Jack scrambled up, pushing his empty tray slightly forward.
Wipe. Wipe.
He grabbed a napkin from the table and gave his palms a quick wipe, feeling a sudden, nervous flutter in his stomach.
Dhakdhak…..dhakdhak…..his heartbeat hammered as his stomach tightened. Meeting new people was terrifying enough on a normal day, but meeting older students who had survived in this academy for years felt entirely different.
Step. Step. Step.
He followed Liam away from their secluded spot. As they walked down the central aisle, moving past the scattered groups of students, Jack kept his head down. He tried not to draw attention to himself, focusing instead on Liam's steady pace.
Murmur. Murmur.
Liam moved through the crowds with the casual ease of someone who knew exactly where he belonged.
As they crossed the halfway point of the hall, the ambient noise began to shift. The general, muffled murmur of quiet conversations was suddenly pierced by a distinct, loud cluster of voices.
It wasn't a fight. The academy robos would have already dragged them off by their collars if it were. No, this was just pure, unfiltered chaos. Overlapping shouts, exaggerated gasps, and bright, ringing laughter cut through the air.
At first, the words were a jumbled mess over the mechanical hum.
"…utterly barbaric…"
"…tell that to a billion people…"
"…raw fish, mate, literally just raw fish…"
As Liam and Jack drew closer, the voices separated into distinct tones.
Six older students were gathered around a table near the eastern side of the hall. They sat in a chaotic arrangement that seemed to completely ignore the rigid, institutional atmosphere of the academy. Their table was an absolute visual feast, filled with completely different cuisines.
At the head of the group sat Riya, a girl from India. She wore her academy uniform perfectly. Her green coat was buttoned crisply, the white collar of her shirt sharp, and her tie perfectly straight, giving her the rigid, commanding posture of a military general reviewing troops, though currently, she was using a spoon to point aggressively at the boy across from her.
In front of her was a steaming plate of Chole Bhature—two massive, golden-fried breads accompanied by a rich, dark, and heavily spiced chickpea curry.
BAM!
Isabella's palms slapped flat against the table. The Italian girl had her green coat completely unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely. She looked genuinely offended by the universe itself.
"I am just saying!" Isabella announced loudly, her accent thick with indignation. "If you need to put thirty different spices into a single pot, you are hiding something! It is a culinary cover-up!"
Clatter. She dropped her fork dramatically next to her creamy Pasta Carbonara. "My pasta has four ingredients. Four! And it is an absolute masterpiece."
Riiiip.
Riya didn't even flinch. She casually tore a massive chunk of fluffy Bhature. Swish, plop. She dunked it heavily into the Chhole Masala.
"It's called complexity, Isabella," Riya scoffed. Munch. "It's an art form. If I wanted to eat boiled dough and regret, I'd ask for the academy's standard stew. Chole Bhature has soul. You just lack the palate for greatness."
CHOMP!
Nico nearly unhinged his jaw. The Greek boy was sprawled so carelessly across the long bench that his uniform was an absolute disaster.
"Mmph—you're bof miffing da point," Nico mumbled, his mouth entirely full of roasted meat.
Gulp. He swallowed hard, grinning wildly, tzatziki sauce threatening to drip onto his untucked shirt. "Food shouldn't be a science experiment. Meat. Fire. Bread. Done. Boom. Perfection. We Greeks solved hunger centuries ago while the rest of you were playing with grass."
Tap. Tap.
The sound of pearl composite chopsticks lightly tapping the edge of a porcelain dish was barely audible, yet it somehow cut through the noise.
Kenji hadn't even looked up.
The Japanese boy sat perfectly still. Coat closed, tie tight, creases ironed to a terrifying degree. His analytical eyes meticulously scanned his Bento box before lifting a flawless slice of tuna sashimi.
"Your food," Kenji said. His voice was flat. Dead calm. "…is a disorganized mess wrapped in paper. It lacks discipline."
He held the sushi up slightly. "Balance. Precision. Umami."
"Kenji, mate," Nico snorted. "It's raw fish on cold rice. I could jump into a river, bite a live salmon, and call it sushi."
Ssssssip.
Mei lowered her teacup.
The Chinese girl sat perfectly straight. She hadn't spoken loudly, but the moment she moved, the others physically braced themselves. She picked up a translucent shrimp dumpling from her bamboo steamer.
