The rest of the day blurred together—homeroom, hallway boredom, vague suffering.

  But everything snapped back into focus at lunch.

  Zach stood in line with a look that could kill a soul. When his tray was finally filled, he stared down at the sad pile of whatever-that-was slapped onto his plate like a personal insult.

  Since Class D was always last in line, what they got wasn’t just leftovers—it was the scraps of the scraps.

  Grayish mystery meat. A half-wilted vegetable. Maybe a bean. Maybe a pebble.

  He trudged to the table where the rest of Class D was already seated, equally disgusted.

  Mika jabbed her fork into the meat with a squelch. “Wanna take a guess on what this used to be?”

  “Five credits it’s rat,” Sato muttered without looking up.

  “Ten it’s raccoon,” Elle added, calmly chewing her suspicious protein with the grace of someone who had accepted despair.

  “Fifteen says it’s a horrifying fusion of both,” Derrin finished, staring at his tray like it owed him an apology.

  Zach didn’t sit.

  He just stood there, staring at his tray like it had insulted his entire bloodline.

  Then he snapped.

  “I can’t take it anymore!”

  Everyone looked up.

  “Sato—build me a grill.”

  And with that, Zach turned and stormed out of the cafeteria, the lunch tray still in hand, and a look in his eye that said he would burn the food system to the ground himself if he had to.

  “Uh… okay?” Sato blinked, mildly confused but already pulling up schematics in his brain.

  A few hours later, the grill was done.

  And not just done. It was a decent grill. Functional, clean lines, even a collapsible leg system and built-in vent.

  Sato wiped his hands, proud of his work.

  Then Zach came back.

  With meat.

  Lots of meat.

  Over his shoulder, under his arms, bundled in bags.

  Class D stared, mouths half open, watching the miracle unfold.

  “…Where the hell did you get all this?” Mika asked, eyes wide as she ran over to help carry a few packs.

  Zach didn’t even flinch. “Killed it myself.”

  He walked past them, calm as ever, like a protagonist in a campfire anime scene, and started prepping the grill.

  No one moved for a full five seconds.

  The grill hissed to life.

  Sato stepped back to admire his handiwork, while the others gathered around, still stunned that Zach had somehow returned not just with meat, but with the swagger of a hunter-chef straight out of a fantasy anime.

  Then Zach did something that made all of them lean in closer.

  Without saying a word, he reached into the inside of his haori—right sleeve first—and pulled out a small wooden box.

  Then another.

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  Then a tiny cloth pouch tied with cord.

  And another box.

  And another.

  “…Are those spices?” Elle asked, watching him pile them like he was about to perform alchemy.

  “Where the hell were you keeping all of that?” Sato added.

  “I live in a forest,” Zach said simply. “I know what tastes good.”

  He opened the boxes with care. Inside each were wild, earthy blends—ground herbs and colorful flakes, powdered roots, crushed berries. Some looked like pepper, others like powdered fire. One of the pouches let out an aroma so rich it made Mika physically drool.

  “What is that?” she asked, nose twitching like a cartoon character floating toward a pie on a windowsill.

  “Ground star root,” Zach said, as he gently rubbed it over a slab of meat. “Grows deep in the wet soil. Smells spicy. Tastes like smoke and citrus.”

  Then came the next: a dark red powder he flicked across the ribs like a blessing.

  “Bear pepper. Looks mean. Hits soft. Bloom flavor.”

  He worked fast but with surprising precision, coating each cut like he’d done it a hundred times. No measuring. No hesitation.

  Mika, Elle, and Sato were all just staring now.

  Even Derrin put down his ant book and walked over.

  When Zach finally dropped the first slab onto the grill, the sizzle echoed like a spell being cast. Smoke curled up into the air—rich, spiced, woodsy—and wrapped around the group like a warm blanket.

  Then came the smell.

  It hit them all at once.

  Eyes widened.

  Mouths dropped.

  “Oh my god,” Mika whispered, grabbing Sato’s arm. “Do you smell that?!”

  “I think I’m hallucinating,” Sato muttered, completely frozen. “This… this is illegal, right? This has to be illegal.”

  Even Elle, ever composed, had to stop and stare.

  “That doesn’t smell like forest meat,” she said, almost reverently. “That smells like a five-star restaurant inside a tree.”

  Derrin didn’t say anything.

  He just stepped closer.

  The meat crackled and popped on the grill, golden edges crisping, juices glistening, smoke rising in gentle spirals. Zach moved with the quiet confidence of someone who didn’t need to speak to be heard.

  “I didn’t ask to be born in a forest,” he said casually. “But I’ll be damned if it didn’t come with perks.”

  He flipped the first piece.

  It was perfect

  The scent traveled fast.

  Too fast.

  What began as a peaceful Class D barbecue quickly spiraled into a school-wide phenomenon.

  One minute, Zach was flipping meat. The next, students from other classes were peeking around corners, following the smoke like moths to flame. Class B. Then Class C. Even a few brave Class A students lingered at the edge of the courtyard, sniffing the air like they’d just caught a whiff of paradise.

  Soon, there was a line.

  An actual line.

  A few students tried to play it cool, pretending to hang around casually, but the moment Zach opened the grill again and that second wave of smoke hit the breeze?

  All subtlety died.

  “Hey, uh… how much for a cut?” asked a Class B student, half-hunched like he was trying not to drool on his uniform.

