A/N: To the Bakers reading, welcome! So I've been writing this chapter for some time and since I'd decided to take a break this week and put up something that I was already done with, I thought I'd update this book. Unfortunately, there is one tiny spoiler hidden between the lines which maaaay allude to the ending of the Baked series but it's not a huge spoiler and I'm not even sure if you can spot it HAHAHAHA. Challenge for you!

Enjoy!

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Dear Vanilla,

          Have you been filling your tummy with enough cupcakes lately? ;-; I hope you've settled down in your apartment by now, but I'm not that worried since you've got Uncle Al by your side to help you with all the technicalities. Still, Xander and I decided to get you something to brave the chilly weather over there, so we got you a nice wool scarf to keep your neck warm. Giselle was the one who chose the colour. We hope you like it!

          It'll probably be a week before school starts by the time you're reading this so I'm assuming you're very excited (or um maybe nervous hehe) by now. I know making friends isn't the easiest thing in the world but it definitely is an important part in the high school experience! There may be times when you feel a little lonely over there, especially when Uncle Al returns next week, but as the independent and intelligent Vanilla I know you are, I'm sure everything will be alright.

          Should things not work out, don't forget that we're all a call away (' u ')/ hehe.

Love,

Chip

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The long walk to the campus wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't pouring buckets from the sky, stranding at least a hundred students in the station frantically searching their bags for a non-existent umbrella or joining the queue for a cab. Every passing minute piled more anxious students in pressed uniforms into the station and yet, few were able to leave the shelter. Me included.

Shoulder-to-shoulder with another student of my year, a single badge pinned to the collar of her blazer, I checked the time.

"Five minutes to the opening ceremony and the rain isn't letting up," she said all of a sudden, turning my attention towards her. Not quite knowing what to say, I'd nodded then, adjusting the frame of my glasses. She didn't seem to mind.

"You know, they should totally hire shuttle buses for this," she went on with a sigh, faint amidst the pattering rain. "It's not like we get to stay on campus."

I laughed politely, nodding once more and shifting my book bag to carry it in my arms. Some, desperate and without umbrellas, had made a dash for the campus—a ten-minute walk away—with blazers raised above their heads and pants drenched within a single step out of the shelter.

"What's your name?" The girl beside me asked without warning. "I'm Xu Siyin. But you can call me Silvia."

Slightly taken aback, I was obliged to temporarily relief myself of rain worries and return the favour. "Um. Hello, Xu. My name's White." I turned away briefly before removing my blazer and bracing myself for the bite of the rain. "Sorry I have to cut our conversation short, um. I think I'll be going after all. See you around then."

I felt it first on my hands and then, splashing against the bare ankles of my feet before soaking into the cuffs of my pants like a sponge. So cold and awful it was, ducked under a mere piece of clothing to shield myself against the rain and the wind that I hadn't noticed someone else running alongside me towards the campus. Amidst the rain, she waved.

"Might as well!"

Nearly stunned into stopping, I tripped over, well, myself, and stumbled—short of falling off the curb and onto the road. Thankfully, Xu had caught me by the arm, dropping her blazer as she did and helping me regain my balance. Pulling back, she scooped up her soaked blazer and raced ahead, turning back once to laugh whilst running in the rain. Open and seemingly free of concern.

*

"Students who require assistance or a change of clothing, please proceed down to the left entrance of the hall, we have prepared for you, uh, the necessary materials to dry off. Do not sit on the fabric seats. I repeat, do not sit on the fabric seats."

If, humanly possible, the chaos was furthered upon our arrival at the Marriott Pavilion auditorium, the supposed venue for the opening ceremony. With nearly a quarter of the school missing on the first day and half of them turning up drenched and soaked to the bone, efforts to alleviate the current situation and ease heightened senses were... um. Ineffective, to say the least.

"Take this," an upperclassman with three badges pinned to his collar tossed me a towel, missing out Xu who was a little shorter and standing in his blind spot. Politely, I'd thanked him and asked for another, holding it out to her when she shook her head and laughed.

"I don't need it. You take two."

