Rindō had always known she was a little different.

That's a lie. She hadn't known, at first. But it was easy enough to figure out. Other kids acted differently. They were…simpler? Slower? Duller? She wasn't sure, she just knew that, whatever the difference between her and them, it was significant. And she didn't like it. And so she, in turn, didn't like them. Which meant she absolutely hated school.

The assignments were nothing; so easy that Rindō didn't even bother sometimes ("Kobayashi-san, can you please speak with Rindō-chan? Look at this! Her grades in my class, they're all hundreds or zeros! It's like she doesn't care.") But the social aspect of school was another beast entirely.

Rindō didn't like it. She didn't like mulling around and interacting with such children. Even if she, by all rights, counted as one. It was like being forced to associate with a bunch of dolls, plastic, fake and spouting the same things over and over.

It was Rindō's mother that showed her just how fun dolls could be.

("You see Rindō-chan, other people are what you want them to be. And they're often simply too much fun to manipulate. Take me and your father, for instance. You think he does laundry because he likes it?")

Oh yes, Rindō's mother had shown her just how easy it was to make dolls dance to your tune. Of course, it didn't always work. Sometimes dolls broke, or didn't work like they were supposed to, but that was part of the fun as well! It was never predictable. Never the same. Never boring, once she had a hand in things.

In a startlingly small amount of time, Rindō all but ruled over her schoolmates. Not directly, of course. But it was she that had the ear of the strongest; the prettiest; the most popular. With one whispered word, Rindō could raise or tear others down as she wished and she did it, often and with great pleasure.

One week, Aizawa-chan was the queen bee of Rindō's year. The next week, a nasty rumour about her delinquent older brother saw her a pariah, forced to share her lunch table with the sorts of girls she'd snidely gossiped about only days before. Rindō offered her former friend a conciliatory pat on the shoulder along with a swift denial to her tentative request to sit with her.

Mato was leading the class in grades; he was set to earn the top spot on the rankings come the end of the year. Rindō beat him out handily, despite the middling grades she'd averaged for most of the year before. It had helped that an accident had ruined the diorama that he'd created for his final project. He'd still gotten some credit, but not nearly as much as he should've. And if Rindō grinned just a little bit too widely when she heard the news then; well, who could blame her?

Gon was the leading athlete of the school and the star of the elementary soccer league; Rindō made him bento boxes and whispered in his ear, leading him by the nose on a crush, despite the fact that she was two years below him. When the championships were upon them, Gon played terribly; barely making an average showing. Their school lost by two goals and no one questioned why Rindō laughed so hard at the conclusion. It would only be later that the rumours circulated that Gon had been dumped by his girlfriend after waiting up for her all night in the rain at a spot she'd designated. No one remarked on the timing; instead they simply shook their heads and made snide remarks about Gon "The Sure Foot" Idate.

Rindō's father was not entirely ignorant of the kind of person Rindō was becoming. She said the right things, did the right amount of chores with just the right amount of childish rebellion but he could read between the lines. He knew the woman he married and the child he'd raised. And he could tell that his wife had her hooks deep within their only daughter.

("For the last time Nado-kun, I do not want any more children.")

He'd tried speaking with Rindō with his wife present; explaining to his daughter the difference between right and wrong; to teach her about things like compassion, trust and respect for others. All he'd gotten in return was a blank stare from both Kobayashi women. At least Rindō had the decency to not follow hers up with a round of raucous laughter.

In desperation, he'd made one last attempt to help his daughter. He showed her several pages he'd printed; an array of various boarding schools. They all varied in size, specialty, style, student body composition. In fact, the only thing they all had in common was that none of them were within easy visiting distance of the Kobayashi residence.

Rindō's father hadn't meant to print out the listing for Tōtsuki Culinary Academy. It had been a simple mistaken click of the keys and he'd laughed and proceeded to throw that particular entry away. But that simple action made Rindō latch onto it, amidst his protests about the exorbitant costs and the sheer impracticality of the idea ("Rindō-chan, you don't even like cooking that much. Can you even make anything that's not rice balls or salmon sushi wraps?")

