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 hall grew strangely quiet.Everyone had been pretending not to stare at Adrian — pretending he didn’t exist, pretending he was just some nobody hoping for luck — until his movements suddenly changed.Adrian stepped away from the stove for a moment.People frowned. Entity tilted her head. Even Dorovan paused mid–knife swing. Because deep down, there was a faint flicker of fear, fear of what could happen if this mysterious and weird guy manages to somehow win this round as well.“Where’s he going?” somebody whispered.Adrian walked to the storage shelf behind him — calm, almost slow — like he already knew exactly what he needed. His hand reached behind a stack of pans, and when he returned to the counter……he was holding a small, thick glass bottle.Dark. Old. Unlabeled, like an elixir from a fantasy movie. And nothing like the shimmering sauces everyone else had proudly displayed earlier.A murmur rippled across the hall.“What’s that?”“Is that soy sauce?”“No, look at the color…

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

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