Startled, I shoved the towel in her face. "No! Don't be silly. Take this and dry yourself off. You wouldn't be wanting to catch a cold on your first day of school." I'd unconsciously turned into Uncle Al for a split second before clearing my throat, looking away. "Um. Up to you. That is."

Turning back to see if she was drying herself off, I concluded at once that she, in fact, hadn't been listening to me at all and was instead drifting towards a huge art piece spanning the open space made out of three-dimensional words pieced together. Naturally, her drenched clothes and shoes were leaving a trail of rainwater, forming puddles across the floor and increasing the chances of someone else slipping amidst the chaos.

I called after her, vision tunnelling on the small figure pushing past a crowd of hundred students when I bumped into another person crossing to my right.

At a glance, the collar of his blazer was empty but because the stripes of his tie were red, I knew at once that he was a culinary student some year above myself. Peering up, I apologized quickly, knowing that I was in the wrong for not being aware of my surroundings. The exchange had been brief—almost fleeting in a sense that I would have regarded it as the meeting of perpendicular lines. Once and never again and already, I was headed elsewhere when he said my name.

Startled, I'd turned and searched but my line of sight was completely blocked off by several other students coming between us, equally drenched from the rain.

He said Vanilla. And for years, I had gone by my middle name instead; that, or my last. But...

"Hey, you think they stuck every letter on with glue to make this or they 3D-printed this entire thing out?" Xu appeared by my shoulder, successfully startling me into a jump. She nudged a wet elbow into my side and pointed at the wall of food-related words. "And why's spaghetti and bass so big while salt's kinda small?"

It took me a while to recover, somehow convincing myself that the words had somehow got mixed up amidst the noise and I'd somehow, somehow heard my name instead of 'no problem' or 'watch where you're going.'

"It's a word cloud. Otherwise known as a tag cloud," I explained, taking the towel in her hands and drying her pixie cut hair, glancing over my shoulder once more. She reminded me of Giselle. "Strictly speaking, it's a visual representation of text data, used to depict keywords or to visualize freeform text. A creative expression. I would assume they picked out the students' favourite food-related words and put it up on this wall after casting a vote. The bigger words probably had more votes than the smaller ones."

Xu seemed a little distracted by the growing commotion near the stairs behind us instead of paying attention to what I was saying. She had risen on her toes and was craning her neck to catch a glimpse of what was going on so I followed her gaze and reported it to save her the trouble of going over.

"It's Dr. Birchwood, the headmaster." Though I could at least get a better view of the situation, I wasn't missing out on tipped-toes. "Looks like he just arrived. Oh, and that's... that's Chef Allan. He's the associate dean for culinary arts. Someone else is behind them, coming up the stairs. I think he might be the president of the college institute."

Xu's mouth shaped into an 'o' before shrugging, looking elsewhere and indicating her loss of interest in the commotion. Lowering my guard and deciding to be rather forward, I asked if she knew what ADHD was.

"Yeah," she appeared unfazed. "I have it." Then, after a moment of silence, asked if it had been obvious.

"Not really," I replied, honest. "Most people may brush it off as jumpy and excited. Which isn't unusual considering the fact that we are on our first day of school and many unfortunate things have happened and with the opening ceremony delayed, we might have to skip a couple of procedures that would have been nice including the student demonstration that they'd supposedly prepared."

Xu stared and I cleared my throat, embarrassed. "Um. Sorry. I tend to ramble, so I try to keep my interactions with strangers short."

She laughed, looking me up and down. "Do you have ADHD?"

"No. I... I just have reader's excitement. And a poor aptitude for conversations," I admitted quietly, pushing up my glasses as soon as I felt my ears grow hot. "Let's not stay out here for too long. It's warmer inside the hall." She looked around, seeming to disagree.

"Isn't it warmer outside here? It's jam-packed, honestly."

Politely, I told her that additional heating was provided in the seating area and that the faster we all managed to settle down, the faster we were going to receive our ties, scarves, knife kits and chef uniforms. Xu then made a face, tagging along as I headed back into the hall and up the auditorium seats in search of the one I'd been allocated.

"What's yours?"

