Chapter Twenty-Five: Autumn Selection Preliminary

Next week there are no recommendations—how despairing. On Monday, updates will resume once per day...

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After receiving the notice about the competition’s theme and enduring a summer break that felt all too brief, Feng Xue finally faced the impending Autumn Selection. Even though more than a month had passed, the lingering taste of Joichiro Yukihira’s uniquely personal cuisine still haunted his senses. That was a chef’s heart that only a wanderer could have developed; without constant travel around the world, it would be impossible to fuse so many flavors into one’s creations.

Feng Xue was certain that Joichiro’s chef’s heart had reached an extraordinary zenith, for with just ordinary ingredients, he had prepared a banquet that elevated Feng Xue’s gourmet cells to a new level. By now, Feng Xue could even flip a wok with his hair alone! And to think, flipping a wok usually demands at least a hundred pounds of arm strength!

The competition’s divisions had been decided a month prior, but unfortunately, he had been assigned to Group A.

This so-called division between A and B was, frankly, questionable. According to the original manga, the competition in Group A was far fiercer than in Group B. In the quarterfinals, it was always Group A against Group B, yet the victors all came from Group A.

It was hard not to suspect something fishy was going on.

But then again, the Autumn Selection was always a contest among the finest. If Group A was like antique jade—refined and inherited—then Group B was the newly mined stone, rough and in need of polishing. And the way to polish it was to pit it against those already shaped masterpieces.

Still, there was little comfort in being placed in Group A. It was the group of death, where advancing was an entirely different matter from Group B.

No matter how poor his performance, he had to surpass Akira Mimasaka’s 91 points to qualify.

Though Feng Xue had mastered the chef’s heart, it seemed to be a prerequisite among the elites of this world—even Akira Mimasaka could mimic the chef’s heart.

Feng Xue’s unique gourmet sense merely made up for a decade’s difference in foundational skills, but in Totsuki Academy, every notable name had been immersed in the culinary arts since childhood. To win, one had to stand out.

As the original story said, the judges for the Autumn Selection were top-tier gourmets. Their standards for food were so high that the usual criteria did not apply. Even the dishes of the academy’s top sixty students were, in their eyes, merely student works. To receive praise was one thing, but scores would not be high. To break eighty points, the dish had to truly move them—uniqueness, skill, and flavor, none could be lacking.

Feng Xue had been preparing for this day since arriving in this world, researching for four full months before finally developing a trump card worthy of the occasion.

...

“What a grand venue! It’s bigger than any place I’ve ever seen!”

“That’s right, and the atmosphere is completely different! There’s a... solemnity I can’t quite describe...” Daigo and Shoji, along with all the contestants for the Autumn Selection, stood in awe in the assembly hall, marveling at its gravity.

Feng Xue followed quietly, not joining the conversation; he was savoring this so-called sense of solemnity.

Indeed, this feeling was not some illusion conjured by atmosphere, but a true presence—the very “aura” of the hall.

This place, known as the Moonlit Arena, was reserved only for the Shokugeki battles of the Elite Ten throughout the generations, and, besides that, for the main rounds of the Autumn Selection—a top-tier stage. Here, the Elite Ten had poured all their spirit and will into their dishes, leaving behind traces of their chef’s hearts. Over time, these traces had accumulated, giving the Moonlit Arena its unique sense of solemnity. In this environment, chefs felt a special kind of pressure.

The weak might find themselves incapable of even cooking under such pressure, while the strong could break through their own limits under the oppression of the collective chef’s hearts.

That’s why only the Elite Ten and the main contestants of the Autumn Selection were allowed to use this place—the unworthy had no right to wield their knives here!

Conversely, for those already awakened to the chef’s heart and possessing considerable skill, being here meant being bathed in countless traces of chef’s hearts, entering a state akin to enlightenment, making it easier to discover their own chef’s heart. And for those who already possessed one, this was where they could more easily transcend themselves and create their “signature dish.”

For others, this might seem a miraculous coincidence, but for Feng Xue, who had awakened his gourmet sense and gourmet cells, this was the shortcut to advancing by absorbing the chef’s hearts of countless predecessors.

But that was not all. Here, Feng Xue sensed not only chef’s hearts but also a strange, indescribable power—intangible and formless. Without his grasp of imaginary numbers, he would never have noticed this ineffable presence. His gourmet cells, though unable to capture it, seemed to recognize its essence. A yearning arose from deep within him, as if something inside was howling, urging him to gather this presence.