Rindō had simply laughed and filed her application the next day. She'd even applied for the scholarship; a prestigious award given to less than a dozen of Tōtsuki's first year middle schoolers (which typically had class sizes in the hundreds). The test had been simple; the scholarship applicants had been presented with ten dishes. They had ten minutes to choose and consume the dish that best exemplified Mongolian cuisine.

Rindō had thought about the challenge for a minute; and then simply picked all ten plates clean. She told the stunned proctors that there was nothing in the rules about only selecting a single dish and, in a fit of flurried paperwork consultation and calls to the Director, Rindō became the first and last person to be awarded the Nakiri Scholarship Award via that particular loophole.

It wasn't until halfway through middle school at Tōtsuki Culinary Academy that Rindō stumbled across someone who proved to be interesting. He wasn't a person, no. He was a doll, just like the rest of them. But he was different in that he was such a failure. He shook like a leaf; barely spoke in class and his work in class went up in flames more often than not. He received so many E's that, at one point, he was one E away from expulsion. If he was an actual doll, he would've been tossed on the reject pile long ago and never put on the shelves.

People mocked him; he was a no name from a no name family. Much like Rindō herself, although with none of the Dark Horse's talent.

("The Dark Horse? THAT'S what they're calling you? Rindō-chan, we sent you there to make friends!")

("Speak for yourself, Nado-kun. Good job baby!")

He was the dunce; the dead last; the hopeless case that, while pleasant enough to speak with and interact with, was avoided because, at the competitively minded Tōtsuki, such ineptitude was regarded like the plague and no one wanted to risk it spreading to them.

And then, one day, when Rindō saw the boy in the halls, shoulders hunched and head down, she had an idea. An idea for what could prove to be her best work yet, if she was able to pull it off. It would also be a glorious prank; a hilarious and blatant middle finger to pretty much every single student in the 90th Generation. If she succeeded, then she would have found just what she needed to prove that she was, as always, much smarter than everyone else.

("Tsukasa-kun! Stop sulking in the corner and come have lunch with me.")

And when Tsukasa Eishi soared under her wing, and quickly beat out every single chef in their class aside from her, Rindō could only laugh and willingly concede the #1 spot in the 90th Generation to him just in time for them to begin their freshman year at Tōtsuki.

Him becoming first seat at the end of their second year was just icing on the cake and Rindō laughed harder than she ever had, even as she lost out and became the second seat. She'd created a monster and she loved it. A borderline manic depressive teenager had been turned into an engine of inconceivable power in the cooking world.

Without her, Tsukasa Eishi would've been another washout to join the hundreds of washouts that Tōtsuki churned out every year. Instead, he was the White Knight of the Table, a name that was borderline household in the culinary world, even though he had yet to graduate. He was also her best friend, a feat that surprised the both of them more than any culinary success ever had once they actually realized it.

Rindō had believed that was it; what else could she do to top that? She'd created a worldwide cooking sensation from practically nothing at all. She'd essentially pulled one over on the entire culinary world. She'd been convinced that she'd hit her peak and that there was nowhere to go but down, now. And she figured that she may as well take Tōtsuki with her. It would be a fun ride, and her generation would be remembered as the last of the true great Tōtsuki chefs for quite some time, until Azami got too ahead of himself and got himself ousted by some do-gooder alumni.

But then she'd met Yukihira Sōma. And Rindō had found him interesting; a little cute but mostly just funny. So different from the usual Tōtsuki student. Another no name from a no name family. And he'd been the only transfer student to pass Erina-chan's exam to boot!

("Huh? You're telling me that you failed him but the Demon King of Food himself overruled you…")

("Rindō-senpai, cease your incessant cackling this instant!")

And then she'd met him again. Met him. The real Sōma, underneath the layers of obfuscating stupidity and cheer, the one that had only come to light after he'd been stripped bare in Azami's care.