"14K," I looked around, having concluded back in elementary school that placing my first or last name before one another did not matter. After all, having a last name that started with a W and a first name that started with a V somehow necessitated being in the last row of first years. "And you?"

"19K because my last name comes before my first," Xu laughed, purposefully treading on the lights that alternated every step up the way. "Why are you at the back?"

At this, I cleared my throat and said no more, quietly pointing out that we'd arrived at our row. "Go ahead." She didn't seem to harp on the matter; merely giving me a look for allowing her to sit first.

Behind us were the sophomores, seated in their ties and official uniform, seemingly going on about their first night on campus whilst catching up with their peers. Xu had, unsurprisingly, chosen to occupy the seat beside mine since nearly half the freshmen had yet to arrive and had launched into her own summer stories, revealing every detail including which part of China she was from and the odd fact that her mother had given birth to her in a car. How that seemed to be related to her summer, I wasn't too sure either.

"Come over to Hudson sometime. The common area's huge—"

"—stayed up partying with the upperclassmen last night. The beer tower... man, you've should have—"

"I sometimes wish I was born on a Grab. You know what I mean? Free rides for the rest of your life come on! Who wouldn't take that? Anyway, I was heading to my mom's restaurant at the Peninsula—one of the most famous hotels in Shanghai—"

"That's why she's late?"

"Hungover, so yeah. You should've seen Leroy's face when she threw up all over our carpet. Quality shit."

I blinked, turning around. The sophomores above didn't seem to notice my gaze; far engrossed in their private conversations and laughing away about last night's epic unfolding of dramatized events. To their left, five seats down, one remained empty.

"What?" Xu prodded my arm. "What's up? You're thinking of staying on campus too?"

Turning back, I tidied the folds of my blazer and cleared my throat. "I-it was nothing." A hundred Leroys in the world and the one I know ending up in the same high school as myself? "Also, that's impossible. First years aren't allowed to stay on campus."

"Unnnnlessss you, like, top your class, or, like everyone else, have special connections with the culinary world in some way," shrugged Xu, blunt in her every word. "It's hard to lie about my mother's name shaking bones during the interview. How did you do by the way?"

Reluctant to speak about my uncle's involvement, I avoided the topic completely by stating that I'd applied for critical and business studies instead of the commonly preferred culinary or baking and pastry studies.

"Wait. Is that the food nutrition one?"

"No. That would be nutrition studies," I pointed out. "Critical and business studies focus on the industrial aspect of the culinary world, which is what I'm interested in because, well, I... would be very pleased if I could fulfill my dream of becoming a food critic or journalist. I like to read and write. And connect other through the common ground of food." I realized I'd said this all rather quickly but Xu, who had a knack for fast speaking and perhaps therefore fast listening (albeit a short attention span), seemed to catch every word.

"Cool!" She piped. "I just like eating."

I'd laughed, then. She really did remind me of the people back home and all of sudden, I missed everyone immensely. It had been a while since Miss Julie had made her signature lasagne or Thai-style olive fried rice. Albeit weak to spicy food—furthered by a sensitive tongue—Miss Julie's ability to cook up anything within my threshold level and add her own twist to it was what I'd missed the most.

"So, what's your favourite food in the world?" Xu went on despite the arrival of the first year who was supposedly seated beside me. She'd scooted over to the other side instead. "Mine's poached dory in Szechuan spicy soup and liangfen noodles. We call it 水煮鱼."

Students, less drenched and soaked from before, were beginning to filter into the front of the hall and search, with blank and confused faces, for their allocated seats. On stage, two emcees had taken to the podium and were adjusting the mic stands.

"Um. Well, I..." Xu waited for my answer; an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. "I do have a soft spot for strawberry shortcakes. Otherwise, I do find myself rather open to any culinary venture. W-well, except really spicy—" The first-year student allocated to seat 15K had arrived just then and frowned at Xu in her seat, raising a brow my way as though to ask what her occupied seat had meant.

Xu took one glance at her and sighed before dropping a brief 'catch you later' my way, forgetting to apologize as she did. I did so on her behalf.

