Wine.
Delicate and refined.
It gently cut through the richness of the beef, lifting the flavors and sharpening the freshness of the meat. Before she could fully register it, the deep aroma of red wine and beef had already enveloped her.
Perhaps it was the soul of the Pinot Noir, whispering through the dish, that made this flavor uniquely French—romantic, subtle, unforgettable.
"Unexpected," Roland murmured.
He stared at the empty plate, his voice thick with something close to awe.
"Your red wine beef stew… has actually surpassed my own."
He lifted his gaze slowly, eyes locking on Megumi.
Even as a seasoned instructor at Totsuki, Roland found himself struggling to maintain his usual demeanor. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of embarrassment—then he cleared his throat, hiding it behind a veil of formality.
"The tannins in red wine," he began, "slowly break down the fat in beef over time. That's why the texture is so critical in this dish. And yours…"
He narrowed his eyes.
"You made a mistake earlier in the cooking process, didn't you?"
Megumi froze.
"But somehow, the final stew ended up with meat that was softer than anyone else's. And in terms of flavor… it even exceeded the recipe I gave you."
He tapped his finger lightly on the counter.
"Explain it to me. What did you do?"
"I… I added honey to the beef," she said timidly, standing up and bowing slightly.
Roland blinked.
"Honey?"
His eyes lit up as realization dawned.
"Of course. Honey contains glucose and fructose—naturally sweet, gentle sugars that not only enhance flavor but also tenderize meat. And trace proteases… yes, that would help break down the proteins."
He leaned back slightly, visibly impressed.
It wasn't some grand innovation—but it was clever. Thoughtful. The kind of decision a cook makes not by following a recipe, but by understanding food.
He gave a small nod.
But then, his expression shifted.
He picked up Megumi's performance report from the table, intending to glance at it briefly—only to pause.
He stared.
Her previous records showed no A grades. Not one.
In fact, she had barely scraped through to the advanced class… dead last in her group.
Meaning—if she failed today with an E, that would be it.
She'd be expelled from Totsuki.
"Such… poor grades," he muttered to himself.
Frowning, Roland set the report down again and looked up.
"One more question. Aside from honey, what else can you use to tenderize beef?"
"Black tea. Orange peel. Beer. Hawthorn," Megumi answered quickly. "But of all of them, black tea is the most effective."
Her voice had steadied now, filled with genuine confidence.
Roland studied her face, watching her eyes as she spoke.
She wasn't bluffing.
She knew this.
He nodded slowly.
"…I see. You've truly opened my eyes today."
But then, his brow furrowed.
"Still… judging by your past performances, it's hard to believe you could have created such a dish or developed these insights on your own."
He let out a soft sigh.
There was no denying it now.
"This dish… it couldn't have come entirely from you, could it?"
Megumi winced. She looked away, her voice quiet.
"…I guess I couldn't fool you, huh?"
"In truth, the method was taught to me by a pub owner. Chef Zane."
Roland blinked.
"A pub?"
His disbelief was palpable. "Someone running a pub gave you this level of insight into French cuisine?"
"Yes!" Megumi said, her voice lighting up with excitement. "Chef Zane is an incredible chef. There's no dish that seems to stump him! He taught me the details and the philosophy behind this stew."
She went on, recalling each step, each lesson, each moment where Zane explained the why behind the cooking—not just the how.
"I see…"
Roland fell silent for a moment.
Then, quietly, "There's really such a chef in this world…"
He couldn't deny it any longer. Based on this one dish, this Chef Zane clearly had a deeper mastery of French cuisine than he did himself.
And yet…
There was something more.
"You've absorbed not just his technique," Roland said at last, "but his mindset. His gentleness. His passion. That belief that food is meant to bring joy to others."
"I'm sorry, Instructor Roland," Megumi said sincerely, bowing her head. "I didn't mean to deceive you. I just… I wanted to show what I've learned."
"And you did," Roland said simply. "The dish may not have been entirely your own—but the understanding you showed, the way you internalized it… that's a rare thing."
"There's hope for you yet."
He picked up his pen and scribbled something down on her report card.
Megumi stood frozen, trying to brace herself for what was coming next.
"I understand," she said softly, forcing a smile. "Even if I'm expelled today… I'll still keep chasing my dream."
She clutched the report to her chest, her eyes shining with resolve.
"I'll keep cooking. I'll keep going. No matter what."
Roland raised an eyebrow.
"Expelled?" he said, tilting his head. "Who said anything about expulsion?"
Megumi blinked.
"Huh?"
"Take a look at the grade I gave you."
She glanced down.
And there it was—scrawled in bold, unmistakable ink across her performance report:
A.
Her eyes went wide.
"Eh?!"