōma was in, the stained, sweaty clothing and the tear streaked face. She stepped forward, looking him over as she circled him worriedly.

"What happened to you Sōma-kun? Were you in an accident? Did you get in a fight, did Hayama do this?"

Sōma shook his head tiredly, trying to move past the girl towards his room, which only succeeded in having her follow behind him concernedly.

"Nakiri-ojou, please. I'm fine, I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

"Tired my foot! You look like you've been through the ringer, what happened?" she asked, following behind him as he entered his room. He sat tiredly on the bed, his straight laced posture melting away as he gave into his exhaustion, his shoulders slumping.

"So are you going to tell me?" she asked imperiously, tapping her foot as she stood over him. Sōma resisted the uncharacteristic urge to snap at her, his restraint all but gone from the stress of the evening.

"No." he said, hoping the simple, blunt reply would dissuade the white haired girl from inquiring further. He should've known better.

Alice continued to pester him, asking question after question, glibly proceeding as if unaware that she was being incessantly annoying. Finally, after a particular inane question about whether he'd gone for a late night swim, Sōma couldn't take it anymore.

"Stop." he said, his rage cresting as it broiled beneath his skin, eager to lash out.

Alice ignored him, continuing to prattle. Sōma grit his teeth, putting his head between his knees and holding his temples as he felt his anger growing, seemingly without end.

Sōma balled his fists, his emotions hitting a peak as he screamed a wordless shout of rage, seeing nothing as he screamed and screamed and screamed, each and every one of the dark emotions he usually kept under wraps blaring out in full force to wash over the room. He continued to scream, clutching at his hair as he felt his voice start to crack. For the first time in who knows how long, Soma lost control, completely and utterly. His hatred, his pain, all of it and more was contained in the scream that lacked any sort of language or coherency.

After several seconds, he felt the tide ebbing and his screaming faded, his breath coming in pants for the third time that night as he held his head in his hands, his chest feeling lighter than it had in months. He could tell Alice was still in the room but he refused to look up at her. He knew what he'd see if he did. Instead, he just waited for her to leave.

After about a minute, he heard her shoes shuffle across the floor and, without warning, he felt a hand on his head.

"There. Isn't that better, Sōma-kun?"

Sōma looked up at her, more than surprised to see Alice looking down at him with a smile. He didn't see an ounce of fear or disdain, instead only kindness with a side of frivolity. An expression distinctly Alice.

Sōma started to feel…something. Something that made him distinctly uncomfortable. But…but it was discomfort he found he didn't mind putting up with, for some reason. Sōma leaned forward, his exhaustion hitting him in a sudden wave of dizziness, and his head came to rest on Alice's sweater covered stomach. Despite the compromising position, Sōma found himself loathe to move as he felt the discomfort in his chest grow stronger but…better. A paradox.

This wasn't for him. This was for the other Sōma, the one he kept chained because he was too weak to do what they needed. He was the one with the weakness, the feelings, the empathy and kindness, while he was supposed to be cold and distant, clear headed but passionate and filled with anger and hatred. He wasn't supposed to feel…whatever this was. This was too nice, too soft, too…weak.

Alice looked down at the head of red hair leaning against her sweater, her cheeks blushing a bright red. The hand in Sōma's hair began to move, running through it as she marvelled at how deceptively soft the spikes were. It was soon joined by the other one as Alice's fingers ran through Sōma's unkempt mane.

Almost without thinking, Alice began to croon. A soft, wordless melody that her mother would sing for her as a child. She sang as she stroked her hands through Sōma's hair, feeling the boy's breath against her stomach. If he wasn't so vulnerable and tired, Alice would've balked at the impropriety of such a thing, but instead she just continued stroking. And singing.

Sōma's eyes closed languidly, his ears filled with the soft tones coming from above his head. In his mind, he saw a blurry image, a half forgotten memory of a woman's face, leaning over him, her hand in his hair as she sang. The song was completely different from the one Alice sang, but its effect was similar, filling him with a sense of calm and peace.

"Kaa-chan…" he murmured sleepily, his breathing evening out.

Alice blinked down at him. She pouted.

"I'm certainly NOT your mother, Sōma-kun." she admonished quietly, gently pushing his shoulders back as she guided his half-awake form to lie down.

"Sweet dreams, Sōma-chii." she said fondly and teasingly, giving his hair one last affectionate ruffle before beginning to exit the room quietly.

Sōma felt more than saw the lights turn off and he turned over, his thoughts fading as he slowly fell asleep, his chest both light and heavy with…whatever this was. It would be the best sleep he'd had in years.

Well, here we go, chapter 8! I believe this is the longest chapter of the story to date, and also one of the more important ones. I hope you all enjoyed it, and please feel free to leave some feedback, be it hurtful or helpful. It's my not-so-secret goal to have this be the top reviewed story of the SnS fandom, help me achieve it guys! Only like 200 more to go!