"Sekimori!" one of the Polar Star first years called out, barging into his hotel room. "Hey, Sekimori! We're going to be late, what one earth are you still--"
His voice died out halfway.
Sekimori was crouched over his knife case, its contents scattered about and-- shattered. There was broken glass spilled over the ground, and the boy was clutching his hand in silence.
"Someone sabotaged my knife case," he said, his voice strangely calm. "Probably when I left it out after morning service. My mistake."
His arm was covered in blood, the hand held out strangely still.
"I-" the senior backed away, his face pale as a sheet.
There was blood all over the hotel's carpet flooring, and Sekimori's hand was doing much to staunch the blood from whatever injury he was trying to hide.
"Shit. Don't move, I'm getting a medic!"
Sekimori appreciated it, but they're both late for the lunch service, so he can't help but feel guilty about it.
He grabbed his tea towel, knowing it's the most absorbent fabric he has nearby, and kept putting pressure on the wound.
(There was nothing he could do now.)
-
"What do you mean, Sekimori-senpai got expelled?!"
Eda was honestly heartbroken.
The high school first years finally came back after their week at training camp, and their atmosphere was very akin to a line of soldiers marching back from war.
They're exhausted, upset, and only able to force a smile because of the enthusiasm of their juniors and seniors in greeting them home. They were down to three people, so when it registers, the air becomes dreadful really quickly.
Let's just say the dorm was absolutely miserable.
"Yeah, he got injured. He didn't tell us what happened, but it's gotta be those punks from the Japanese Cuisine Research Society!"
From what the seniors were saying, Sekimori's hand was badly cut up-- shreds of broken glass and stray metal got into the wound. It wouldn't leave lasting effects-- scars at most, but he was forced to stay off that hand for a good few weeks.
Eda fidgeted at that, kneading the burn scar on his hand. He knew very well what hand injuries did to chefs-- especially knife experts like Sekimori.
Which also meant that the senior's chances to get through camp went right down the gutter.
"You mean they're getting back at him for winning last time?" Shinomiya snapped, "those petty bastards!"
"This is war, dammit!" The seniors were equally frustrated.
Sabotage obviously isn't allowed, but in a dog-eat-dog environment like Tootsuki, there were two rules-- all is fair if you don't get caught, and all is fair in the name of the Shokugeki.
"They made it back, didn't they? After all that shit they pulled-- let's go and teach them a lesson!" someone else suggested, "we can bet Sekimori's return on this one since we've got Shiomi-senpai on our side."
"Don't, you idiot. We'll get expelled for misconduct."
"Plus, hiding behind Shiomi-senpai's skills is a shitty thing to do, too."
"Well, they started it!"
"Yes, but we didn't have proof."
"There's a reason Sekimori left without blaming anyone-- they seriously would've expelled all of us back there if we really punched the guy's face in, alright?" someone chided, "even if we were damn well justified."
"And if it turned into a Shokugeki there, we would've lost big time with Sekimori's hand like that. All odds were against us."
"To think they'd go as far as to sabotage another chef's knife case of all things, though..."
Eda's eyes met Shinomiya's. Seeing their seniors huddled around the table, upset and tearful-- it just rubbed them the wrong way for a lot of reasons.
Even Shiomi couldn't keep her spirits up. She was used to seeing students leave in the grueling school year-- but injustice like this was hard to swallow.
(But Sekimori's presence in the dorm was too important to miss out now.)
The problem with another Shokugeki at this point lay in the fact that only Sekimori himself could stand a chance against the Japanese Cuisine Research Society, and Sekimori, as an expelled student, no longer had the right to issue one.
And sending Shiomi out to deal with them would just work on the flip side for the first years-- because seriously, are they sending out big sis to deal with the scary bullies? That's pathetic.
Eda sighed deeply-- and Shinomiya turned around, stepping toward the door. Knowing exactly what he meant to do, Eda followed him a second later, but they're both stopped by a very sharp-eyed senior.
"Eda-chan and Miya-chan, you two sit down and don't go anywhere."
"Hey! No running out, kids! Stay put."
Yikes. One plan is no longer viable.
"Sekimori doesn't want any of us getting involved," the senior said, his eyes stern as he says this. It's evident he doesn't like to accept this himself, but he has to. "So we just have to accept it. People get expelled all the time in this school-- so we just have to suck it up."
And that just stung right where it hurt.
Sekimori was the best chef in their year-- but he got expelled due to unfortunate circumstances. That's just how it is.
"And you're fine with that?!" Shinomiya yelled, slamming a hand on the table. "It's not fair!"
"Nothing's fair in the real world, Shinomiya," the senior cut him off sharply, "if you fuck up, you're out of the kitchen. And if you get fucked by your own luck, you gotta leave, even if it's highly unfortunate. That's just how it is."
Eda didn't say anything to that-- simply because it's true.
Tootsuki was just a rather exaggerated depiction of the cruelty of a real kitchen. Make too many mistakes and you need to get out. But if you get injured, there's no begging out of it, you still have to go for your own sake.
(Just like her, who had to leave after losing her sight. It was her own bad luck that caused her to lose everything. There's no one she can blame for it, life just sucked.)
It's not purposefully cruel-- it was just the fact in the situation.
And this time, Sekimori had to face that reality on his own, as a chef in his own right.
"We're not doing anything," the seniors decided, because that's genuinely the best for everyone. "It's unfortunate that we've lost Sekimori-- but this was the end of the line for him and that's it."
Eda looked to the side.
Shinomiya was biting on his bottom lip, looking away with nothing but frustration in his expressions. It was a clear sign that he just couldn't accept this injustice.
And maybe, just maybe-- that wasn't a bad thing.
Eda wondered briefly, if he was once like that too.
Being able to feel so honestly frustrated about losing a friend in the culinary field instead of simply, quietly being resigned and accepting of everything.
His head wanted him to cry, wanted to go and cry and bring his undeniably favourite senior back to their dorm where he belongs.
But his heart, the one attuned to the cruel environment of his past life-- is already accepting all this with a handful of salt. Maybe because he doesn't quite remember how that tastes anymore- but he's surprisingly calm about it.
In a competitive kitchen, people leave every day, no matter how much friendship is brewing between the chefs. That's just how it is.
A part of Eda subconsciously understood that, even if something burned in the back of his mind, reminding him how much he wanted his honest feelings to take over.
Maybe his sense of taste wasn't the only thing the head injury took from him that day.
Along with his memories came the steel-hearted mindset of a real chef, and with it came the loss of some of the innocence he used to have.
And that thought unsettled him.