Chapter Text
“Tobio, please pack your knives and go.”
No, Tobio thought, not for the first or last time. Please, not yet.
He didn’t want to stop cooking. Not yet.
He wanted to stay in the Top Chef Kitchen a little while longer.
He wanted to cook delicious dishes a little while longer.
The nightmare disguising itself as a dream had finally ended. Tobio bowed his head and thanked them for the opportunity.
With a weary sigh, he went back to the kitchen. His knives were waiting for him, the shot set up by a production assistant that made less money than the dishwasher over at Le Corbeau, even though their job was probably twice as hard.
Fuck, Tobio realized. I have to go back there. Empty handed.
The scowl that covered his face at the thought made for great TV, he was sure. Tobio wasn’t thinking about making good TV. He didn’t care about the show, or the challenge, or the fact that his entire Restaurant Wars team had just finished throwing him under the bus. All he cared about was the fact that he was no longer in the running to be the next Top Chef.
So what if he was a classically trained and somewhat infamous pastry chef? That didn’t mean he had to make the team’s dessert, no matter what Tooru said.
Stupid Tooru, winning the Quickfire challenge and getting the reward of Team Captain. He’d chosen the team members, both his friends, Yutarou and Akira. Tobio hadn’t even been picked at all. He’d just been the last one and had slunk over to Tooru’s side, putting on the blue apron with slumped shoulders.
Tobio slipped his Santoku into his leather knife roll as if he were shoving it between the ribs of his betraying teammates. Was it his fault their royalty-themed restaurant failed so spectacularly? That Yuutarou’s crown roast of lamb was overcooked? That Akira’s king crab ceviche took so much prep he couldn’t help Tooru with his dish? Even though Tobio’s deconstructed Caesar Salad was perfect, he’d been thrown under the bus for not helping Tooru to finish his cherries jubilee. Tooru had chosen to run front of house! Tobio hadn’t signed up to fix his mistakes! And what the fuck did a jubilee have to do with royalty anyway?
“Can we get you to take that shot again?” the PA said, a worried smile on her face. “It looks like you want to kill someone.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Ha, ha,” the PA said. “Can you try for ‘pensive’ and not ‘murderous?’ Please?”
Tobio shook his head and unpacked his knives, so he could pack them up again.
Tobio, please pack your knives and go.
Fuck. He wasn’t scowling any more, but now he felt like he was on the edge of tears. Not today, he thought. I won’t be the cheftestant who bursts into tears during the exit interview. He’d always mocked everyone who’d done that. And the word cheftestant. He wouldn’t join their number.
He fixed his best pensive look on his face and put his knives away as neutrally as he could. The PA shrugged and took him for his exit interview.
He didn’t remember what he said. He didn’t remember the questions, or his answers. All he had was a feeling of sad realization. He’d had such hope. He’d always known he was good, and he’d trained, he’d practiced, he’d improved. Everyone had called him a genius, a prodigy. He’d considered other cooking competitions, before finally deciding on Top Chef. Who wouldn’t want to be the Top?
He’d tried, and he’d failed.
His future had seemed so easy. Be the best. And now? He hadn’t even made it to the finale. Who ever remembered the eighth place finisher?
Tobio lied, told the cameras he was glad to be going back home. Lied some more, said it was an honor to make it as far as he did. Lied one last time, and said the world hadn’t heard the last of Tobio Kageyama.
Then he pushed open the glass doors and walked out of the Top Chef Kitchen for the last time.