"Hm," she flashed a half-hearted smile, falling into the seat beside me and crossing her legs as she did. "I've never seen you around before."

"Oh," was all I managed to say in response, unsure what she meant by that since she, too, was not wearing a tie like every other freshman. "Is... this not supposed to be the first day of school?"

She looked at me as though I had blurted the most ridiculous joke in the universe. "Not if you were from the middle school division or attended the welcome teas and scholarship receptions, no. Which I now see why," the girl quipped before glancing sideways and seemingly sizing me up. "You must be a red, then."

A quick deduction led me to assume that she was referring to culinary students, whose colour scheme featured red as its primary.

"If you're referring to my course of study, then no, I am not a culinary student." This made her frown.

"Then surely, you know who I am?" She scoffed, switching her legs that were crossed over one another. "I'd let it slide if it were the reds since they wouldn't necessarily be aware of my expertise but—"

An announcement came through the speakers above, interrupting her streak of disbelief and calling for the attention of all students. The girl (whose name I still did not know) pursed her lips in disapproval, turning away with a snap of her head and folding her arms. Unsure of how I should be responding to such social situations or if further introductions were needed, I, too, turned away with hopes of ending the conversation. Needless to say, I was frightened; but thankfully, I had become rather apt at hiding vulnerable emotions.

"Students—new and old. Welcome and welcome back," the emcees in the school's official uniform began. "We apologise for the delay and have unfortunately switched up the schedule to compensate for the lost time. Headmaster Birchwood's address will be followed by the handing out of welfare bags and timetables before moving straight to the freshmen ceremonial pledge. We uh, regret to inform you that the speeches by alumnus Dr. Yamazaki Shin and valedictorians Lady Erica and Lee Sang Joon of the previous term have been shifted to the following week's assembly period. Now, let us welcome..."

Yamazaki Shin? That sounded like the name of Mr. Chocola—Chip's assistant baker a long time ago, back when I was four of five years old and the spark of citrusy sweetness in the custard of his white strawberry tart that had remained in my list of favourites since ten years ago when we first bought it for Miss Julie's birthday. The natural honeyed bite of fresh strawberries on a gentle bed of lemon cream held together by a jam-infused crust—

"—congratulate you on having made it past the grueling selection process which, if I may add, you may come to think as insignificant in the coming months or weeks. Of course, those from the middle school division would understand that the exams you've—"

Already, I could taste his words and feel the bitter sting on my tongue. No Vanilla, this is not the time to be classifying everyone into flavours and memory-associating them with your sense of taste! Please concentrate.

"—yearly improvement. As always, the chefs and instructors in our school are the best. Internationally. Rest assured, you are in good hands. And I hope you will, of course, soon be the very owner of trained, seasoned hands that know the kitchen—"

"Were we supposed to laugh?" the other freshman to my left (who wasn't the supposedly famous girl from the middle school division) had blurted in a voice unexpectedly loud. Everyone had turned to stare; including the headmaster.

Goodness gra—no, Vanilla. You promised Miss Julie not to learn Uncle Al's curses, so. Good god of rolling pins and Oscar Wilde! Let this boy understand the importance of silence where necessary.

Headmaster Birchwood did not look very happy with the boy's apparent joke, staring straight past the seats in front and up at him as though purposefully directing everyone's attention towards him. I did recall Uncle Al specifically reminding me not to cross the headmaster on our flight here, strangely refusing to elaborate despite my further questioning.

In a matter of seconds, the boy seated to my left was asked to leave the auditorium and had shuffled past the rest of the row, hands in his pockets and the most nonchalant gaze that would have ticked even Miss Julie, to exit from the door at the far back. Whispers that swept the hall had died down upon this and everyone else seemed afraid to say another word as the headmaster got back to delivering the rest of his opening address.

Nothing of importance seemed to follow after the incident during the headmaster's address; or at least not according to my judgement of it, nothing did. By then, I'd noticed a rumbling in my tummy—the announcement of an imminent storm that would soon rain down on my parade should it remain unsated by food.

