But Dorovan wasn’t done. The adrenaline was hitting him too hard. He felt invincible. He turned back to the screen, looking at the picture of West Rain.“And as for this guy?” Dorovan scoffed, gesturing to the legendary figure. “ The so-called God of Chef? Let me tell you the truth.”He walked closer to the audience, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial growl.“He ran. He ran like a little pussy because he couldn’t stand the heat. Hiding under his mask like the loser that he is! Oh, his wife died? Boo-hoo. People die every day! A real man moves on. A real man stays in the kitchen. But West Rain? He cried and ran away to hide in a hole.”Dorovan laughed, a cruel, ugly sound.“So, West Rain, wherever you are hiding, listening to this broadcast… know this! You are a scared pussy. You are shit. Your dead wife is shit! And tonight, I am going to take your crown, cook your stupid fish better than you ever could, and show the world what a real God of Chef looks like!”The crowd roared with

Adrian ignored all the murmurs and worked faster now. His hands were a blur. He removed the meat from the left side. Then the right. He took the prime cuts, the belly fat, the dorsal muscle.Within three minutes, the cutting board was empty of the fish.Lying there was a skeleton. A perfectly intact head, a spine, and a tail, with the internal organs safe inside a thin sac of membrane.It was a skeleton that breathed.“He killed it,” Dorovan scoffed, throwing his own chopped fish into a sizzling wok. “Great trick. But now you have a dead, ugly bone-fish. What’s the point?”Adrian didn't answer. He picked up the skeletal fish.And he put it back in the tank.Splash.The moment the water hit the gills, Adrian reached in and pulled out the three silver needles.Swish.The fish shook its tail. The skeleton swam.It swam with the same vigor as before. It circled the tank, its head turning, looking for prey, completely unaware that ninety percent of its body mass was sitting on Adrian’s cut

The timer hit zero.00:00.A loud buzzer echoed through the hall, signaling the end of the war.The air in the Diamond Mirage was thick, heavy with the scent of spices, searing oil, and the sweat of two men. But strangely, the smells were uneven. From Dorovan’s station, a pungent, aggressive aroma of chili, garlic, and fried fish assaulted the senses. It was delicious, mouth-watering, but it was loud.From Adrian’s station? Nothing.His clay pot sat on a porcelain tray, the lid sealed tight with a rim of dough he had applied in the final seconds. There was no steam. No smell. Just a silent, earthen vessel.Magnus Thorne stepped forward, a silver spoon in his hand.“Chefs, step back.”Dorovan stepped back, his chest heaving. He looked wrecked. The "Twin Viper" technique had drained him, but he was confident. He looked at his dish—a vibrant, red-and-gold platter of the Tigerfish, glazed in a sauce that shimmered under the lights.“Chef Dorovan,” Magnus said, his voice neutral. “Present

The applause died down, replaced by a suffocating tension. The Diamond Mirage was no longer a festival; it was a tribunal.Adrian stood center stage, the microphone loosely gripped in his hand. He turned his gaze to Entity. The famous fashion designer was trembling, clutching the bodice of her "million-dollar" dress as if it were a shield.“The deal, Entity,” Adrian said calmly. “You promised that if I won, I could test the authenticity of those diamonds in front of the world.”Entity took a frantic step back. “You… you can’t be serious,” she stammered, her voice shrill. “Look at the time! The event is over. People want to go home. You’re just being a bully now! Trying to humiliate a woman because you have a little power?”She turned to the crowd, trying to rally sympathy.“Is this your hero? A man who attacks a defenseless designer? These diamonds are vintage! They are fragile! If his rough, janitor hands touch them, he’ll ruin history!”She looked at the cameras, her eyes narrowing.

“Because they owe us everything!” It was Fabio who answered. He stepped in front of the cowering Ethan, pointing a finger at Helen. “You want the truth, janitor? Fine. Here is the truth.”Fabio sneered, regaining his arrogance now that the topic was money.“The Cross family is bankrupt. Ethan Cross leveraged the entire estate —the houses, the company, the land— to fund a shipping deal that failed. They owe the Romano Group five hundred million dollars.”The crowd gasped. The number sucked the air out of the room.“The contract is clear,” Theresa Romano shouted from the VIP section, marching onto the stage to join her son. “The loan was conditional. If the Cross family cannot pay the principal plus interest by midnight tonight —which is in exactly fifteen minutes— then the collateral is seized.”She pointed a manicured fingernail at Helen. “And the collateral… is her.” Theresa smiled, a cruel, predatory expression.“So, unless the cook here has half a billion dollars sitting in his ap