The chefs worked in tense silence, their knives tracing divergent paths—bellies, heads, tails—guided by the Poison Sac and Venom Gland's elusive placements. Handling Puffer Whales was akin to defusing bombs; one slip meant lethal contamination.
Six failed within minutes, toxins purpling their specimens. The rest exposed Poison Sacs, delicately extracting Venom Glands with calibrated force. A single tremor doomed another, leaving seven successes.
The victorious Puffer Whales gleamed gold—all but Chef Sumire's, which retained its natural hue.
"Why don't Chef Sumire's Puffer Whales have any colour changes?" Hisako whispered.
"Speed," Zed explained. "Like mimosa leaves recoiling from touch, Puffer Whale flesh reacts to Poison Sac removal. But if you're faster than its Gourmet Cells can respond…" He gestured to Chef Sumire's unaltered catch. "No reaction, same flavour. Just aesthetics."
"Ozone Grass requires dual consumption not out of sentience, but reactive Gourmet Cells," Zed explained. "Top-tier figures like Blue Nitro, Master Jiro, or President Ichiryuu eat it solo—their speed outpaces the plant's response."
Erina and Hisako marveled. "How fast is Chef Sumire?"
"Food Honour-level speed. Beyond your current grasp," Zed replied bluntly. Their foundations, rooted in Shokugeki's gentler culinary norms, needed reforging for Toriko's Gourmet Era.
"Failures: recalibrate. Successes: step back," Chef Sumire ordered. Losses meant nothing; growth did.
The students obeyed—no despair, only resolve. One faltered twice before triumphing. The rest, seasoned by Nakaume Gourmet School's rigour, excelled.
Chef Sumire herself dispatched the remaining Puffer Whales with lethal precision. Ranked 10th at the Food Festival—a brutal gauntlet testing combat stamina as much as cooking—she wielded hidden ferocity beneath her stoic demeanour.
She served Zed, Erina, and Hisako golden-glazed Puffer Whale sashimi, broth simmering from its bones. Tatsu received a heap of toxin-free meat, devouring it with draconic gusto.
"No Fish Fin Wine for me," Zed declined, earning a raised brow from Chef Sumire. Non-drinkers were rare in their indulgence-driven world.
Erina chewed laboriously—the meat's density rivalled rubber—but its oceanic umami glued her jaws. Zed, unfazed, tore through his portion.
Mid-meal, his muscles ballooned—not from Gourmet Cell activation, but caloric overload.