"Shinomiya, could you taste this for me?"

"It's too salty! Do it again!"

"No! You're supposed to add milk if it's too salty!" he slammed a carton of milk on the counter.

"How the fuck is that supposed to--" he stopped, tasted it again, and made a defeated noise before throwing his hands into the air, "yeah, this works!"

The second day of teamwork went much better. Formality be damned, Fumi yelled out every single question or qualm he had, and had Shinomiya answer everything.

After all, being bold and rude went two ways.

"Eda! The pot is burning!"

"You're frying those things for five seconds too long, focus on your own end!"

"The pot is fucking burning!"

"I heard you the first time!"

The teacher was justifiably irritated. Yes, he encouraged individual and team learning, because some here were amateurs and some had experience from home-- but this was just ridiculous.

Those two have been yelling at each other from across the table for the past hour. Are they incapable of speaking without yelling?

"I said to add sugar! Why did you add honey!"

"It tastes better with honey."

"Says who?! Stop changing the recipe, Eda!"

"You'll never get good food if you're too cowardly to experiment, Shinomiya."

"And you're always going to fail if you keep putting weird stuff in the stew!"

"I dare you to eat my food and say it's disgusting, pinky!"

"If you make me get another failing grade for no reason you're going to get it, you brainless dunce!!"

They growled fiercely at each other for a long moment, For a second sparks flews, fires raged, and a war was upon them. Then the timer on the counter burst into rings, and a hand shot out to shut the alarm.

Immediately, and without another word, they split off into separate parts of the cooking area, and resumed cooking their separate parts of the dish.

"Pinkymiya, stir-fry will be ready in fifteen seconds."

"Dunceda, the cheese will take another twenty. Look after the meat or something."

The teacher let out a long-suffering groan.

They got an A in the end, which is so appallingly ridiculous that the teacher can't help but pinch the bridge of his nose in defeat.

-

"Garlic!"

"No! Ginger!"

The two stare at each other like a scene right out of the climax of an epic battle scene. In unison, they whipped out their knives-- turned around, and rapidly began cutting.

"I finished first!"

"No, I did!"

"You didn't clean up!"

"Garlic is harder to clean up! Your peeling was wasteful!"

The two bickered at each other loudly, shoving peeled food in each other's faces as they essentially argued out amazing dishes after another. The class was scared of it at first, but by the end of the day they just gave up.

The scariest thing was that those two had already set themselves at the top of the class now, by a rather long shot. They've got two teachers giving them flawless remarks and the rest gave them nothing short of As.

"What the heck?" someone in the table next to them asked.

"They're fighting over their secret ingredient," his partner told him, having been in the same class as those two in the classes prior, "don't get too close to them. Stupidity's contagious."

-

"Why're you walking in the same direction as me?"

"I'm not. You are."

Shinomiya and Fumi-- Eda, as he should be calling himself from now on-- walked up the hill to the Polar Star dorms. Shinomiya lugged with him a cart of a suitcase, whilst Fumi's-- Eda's-- were already at the dorm's shed, where Daimidou-san had agreed to keep them safe during school hours.

They walked in awkward silence.

"What the heck is up with you anyways," Shinomiya growled, "yesterday you were all meek. Now you're a freaken' tiger allo'va sudden."

Eda Kiyofumi rolled his eyes.

"I showed you, didn't I?" he said, "I'm serious about being a chef. That's what you wanted to see in this school, right?"

And Shinomiya snorted. "Yeah," there was a ghost of a smile on his lips, "compared to yesterday's total fuckup, you were useful today."

Eda shoved the boy in the face, "who're you calling a total fuckup, you absolute country bumpkin?!" he growled, "get your superiority complex out of here. You're gonna get your ass handed to you the minute we reach the dorms!"

"Like you aren't?" Shinomiya retorted, "you bipolar dunce!"

"Pinky!"

"Airhead!"

"Bumpkin!"

"Clumsy!"

"Rooster-hair!"

"You take that back!"

"No!"

-

"Eda-kun," Sekimori narrowed his eyes, observing the two before him with a frown, "and Shinomiya-kun, right? You're awfully late."

In unison, the two point accusingly at each other, "THIS guy--!!" They paused, and snapped to each other in muted horror at the synchronous moment.