("That monochrome reject thinks he's won; he thinks he's beaten us; beaten me. And he couldn't be more wrong. With your help, I could show him just how wrong he is. Doesn't that sound like fun?")

Sōma's attempts at manipulating her had been effective; blatant and transparent, but effective. He didn't rely on guile or deception; he relied on suggesting to her simple truths and showing that he had the means to carry them out. And someone like Rindō was all about results.

Tsukasa had been a successful experiment; a triumph if Rindō had ever had one.

But Sōma…if she played her cards right, Sōma could be so much more.

("Why not? I've got nothing better to do, Yukihira-kun.")

Tsukasa had been a pawn that she made into a Knight. Sōma…Sōma could become a King.

"Kaa-chan, kaa-chan!"

Yukihira Kumi looked down at her son, quirking one eyebrow at him. Her green Yukihira shirt fit snugly over her, a new stain to join the rest on her sleeve. She wondered what had caused it before shrugging and accepting that it could've been any number of things. It had been a busy day for Yukihira's.

"Yes, Soso-kun?"

"Help! Let me help!"

Kumi hummed indulgently as she continued to chop vegetables. Sōma, for all his youthful naiveté, had gotten that particular noise one too many times to be fooled. That was the noise his mom said when she was trying to stall and hope he got distracted by something else. Well, no more! He was three and a half. He was practically all grown up!

Kumi didn't take note of her son's uncharacteristic silence. She continued to chop vegetables, dicing the onions for the dish she was about to prepare. It was only when she heard a grating, sliding noise that she turned and looked to see Sōma dragging a box towards her. It seemed to be causing him some trouble but the boy had determination and energy to spare and, soon, the box was right beside Kumi's feet.

Sōma hopped up on it and puffed his chest out proudly.

"See? I'm tall enough now. I can reach things!"

He picked up a tomato. For emphasis of his newfound reach. The gesture provoked a laugh from Kumi and she patted Sōma on his head.

"You know what? Fine. If I show you a few things, will you stop nagging me?"

Sōma nodded vigorously.

"Yea, I promise!"

Kumi smiled, even though she was well aware that the promises of children had a lifespan about as long as their attention spans. She held up the knife in her hands, showing it to Sōma.

"This, Soso-kun is a utility knife. It's useful for cutting vegetables and some meats."

She moved to stand behind him and placed the knife in his hand. She held her palm over his and placed an onion in front of him. She took his other hand and placed it on the onion, over the back of the bulb.

"See, you hold it like this and you hold the vegetable like this and then you just…"

She put some pressure down and Sōma followed her lead, cutting into the onion. His eyes widened as if he'd just found gold.

"Wow…"

Kumi led him through a few more slices while she spoke, telling him of the things onions could be used for and how important it was that he be cautious whenever the knife was near his fingers.

"I'm tough, kaa-chan. I'm not afraid!"

"This isn't about fear, Soso-kun. It's about caution. And maintaining your tools. As a chef, your hands are your greatest weapons. If you damage those, then you're not going to be as strong as you should be. It's like…imagine you were a samurai. Would you go into battle with a broken sword?"

"Um…no?"

"Then, as a chef, why would you go into the kitchen with damaged hands?"

Kumi wondered if her analogy had been a bit too complex for her young charge but Sōma's eyes lit up in a display of determination that was much too reminiscent of his father.

"I get it."

"Alright then, why don't you try and continue cutting on your own?"

Kumi lifted her hands from Sōma's and he raised the knife into the air.

"Ah, Soso-kun!"

Kumi reached out and gripped Sōma' right hand firmly.

"You don't need to raise the knife so high. What if you put your eye out?"

Sōma blinked up at his mother.

"But…I'm a samurai. Isn't that how samurais do things?"

Kumi resisted the urge to laugh. It seemed like her metaphor had been a bit too high level after all. She proceeded to explain to Sōma the risks involved with cutting things in the kitchen, guiding him through cutting the remainder of the onion. She then showed him how to set the stove and utilize stock. Followed by seasoning meat and prepping noodles.

