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So you didn’t score one of the six seats at Yugen Omakase, the hotter-than-hot South Yarra leave-it-to-the-chef sushi experience to rule them all? Me neither. It’s starting to feel as if winning the online lottery for a ticket to Melbourne’s fashionably bijou restaurants – the four-stool Matsu in Footscray; the six-seat Chae in the Dandenongs – is a case of the have-bots and the have-nots.

So let’s breathe a sigh of relief for Nidaime. The newly launched omakase experience is the diffusion label of the perennially oversubscribed Yugen – the Miu Miu to its Prada, the See to its Chloe. It comes as little surprise to learn that “Nidaime” means “second”.

Colonising the ground-floor Yugen Tea House in South Yarra’s Capitol Grand building each evening, it’s shorter (two-and-a-smidge hours compared with the mega three-plus commitment in the Yugen basement), cheaper ($175 a head as opposed to $285) and, currently, much easier to get into.

But is this the omakase equivalent of having Taylor Swift tickets in the nosebleed tier of the MCG?

I’m the first to agree that “bargain” and “sushi” are two words that sit uncomfortably together – but even priced at the start of Melbourne’s sliding scale of omakase menus, Nidaime is hardly in the realm of everyday dining.

And going simply by a uniformly excellent eight rounds of sushi, there’s no slumming it here. Kicking off with hapuka sprinkled with lemon zest and green shiso powder, all savoury and bright, it moves through torched kingfish belly toasty with koji, stopping all stations through to tuna belly and Hokkaido scallop and throws in a roe-dabbed creamy wodge of scallop wrapped in nori.

You can opt for wagyu and sea urchin items for an additional cost, but the best comes last in the mandated list: a paradise prawn draped over lightly vinegared rice, its ridiculously creamy, super-sweet flesh given an edge by a dab of sauce thrumming with a crab brain-infused funk. Heaven.

Nidaime’s secondary purpose is to act as a crucible for new talent. On that account, it’s also succeeding. Head chef Yu Orita is only in his early 30s but has been working in restaurants since age 13, thanks to his father running now-shuttered Toorak restaurant Orita’s.

If the former Yugen understudy is feeling nervous at being thrust from the shadows into the spotlight (with the added challenge of a rapid-fire delivery of 16-plus courses in less time than your average movie feature), he isn’t showing it. Orita-san looks right at home as he shapes, torches and brushes the nigiri parade, bookending it with other dishes of his own making.

It’s here that the surprise standouts lurk. You won’t be finding gold leaf stuck in your molars during the meal but the bonito jelly with a fine white onion salsa and apple granita on a Pacific oyster is a fine idea when Melbourne is going through one of its unseasonal outbreaks of warmth.

It’s followed by octopus tentacles, slow-cooked into a sigh, with a powerful tomato vinaigrette sauce that’s big yet clean, a few notches of wasabi and mustard adding their own tickling warmth.

My pick of the bunch is the kingfish sashimi with black garlic butter and buttery ponzu. It’s like swimming in a luscious umami ocean with a thicket of fried leek as a textural life raft.

But I also loved the final savoury course, which plays on the traditional home-style pleasures of ochazuke (green tea over rice) and adds glazed eel, fried kale and a smoky black tea broth for something both comforting and yet more. Family and nostalgia seem to play hard for Orita: the welcome drink, a shiso-spiked zero-proof aperitif, uses his grandmother’s recipe.

Speaking of drinks, our waiter is all over the two-page sake list: his progression from the fresh and fruity Mutsu-Hassen to a super-savoury Kirei Hachi-Ku makes plenty of sense.

The wine list is tight but big on left-of-centre thoughtfulness, especially in the by-the-glass selection, where Jim Barry’s Clare Valley assyrtiko – to date, Australia’s only example of the native Hellenic grape – shows its crisply mineral-driven sympathy with the raw fish. In a nod to the space’s daytime incarnation, there’s a tea matching for non-drinkers.

The transition to the two evening services (6pm and 8.30pm) sees a thick black curtain swished across to cloister diners around the horseshoe-shaped bar from the deserted room and the foot traffic heading to the elevator. The smart example of no-fuss upcycling is intimate and moody; dark and interesting to Yugen’s gilded glitz.

Yugen is still the go if it’s conspicuous sushi consumption you crave. It’s there that you become part of the show, an object of envy for surrounding tables. Or so I’ve read.

But comparisons are odorous, as the Bard said. It’s best to take Nidaime on its own terms. A chef to watch, preparing what sits among the best value omakase meals in town? Get there before the booking lottery begins.