"Your food is just a disorganized sandwich, Nico," Mei's voice sliced through the air like a razor blade. "Do not speak to Kenji about sophistication when you have sauce dripping onto your chin."
Nico aggressively wiped his chin with his sleeve. "Harsh, Mei. Truly harsh."
"You guys are all completely wrong!"
Clatter—splash! Aisha nearly knocked over her water glass as she bounced up on the shared bench. The Egyptian girl had ditched the dress code entirely, wearing a bright scarf wrapped around her wrist.
She leaned across the table, swiftly stealing a fried potato from Nico's tray before he could even react. "Food is supposed to be fun! Look at this!"
She pointed to her massive bowl of Koshari. "Rice, lentils, pasta, chickpeas, crispy onions! It's a literal party in a bowl! You Italians think you own pasta, Isabella, but we Egyptians figured out it's better when you mix it with literally everything else!"
Gasp!
Isabella clutched her chest like she had just taken an arrow to the heart. "Aisha! Never! If my nonna heard you say that, she would crawl out of her grave right now just to hit you with a wooden spoon."
Riya smirked. "Heh, I'd pay good money to see that fight."
THUD!
Nico planted his heavy boots hard against the floor, shooting up slightly from the bench and leaning forward aggressively. "Street food is the ultimate evolution! Try running for your life from the academy robos while eating a bowl of hot soup, Kenji. See how that works out for you."
"A true warrior," Kenji chewed slowly, never breaking his calm, "finishes his meal, and then he fights."
"A true warrior," Mei corrected quietly, a terrifyingly serene smile touching her lips, "poisons the enemy's food so she doesn't have to fight at all."
…
One second of absolute, dead silence.
Nico's eyes widened. He slowly, very slowly, lowered his Gyro.
"Mei…" Nico swallowed dryly. "You didn't… you didn't go near the kitchen counter today, did you?"
Mei just took a delicate bite of her dumpling. She didn't answer.
"Dammit….I'm suddenly not hungry anymore," Nico muttered, staring at his meat with intense suspicion.
Jack stood a few feet away, absolutely paralyzed. He had never expected this. They were loud. They were fiercely alive. For just a few minutes, they were just teenagers arguing passionately over lunch.
Beside him, Liam finally stepped forward. Sigh. He crossed his arms, looking down at the table with deep, profound disappointment.
"You are all wasting your breath," Liam's voice cut through the tension. "When everyone knows the absolute peak of culinary perfection is a hearty Irish stew and a thick slice of baked bread."
Pause.
All six of them slowly turned to look at Liam. Then, they looked at each other.
And then—like they had trained for this exact moment—absolute hell broke loose.
"It looks like wet mud!"
"It tastes like historical sadness!"
"I wouldn't feed that to the robos, Liam!"
"It's literally boiled despair!"
"You put a potato in hot water and called it a masterpiece, you absolute clown!"
Liam just closed his eyes, taking the merciless barrage of insults with the tired patience of a man surrounded by idiots.
"Anyway," Riya's sharp gaze suddenly shifted. Like a hawk spotting prey, she locked onto the nervous kid standing behind Liam.
"Who's the kid?"
Scraaape! Nico's boots scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed off the heavy bench, leaning halfway across the table, eyes burning with terrifying intensity.
"Never mind that!" Nico shouted. "More importantly, kid… what is your favorite food? Think carefully. Your answer determines your survival at this table."
Whiplash. Suddenly, six pairs of hyper-focused eyes were staring directly at Jack. The playful banter was completely gone.
Jack felt his face catch fire. He looked at the spicy curry, the raw fish, the pasta, the dumplings… his brain completely short-circuited.
"Um…" Jack stammered, shrinking back. "M-meat pie?"
Uggghhhhh. A collective, pained groan echoed around the table.
Slide. "Absolutely not. You need culture," Isabella shoved her pasta toward him.
Push. "Meat pie is a tragedy. Try this!" Aisha slid her Koshari forward.
Rip. "Ignore them. Eat this." Riya shoved a fresh Bhatura in his face.
Thrust. "Meat and fire, kid!" Nico shoved roasted meat at him.
Jack stood frozen as plates and bowls formed a barricade around him. He shot a desperate, helpless look at Liam.
Liam just chuckled, slapping Jack heavily on the back.
"Sit down, Jack," Liam smiled faintly. "You're going to be here a while."