By the time Joichiro returned home for the day, his wife and son were in the kitchen laughing to themselves at Sōma's first dish. Sōma urged him to try it and, upon doing so, Joichiro almost threw up. His cheeks were green and his eyes were downcast but he smiled at Sōma and tousled his hair.

"Like father, like son."

Sōma smiled in return, missing the look his father gave his mother over his head. And the heated discussion that began later that night.

"What did you think would happen Joichiro? He has two chefs for parents and we run a diner together. Do you think he just would ignore all that and become…I don't know, a salary man?"

"I don't know either Kumi, I just know that I never wanted him to be a chef."

Joichiro's eyes were hooded. He sat on their bed, not looking at his wife but instead staring at the wall. Kumi sat up behind him, her arms crossed, indignant.

"There's no shame in it, you know."

"It's not about shame."

Joichiro cut her off, almost sharply.

"If Sōma's anything like me…if the Saiba blood persists in him, then he's going to end up in Tōtsuki and he's going to be the second coming of the Asura, all over again."

"Joichiro."

Kumi climbed onto the bed and threw her arms around Joichiro's shoulders, almost sending them both to the floor with her unexpected manoeuvre. She raised a fist and knuckled it into her husband's head, provoking a groan and a half-hearted attempt to escape.

"Sōma's not just a Saiba, Joichiro. He's a Yukihira too. And my family line may not be stocked full of prodigies like yours, but there is something that we Yukihiras are known for."

Joichiro smiled ruefully and he leaned back into his wife's embrace.

"Family."

They said the word in unison and, even though he couldn't see her, Joichiro knew she was smiling. He could feel it.

"I believe in our son, ok? I want you to believe in him too."

Joichiro didn't respond verbally. Instead he simply nodded and took one of his wife's hands in his own. He rubbed his calloused thumb over her palm, the softness belying the amount of time the woman spent in the kitchen.

They didn't say anything; they simply continued to sit and enjoy each other's presence. For a few minutes anyway.

"HI-YAH!"

Kumi felt a weight crash into her back. Which pushed her forward. Which meant that Joichiro, who was already seated on the edge of the bed was pushed forward as well. This meant that, despite the panicked scrambling the adults, they all fell forward and onto the floor in a heap. A heap crowned by Sōma's small form.

"Surprise attack success!"

Sōma held up two fingers victoriously, smiling brightly down at his parents. Joichiro groaned from his position under his family while Kumi simply bucked, sending Sōma forward into a roll onto the floor that ended with her arms around his neck as she plastered him with kisses.

"Ah, no…kaa-chan, stop. Stop! Gross!"

"I call this my revenge technique: death by a thousand smooches!"

She continued her assault, which only provoked cries of disgust from her son. That is, until Joichiro got his bearings and began his own counterattack. His fingers came up and dug into his wife's sides, wiggling mercilessly.

"Ack! No, haha, Jo-kun, stop it…hahahaha! Please, no!"

Her attack on Sōma forgotten, Kumi tried to remove Joichiro's fingers from her sides. Her efforts were helped by Sōma, who immediately began attacking his father in defence of his mother. His teeth sunk into Joichiro's shoulder, biting down through the cloth of the chef's shirt he wore.

"Hey, what the hell! I was trying to defend you, you ungrateful shrimp!"

"Yea, but boys always protect girls, right?"

Faced by the two pronged assault of his wife and his child, Joichiro collapsed back dramatically, begging for mercy. Only to rise back up and continue once Sōma had relinquished the grip his teeth had on him.

After several minutes of spirited wrestling, the family of three lay together on the floor, panting. Sōma was nestled in the middle of Joichiro and Kumi, his childish well of energy spent, at least for the moment. Joichiro looked over at his wife, who was red faced and glaring at him. He knew how much she hated being tickled.

"I love you, you know?"

"I know you do. Baka."

Her response was only half serious and she leaned over, giving Joichiro a peck on his cheek.

