Ren's words from this morning still lingered in Hana's chest. "Then win." Those words she'd heard on the stone-paved path on the way back from Renka Street. Not quite encouragement, not quite consolation—just a simple statement of fact: "that's what you should do." Hana still couldn't quite explain why those words had settled so deeply in her heart. The corridor leading to the third layer of Kanroku Palace—where the Confectioner's Council chamber and examination rooms stood side by side, an area participants rarely entered—was dimly lit even in the morning hours, with an air of solemnity hanging about it. The amber-colored stone of the walls caught the white light and glowed faintly, and footsteps echoed clearly. Hana had never liked that echo. With each step, it felt like she was announcing her presence to everyone around her, and it made her uneasy. Beside her, Ren was walking. That was Hana's first impression—that something was different. His gait was different. Usually he walked toward his destination without hesitation, but this morning his posture was just slightly—really, just barely—stiff. His spine was straighter than necessary, his chin raised a fraction, his arm swing unnatural. (He's nervous.) Hana noticed and almost laughed. Ren was clearly trying to hide it, desperately projecting an air of "no problem," which only made his tension more apparent. She didn't say it out loud. If she did, he'd probably give her a terrible look. The chamber doors came into view. Heavy wooden double doors with gold trim along the edges. She could see other participants already entering—some whispering to each other, others with expressions drawn tight, each carrying their own tension. Hana shifted her mindset as well. The main tournament bracket draw. Today was where it really began. --- The chamber was vast. A circular space that descended in tiers toward the center. At the lowest point sat a large round table, surrounded by the participants. The ceiling was high, and the amber stone unique to Kanroku Palace reflected soft light, wrapping the entire space in a warmly tinted glow. The sweet scent seemed more concentrated here too. Hana surveyed the faces of the participants. Some she recognized from the preliminaries. Knowing that she wasn't the only one nervous made breathing a little easier. Then there was a quiet movement at the back of the chamber—on the raised platform opposite the participants. Someone appeared. All eyes were drawn there. Naturally, as if pulled by an invisible force. The murmuring stopped. Silver hair. It flowed softly in waves, glimmering faintly as it caught the light. Bangs swept diagonally across, and beneath them, pale blue eyes slowly surveyed the chamber. Taller than Hana, dressed in white, with a small pendant at the chest that caught the light for just an instant. Though her age couldn't be much different from Hana's, there was something serene about her bearing. Not so much that she didn't seem nervous—more like the very concept of nervousness didn't reach the place where she stood. Hana felt something shift inside her chest. It wasn't quite admiration. Something sharper. A clear recognition that there was already a distance between this person and herself, right in this very moment. "The youngest Kanroku Master in history—Noeru. The title given to confectioners who've won the competition," a participant next to Hana whispered to someone. "She won the last tournament at nineteen. She's here as a special judge today." Noeru opened her mouth quietly. "We will now begin the draw." Her voice was gentle and unhurried. But her words were economical, and with just that, the chamber began to move. --- The draw proceeded matter-of-factly. The tournament bracket was posted on the wall, and the order was determined by lottery. When Hana's name was called, a small sound almost escaped her throat, but she swallowed it hurriedly. Her first-round opponent was someone she'd seen in the preliminaries. They exchanged glances and quickly looked away. When the draw ended, Noeru paused for a moment. "Since we're here, I'd like to offer some observations on the preliminary works." The participants stirred. Hana's spine straightened. Noeru's evaluations were concise for each person. "Skillful in ingredient selection." "Stable control of heat." "Original creativity shone through." Positive and negative alike—she placed only the necessary words. There was no emotion in them, but they weren't off-base either. Simply accurate. The participants reacted as their evaluations finished—some with relief, some with quiet nods, each in their own way. Hana's name was called. She felt all eyes turn toward her at once. Hana kept her gaze forward, chin slightly lowered. Noeru's pale blue eyes looked directly at Hana. "Your technique is insufficient." She said it plainly. Just that. "Passion alone won't carry you through the main tournament." The chamber fell silent. Hana's first instinct was to say something back. Something like a rebuttal rose in her throat. But it quickly changed shape. (I know.) It wasn't anger. It wasn't that she wasn't hurt. But she understood, somewhere deep down, that those words weren't off the mark. Her lower-ranked advancement in the preliminaries. The failed formulations she'd repeated in the workshop. The fact that her technique was lacking—Hana knew this better than anyone. She didn't look down. She met Noeru's eyes. Not with a hurt expression, not with a defiant one—but with a quiet face that said "I know." Noeru's gaze narrowed for just an instant. Then it moved smoothly to the next participant. Beside her, Hana sensed Ren shift slightly. He seemed about to say something, but didn't. Because Hana was there—that's what the gesture conveyed. Later, when she realized this, Hana almost laughed to herself. It was rare for Ren to hold himself back for someone else. That rarity made her feel oddly ticklish inside. --- The