As a former prodigy of Totsuki, Azami Nakiri's relationship with the academy has always been… complicated.
The Nakiri family, long committed to an "elite education" system, claims to abide by the rule of "let the capable lead."
But family politics is rarely that simple.
There's another possibility, too: that the Director's own son—Soe Nakiri, heir to the main family—chose to relinquish his position as successor.
Whatever the case, one fact is clear:
The "God Tongue"—a terrifying burden to bear—remains the Nakiri family's greatest asset.
Its curse to the host is undeniable, but for the family, it's a symbol of unmatched culinary supremacy. A divine pedigree.
And so, for various reasons—principally that unique talent—the family's inheritance ultimately passed down through the branch family, via Erina's mother.
In Japan, however, true succession doesn't always rely on blood.
What matters more… is the family name.
In the absence of a direct heir, it's common to see adopted sons, sons-in-law, or even grandsons-in-law brought into the fold—strategically married or formally adopted to carry on the family legacy.
With that in mind, it's easy to imagine that, at one time, the Director had placed his hopes on Azami Nakamura.
By marrying him into the Nakiri bloodline, the plan might have been to groom him as successor—to eventually lead Totsuki Academy.
But as history would show, that hope was dashed.
Azami's twisted, oppressive method of raising Erina—his obsession with control and perfection—eventually drove a wedge between him and the family.
The Director cast him out, and Totsuki Academy erased all traces of his existence.
To outsiders, it was as if Azami had never existed.
Yet ironically, in the original story, Azami still managed to claw his way back and seize the title of Director.
Why?
Part of the blame fell on internal unrest within the student body—and betrayal by members of the Elite Ten at a critical moment.
But at its core, Azami's return was enabled by one key weakness:
The Nakiri family had no heir.
The current Director—an elder statesman of the culinary world—should have long since retired.
But he stayed.
Not for power.
Not for prestige.
But because Erina, despite her potential, still lacked the experience and maturity to take over the academy and the family.
Totsuki needed a leader.
A visionary.
Someone who could truly shoulder the burden of revolutionizing the culinary world.
And now, Zane had appeared.
A glimmer of hope.
If Zane were to become Director—if he were to truly win the hearts of the academy—then Erina would still remain the most natural candidate to inherit the family legacy.
But…
If Zane became not just the Director, but also the Director's grandson-in-law… if he married Erina…
Then he would become part of the Nakiri family itself.
A legitimate heir to its name, its assets, and its legacy.
Thinking of this possibility, Gin couldn't help but feel a bit conflicted.
The entire matter was wrapped in layers of family politics and personal ambition—something he had no business commenting on.
Still…
He couldn't shake the feeling that very soon, both the culinary world and Japan's most prestigious cooking school were about to be changed forever.
Miso Ramen.
One of Japan's most iconic dishes—its warmth, depth, and soul reflective of the country's culinary spirit.
Each time you take a bite, you're not just tasting food.
You're tasting culture. You're tasting tradition.
And when it's done right, you're tasting home.
Tonight, in the cozy warmth of Polar Star Dormitory, a particular bowl of miso ramen was being crafted with heart.
A little minced meat.
Some bean sprouts.
Onions, garlic, red ginger.
Finally, a heap of freshly boiled noodles placed at the bottom of the bowl—topped with the savory blend—and finished with a golden pour of miso broth, just enough to envelop the noodles without drowning them.
Perfect for a quiet, chilly night.
"Alright, Madame Daimido!"
"This is the amazing Miso Ramen I've made—Yukihira-style, version two!"
Soma stood proudly, wiping his hands as he presented his dish.
Despite the limited ingredients remaining in the kitchen, he had managed to improvise a comforting masterpiece.
Madame Daimido, however, raised an eyebrow.
"Miso ramen is miso ramen. What's with the big announcement?"
Still, her curiosity was piqued.
Using such sparse ingredients to make a steaming bowl of ramen on the fly? That alone was impressive.
As she stirred the bowl, the rich aroma teased her senses—salty, savory, and unexpectedly sweet.
One whiff told her this wasn't ordinary miso ramen.
The inclusion of red ginger? A bold, unexpected stroke of genius.
She narrowed her eyes.
This boy might actually pass my test on the first try.
Without another word, she dipped her spoon into the bowl and took a careful sip of the broth.
And in an instant—flavor explosion.
This broth wasn't just miso and water.
No—it was a stock simmered with layers of depth: seaweed, seafood, chicken, pork bones.
All impurities removed. All excess stripped away.
Just rich, golden umami, topped with a whisper of salt.
It was full-bodied. Comforting. Sticky with collagen, yet somehow… not greasy.
Satisfying. Deep. Balanced.
She blinked. Then sniffed again.
"…Black garlic?" she muttered. "There's a touch of it, isn't there?"
Her culinary instincts kicked in.
Black garlic—fermented over time—lacks the harsh bite of raw garlic.
Its fragrance is mild, earthy. A product of the Maillard reaction, black garlic has lower moisture and fat but higher sugar content and nutritional value.
In fact, studies showed its polyphenol levels increased tenfold compared to regular garlic.
"A single seasoning… can completely change the experience," she mused aloud.
"Even an ingredient like black garlic—often considered a bit shady in traditional ramen—can elevate the dish when used right."
"This bowl… this Japanese miso ramen… is truly one of the finest I've had in years."
As she said this, Madame Daimido gazed at Soma with newfound appreciation.
And in that moment, the test wasn't just passed.
It was aced.