"The final clash is now upon us! Nothing can beat this exhilarating, high-stakes thrill! I'm sweating bullets as we speak!"

"So damn annoying," Shiori, Kohmi, and Ryoma spat in unison.

"Kotori!" Miko shouted from the bleachers, fluttering the supportive banners she made.

"Koto, Oki, I'm hungwy," Sota called. "Make me cake!"

Mom clicked her tongue, readjusting him on her lap. "Shh, Sota. Cheer them on earnestly."

I waved, laughing in return. My classmates hollered their own encouraging words, as did others in the crowd now cheering for the triumph of our team—this competition's dark horse. After parting words with my club members, alongside encouraging high-fives, I trekked to my designated station.

"Prepare yourself, Okito." I hitched my chin. "I'll wipe the floor with you."

He offered a fond smile in return. "Okay, good luck."

"We're fighting fair and square!"

"I'm aware. I'll give it my all."

I pursed my mouth. He did recognize me as his rival, didn't he? Why the amicable treatment, then? Jerk.

"Phew," Mr. Oto continued. "It's been a long day. One might argue centuries. But finally, finally, this is the end! The winner takes all! May the best challenger win!"

Least to my wishes, my heart pounded like a drill in my chest. My palms were sweaty and my juddering legs resembled the consistency of jelly. I couldn't remember the last time I was this nervous. Obviously, before I approached my station, I requested my partners in crime to tickle me to keep them at bay, but nevertheless, my anxiety ate at me.

It was do-or-die.

I had ample time to consider and reconsider my plan. Yet, upon hearing the theme and witnessing my beloved friends compete, a single dessert seeped to the surface of my mind. It was the only option in my possession, especially since my opponent was none other than Okito.

Due to being too wrapped up in my thoughts, I hardly heard the signalling bell. Okito, being the epitome of calm, carried himself without a hitch. My movements could be simplified as robotic, to say the least. I was stiff enough to evoke a smothered laugh from him. Cheeks flaming, I scooped whatever I could and laid them out before me. I spared a hasty peek at the clock to reassure that I hadn't lost excessive time.

The beady stares, chitchat, Mr. Oto's comments, and all other distractions blended and meshed in my ears. I stabilized my breaths, banishing the images of me failing and ruining everything, from my mind.

"Teruhashi."

"Teru."

"Kotorin."

"Angel."

Their presence supplied me insurmountable courage, their smiles were my shield, and their encouragement, my sword.

After this all was over, we'd eat Koyuki's banana bread and have fun baking together like always. As the idiot who dragged them all into this, that was the sole resolution I could grant them.

In the electric mixer, I beat the egg yolks, sugar, salt, vanilla, honey and water until it shifted to a fluffy, pale yellow colour. Then, I worked on mixing the egg whites until they formed stiff peaks, adequately and not to long so that it wouldn't result in a lumpy cake. I was so invested in my baking the incredulity that had swept the room was second-knowledge to me. 

"This—this is wildly different from utilizing the same ingredient!" Mr. Oto clutched his head, reeling in unparalleled astonishment. "Are they using the exact same recipe? Can they do that? Is that allowed?"

He gandered around for emphasis, soaking in the quizzical, shock-filled countenances of all other individuals in the room.

"I-I've been emceeing this competition for years and have the rules memorized inside and out. While I can say that there is generally nothing wrong with this, it has never, ever happened before. Why is this occurring? Are they telepathic?"

The exact same recipe didn't automatically yield identical results. It was dependent on the skills of the baker.

I glanced at Okito.

The stakes were high enough. Now I had to bake the superior strawberry shortcake of the two?

Although everyone was losing their minds—how we were on the same page, this outcome in general—it was far from surprising to the both of us.

It was three years ago, in middle school. I was desperately craving a strawberry shortcake. However, because I'd blown my month's allowance on copious sweets, and out of concern for my health, Mom forbade me from buying one. I'd complained about it to Okito in passing, about having to wait a whole month for more pocket cash, about my overall sadness. He didn't take my side. I couldn't bear it, having him against me, so I ended up shouting childish insults at him and running off.

We didn't talk for two days. And on the third, he presented me the very cake that'd initiated our conflict.

"Okito, what's this?"

"An apology." He bashfully ruffled his hair. "I stand by what I said—you do need to make healthier choices. But for now, one last time, I'll give in first."