Though it had been a mere week or so since I'd last had some decent cake, I was, already, craving for more. Yet, because I hadn't exactly stomached anything since last night's cereal and bananas in oat milk, the image of a fluffy, cheesy omelette stuffed with sautéed mushrooms and diced ham, complete with a drizzle of smooth tomato purée and a sprinkle of chives as garnish.

I couldn't stop my tummy from calling for attention once again, groaning loud enough for the girl beside me to turn her head and raise her brow as she passed a welfare bag down the row. I managed to avert my gaze and nod in embarrassment, continuing to pass the heavy bag down the row.

Inside the tote bag were tons of band-aids, examination pads and stationary, including a handy clipboard, switchable pens with multiple colours, and a leather-bound organizer that looked rather costly. Other trinkets included a pair of earphones, a laptop sticker set featuring the school's logo in different sizes, and a magnetic digital timer—which honestly won the rest hands down.

"Did they cut the budget or something?"

I turned to the girl beside me who'd tossed her welfare bag to the floor and kicked it aside. It ended up on my feet. "They handed out Swarovski pens last year."

"Shut up Vi," someone seated behind us kicked the back of her chair, laughing and startling us both. "You probably have ten of those back home already."

The girl (whose name I assumed was Vi, or perhaps her nickname, at least), glanced over her shoulder before scoffing and returning her gaze to the front of the hall, muttering something under her breath. Naturally, I'd deduced that they'd become acquainted with each other in middle school. Otherwise, there would've been little explanation as to why a sophomore was familiar with a freshman. Oh, but... unless she's that well-known among the students here, then. Well.

"What'd you do over the summer? Chill at your private villa or something?"

"Hmph," she snorted, waving a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "Unlike you, I was invited to several international culinary conventions. Spending my time wisely. Getting acquainted with people who actually matter."

I minded my own business, quietly picking up the welfare bag that had fallen over my feet and leaning it against the owner's seat instead. Somewhere above, a voice was calling for first years to be split into their course studies. Everyone else seemed rather puzzled by the instructions.

"Haha. Same as ever huh, Birchwood," the student she seemed to be acquainted with shook his head and lazed backward on his chair. "Gotta admire your guts for speaking to your seniors like that."

"First-years—can we have your attention. We will now hand out your mass timetables for fundamental theory and practical classes. Please ensure that you receive a copy each and leave space in the other boxes to fill in according to your personalized course studies. Once you've received a copy of the timetable, please head down to the stage for the ceremonial pledge. We will sort you into your courses after we've marked your attendance."

Eager to leave the radius of the conversation Vi—Birchwood? Birchwood. Was that a common last name to have in these parts of the world?

Shaking it out of my system, I excused myself to head down the hall all the way to the front after receiving a copy of the timetable, ensuring that I had my acceptance letter in the inner pocket of my blazer just in case. I joined the queue that was only beginning to lengthen and snake up the rows of seats, thankful that I'd decided to hurry down first. A couple of students down, Xu was waving my way with her head protruding out of the line. Several in front had turned to follow her gaze.

"Your name?" Someone with a printed list came up to me to ask, flipping through pages of tattered paper.

"Um. Julian White. I mean... if you flip to the 'V', I'd be able to point it out for you."

"Wait," he paused. "So is it a 'J' or a 'V' I'm supposed to find?"

"W-well, technically it's a 'V' if you're searching for my first name but a 'W' if you're searching by my last but I'd prefer to go by my middle name, you see, um. I'm so sorry—just, 'V'. It's Vanilla."

Breathless, I'd finally managed to spit out my first name and erase the look of confusion on his face. Only to replace it with a look of amusement. Dear Wilde, please give me strength.

"O-kay... gotcha. You're under critics, right? Blue. Tell the guy at the front and he'll hand you a scarf and tie. Wear the tie but keep the scarf elsewhere, then get on stage. Clear?"

I nodded stiffly, already drained and somewhat hoping that the day would whizz by fast enough for my heart. He moved on to the freshman behind me while I waited for my turn.