It's already dark out. The two were covered in mud and riddled with tree branches from their apparent race across the forest in order to one-up the other.

Sekimori sighed.

"Well, I'm glad you don't look as nervous as you did yesterday, Eda-kun," he mused with a smile, and Fumi flushed at that. "You've made a friend."

"He is nOT--" he started at the same time Shinomiya snapped, "we are NOT--"

The two proceeded to growl at each other again.

"Now, now, you two," Sekimori waved his hand between them, "we just made dinner, so you guys can join us if you're hungry."

Beyond the door was a ruckus, and one could tell that there was a crowd in there, having a rather loud dinnertime.

"Eh--" Eda held his hands up frantically, "it's fine, I wouldn't want to impose-- I mean," he stuttered, "I'm not a part of the dorms just yet and-- the seniors out back in the forest might--"

"And there it is again," Sekimori pointed out, highly amused, "the rambling."

"Bipolar," Shinomiya hissed.

Eda flushed bright red, "I'm not!"

Shinomiya and Sekimori laughed at that. Eda was ready to antagonize the pink-haired bastard another time, but right then, the Dorm Mother walked to the entrance and hummed at the sight of the two newcomers.

"Great timing, you two!" Daimidou Fumio grinned, "I made enough for the dorm kids, but not enough for myself. You two, fix me a dish and a dessert, would you?"

"Wait, Fumio-san, they're probably hungry too, so--"

"Aye, ma'am!"

Before Sekimori could get another word in, Eda and Shinomiya marched right in the dorms, their primary cooking utensils in hand. They followed the Dorm Mother into the kitchen, and caught the attention of a few eyes from the dining hall.

Sekimori groaned, palm on his face.

They set themselves on opposing sides of the kitchen counter.

"This isn't a team assignment," Eda reminded him.

"Of course not. Heck if I'll let you drag me down on the dorm test of all things," Shinomiya returned sharply, holding out his knife and inspecting its sharpness, "which one do you want? Since I'm nice, I'll let you choose first."

"You sure you're not the one that's going to drag me down?" Eda growled at him, "I'm taking the dessert. Sweets turn out bad when the person making it has a shitty personality."

"Shut it, Bipolar."

"Piss off, Pinky."

Flawlessly, they set off to work. Without even a break in their steps, barely knowing what ingredients were even available, they began cooking.

There was a whistle of awe in the audience, and Fumio noticed that there was a crowd in the doorway. Those that had finished eating had gathered for the show, including some of the seniors from the High School division.

"The pink-haired kid," a girl mumbled, "beef, onions, milk, flour, cheese, and-- brandy? He's using a lot of dairy... is he making a stew?"

"Soupe à l'oignon," a boy understood quickly, "he's making onion gratin. They're usually made slowly over hours in a slow cooker-- is there a time limit, Fumio-san?"

"It's my dinner, I'm sure they're sensible enough to make it quick," the Dorm Mother waved them off, "if they rush it and it tastes bad, they'll just fail, after all."

"What about the other kid?" someone mentioned, "oh, that's the one that was here yesterday, wasn't he?"

"Oh! He's the guy that's probably Saiba-senpai's protege?"

"Really?"

"Did someone say Saiba-senpai?"

"Seriously? That's guy's Saiba-senpai's--"

In one smooth movement, Eda lifted his knife-- and slammed it down on the chopping board, straight through the apple he was slicing, and leaving a scar on the wood.

All movement in the kitchen ceased.

Eda Kiyofumi breathed in, breathed out-- he wrung out his hands, massaging stiff points in his wrist before cracking an air pocket in his wrist.

Then he sighed, and turned to the audience.

"All of you are distracting." He said, voice flat, expressions stern.

Their lips sealed shut almost instantly, a few taking appalled steps back. A senior at the back dragged two people away with him, out of concern for their well-being.

"He's right," Sekimori spoke up, setting his arms on his juniors, "Eda-kun is a nervous one, so let's all keep it down and stay away, or the next thing we know we'll be picking up fingers from the kitchen."

At that, they all paled.

Sekimori probably meant that Eda would start accidentally chopping his own fingers instead of the apple, as clumsy as he was, but the audience didn't know that. Some of them scurried off and others shrank into the corner.

"Bipolar," Shinomiya hissed.

"I have anxiety, okay?!" he snapped back.