It was nowhere what you'd call perfect. In fact, it was clumsy, and imperfect, in a lot of ways. But, the finished product filled me with unspeakable euphoria anyway.

"I spent the last few days researching a bunch of recipes and watching a great deal of videos, then gathered whatever ingredients I could find at home—"

I slammed the empty plate and fork onto his kitchen table.

"Yummy! Gimme seconds!"

"You're already done?!" Sighing, he slouched his posture. "Jeez, Kotori. Here I was fretting about whether you'd even eat it—if I was getting ahead of myself. Should—should we wait a few minutes to make sure I didn't poison you?"

My stomach lurched.

"Poison?" I cried.

"This is my first time baking something, let alone a dessert like this," he excused. "It might be smart to. I'll grab my phone in case I need to dial an ambulance."

"Okito! Stop scaring me...!"

The reason he started baking. The reason he kept baking. It was for none other than me.

My spending habits couldn't be trusted, and he'd gotten sick of suffering the repercussions of my spontaneous dessert gorges, so he took it upon himself.

He was a workaholic. Never slacked toward his studies in particular. Likewise, whatever he put his mind to, he excelled at. It was why in terms of baking—a hobby he picked up for my sake—he improved at an interstellar rate. Him joining the Cooking Club only furthered his development. Although I splurged on sweets, I relied on him to supply me the majority. It was far from an equivalent exchange, but me and my family loved every second of it, and Okito never complained.

When I decided to channel my own efforts into baking too, I was convinced he'd go along with it. So, when he didn't, and we butted heads following our biggest fight, I hated it.

I yearned for those happy-go-lucky days to continue. But because of the words I yelled at him in the spur of the moment, because I was the one who'd turned him against me, I stupidly clung to that one thing. I baked and baked (and badly burned) strawberry shortcakes. If I was to make him admit a dessert of mine was delicious, and simultaneously end our quarrel, it had to be the same dessert he'd baked that made me spring from the walls in glee.

Of course, after repeated failures, I grew desperate. If I succeeded at it, no matter the dessert, I told myself that would do. Even failed blueberry waffles, his favourite, if it meant he'd delightfully eat it.

Even if he didn't agree with me, even if he made it clear he wouldn't give in to my demands again, he didn't have to outright ignore me or show me on-and-off kindness this past year. He did it because he knew I'd cave first. And sure, I came close to giving in multiple times. He was participating in this competition because I'd inadvertently forced it upon him too.

Everything about his selfless nature, I could some way or form tie it back to me.

It was why I pursued this. Why I was desperate to lift that weight off of him.

"You've improved a lot," was one of the first things a judge mentioned after consuming my shortcake. By pure coincidence, Okito and I had finished at the same time. Due to the incredulity of the occurrence, the judges decided to taste them side by side. We'd plated a slice for all three and offered it to them. "It's obvious you've exerted countless hours into reaching this point."

"We're spared of that pungent lemon taste as well," the other chuckled.

When they tasted Okito's dessert after offering feedback for mine, their accolades were expected. I'd munched on numerous of desserts he'd baked for me. In the time frame I didn't taste them, he'd likely improved beyond my wildest imagination.

The first judge favoured my shortcake.

The second was gung-ho about Okito's mastery.

The deciding vote was left in the hands of Mr. Paul.

"Why, Kotori?" Okito's murmur was quiet enough only I could hear. The anticipation was at full throttle, with Mr. Paul pensively weighing the choices in front of him. He never averted his gaze from ahead, as did I. "I'd have been fine being the one to bake for you."

"I'd have liked that too," I admitted. "But watching you go to such lengths to bake for me when you have your eyes set on some entirely unrelated goal, made me even more sure. If you could go that far for my sake, for what reason could I not go that far myself? For what reason should I—the person who wanted it more than anything—be scared of taking that leap? Well, there were ultimately a lot of reasons that spurred me to pursue this, but I wouldn't have made up my mind if not for you and your one-sided kindness."

"So you're saying as of this moment, I no longer have any reason to continue baking? That if it's dessert-related, I should be relying on you to make them from now on?"

Mr. Paul opened his mouth one final time.

My upturned lips was accompanied by a snort. "Are you an idiot?"

