Addiction has always been difficult to define. Some call it a sickness, others a lack of willpower—but in truth, it's more complex than either. Drug, cigarette, and alcohol addictions are easy to condemn and classify. But food? Food is something we must consume every day to survive. When someone develops a "food addiction," does it mean they must abstain from eating entirely? Of course not. But that gray area is exactly what makes it so dangerous.
Modern research has revealed an uncomfortable truth: some foods are chemically engineered to exploit our biological wiring. Designed with a precise combination of fats, sugars, and salts, these foods light up the brain's reward circuitry like fireworks. Fast food chains, snack industries, and multinational beverage companies have poured billions into refining these addictive profiles, turning food into a science—one that doesn't always prioritize health.
And for someone like Mana Nakiri, the possessor of the legendary God Tongue, the stakes are far higher.
Ordinary snack foods hold no power over her. Sweetened drinks, deep-fried comfort bites, chemically flavored crisps—these are nothing but noise to her palate. Her tongue, honed to detect the purest nuance of flavor, rejects such garbage outright.
But then came Zane's cooking.
That was the trigger.
Ever since tasting his cuisine, her carefully balanced world tilted. Her cravings intensified—not from hunger, but from a profound, almost spiritual need. Even when full, she wanted more. Even when trying to resist, her body rebelled. Her nights became sleepless, her body feverish and flushed, sweating as if in withdrawal. When she tried to ignore the longing, it grew unbearable. She felt weak, distracted, restless—like a beast pacing inside its cage.
She even resorted to secretly purchasing psychology books on eating disorders and culinary addiction, trying to diagnose herself.
"Why am I like this? What can I do about it?"
Page after page, answer after answer, but none could calm her storm.
In the end, only Zane's cooking could bring her relief.
That tavern had become her refuge. The aroma of his dishes was more effective than any therapy. As long as she could taste them, she felt alive. Balanced. Controlled.
That's what she told herself.
And yet…
Mana sat in the corner of the tavern, licking her fingertips clean of the last hints of Cloud Dragon Fried Shrimp, eyes slightly glazed over. She had devoured the entire plate effortlessly. And still—it wasn't enough.
Zane, who had quietly cleaned up her empty plates, gave her a gentle look. "Snapper sashimi, then fried shrimp… and you're still not satisfied?"
"I'm full," Mana said with practiced ease, patting her flat stomach in emphasis.
Zane raised a brow. "Your appetite really is something else. Most women wouldn't eat half what you just did."
"I've been starving for days," she snapped back, cheeks tinged pink. "How could I not eat my fill?"
She tried to look annoyed, but Zane's smirk made her avert her eyes.
Then, as if suddenly reminded of something, Mana stood abruptly. "Anne, settle the bill. We're leaving."
"Yes, ma'am." Anne gave a soft bow and moved toward the counter with a knowing smile.
As the two women slipped out the door, laughter and chatter resumed among the other tavern patrons—yet conversations still revolved around "that lady"—the Mana Nakiri—and her electrifying culinary outburst known as the Strongest Transmission.
Behind the bar, Zane gazed at the door she'd just exited through. The light in his eyes faded, replaced by an inscrutable calm.
"…Her dependency has grown stronger."
He tapped the counter lightly, recalling how Mana's God Tongue had evolved in the face of his perfected Ice Snapper Mountain dish—triggering a reaction even stronger than Transmission Pulse.
"Heh. Interesting. The evolution speed of the God Tongue really is terrifying."
The black car hummed quietly as it slipped into the night. Outside the tinted windows, the world passed in a blur of neon and shadow. Skyscrapers loomed like giants, their lights reflected in the windshield. The city was alive—restless, radiant, ravenous.
Inside, Mana sat with her arms crossed, her eyes half-closed. She was silent, lips pressed tightly together, as if trying to seal in a hunger that refused to be caged.
The streetlights flickered past.
"I had to leave," she whispered finally, forehead resting against the cool glass. "If I stayed any longer, I would've lost all control…"
She clenched her fists. "I'm not weak. Why am I acting like I'm possessed by his food?"
Zane's dishes weren't just meals—they were memories. Emotions. Ideals. They awakened something inside her, something primal and yet deeply personal. Her thoughts tumbled one over another, chasing some logic that never arrived.
From the first taste of his cuisine, she had known her destiny had shifted.
As a senior executive of the WGO, she had long dreamed of reshaping the culinary world. But only now did she see how that future might be realized—not through endless policy meetings, but through Zane's unprecedented genius.
"Mana-sama," Anne's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Shall we begin phase two of the expansion into Japan?"
"…No. Not yet." Mana rubbed her temples and leaned back in the seat. "I'm exhausted."
Anne looked at her with concern. "Understood. But the status updates may be of interest."
"Go on."
"Thanks to the Midnight Chefs' aggressive expansion, over 50% of two-star restaurants in Northern Europe, Southeast Asia, and North America have shut down. The same is true for many Totsuki alumni. Alice, Rindō, and even Momo have been… neutralized."
"…Over half?" Mana's eyes narrowed. "That's… faster than expected."
"That's what worries me," Anne said cautiously. "Mana-sama, with all due respect—you've backed the Midnight Chefs, but if left unchecked, they may spiral out of control."
Mana didn't blink. "Let them try."
She looked out at the bustling street again. "The culinary world as we know it is rotting. Change demands sacrifice."
"But Soma is different," Anne interjected. "His ambition… it's dangerous. He's fixated on crushing Totsuki's golden generation—Sonoka, Chihiro, Satoshi—even veterans like Haubi and Orie."
Mana was quiet for a moment.
"…Then let him wait. Six months."
"Six?"
"In six months, I will decide everything. Zane's potential is still rising. And there's something else… Natsume. He's forming an alliance in North America—Wall Street tycoons, media empires, even chefs from the underground culinary world."
Anne stiffened.
"The Natsume Association…"
Mana smiled faintly. "Let's see how far he gets."
Elsewhere, in a bright, meticulously organized kitchen lit by the warm golden glow of traditional lanterns, Hisako Arato moved with purpose.
She was no longer merely Erina's loyal assistant. She was something far rarer:
A medicinal cuisine specialist, trained in the ancient arts of combining nutrition and healing through the subtle power of food.
Tonight, she was crafting a dish rooted in one of the most renowned herbal formulas of classical Chinese medicine: Four Substance Soup.
Measured precisely by the gram, she prepared:
15g Angelica (for nourishing and invigorating blood),
15g Chuanxiong (to promote circulation),
15g White Peony Root (to preserve yin),
15g Rehmannia (for replenishing essence and vitality).
She washed and soaked them in a clay pot, adding water until it rose 3 cm above the herbs. As the heat rose, steam began to curl upward, carrying with it the faint earthy aroma of dried roots.
After boiling and simmering the herbs, she extracted their essence in three rounds, carefully saving the decoctions.
Next came the lamb.
She blanched it in boiling water, removing any impurities, then simmered it gently with ginger, combining the medicinal broth with the tender meat.
The kitchen smelled like both a healing temple and a five-star restaurant.
"The lamb's warmth, Angelica's energy, the blood-nourishing qualities—everything aligns…"
As the soup thickened and the meat became fall-apart tender, she tasted it. Her eyes widened.
It wasn't just medicinal—it was delicious.
"This… is the true balance of nourishment and flavor."
She smiled.
A smile filled with purpose.