Naturally, Feng Xue obliged, for he discovered this presence was not rootless but constantly generated, not by the arena itself, but by the countless students. It seemed that merely stepping into this place caused students to emit this presence, which then lingered in the Moonlit Arena, nourishing the accumulated chef’s hearts.

“Is this... the power of faith? No, impossible! If it truly were faith, it would do more than just nourish chef’s hearts—it would elevate those ‘offered’ photos to the level of deities!” Feng Xue dismissed his first thought and, using imaginary numbers, tried to gather some of the presence. But it seemed to have its own will, hovering around him without obeying his intent. This force seemed fundamentally different—not of the mind, nor of matter. Even the most sensitive AT field could not impede it.

“What exactly is this? Since my gourmet cells react to it, they must know it... In the world of Toriko, could this presence be...”

Just as inspiration struck, a sweet voice interrupted him—

“Please direct your attention to the podium. Now, let us welcome the Academy Director, Senzaemon Nakiri, to deliver his opening remarks!” Kawashima Rei’s voice echoed, though she did not step to the center of the stage, instead speaking into a microphone from the side.

The center of the podium was reserved for one who, in the eyes of most students and even graduates, was the very embodiment of terror: Senzaemon Nakiri!

Disheveled white hair, beard, and eyebrows, a scar running through his right eye, and the Nakiri family’s signature crimson eyes—though already in his sixties or seventies, Senzaemon radiated an instinctive sense of oppression, a constant reminder that he was the man known as the “Demon King of Cuisine.”

When Senzaemon appeared, he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he took a deep breath on stage... and promptly choked, coughing several times before recovering.

Most impressively, he then resumed his dignified demeanor as if nothing had happened, declaring, “Every time I breathe in this air, I can feel strength flowing through my body...”

Unlike the other students who quietly mocked him, Feng Xue took Senzaemon’s words seriously. In that moment when Senzaemon inhaled deeply, the chef’s heart aura in the room seemed drawn by some force into his body, circulated, and then slipped away. Through his gourmet cells, Feng Xue could sense that Senzaemon’s body was indeed strengthened, however minutely—but the effect was real. No wonder the so-called Demon King of Cuisine could maintain such a robust physique into his seventies.

More than that, Feng Xue sensed within him a force akin to inner energy. Though, lacking a proper system or technique, it moved chaotically through Senzaemon’s body, it nevertheless passively enhanced his vitality and spirit. All this seemed to surpass the realm of the ordinary—though the power lacked any aggression, allowing it to persist in this world.

But this chef’s heart aura was not something just anyone could use—perhaps only the Nakiri family, as the creators of this place, could enjoy such a blessing. In fact, even Erina Nakiri’s miraculous God Tongue might be a gift from the accumulated chef’s hearts and that ineffable power.

“This world is truly extraordinary—perhaps there are even supernatural or heroic parallel worlds out there!” Feng Xue concluded inwardly, only to suddenly recall the legendary world of Cooking Master Boy, and a thought came to him—

“I wonder what kind of terrifying chef’s heart would accumulate in Guangzhou’s Arena of Taste!”

Indeed, Feng Xue was reminded of the exclusive battleground for special chef assessments in Cooking Master Boy—the Arena of Taste. Totsuki Academy had stood for only about ninety years, and the Moonlit Arena had been built just fifty or sixty years ago. In such a short time, so much chef’s heart had amassed. How much more intense would the accumulation be in the Arena of Taste, said to have been used for thousands of years in the original story?

Perhaps just by stepping onto its floor, even someone without a chef’s heart could temporarily wield its power. If one were on the cusp of awakening, simply preparing a single dish there might see them break through in an instant.

Senzaemon’s speech concluded, and Feng Xue returned his focus to the aura in the hall. Unfortunately, the flash of inspiration from earlier had faded, no matter how he tried to recapture it.

Resigned, he followed the crowd to prepare his ingredients.

The preliminaries were tomorrow. In a competition like this, using ingredients not in their prime was tantamount to forfeiting. Contestants were given a month precisely so they could prepare ingredients that required long maturation.

As he left the Moonlit Arena, Feng Xue glanced back at the photos of the Elite Ten lining the wall.

“In the end, I’ll have my own battle here. When the time comes, perhaps you’ll all reveal your true selves to serve me.”