As they lay there, Joichiro thought. About the legacy of his family. Both the one he'd created and the one that had created him. And as he thought, he finally came to a decision that had been on his mind more and more. Now that he'd finally decided, he just needed to get approval for it.

"Hey, Sōma?"

Sōma looked up at his father questioningly.

"How would you like to become a Yukihira?"

Sōma tilted his head. He seemed confused.

"Um…tou-san, aren't I already a Yukihira?"

Joichiro smiled down at his son and ruffled his hair.

"Well yea, of course. But you don't have the Yukihira name."

"Jo-kun…"

He silenced Kumi with a wave of his hand, giving her an insistent look.

"I'm thinking you and me can go downtown tomorrow and change our names together, huh? What do you say?"

Sōma held his chin, thinking. He'd been Saiba Sōma for as long as he could remember.

"Why, tou-san?"

The question, despite the innocence with which it was asked, was a loaded one. Joichiro thought about what being a Saiba entailed; what his family embodied. He thought about what his brother would say, let alone his father. And then he thought about just how complicated things had the potential to be, if he went through with this.

He shrugged.

"It just sounds cooler, ya know? Not to mention the diner's still named Yukihira's. You know how silly we look working in the family restaurant without the family name?"

Kumi looked over at Joichiro, aghast. That was the reasoning he was trying to use on Sōma? Who'd been told more than once by his grandfather about the importance of the Saiba line and how they were meant to…

"Ok!"

Kumi wasn't sure what was more surprising. Sōma's agreement or the fact that she wasn't surprised by it in the least. She looked down at Sōma who was grinning up at her.

"Ah…are you sure, Soso-kun?"

"Yea, I like your name kaa-chan. It's nice."

And, with that simple declaration, followed by a visit to the local ward office the very next day, Saiba Sōma and Saiba Joichiro were Saibas no more.

Senzaemon knocked on the door. After a scant few seconds, the door was opened and he was greeted by his granddaughter. Her face was flat and smooth; too poised and controlled for a five year old. Senzaemon withheld a sigh. He didn't want his granddaughter to think that he was admonishing her; she didn't react well to that sort of thing.

"Good afternoon, Erina-chan. How are you?"

"I am doing well, ojii-chan."

The address was said without any sort of affection. It was said the way a soldier might respond to his commanding officer or the way a servant might respond to its master. Prompt, polite and distant. Even the chan had only been added at his insistence; ojii-sama was simply too much.

"And what have you been doing to pass the time on this beautiful day, granddaughter?"

"Working."

The young girl opened the door and gestured for her grandfather to follow her. Senzaemon accepted the invitation and found that a large dining table had been brought to Erina's room. On it sat several containers and boxes of varying size, uniform plastic containers branded with the Nakiri crest.

Erina clambered onto the chair that seemed just a bit too big for her and held up a notebook that was hidden among the takeout containers. The page it was opened to was filled with meticulous, if somewhat inexpert, handwriting.

"I've been having Riza and Cato go out to several restaurants in the surrounding area and retrieve food for me to sample."

Senzaemon felt like he knew his granddaughter's purpose with this particular venture. Nakiris didn't eat takeout, even from gourmet restaurants.

"I see. And have any of them been to your liking?"

"Of course not."

Erina's reply was swift and final. Her tone implied that Senzaemon must have been ill to consider her answer would be anything but.

"They're all subpar. To a ludicrous degree. As the heir to the Nakiri family, it's my duty t-t-to …"

At Erina's last sentence, her voice had gone from haughty and supercilious to blank and lifeless and she began stuttering and the notebook began to shake. Senzaemon felt his heart break just a little bit more at the sight of his trembling, stuttering granddaughter. Her fits had been getting less and less frequent but he still felt devastated each time one occurred. Without thinking, Senzaemon reached forward to take her smaller hand in his. At the last second he remembered and tried to pull back but it was too late. His hand landed on her wrist.

Erina didn't scream. She didn't cry, she didn't shake, she didn't shiver. Instead she simply froze. The second Senzaemon's hand closed around her wrist, she stopped moving. The book was held still in her rigid fingers and she didn't move, even when Senzaemon released her wrist.