The collection of scarves seemed pretty fast and efficient. There were four colours already prepared at the table before the stage and all we needed to do was tell them and pick the correct colour—which in my case, was blue—and put on the striped tie whilst being ushered onto the stage. I was told to join a group of other freshmen at the far end, dressed in similar colour motifs and the smallest out of the four general groups.

"Hey!" One of them waved me over. "Lost sheep! Over here."

I counted; there were five of us in total. "Um. Hello. I'm assuming we're all aspiring food critics?"

"And businessmen, yes," some guy held out a hand towards me and I shook it. "Or women. Yeah. In any case, we're like the 'vast' minority huh?" The four of them laughed and introduced themselves rather quickly, throwing out names that even for a bookworm like myself, was hard to grasp at once.

"Nice to meet you all," I began when it was my turn, ignoring the stares of those off-stage. The rest of the school, to be exact. "I'm Julian."

"I heard from a couple of seniors that everyone here goes by their last name. It's a chef thing, they say. So like, we're not allowed to call each other by firsts in class or anything."

Thank goodness! That is the best academic school rule I've ever come across! Absolutely life-saving.

"What happens when people in the same class share a last name?" A girl going by Pix asked next. "They use initials?"

"Yeah," a taller boy with long hair gathered into a ponytail (and whose name I could not recall) was quick to say. "So, mine would be A. V. Roux and yours something like P. Killiney."

I was having my moment; my moment of appreciating a new era of coolness in names regardless of being cursed with the worst first name in the century. The universe. Finally, I can be known (and feared) as V. J. White—a beautifully frightening title that everyone could take seriously and find professional despite the circumstance. Even my godfather, who's had to suffer ridicule for his entire life, could be known as C. Honeycutt-Jaxon in this humble arena!

Definitely writing this in my next letter.

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"So apparently there's this guy in the year above us," expounded Xu as soon as us freshmen were dismissed from the stage after reciting the culinary pledge. "He's been on the Dean's list for every module he's taken and no one's given him anything below an A since he's joined last year, so. I've got my eyes set on him."

I'd let her rattle on amidst listening to the stiff laughter in my head. "And that would mean...?"

"Beating him in his game," she laid out with a shrug. "I've got nothing to lose. Anyway, loads of things here are student-run, including school lunches and stuff. There's even a strawberry field on the rooftop of the commons! You get to keep a bucket as long as you pick six of 'em."

Turning to her with a blink, I asked how she'd gathered so much within the minutes we were apart.

"Culinary students talk a lot," Xu said knowingly, treading carefully down the stairs along with the rest of our cohort. "What about those over at yours?"

"U-um," I could vaguely hear voices at the front telling us to split into our homeroom classes sorted and pinned up on a huge noticeboard outside the Marriot Pavilion. Already, the rain had let up and the clouds were beginning to part. "We're a little quiet."

Naturally, I wasn't just about willing to reveal the fact that I'd been pouring over the happy news of never having to hear my first name on campus grounds for the next four years; or the odd fact that the students in my course had amounted to a grand number of nine, so I avoided it all and went for a safer option. Xu didn't seem to buy it.

"So if there're a hundred of us in each year and like forty of us are taking culinary studies and about thirty are so are bakers or pastry people then you and nutrition are, like, a total of less than thirty?" Her voice cracked near the end of her sentence. "That's some competition you're up against."

I held up a hand, refusing to allow my thoughts to wander that far ahead while a couple of students up front were roaring about being in the same homeroom class. Xu and I were somehow expelled to the back of the ground, furthest away from the board and out of my visible range (with glasses).

"I see you have a competitive streak. That may be, but aren't we being put against those of the same year and not the ones above?" I pointed out. "There's no need for you to be... gunning for our seniors with more experience."

She laughed, a stray tuft of hair peering out from behind her ear. "Okay, but like! Haha, I mean I can't blame you 'cuz you're not a culinary student but you do know that the head chefs rank culinary and baking students across all years before the summer hols, right? Oh, and—cool shit. We're in the same homeroom class." Xu raised a hand for a five, holding it up despite my slow uptake on things, stunted by her news.

Right. I'd done my research on the necessary modules and requirements of my course, but I wasn't well-versed in the details of the other three.