"My vote goes to Team Baking Society," Mr. Paul proclaimed. "The undisputed winner of this competition!"

The applause was ear-shattering. Awe and wonderment swept the stands. The elation should've engulfed me whole as well, but, unbothered but the chaos befalling the room, I beamed up at him.

"When and where did I say that was what I wanted? You should cure your stupidity," I teased.

Okito, for the first time in ages, was dumbstruck.

"True, I do want you to rely on me for something. You've never allowed that since we were little, and frankly put, it's unfair. I'm a handful, and a glutton, and I need others to pay attention to me because I'm dumb and get into a lot of bad situations." My grin stabbed into my cheeks. "But, what I've wanted, far more than that, was you, Okito. This past year has been incredibly lonely without you to confide in. It hurt how easily you brushed me aside when all I wanted was for you to acknowledge me. I hate it the most when you're not on my side. I need you beside me so much it's unbearable. So, now that I've won, that'll be my request."

He couldn't bring himself to look at me, but his reddened skin and ears spoke volumes. "You... really are problematic. You have no clue how hard it was putting on that frosty act. Resisting the desserts you earnestly baked for me every day, when all I wanted was to eat them silly. Being jealous that they're the ones who were there for you because my stubbornness and ignorance got in the way. If—if you say something like that to me now, whether or not I lost this competition, I'll fall to my knees."

"Don't." Ryoma elbowed him in the ribcage. The other Cooking Club members surrounded him, and not with the friendliest expressions. "Way to lead us to victory, Gouda. Our predecessors triumphant legacy is now destroyed because you couldn't cut ties. Well, not that I can speak."

"Tori's more amazing than Eru thought!" Eru cheered.

"It was luck," Shiori spat.

"No, it wasn't. Own up to it," said Kohmi, of all people. Arms interlocked, she framed her focus to me. "Victory is victory. As promised, I'll quit baking entirely. Make that public apology to all the bakers I've wronged in the past."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Koyuki and the others strolled up to join us.

Kohmi sweatdropped. "Whatever is it? I cannot remember for the life in me."

"If I may," Nori interjected. "It has something to do with the losers subjugating to those above them."

"Even animals can abide by that logic," Chiaki added, paraphrasing the insult she'd once uttered.

"That's... fine, right?" Hayate said.

"We get it!" Shiori exploded—testament to her and her clubmates' displeasure.

Okito nodded. "Since you put it on the line, it's only fair we abide by the same logic. As of today, the Cooking Club will disband."

"I'm glad you catch on quick, Okito." I tittered. "However, disbandment isn't a satisfying finale."

"Then," he murmured on behalf of his club, "what is it you want?"

Koyuki, Chiaki, Hayate and Nori—as if dread had engulfed them, as if they knew exactly what I was planning—swerved to me in protest.

I beat them to the punch.

"Join my club!"

Koyuki face-palmed. "She said it. She up and said it."

"Maybe we misheard her," Chiaki offered.

"Knowing Kotorin, we didn't," Hayate sighed.

Nori chuckled. "Angel, you truly are far from unpredictable."

"Hold on," Ryoma demanded, opposite to my friends, flubbed for his voice. "You want us to—"

"The losers become the winner's slaves, right?" I said, matter-of-factly. "Then, it's confirmed. You're now honorary members of my club."

"Why? That doesn't make any sense," Kohmi sputtered. "We taunted and insulted you. We lost fair and square in this competition we waged. Yet, you want us to keep on baking?"

"Of course I do! You're all so talented! There's no way I'll let you quit. So you'll become members of my club and we'll all bake together until the end of the school year. Besides, today was so, so fun! Don't you want it all to never end?"

Shiori expelled a breath. "Just give in, Kohmi, Ryoma. This is this alien's personality."

"Yep," Koyuki, Chiaki, Hayate, and Nori chorused.

"Does that mean Tori's Eru's club president now?" Eru giddily bounced up and down. "Yay! How exciting!"

I cast Okito another smile.

He merely returned one of his own. "Was this your plan from the beginning?"

"Like I said, I want to bake with you," I replied. "With everyone else, too. That's the resolution that'll make me happiest. On that note, to become official members of the Baking Society, each you must feast on a slice of my delicious strawberry shortcake! Older members included!"

.

.

.

And so, just like that, the curtains to this unceasing rivalry of ours were drawn to a close.