"Erina-chan…Erina-chan, please."

The blonde child didn't respond. She simply continued staring forward, her eyes unfocused and her mind elsewhere. Right now she wasn't in her bedroom with her loving grandfather. She was back downstairs in that candle lit cellar, alone in the darkness and the cold.

Senzaemon looked down at the sight of his still progeny and tried to keep his composure. He felt the usual combination of mourning and anger and cursed Nakamura Azami for what he'd wrought. He also cursed himself for ever allowing that sociopath into his family. Even at his daughter's behest. He should've still been able to see what kind of man Azami was; he was the director of one of the most prestigious schools in the world. He interacted with board members, faculty, administrators and students on a daily basis. If anyone should be a good judge of character, it should be him.

Senzaemon removed a small vial from his pocket. It resembled the small spritzers used to sample cologne in department stores. He held it near Erina and sprayed two short bursts in the air around her. He looked down at the vial, shaking its contents thoughtfully. It seemed to be just barely over empty. He'd have to ask that man to send him more, when he got the chance.

The potent mixture started to do its work and Senzaemon watched as, slowly but surely, Erina was brought back to the present by the distinct scent that was Saiba Joichiro's cooking. Purple eyes blinked and she looked up at her grandfather.

"Ojii-chan, do you smell something…odd?"

"Well, you do have quite the aromatic feast in front of you. Perhaps it's that?"

Erina frowned but didn't argue the point. She rarely argued these days, with anyone except for the servants. It was disappointing, considering what a fiery spirited child she'd been a few short months ago.

"Well, anyway. As I was saying, these restaurants are simply not fit to exist. As the rightful heir to the Nakiri family, I can't allow this to pass. Which is why I'm taking notes and sending strongly worded letters to the-"

A knock at Erina's door interrupted her and Senzaemon stood, trying to hide his excitement. Even now, after so many things had failed, he continued to hope that the next idea he came up with would be what Erina needed to truly heal. He had particular faith in this one, especially. He walked over to the door and opened it, speaking briefly to someone unseen before stepping to the side to let that person past him. The Nakiri heiress looked warily over the little fortress of takeout containers she had amassed to see who had entered her domain.

A girl her age stood in front of the table. She had short pink hair and earnest brown eyes. She wore a purple sun dress with white edging; a style of dress that Erina herself preferred when she was out in public. A small container was nestled in the crook of her left arm. She curtseyed politely with one hand before standing up and grinning widely.

"A pleasant afternoon to you, I'm Arato Hisako. You're Nakiri Erina, right?"

Erina felt thrown by the girl's upfront and direct attitude. She was more used to simpering and deference; her grandfather and…someone else…being the sole exceptions. She quickly righted herself however and responded.

"Yes, indeed I am. I see you've heard of me and my legendary tongue."

"Legendary tongue? Oh, does it get like really long? Or change color?"

Erina blinked down rapidly at the girl's sparkling eyes. Who did she think she was? Some sort of freak of nature?

"No. It doesn't."

"Oh, then…why is it legendary?"

Erina felt her face start to warm and she snapped at the girl.

"Because my palate is divine! It's the best in the world, bar none. I've been judging dishes since before I could walk, you ignorant commoner!"

"Hey, just 'cause your mansion is bigger doesn't mean you get to call me names! The Aratos are important people too, you know!"

Hisako puffed out her chest proudly. Erina found herself at a loss. Luckily, Hisako seemed to be willing to do enough talking for the both of them.

"Oh, and I guess that's why Otou-san wanted me to make this for you then."

Hisako stepped forward and slid the oval container onto the table. She had to go on her tiptoes to nudge it forward, until it sat directly in front of Erina, who was looking down at it warily.

"It's a nikuman, stuffed with quail meat! I made the spice profile myself. With a little help from my mom, anyway. Try it Legend-Tongue-san!"

