Baki Hanma -

"Baki Hanma," the chef said, his voice a dry rustle. "I am Chef Ryumon. These are my four sons. We are not fighters. We are food critics . And we have a problem."

It was a humid Tokyo night when the letter arrived. No return address. Just a single, thick sheet of black paper with silver kanji that read: "You are invited to the Last Supper. Come hungry." Baki Hanma

Chef Ryumon bowed his head. The four sons stood and applauded silently. "You have passed," the old man said. He slid a scrap of parchment across the table. "The master's name is Ogasawara. He lives on a mountain in Hokkaido. He never taught Yujiro to fight. He taught him to cook . Yujiro failed this very meal, you see. He broke the table on the third course. He called the stew 'weakness.'" "Baki Hanma," the chef said, his voice a dry rustle

The station was transformed. In place of train tracks, a long, ancient-looking wooden table sat under a single, bare bulb. Seated around it were five people Baki had never seen before. We are not fighters