“—It’s finished.”

My low voice echoed through the silent kitchen.

On the worktable before me, a single plate of curry rice sat in solemn authority.

The aroma rising with the steam was on an entirely different level from the test versions of a few days ago.

Violent, yet somehow seductive.

Within the sharp, nose-tickling scent of the spices, there was a sweet, heavy depth that seemed to numb the core of the brain.

“...This is a 120-point curry?”

I heard someone swallow hard.

The voice belonged to Karen.

The nationally famous action actress was now staring at the plate with the eyes of nothing more than a hungry beast.

“It looks... awfully black.”

“It’s practically a dark stew.”

Beside her, Hibiki adjusted the position of her glasses.

Even the world-renowned film director was casting an analytical, creator’s gaze at the dish, though I didn’t miss the slight softening of her lips.

“Calling it a dark stew is rude.”

I wiped my hands on my apron and grinned.

“This is the ‘Black Diamond.’ …Eat it and you’ll understand. You’ll understand what I struggled with and where I finally arrived.”

The decisive battle was tomorrow.

Our opponent was the elite development team of the food industry giant, Sumeragi Foods.

They would surely come armed with enormous datasets and cutting-edge science, presenting the universal correct answer, a 100-point curry.

To defeat that, I had spent the last several days without sleep, standing over the pot nonstop.

I had Saotome haul in the meat, Ai chop the onions and Yū record the data—

And tonight, at last, the answer had emerged.

“Come on, eat it before it cools. I want your honest opinions.”

When I held out the spoon, Karen and Hibiki looked at each other.

Then, as if steeling themselves, they nodded and reached out their spoons at the same time.

Karen scooped up jet-black roux and white rice and brought it to her mouth.

Her beautiful lips accepted the spoon.

Chewing.

Once.

Twice.

Karen’s movements stopped dead.

“...”

Silence.

Everyone in the kitchen watched, holding their breath.

The next moment, Karen’s suddenly widened pupils trembled and grew moist.

“…W-What is this!?”

Karen pressed a hand to her cheek, glaring at me as if she were seeing something unbelievable.

“It’s violent… There’s violence rampaging around inside my mouth!”

“Violence?”

“Yes! Just when I thought it approached me with a sweet smile, the next moment I’m punched with a spice-filled fist and at the end I’m embraced by rich umami! My emotions—my emotions can’t keep up, you idiot!!”

Karen shouted, then began moving her spoon with ferocious speed.

Gatsugatsu, gatsugatsu!

There wasn’t a shred of an elegant actress’s table manners left there.

She was simply devouring the black pleasure in front of her on pure instinct.

“H-Hey, Karen!”

“Don’t eat my share too!”

Hibiki hurriedly thrust out her own spoon.

The instant she took a bite, her eyes widened behind her glasses.

“…You’re kidding.”

Hibiki held the spoon in her mouth and looked up at the ceiling.

Then a single tear slid down from the corner of her eye.

“There’s no need to cry.”

When I gave a wry smile, Hibiki shook her head.

“No, that’s not it, Jō. …This is a ‘story.’”

She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and began speaking feverishly.

“The shock of the first impact. The complex spice foreshadowing that gets resolved in the middle. And the almost painful lingering aftertaste left at the end. In just one bite, there’s a full two-hour film’s worth of beginning, development, twist and conclusion packed inside.”

Hibiki gazed lovingly at the curry left on the plate.

“It’s frustrating, but… I might be more moved by this than by the movie I shot recently. If the person who made this weren’t my ‘subject,’ I’d probably be losing my mind with jealousy.”

Their reactions were excellent.

No, they might even be beyond what I had anticipated.

Karen had already finished everything, cleaning the plate so thoroughly it looked like she might lick it, then slammed the table with a bang.

“Take responsibility, Jō!”

“Huh?”

“You made me eat something this dangerous! What are you going to do if I become a body that can’t eat anything else anymore!? Take responsibility for turning me into someone who can’t be satisfied with convenience-store curry anymore—take responsibility for the rest of your life!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. So, how was the taste?”

“…120 points. A flawless KO victory.”

Karen spat it out with a puffed-up face, yet clearly satisfied.

“…So, Jō.”

Hibiki regained her composure and turned a sharp gaze on me.

“What exactly is the core of this flavor? You didn’t just use high-end meat and spices, did you? This ‘sense of dissonance’ lurking deep inside...what is this powerful hook?”

As expected of a creator.

She had accurately noticed the trap I set.

“Yeah, that’s where this match will be decided.”

I pulled out a small bottle from the back of the worktable.

Inside was a thick, dark brown liquid.

“…Caramel?”

Karen leaned in to sniff it, frowning.

“But doesn’t it smell kind of burnt?”

“Correct. It’s ‘burnt caramel.’”

I shook the small bottle.

“I pushed the sugar right to the limit, stopping just before it turned to charcoal. Taste it.”

“It’s bitter.”

The two of them cautiously took some on their fingertips and licked it, grimacing with “Bitter!” and “It’s like mud.”

“Right, it’s bitter. But this is the final piece.”

I launched into an impassioned explanation.

“The Sumeragi Foods development team will absolutely aim for ‘perfect balance.’ Sweetness, acidity, saltiness, umami… A curry with no flaws, everything adjusted to the golden ratio. That’s their ‘justice.’ But humans are contrarian by nature. Just like how a woman who’s too perfect can feel unapproachable.”

I grinned.

“What sticks in your memory is never ‘perfection.’ It’s ‘a sharp protrusion of intense individuality.’”

I pointed at the now-empty plate.

“This burnt caramel’s ‘bitterness.’ Normally, that would be a negative element in cooking. But by throwing this intense bitterness into the sweetness of sautéed onions and the fatty umami of shin meat, you give the flavor ‘depth’ and ‘shadows.’”

Not just sweet.

Not just spicy.

That fleeting hint of burnt bitterness becomes a trigger that makes you crave the next bite even more strongly.

Your brain gets confused, thinking ‘What was that taste just now?’ and your spoon won’t stop as you try to confirm it.

“Don’t wrap it up neatly. Leave some dissonance. That dissonance is the ‘hook’ that leaves claw marks in the eater’s brain.”

That was the answer I arrived at.

A very human 120-point passion meant to surpass the scientifically calculated 100-point correct answer.

“…I see.”

Hibiki nodded, convinced.

“Because there’s ‘tragedy,’ the ‘happy ending’ shines. Your culinary philosophy is something I can learn from as a director.”

“Hmph, the theory doesn’t matter.”

Karen stood up and poked my chest with a finger.

“It’s delicious. Unbelievably delicious. With this, we can wipe the smug smile off that empress’s face. We’ll definitely win.”

“Yeah. We’ll win.”

I clenched my fist and looked up at the night sky visible through the kitchen window.

“Tomorrow, we’ll blow Sumeragi Foods out of the water. And we’ll make President Reiko say ‘I concede.’”

Behind me, I felt Saotome, Yū and Ai, who had been waiting quietly, nod with determination.

“…Looks like we’re fully prepared.”

“Yes. I’ll record your victory with the best camerawork possible.”

“And I’ll cheer for you from the front row! You should be grateful!”

The unity of Team Akutsu reached its peak right here and now.

With spices, passion and the bitterness of burnt sugar as our weapons.

We charged toward the empress’s castle.

“Alright, that’s enough for today! We’re going to sleep! Tomorrow’s an early start!”

“““Ooooh!!”””

The morning of the decisive battle was already just around the corner.