Erina found herself opening the plastic container before she really considered whether the fair of some random child was worthy of her. She picked up the large, white dumpling and bit into it. She chewed thoughtfully and then swallowed, placing the reminder of the dumpling back into the container. Hisako smiled at her eagerly, still on her tip toes so she could peer over the table's edge at where Erina sat.

"Well?"

"It's horrible."

"W-What?"

"Nikuman are meat stuffed dumplings, served from stalls usually. A classic commoner's dish. Street food. Which already makes it worthy of dismissal outright. But here, you clearly used too much flour in your dough. The quail meat is too tender and it wasn't marinated well at all. In addition I have no trouble believing you made this spice profile yourself, as it is simply…what are you doing?"

Erina had stopped her clinical critique when she saw Hisako step back from the table, her shoulders shaking. Her brown eyes were staring at Erina from behind a film of moisture and her breathing was coming in pants. Erina stood up in her chair, peering down at the other girl, which only served to make her seem scarier. Not that she could've known that. Hisako stepped back, taking in a deep, shaky breath. Erina narrowed her eyes.

"Arato-san. I implore you to-"

"WAHHHHHH!"

Whatever Erina was going to say was drowned out by the loud, wailing sob of the pink haired girl. She covered her eyes with her hands, tear tracks running down her face as she continued wailing, her cries bouncing around Erina's room in a cacophony of injured, childish pride.

Erina flailed her hands, trying to calm the girl down to no avail. She hopped out of her chair and walked around the table until she was in front of the girl. She reached out but hesitated, unsure of what to do. Bereft of ideas, she picked up the dumpling she'd bit into, cramming it into her mouth. She chewed vigorously, working through the lump of meat, dough and spices until her mouth was clear. She shoved the empty container towards the girl.

"See, look. I've finished your dumpling. Is that what you wanted?"

Hisako peeked out between her fingers, her eyes still flowing with tears. Her sobs stopped as she closed her mouth, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. She took the handkerchief Erina offered her wordlessly, blowing her nose into it before handing it back. Erina took the snot soaked rag before realizing just exactly what she'd done. She looked down at her pinched fingers in disgust before stomping over and tossing the cloth into the garbage bin.

"So…so you actually liked it?"

Erina turned around to look back at Hisako, who was staring back at her, brown eyes now tinted red but also full of hope. As if she hadn't just been bawling five seconds before.

"No. It was terrible."

Hisako's eyes widened and she opened her mouth, in what would surely be the beginning of another bout of crying.

"Stop!"

The authoritative tone in Erina's voice stopped Hisako cold; it was something to hear. Erina spent so much of her time ordering around adults ten times her age that she'd developed quite the ability to imbue her words with importance and command. A handy skill for stopping petulant children, as Erina would come to find out that day.

"No more of that. Yes. It wasn't good. But…it wasn't that bad. For your first try. I…I would never sell it in a restaurant but it could pass for a snack you made for yourself or your friends at school…alright?"

The grudging, almost-compliment was the most praise Erina had given in months and it showed on her face.

"If you like, I could tell you where you went wrong. It would help you make this something passable, at the very least."

"Really?"

The eagerness in Hisako's voice made Erina blush and she looked away, crossing her arms.

"Well, it's not like I want to. But…as a Nakiri, it's my duty to ensure that food isn't sullied. So…yes."

"Let's go then!"

"Wait, hold on-unhand me this instant!"

Hisako ignored Erina's plea and continued pulling her by the hand towards the door, picking up her pace and forcing Erina to match it as they made their way into the halls.

"Senzaemon-sama already told me we could use the kitchens but it's almost dark and I'll have to go home soon! So we have to hurry!"

Hisako continued running, pulling along the sputtering, red faced blonde as they ventured down the hall, completely bypassing the two men that stood in an alcove a short distance down from Erina's room. Senzaemon laughed to himself as he watched his granddaughter stumble after the Arato's youngest, her offended voice echoing down the halls.

"See, what did I tell ya old man? This isn't a problem that stuffy grownups like us can fix."

