Night.
Soma Yukihira was on the verge of collapse.
Chewing listlessly on a piece of dried squid, he staggered down the road, his stomach howling in protest. Who would've thought the Totsuki Academy campus was so absurdly huge? After hours of wandering through the labyrinthine paths from the assessment center, he finally stumbled upon a rather rundown building.
"So tired…"
He let out a weak groan, gazing up at the old structure.
"Is this really the Polar Star Dormitory?"
He didn't have time to question it. A sudden chilly breeze sent a shiver up his spine. He darted toward the entrance and rang the doorbell.
A voice called out from within.
"Who's there? Is it Megumi from Room 302?"
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman peeking out cautiously. Her narrowed eyes scanned Soma from head to toe.
"…You're not Megumi."
"Nope. Name's Yukihira Soma." He scratched the back of his head. "I'm the transfer student. Is this the Polar Star Dorm?"
The woman blinked, then slapped her forehead.
"Ah, right! My memory's slipping again. You're the one who applied to stay here."
She opened the door wider with a welcoming grin.
"Name's Fumio Daimidō, dormitory supervisor. You can call me Grandma Fumio—or the Polaris Warden, if that suits your fancy."
Soma's lips twitched.
"Polaris Warden…? I have a bad feeling about this place…"
Before he could say more, Fumio's eyes sharpened.
"Got your ingredients?"
"Huh? Ingredients for what?"
Fumio folded her arms. "The housing trial, of course. Every student must earn their place here with their cooking skills."
Soma blinked. "You're kidding."
"Nope! If you can't impress me, you're spending the night outside."
"…Interesting," Soma said after a beat, a grin forming on his face. "Mind if I borrow your kitchen?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"I didn't know about the trial, but since it's required, I'll cook something that knocks your socks off."
Fumio raised a brow, a little surprised by his confidence.
Meanwhile…
Back in Zane's kitchen, the final steps of a culinary masterpiece were unfolding.
He stood over the large paella pan, surrounded by the scent of saffron and the sea. The broth had simmered down. Now, with precise timing, he layered in the seafood:
First, the clams and scallops, tucked gently into the rice so their juices would seep in.
Then the squid, placed near the bottom to cook through.
Finally, the shrimp and prawns rested on top, where they'd steam to tender perfection.
He covered the pan, letting it simmer for exactly six minutes.
Too long, and the seafood would toughen.
Too short, and the flavors wouldn't meld.
As it finished cooking, he chopped fresh parsley and sliced two wedges of lemon.
He removed the lid.
A golden hue shimmered from the rice—infused with saffron, surrounded by neatly arranged seafood that glistened under the warm lights. Steam rose with a rich, savory fragrance that clung to the air.
The rice had formed a crisp, golden crust at the bottom—the prized socarrat.
Taki stared at the dish in stunned silence.
"Is this… still seafood rice?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
Just the appearance alone was enough to make one doubt everything they thought they knew about paella. It was art on a plate—a harmonious blend of textures and flavors that felt elevated beyond tradition.
Zane placed two glasses of wine on the table.
"I recommend this: a regional specialty called Valencia Water. It's a sweet mix of orange juice, Kahlúa, and sugar—perfect with seafood."
Taki, unable to take her eyes off the rice, finally took a spoonful.
The seafood was fresh and vibrant, but the true revelation… was the rice.
Each grain was firm yet tender, saturated with flavor. The layered richness built slowly on her palate, just like waves crashing on a shoreline—gentle at first, then powerfully satisfying.
Most people think the star of seafood rice is the seafood.
But here, the rice was the main act.
It carried the sea's flavor, the aroma of saffron, and the slight char of the pan's crust. Each bite felt deliberate, crafted.
Taki paused mid-chew.
Her eyes widened.
"This… this rice…"
Let me know if you'd like a next chapter title suggestion, or if you want to dive deeper into Soma's housing trial next!
