The Gourt Garden was a masterpiece of fairy horticulture nestled in the eastern reaches of the Demon Food World. Tens of thousands of colossal Air Trees, their trunks a mosaic of breathing stomata, turned the plateau into a lung of the continent. The air was thick, sweet, and heady with oxygen, refracting the perpetual mist into permanent, shimring rainbows—a true fairy-tale glen.
More crucially, it was the sacred nursery for the Horse King's offspring. The dense, life-infused atmosphere acted as a potent growth serum for the young titans.
Suddenly, a cataclysmic whoosh of air, carrying the unmistakable, transcendent scent of perfection, slamd into the plateau from the direction of Horse King Hill. It was a tidal wave of flavor.
RUMBLE—!
The ancient Air Trees groaned and swayed, their leaves roaring in a chorus of shock.
The Upside-Down Immortal, standing sentinel at the garden's edge, gripped his cane, his wizened face grim. "Have they… failed? Traditional AIR processing shouldn't unleash such a… deluge."
"No." First Generation lk stood beside him, a scarred hand pressed to a Listening Stone. A slow, wondrous smile spread across her fierce face. "They succeeded, old friend. Beyond our wildest recipes. They didn't just cook it… they liberated it."
"How can you be sure?"
"I heard it," lk whispered, her eyes closed in reverence. "The song of my old Dragon King's Fang. That rhythm… it's Komatsu. He didn't just cut an ingredient. He answered its wish."
"They did it?! They really did it?!" The Frog Immortal, Mappy, exploded into a frenzy of joyous hops. "A feast! We must have a feast! I'll tell the village!" He beca a green blur, zipping towards the Demon Food World settlent.
Back on the ravaged Hill of Late Rain, the emotional storm had passed. Toriko's desperate grief had cooled into a steely resolve, tempered by the profound relief of Komatsu's safety. The remaining AIR was carefully portioned—so for the Human World, most for the fairies who had safeguarded its secret for eons. The greatest joy of a gourt, they knew, was in the sharing.
Komatsu, wiping his brow with a clean cloth, turned to their otherworldly saviors. "King-san, Saitama-san, Garou-san… will you be our guests in the Demon Food World? Our celebration feast… it will be unforgettable."
King was already storing choice portions of AIR in his dinsional space—souvenirs for a certain esper and her sister. He nodded without hesitation. A personal, divine-tier chef offering a guided tour of a world's greatest delicacies? That wasn't an invitation; it was a strategic resource.
Saitama, patting his perfectly content stomach, nodded along. "Huh? Sure. Where King goes, I go. Less thinking, more eating." His interdinsional strategy was brilliantly simple: follow the guy who makes things happen.
Garou arched an eyebrow, arms crossed. "Tch. Tagging along with you amateurs? Don't slow down." His words were dismissive, but he made no move to leave. The potential for growth here—ingredients that could push even his limits—was too significant to walk away from.
And so, a new alliance was forged. King, Saitama, and Garou joined Toriko, Komatsu, Coco, Sunny, and Zebra. Their collective goal was now etched in delicious ambition: to hunt down and savor every remaining legendary ingredient on God Acacia's Full Course nu.
The next morning, as they crested the plateau of the Gourt Garden, they were t not by serene mists, but by a riot of celebration.
Pandemonium of Joy.
Gongs clashed, drums thundered. The air, already thick, was now saturated with the slls of roasting century-aged ats, bubbling fruit wines, and fairy dust. Hundreds of fairies of every shape and size ford cheering lines, waving colorful banners. Mappy stood at the forefront, conducting the chaotic, beautiful symphony of welco.
It wasn't just a thank you. It was a coronation. The hunters had returned not just with a prize, but having rewritten the very rules of the hunt. The feast for the Food King was over. The feast for the kings who captured it was just beginning.
The cacophony of celebration—drums, flutes, rustling banners—was a physical force of joy. Mappy's tiny flag was a blur of excitent. "Welco ho, heroes!"
Komatsu, tears of pride and relief streaming down his face, unveiled his treasure. The AIR pulp, unveiled in the dappled light, drew a wave of reverent silence from the fairies before erupting into cheers.
"The legend made real!"
"A scent that paints the sky!"
"It's like holding solidified light!"
The grand feast began. Master chefs beca artists, transforming the divine ingredient into a parade of masterpieces: Jellied Air Tree Salad, Consommé of a Thousand Rainbows, Seared Erald Loin, Broth of Absolute Umami.
CRUNCH. SLURP. GULP.
Saitama entered a state of pure, unadulterated bliss. His hands moved with independent, terrifying purpose, clearing plates with a speed that created localized vacuums at the table. Social graces were consud along with the food.
"Quit hogging everything, you bottomless pit!" Garou yelled, then proceeded to lift a cauldron of simring broth and pour it directly down his throat like it was water.
King provided a thin veneer of civilization. He'd taste, nod thoughtfully, complint the chef's technique… and then calmly order a decuple portion. The chefs' proud smiles would slowly morph into masks of stunned, calculating horror as they ntally inventoried their entire pantry.
The fairies' delight turned to wide-eyed, slack-jawed disbelief. This wasn't eating; it was geological consumption. A brigade of thirty master chefs, sweating and swearing in the kitchen, beca a re delay in the inevitable void that was the trio's appetite.
"REINFORCENTS! EMPTY THE STOREROOMS! EVERY ROOT, EVERY LEAF!" Head Chef Branch scread, his face pale. It was a battle they were losing.
Salvation ca in the form of Komatsu. Seeing the kitchen on the brink of collapse, he threw himself into the fray. His unparalleled efficiency and instinct beca the dam holding back the tidal wave of hunger. Branch, seeing the line hold, finally allowed himself to step away, joining Toriko's table for a well-deserved drink.
As the celebratory sake ward his blood and fogged his mind, Branch's wandering gaze settled on the creature resting placidly beside King's chair.
A "foal."
The word was an insult. What he saw was a living testant to supre lineage. Every curve of its body spoke of latent, earth-shattering power. Its mane wasn't hair; it was spun gold and starlight. The aura it gave off, even in repose, was one of quiet, absolute dominance. This was no pet. This was a scion of the Eight Kings, a being of myth, acting as a man's footstool. The realization sobered him instantly, cutting through the alcohol haze with a blade of pure, professional awe. He stared, his glass forgotten, his gourt hunter's soul recognizing a sight more incredible than any ingredient.
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