Joichiro grinned cheekily at the Nakiri patriarch from his spot on the wall on the opposite side of the alcove. He had his bag slung across his shoulder as he usually did, and was dressed in worn jeans with a t-shirt that had seen better days. He looked like a tumbleweed that had just rolled in. Which was what he was, really.

"Erina-chan'll be right as rain once she gets out and finds some real friends her own age. That Arato girl's a step in the right direction, I'm sure of it."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, although it doesn't sit well with me to leave Erina in such…petite hands, as it were."

The subtle jab made Joichiro chuckle, a low timbre that suited the Asura.

"When that bastard did what he did, it was adults that reinforced it. They praised her and applauded her for her impeccable pedigree and flawless taste. It was adults that confirmed every sick, little standard Azami embedded into her psyche. Adults that, even now, bow to her and move at her every command, out of respect for her blood and her tongue."

Joichiro's voice had a sardonic, bitter edge to it. It made his words even more cutting than they already were.

"Adults have fallen over the very ground she walks on for as long as she can remember. So she already sees herself as above them; above the "commoners" as she calls them. And those adults that she respects, the ones she sees as worthy...Azami, Katsumi, you…even me. We all failed her, even if she doesn't say it, or even realize it. No, adults won't fix this."

"Erina is a child. And children…children have this sort of eager sincerity; this honesty and frankness that simply doesn't work in polite society once they get older. Kids can be kind; they can be cruel and they can be anything in between. But pretty much all of them will be honest with it. And that's what Erina needs. She needs other kids. She needs to realize that she's not alone. That she'll never be alone again. "

"For her sake, I hope you're right Saiba-kun."

Joichiro looked over at the older man and quirked an eyebrow.

"I told you old man, it's Yukihira now. It's been Yukihira for over a year."

Senzaemon glanced over at Joichiro, who seemed to be doing his best to appear casual. As if abandoning the Saiba name was something to take lightly.

"Speaking of which, how is your son doing?"

"Sōma? He's good. Wild, little kid. Full of energy. He kinda reminds me of...well, me I guess."

Joichiro scratched his cheek, unable to keep the prideful grin off of his face.

"Despite that though, I see tons of Kumi in him too. He's kinder and more caring than I ever was."

"That's good to hear. And where is he now then?"

Joichiro blinked, rubbing at his beard.

"Oh, I think he's downstairs somewhere? He won't break anything, promise. And he knows to stay inside. Honestly, he's probably found his way to the kitchens…by…now…"

Joichiro met Senzaemon's eyes with a mutual look of horror.

"Shit."

Joichiro dropped his bag and sprinted down the hallway, Senzaemon hot on his heels as they made their way to the kitchens in what must have been record time, their fear giving their feet wings. They hoped to get there fast enough to prevent a tragedy. They failed.

And so it was that Nakiri Erina and Arato Hisako met Yukihira Sōma for the first time. Neither would recall the meeting in later years, however, since they would both be knocked unconscious soon afterwards by what Sōma called "his best work yet".

Almost a decade later, when the redhead confronts the pair again at the transfer exam for Tōtsuki Culinary Academy, he would wonder why they seemed so familiar, having long forgotten about that oh-so-brief encounter from his childhood. And the girls would wonder why the very sight of him filled them with both annoyance and disgust, despite being certain that they'd never laid eyes on the boy before in their lives.

A/N: So, tried something a bit different here. This chapter, as I'm sure you noticed, isn't a "real" chapter, in a sense. It's an interlude that provides some backstory for three of our main characters, Rindō, Sōma and Erina. While not strictly plot relevant, it does flesh out said characters a bit (along with chibi Hisako, yay!)

Depending on how people enjoy this one, I may do this again, as the story progresses to provide backstory that, while interesting, may not work to advance the plot. Imagine an Alice interlude, a Tsukasa interlude or even an Azami interlude! So tell me what you guys think and if you would like to see me do something like this again in the future. Honest feedback will help me make a firm decision. Hope you enjoyed!