Here's a polished version of Chapter: A Dish That Could Change Western Cuisine, refined for flow, tone, and character consistency while highlighting the artistry of Soma's arrival and Zane's seafood rice:
Chapter: A Dish That Could Change Western Cuisine
Night.
Soma Yukihira was on the verge of collapse.
Chewing listlessly on a piece of dried squid, he staggered down the road, his stomach howling in protest. Who would've thought the Totsuki Academy campus was so absurdly huge? After hours of wandering through the labyrinthine paths from the assessment center, he finally stumbled upon a rather rundown building.
"So tired…"
He let out a weak groan, gazing up at the old structure.
"Is this really the Polar Star Dormitory?"
He didn't have time to question it. A sudden chilly breeze sent a shiver up his spine. He darted toward the entrance and rang the doorbell.
A voice called out from within.
"Who's there? Is it Megumi from Room 302?"
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman peeking out cautiously. Her narrowed eyes scanned Soma from head to toe.
"…You're not Megumi."
"Nope. Name's Yukihira Soma." He scratched the back of his head. "I'm the transfer student. Is this the Polar Star Dorm?"
The woman blinked, then slapped her forehead.
"Ah, right! My memory's slipping again. You're the one who applied to stay here."
She opened the door wider with a welcoming grin.
"Name's Fumio Daimidō, dormitory supervisor. You can call me Grandma Fumio—or the Polaris Warden, if that suits your fancy."
Soma's lips twitched.
"Polaris Warden…? I have a bad feeling about this place…"
Before he could say more, Fumio's eyes sharpened.
"Got your ingredients?"
"Huh? Ingredients for what?"
Fumio folded her arms. "The housing trial, of course. Every student must earn their place here with their cooking skills."
Soma blinked. "You're kidding."
"Nope! If you can't impress me, you're spending the night outside."
"…Interesting," Soma said after a beat, a grin forming on his face. "Mind if I borrow your kitchen?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"I didn't know about the trial, but since it's required, I'll cook something that knocks your socks off."
Fumio raised a brow, a little surprised by his confidence.
Meanwhile…
Back in Zane's kitchen, the final steps of a culinary masterpiece were unfolding.
He stood over the large paella pan, surrounded by the scent of saffron and the sea. The broth had simmered down. Now, with precise timing, he layered in the seafood:
First, the clams and scallops, tucked gently into the rice so their juices would seep in.
Then the squid, placed near the bottom to cook through.
Finally, the shrimp and prawns rested on top, where they'd steam to tender perfection.
He covered the pan, letting it simmer for exactly six minutes.
Too long, and the seafood would toughen.
Too short, and the flavors wouldn't meld.
As it finished cooking, he chopped fresh parsley and sliced two wedges of lemon.
He removed the lid.
A golden hue shimmered from the rice—infused with saffron, surrounded by neatly arranged seafood that glistened under the warm lights. Steam rose with a rich, savory fragrance that clung to the air.
The rice had formed a crisp, golden crust at the bottom—the prized socarrat.
Taki stared at the dish in stunned silence.
"Is this… still seafood rice?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
Just the appearance alone was enough to make one doubt everything they thought they knew about paella. It was art on a plate—a harmonious blend of textures and flavors that felt elevated beyond tradition.
Zane placed two glasses of wine on the table.
"I recommend this: a regional specialty called Valencia Water. It's a sweet mix of orange juice, Kahlúa, and sugar—perfect with seafood."
Taki, unable to take her eyes off the rice, finally took a spoonful.
The seafood was fresh and vibrant, but the true revelation… was the rice.
Each grain was firm yet tender, saturated with flavor. The layered richness built slowly on her palate, just like waves crashing on a shoreline—gentle at first, then powerfully satisfying.
Most people think the star of seafood rice is the seafood.
But here, the rice was the main act.
It carried the sea's flavor, the aroma of saffron, and the slight char of the pan's crust. Each bite felt deliberate, crafted.
Taki paused mid-chew.
Her eyes widened.
"This… this rice…"