The Chef's Trial

Six figures in pristine white robes entered the cooking arena, their presence commanding immediate silence. 

They moved with an almost ethereal grace, settling into the ornate chairs prepared for the judges. Each of them wore a hood adorned with delicate, semi-transparent fringes, obscuring their faces just enough to make discerning their true features impossible. Yet, even shrouded, their aura radiated luxury and an unsettling sense of dread.

In their hands, they held sleek devices equipped with a single, ominous red button, hidden from sight so that no one but the judge themselves could see it. That button is the ultimate decider. Should a judge find a dish unworthy, a single press would release The Sharpener, and the contestant's body would be… refined.

A single negative opinion means death.

As the cooking time ended, no contestant was allowed to move from their station. 

Instead, a team of attendants collected the dishes one by one. The first dish selected was from Station 07, where a man in his forties stood tall and confident, his posture exuding pride and self-assurance.

"Contestant, please explain the dish you've prepared. Your station mic is now live," the announcer's voice boomed across the arena.

"My dish is Bone Broth and Fish Scale Soup," the man began, his voice steady and proud. "It's a clear bone broth infused with fish scales, enriched with lemon juice, and finished with a sprinkle of fresh herbs."

The dish was served cold in an elegant glass bowl, the golden broth shimmering under the lights. Translucent fish scales floated gracefully within, giving it an ethereal beauty. Fresh herbs and a delicate zesting of lemon completed the presentation, creating a dish that looked both refreshing and luxurious.

The judges lifted their spoons, moving with the poise of royalty attending a grand banquet. Every gesture was deliberate, giving off an air of high class refinement. Together, they took their first sip.

"The first taste offers a surprising clarity of flavor," one judge remarked, his voice smooth and measured. "The broth is light yet rich, carrying the warmth of slow-cooked bones. The fish scales add a unique, tender bite, almost gelatinous but pleasantly so. The sharp brightness of lemon cuts through the richness perfectly, and the fresh herbs lend a vibrant finish."

The contestant smiled, his confidence swelling at the praise. He bowed slightly in gratitude, his expression proud but humble.

From his viewing seat, Jiawei couldn't help but smile as well, feeling a flicker of secondhand happiness. For a brief moment, the tension in the room seemed to ease, replaced by the warmth of admiration.

But the moment didn't last.

A sudden, booming voice shattered the atmosphere: "FAILED!"

The declaration echoed through the arena, sharp and merciless. Before anyone could even blink, The Sharpener activated. The contestant's eyes widened in shock as the concealed mechanism sprang open with a chilling crash!

Blood splattered across the arena in an instant.

A high-tech, transparent membrane automatically unfurled to shield every dish on display, ensuring not a single drop of blood contaminated the food. The spectators, however, were left exposed. Jiawei felt something wet splash against his lips. Slowly, his hand reached up to wipe away the crimson smear.

His stomach churned. His chest tightened. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't even speak. Yet his face betrayed no emotion.

Cruel. This competition is utterly insane, he thought.

Around him, some audience members gagged, others shielded their children's eyes, whispering, "Don't look. Don't look." Jiawei wondered why anyone had come here in the first place.

Hadn't the judges just praised the dish moments ago? Then why… why did he fail so suddenly?

As though reading his thoughts, the judge who had spoken earlier wiped his mouth with a pristine cloth and continued, his tone devoid of guilt.

"However," he began, his voice cold and precise, "there was a slight bitterness lingering on the back of the palate, likely due to improper preparation of the fish scales. They needed to be simmered longer to eliminate the off-flavor. Additionally, serving the broth cold dulled the depth of the bone stock, which would have been far more pronounced at room temperature or warm. A great concept, but ultimately flawed."

Not a hint of remorse crossed his face. The blood spattered across his immaculate white robes was the only thing that broke the illusion of perfection, like crimson flowers blooming on snow.

Heartless. Jiawei's stomach twisted again. They killed him over an aftertaste? Over fish scales that were slightly underprepared? What kind of insane world is this? What kind of monstrous competition am I in?

Suddenly, Jiawei's thoughts turned to Xiao Jiang. The kid—would she make it? His heart started to pound, a rapid, restless beat that he hadn't felt in years. When was the last time something had made him this anxious? He can't even remember.

A creeping sense of worry took hold of him, spreading like a slow fog. Almost instinctively, his eyes darted to Xiao Jiang's station. Just as he looked, the servers arrived to collect her dish.

"She'll make it," Tian Qi muttered quietly. Jiawei wasn't sure if he actually believed what he said or was just trying to manifest a little hope.

Xiao Jiang's dish is simple: sausages, sliced with meticulous precision, every piece perfectly uniform. The interior had a smooth, firm texture, dotted with delicate flecks of green from chopped water spinach stems, adding a subtle contrast. 

The golden-brown exterior had just enough char to suggest a light roast, giving it a rustic, homemade feel. Beneath the sausages lay a bed of roasted vegetables, grounding the dish with earthy tones.

But if Jiawei was being honest, the plate looked... plain. Dry, even. It was crying out for a sauce, something to tie it all together and give it a touch of life. 

As his eyes lingered on the simplicity of her presentation, a fresh wave of anxiety surged through him. His chest tightened. Why did this feel so much more important than it should? Why does he feel so worried towards this stranger he just met yesterday?