  “Five credits,” Zach said without missing a beat, flipping another perfectly seared steak.

  “Do you take cards?”

  “I take food respect,” Zach replied.

  The line laughed.

  More people joined.

  Class D stood off to the side, stunned by how fast it escalated.

  “I feel like this is a black market stall now,” Mika muttered, eyes wide.

  “I approve,” Sato said, jotting notes down. “Entrepreneurial spirit.”

  But then—

  The courtyard shifted.

  Boots hit pavement.

  The line parted like it knew better.

  And in walked Kira Nekhebi—Rank One.

  Long blonde hair with pink-dyed tips.

  Combat boots laced high. Sunglasses still on.

  A giant cleaver strapped across her back.

  And the aura of someone who didn’t wait in lines.

  She strutted past the entire crowd, ignoring their stares, and stopped right in front of Zach’s grill with her hands on her hips.

  “I’ll take eight,” she said.

  Zach, still turning a steak, didn’t look up.

  “Eight what?”

  She pulled off her shades. “Steaks. Obviously.”

  Zach paused.

  Glanced up at her slowly, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed.

  “You got the credits?”

  Kira blinked.

  “…You want me to pay?”

  “You’re not Class D, are you?” Zach said, flipping a slice of venison like this was the most natural conversation in the world. “So yeah. You pay like everyone else.”

  The crowd tensed.

  Mika and Elle both froze.

  Sato slowly turned off his drone.

  Kira’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’re cute. I’ll give you one chance to say you’re joking.”

  Zach wiped his hands on a towel and met her gaze fully.

  “No joke. No credits? No steak.”

  The stare that followed could’ve melted steel.

  Kira’s hand twitched—hovering near the hilt of her cleaver.

  Zach didn’t move.

  But his hand dropped to his side.

  And in a shimmer of light, the handle of his real sword started to form—black steel lining his fingertips.

  The courtyard held its breath.

  Then—

  “Enough.”

  A calm voice cut through the air.

  Everyone turned.

  Lucien stepped into the circle, hands in his pockets, composed as ever.

  His school uniform was pristine. Not a single wrinkle. His steps quiet. Controlled.

  He glanced at Kira, then at Zach, then at the grill.

  “How much for nine?”

  Zach blinked. “Forty-five credits.”

  Lucien pulled out a card, tapped it against the reader Sato had whipped together earlier, and let the payment ding.

  “Done.”

  Kira blinked. “You’re paying for me?”

  “I’m paying for peace,” Lucien said simply, stepping forward to grab two plates. “You’ll thank me when you’re full.”

  Kira clicked her tongue, but didn’t argue.

  Zach gave a tiny smirk as he returned to the grill. “Your steak’s coming up.”

  The tension evaporated with the next wave of scent.

  And the feast continued

  Kira stalked off with her plate stacked high, cleaver bouncing lightly against her back with every step. She dropped down onto a nearby bench like she owned the stone it was carved from, then gave a single snap of her fingers.

  That’s all it took.

  Four serpentine dragons uncoiled from her shoulders and back, slithering out of her coat like smoke given shape. Long, scaled bodies. No legs. Sharp fangs. They coiled around the bench and each took a steak in their jaws with eerie synchronicity.

  And then they ate.

  No elegance. No manners. Just teeth, fire breath, and meat torn in strips.

  Kira, meanwhile, bit into her first steak like it was a challenge and devoured it like a statement. She didn’t talk. Didn’t blink. Just chewed, swallowed, and kept eating with laser focus.

  Mika watched from a distance, absolutely horrified.

  “She’s not eating. She’s asserting dominance.”

  “Same difference,” Sato said, halfway building a fold-out table for the spice rack Zach apparently carried in his coat like a walking food truck.

  Zach was still working. Still flipping cuts, adding wild herbs, brushing glaze with the back of a wooden spoon.

  Lucien broke the silence between them with a soft comment.

  “You cook like a professional.”

  Zach didn’t look up. “You eat like a critic.”

  Lucien gave a faint smile. “Only when it’s worth it.”

  Another steak hit the grill with a satisfying sizzle. Zach sprinkled crushed star root across the edges, letting the smoke curl into the evening air.

  Lucien watched for a moment.

  “…Where’d you learn?”

  Zach paused for a second. Just a second. Then resumed brushing.

  “Forest,” he said simply. “When you live alone and hunt your own food, taste becomes a luxury. Survival gets boring if you never learn how to season it.”

  Lucien nodded slowly, like that answer filled in a blank spot on a mental map he’d been building.

  “No parents?”

  “No home, really.” Zach flipped the meat again. “Just a treehouse, a blade, and time.”

  Lucien considered that.

  Then said, “Still. This is more than survival. This is… intentional.”

  Zach finally looked up, eyes slightly tired, but not defensive.

  “Yeah, well. Cooking’s one of the few things that makes me feel human.”

  Lucien shook his head. “No. I think that’s the most honest reason I’ve heard all week.”

  The two of them stood there in silence, the fire crackling between them, the line behind them finally down to no one.

  No more noise.

  Just the hiss of the grill, the pop of fat, and the distant sound of Kira’s dragons tearing into another steak like it owed them money.

  Zach turned the final cut of the day.

  “You want another?”

  Lucien looked at the plate in his hand. Still a few bites left. He gave a quiet nod.

  “Yes. One more.”