Chapter 253: No One Knows Who The Judges Are

​Samuel stepped forward slightly, offering a calm, clinical analysis. "If I may, Miss April—it lacks a touch of acidic balance. A hint of aged dark vinegar at the very end would have cut through the heaviness of the pork fat, elevating the broth to an immaculate finish."

​April nodded approvingly. "Exactly. It would definitely go well with that." But then she paused and turned to Samuel again, "when did you become a food genius?"

He proudly tilted up his glasses.

"It is one of many skills I must acquire to be of absolute help to you, Miss April. So I studied." He stated cleanly and she nodded.

He truly was one of a kind.

April tapped the control screen on the tablet, locking in their combined score before gesturing with a slight flick of her wrist. The remaining portions of the stew vanished into her spatial storage, filing away neatly into a fresh inventory slot. Pork Stew.

​A sharp, high-pitched chime echoed throughout the entire convention center, and the massive LED board above the arena floor flashed brilliantly: STATION 24: 9.7.

​Down below, the freckled young man stared at the numbers in stunned silence. A sudden, uncontrolled gasp escaped his lips, and he dropped straight to his knees, clutching his apron as a wave of pure, overwhelming joy washed over him.

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes, all his tireless, unheralded work finally recognized. After a quick second, he took a deep breath, standing up to compose himself and wipe his face.

​But before he could even gather his utensils, a harsh, sneering voice cut through the applause.

​"Nine point seven?! Are the judges for real?!"

​A towering chef from station sixteen stepped out into the walkway, his spotless white uniform adorned with the proud, embroidered crest of an elite European culinary institute.

He was the very same contestant whose greasy, overly buttered dish had just received a dismal 6.9 from April—a plate she had found so unappetizingly heavy that she couldn’t imagine ever craving it, though she had still tucked it away in her dimension anyway.

​"How could a nameless, lowborn stray without a single diploma score a nine point seven?!" the elitist chef shouted, trying to rally the surrounding contestants. "He cheated! He must have tampered with the service lift or bribed someone!"

​The freckled chef merely shrugged, his expression remarkably calm despite the hostile accusation. "How could I have cheated? And bribe someone?" He scoffed. "Did I bribe the judge? As if I could even afford that."

​"You—!"

​"For starters," the young man continued smoothly, his grey eyes glinting with sharp, quiet intelligence, "no one here even knows who the judges are. And if you used your brain a little better, you’d know that bribing the judge is impossible when the event organizers are those people."

​He raised a finger, pointing directly toward the grand VIP gallery above.

​Up in the prominent balcony, the broadcast cameras briefly panned over the three figures. Nat was leaning back in his leather chair, let out a loud, bored yawn; Alexander was casually tapping away at a game on his phone; while Xavier sat in silent, freezing majesty, his dark eyes sweeping the arena floor with a look that promised swift execution for anyone who dared cause a disturbance.

​The entire hall fell dead quiet. The MC, desperate to prevent a full-blown spectacle while several remaining dishes still needed to be sent up the lifts, quickly stepped in with a raised microphone.

Seeing the sheer authority radiating from the VIP gallery, the elite chef drained of all color. He swallowed hard, clenched his fists, and retreated back to his station without another word, his head hanging low under the weight of his own humiliation.

​The freckled young man turned smoothly to the MC, bowing his head respectfully in a quiet, composed gesture. "My apologies for the disturbance, sir. I didn’t intend to cause a scene on your stage."

​The MC let out a quiet breath of relief, waving his hand reassuringly. "It’s quite all right, son. No harm done."

​As the young man stepped back to clear his prep counter, the MC glanced down at his official roster, his eyes searching for station twenty-four. There, printed in plain, unadorned text, was the name: Philippe.

​The MC stroked his chin, fixing the disheveled youth with a look of newfound respect. Philippe might have hailed from humble origins, devoid of fancy academy badges or prestigious backing, but a 9.7 from an uncompromising judge was no fluke.

He mentally noted the name—if the kid maintained this level of mastery, he was bound to be one of the top contenders taking the crown in this competition.

​Up in the judging suite, Emily turned to April with a triumphant smile. "See? I told you he was kind."

​April shook her head, a cool, amused smirk touching her lips. "Open your eyes, Emily. That wasn’t kindness. That was cleverness. The man knows exactly when to step back, and he knows how to use his words to defuse a threat. But one thing’s for sure—he’s no common pushover."

​She turned away from the one-way glass, glancing at her head assistant. "Samuel, bring up the next dish. We need to finish this preliminary round so we can move on."

​"The next round is pastry making, right?" Emily asked, perking up at the thought of sweets.

​April nodded, her dark eyes flashing with sharp expectation. "I don’t care if they are the absolute best at cooking savory food. If they cannot craft desserts to suit the palate of the one eating their meals, then unfortunately... they’re out."

The service lift continued its steady rhythm, delivering plate after plate as the preliminary round entered its final stretch. Scores flashed across the central LED board—some sitting comfortably in the mid-eights, while others plunged into brutal eliminations below seven.

​Then, station thirty-two elevated its entry.

​When Samuel lifted the polished silver cloche, a rich, oceanic aroma enveloped the suite. Arranged on an elegant slate dish was a pristine seafood masterwork: delicate king crab leg meat infused with smoked citrus butter, paired with jumbo tiger prawns poached in a golden, saffron-infused reduction.