After the brief break, the lights darkened again. The screens flickered in once again , replacing the last round’s homegrown flavors with a vast golden map of Asia, glowing like a living tapestry.Entity returned to the stage, microphone in hand, her dress now changed.She now wore a deep crimson silk with gold embroidery, echoing the new theme. “Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” she said, her voice full of glimmering energy. “That was Heart Of Home — and now we step into Round Two: The Flavors of Asia!”The crowd cheered happily. “For this round,” she announced, “all our chefs will prepare the same dish — a challenge that will test not just their creativity, but their soul. One meal. One interpretation. No excuses.”The audience leaned forward. The big screen behind her flickered, then revealed the name in golden script:‘The Emperor’s Harmony.’Gasps rippled through the hall.Entity grinned. “Ah, yes… The Emperor’s Harmony. An ancient Asian dish once served only to emperors and

The judges made their rounds again.Dorovan first. His duck was exquisite — as always. Perfect texture, sharp presentation. But Raymond’s comment was brief: “Predictable excellence.” At this point, they already expected excellence from him. And that was quite an issue for him. Dorovan was not very satisfied with the word ‘predictable’. It was a sharp contrast to the unpredictable move that Adrian had just pulled off. Still, his head was in the clouds. Excellence was the word that followed. That was enough for him.Next was Min’s dumplings — elegant, light. Lucia loved them. Durant smiled. On and on they went, tasting and judging.Then Adrian.Entity read the card, mocking as usual. “And now… Mr. Lin’s Corner Kitchen — Dragon’s Breath Fried Rice. Let’s see what miracles poverty cooks today.”Laughter again.Adrian said nothing. At this point, he knew exactly who Entity was. And he was determined to make sure she left this place ashamed of her thoughtless words.Adrian didn’t look up. H

When all seven judges finished scoring, the hall fell into a tense quiet that felt almost physical. Even the air-conditioners seemed to stop humming. Everyone stared at the giant screen above the stage where the scores were being tabulated. No one dared blink.Entity strutted toward the mic, pretending she wasn’t still trembling from Adrian’s earlier counterattack. “Ladies and gentlemen…” she sang with her usual fake sweetness, “…your results are ready!”The room inhaled. The screen came to life.Rows of numbers appeared.And then..Adrian West – 92 pointsA full second passed before anyone reacted, as though the entire hall needed time to process what they were seeing. A nobody. A man from a forgotten road-side kitchen. Ninety-two points!Not a single judge had given him below a seven.Raymond had given him a ten.Durant: ten.Lucia: nine.Henrietta: nine.Kenji: nine.The entire room erupted.Not with applause.With shock. Confusion. Disbelief.It was as if someone had announced that

Adrian stood at his station, water running over his hands, the cool liquid washing away the last traces of the Asian round. Steam from the boiling pots hung in the air, and the smell of citrus and ginger lingered faintly. His movements were slow, deliberate, and calm, as if time itself bent around him. There was no rush, no showy theatrics. Only precision. Only silence. Only control.Mr. Lin crouched behind him, arranging knives, tongs, and ladles with careful care, his hands moving with the exacting rhythm of a man who had spent decades perfecting every small detail, but was ignored by society.He looked up, ready to chase away anyone who dared interrupt Adrian’s peace. Yet, Adrian only smiled. “It’s fine,” he said, and the calmness in his voice made Mr. Lin pause mid-motion, the tension leaving his shoulders but not his alertness.The first to approach was Chef Diego Morales, the Spaniard, his short stature belying the intensity burning in his dark eyes. He stopped a few steps from

Adrian stared at the vial. “And why would you give this to someone you mocked a few hours ago?”Dorovan smiled — soft, tired, almost regretful. “Because I was wrong,” he said. “And because… I want to see you rise. Maybe it’s foolish, but I don’t want to stand in the way of a chef like you.” He added quietly, “Maybe cheering for you is easier than competing against you.”He placed the vial in Adrian’s hand and closed his fingers around it, gently, like a man giving a blessing.“Use it for the European round,” Dorovan murmured. “Or don’t. But know it comes with respect. Nothing more.”His tone was warm. His posture humble. Every word perfectly placed.If Adrian had been anyone else, the manipulation would have slipped straight under his skin, sweet and convincing. But Adrian wasn’t foolish. He felt the duality — sincerity layered over something… rehearsed. But he also felt the man’s age, his exhaustion, and maybe even a touch of genuine admiration.So he responded simply, “Thank you,” w