first round of the main tournament took place that afternoon. The Hundred Flavors Hall—a spectator area on the first level of Kanroku Palace with a capacity of eight hundred, centered around a circular competition stage thirty meters in diameter—was occupied only by participants and judges today. The audience seats were empty, and that very emptiness heightened the tension. The Taste Judges—five specially trained evaluators who assessed confections with all five senses—took their assigned seats. Noeru, as the special judge, settled quietly beside them. The challenge was announced. Noeru stood. "Using materials from the Sixth District, the Glittering Sugar Tower, recreate a memory from your own past." The Glittering Sugar Tower—a district that employed molecular gastronomy and 3D shaping techniques, recreating the future of confectionery culture. Its materials were nothing like ordinary baking ingredients. Sugar that changed shape. Gel that reacted to temperature. Crystals that refracted light. Using those—to recreate a memory from the past. "Time limit: ninety minutes. Begin." Ren moved immediately. His curiosity about the materials drove him forward, heading straight for the molecular gastronomy section. That decisiveness made Hana a little envious, as always. Hana's hands had stopped. (Recreate a memory from the past.) The challenge narrowed to a single point within her. Not as a technique to be used, but touching something more personal. (What do I recreate?) Something from her past. A memory connected to food. Something precious, unforgettable— Before she knew it, her hands were moving. She wasn't conscious of it. Her body moved before her thoughts could catch up. She measured sugar. The proportions were slightly different from her usual formula. But her hands remembered. The feel of her grandmother's old measuring cup in the workshop. The numbers marked on it that she saw every day. The sound of the kiln being lit. The color of the evening light—that orange glow streaming through the western window, the sugar crystals catching it and sparkling, that evening. Hana felt as though she were in her grandmother's kitchen at Kagetsu-do, not in Workshop Twenty-Three. She thought she smelled her grandmother's scent. Soul-Baking Technique—the method of infusing a confectioner's emotions and memories into ingredients so that those who ate it could experience those feelings—Hana remembered those words only long after something was complete. A bell-like sound rang out. Time's up. Hana slowly returned to herself. Before her was a baked confection. Small, round in shape. The surface was lightly charred, unevenly so. Technically, it was rather rough. But the aroma was—something was different. Sweet, warm, nostalgic. Hana felt that way about it herself, so she couldn't say objectively if it was good. --- The judging began. The five Taste Judges sampled each participant's work in turn. Their evaluations were recorded as numbers, but their faces were all serious. Hana waited quietly in her chest for her turn to come. Her work was placed before the judges. The first one took a bite. Nothing changed. Her expression didn't change—or so Hana thought, until the judge's eyes narrowed slightly. The second one ate. Set down her fork. As if to confirm something, she brought it to her mouth once more. The third one took a bite and covered her mouth with her hand. Hana didn't understand what it meant. Good or bad, she couldn't read it from the face. But there was something in that gesture—something that seemed to contain words that couldn't be spoken. The fourth one ate. Closed her eyes. Remained still for a while. Then Hana saw something glimmer at the corner of the judge's eye. Tears. The chamber fell absolutely silent. No one said anything. The fourth judge quietly opened her eyes and pressed a cloth to them. Not apologetically—just as if it had simply happened that way. Hana was frozen. (What's happening?) The fifth one ate. She didn't cry, but after a long silence said quietly, "A strange confection," and recorded her evaluation. She felt a gaze. It was Noeru. Looking directly at Hana from the special judge's seat. Different from the gaze in the chamber earlier. Something that measured, but the way of measuring had changed—eyes that focused more precisely. Hana still didn't understand what that gaze meant. She only felt, with strange clarity, that she was being looked at. --- After the competition ended, they returned to the workshop. Workshop Twenty-Three. Stone floor, amber walls, the warmth of the kiln. Sweet scent dissolved into the air as always. Hana removed her outer coat and set her things on the work table. The events of the day replayed slowly in her mind. Noeru's evaluation. The words "your technique is insufficient." The quietness with which she'd accepted them. And then—what had happened during the competition without her even realizing it. (What was that?) Her hands had moved. Her body had been drawn by memory, moving as if pulled. And the judges had cried. As she thought, Hana's gaze fell on the work table. —Wait. The Heart-Reflection Stone was slightly out of place. The Heart-Reflection Stone—an auxiliary tool for Soul-Baking Technique, a warm stone that fit in the palm. It was issued to novice confectioners to aid mental focus, and hers should have been placed at the right end of the work table. Now it was slightly inward. Had someone touched it? Or had she moved it and forgotten? Hana picked up the stone. —It was cold. Normally, when she held it in her palm, she'd feel warmth immediately. Today's stone was chilly. And that wasn't all. Her nose caught something. A faint scent. Sweet yet not sweet, that contradiction. It resembled, somehow, the scent she'd felt in the corridor beyond the workshop door that night. There was a knock. "Can I come in?" The door opened and Ren entered. Unusually for him today, the lingering atmosph