"People! We'll begin the tour in five minutes," said an upperclassman with three badges pinned to the collar of his blazer. "And get out your campus maps—they're in your welfare bags."

We were made to leave our belongings in allocated lockers nearby (welfare bags, book bag and all) before heading to the next location with our maps in hand. Each homeroom (five in total, across the cohort) was led by a different upperclassman in charge, a 'member of council' badge pinned above their breast pocket. For some reason, Xu and I had ended up in front, listening to our guide's colourful description of school buildings and monuments.

"This is the nutrition center which, uh... those of you under nutrition studies will be spending some of your time at but also where your fundamentals course, Product Knowledge, will be taught, and—oh," he looked at me all of a sudden. "Looks like you're the only critic in your class. Culinary Journalism is on the floor above."

His comment prompted me to glance over my shoulder in search of any sign of blue. Aw, well. Guess I'd gotten unlucky when they'd split the nine of us across five homerooms. There was bound to be one of us without a companion.

We continued down the hallway, catching glimpses of the garden plaza whilst nearly half the class busied themselves with private conversations which mostly featured the middle school division students re-acquainting and banding together into a formidable clique with formidable walls.

No surprises; I wasn't the most natural of friend-makers. Already, I found it a miracle for myself to have made a single friend in the span of three hours. Amidst my thoughts, I'd turned to look at Xu who, well, had her face buried in the window to our left—down a long hallway that allowed us to peer into practice kitchens just in case we were nosy middle-aged women.

"This is Roth Hall, our main building. Soo, you'll be having most of your classes here. Especially culinary students after the first semester, and if you're keen on practicing your skills after class, you can book a station on the online platform which you'll be setting up in the labs later on. Hey, don't crowd around the glass."

Only minutes after the opening ceremony and upperclassmen were in their chef coats churning out what looked like portions of chicken on the grill and to the right, huge bowls of salad. Thai mango salad, judging by the ingredients—oh, and with grilled shrimp.

While my tummy had been continuously calling for attention, it was now my taste buds that did.

"Don't do that," our guide shooed several curious eyes away from the glass. Including Xu. "It's distracting. They've got to prepare for The Line down at the student commons or you won't have anything to eat for lunch."

"Will we have to do that as well?" I asked, wondering if they'd give first years a go. Apparently, age didn't seem to matter.

"Yeah, of course. Once you've completed your basic practicals—what we call the triple zeroes, 'cuz they're the only modules with course codes that have three zeroes in it—you're vetted by the deans and then you're put on the duty list. Honestly though, I spent my first year skinning potatoes, so... don't get your hopes up."

I smiled politely, nodding. Xu didn't look too happy with what he said, crossing her arms and flipping him off discreetly while his back was turned. Heading down the wide, spacious hallway and towards the end of Roth Hall—which I assumed was the main entrance of the entire school campus since, according to the map, that is, we'd be approaching Anton Plaza, the school's most iconic structure—we were stopped before the main lobby and shown a list of names, printed in gold on polished wooden plaques.

There were no pictures. Or digital flair. Or any other additional tricks to make the hall of fame look strikingly attractive. There weren't even indications of the students' year or class but the numbers said it all.

"So as you all know, the school ranks their chefs across all cohorts at the end of every semester according to, well, confidential criteria. The top thirteen have their names up here, right after you come through the main doors just because."

My first glance warranted a second because I hadn't expected, so soon or under such terribly cold circumstances, our paths to cross again despite its deliberate divergence. Whether or not I'd decided to do anything about it, however... I guess time will tell.

#3 Leroy Cox

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A/N: By the way, I have a disclaimer. The culinary school that Vanilla attends needed some grounding for structure/architecture, since I wasn't too sure what a prestigious culinary school would look/feel like, so I've been researching a lot on the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) and most of the building is described based on how the CIA looks like. Another institute I've done a bit of research on is Le Cordon Bleu, but the campus isn't modeled to look like it.

The operations and how the school works; like the courses (I've invented four separate ones) and modules are all thought up by myself, so! Do give me feedback if you're from a legit culinary school and maybe drop comments on how your school works!

-Cuppie.