Chapter 256: The Rest Of The Harvest

​The private elevator hummed as it glided down toward the VIP lounge level, the tension from the judging suite giving way to the quiet hum of the luxury corridor.

As the doors slid open, three towering figures were already waiting in the private alcove.

​Nat was slouched against the wall with his broad arms crossed over his chest, looking bored out of his mind. Alexander stood near the wide floor-to-ceiling window, while Xavier adjusted his gold cufflink with practiced, aristocratic ease.

​"Finally," Nat drawled, his sharp, golden eyes locking onto April the second she stepped out of the lift. "Sitting up there like a statue watching people fry onions for four hours is absolute torture."

​"You could have stayed at your base if you knew it would bore you so much," April remarked dryly, smoothing down her lapel.

​"And miss watching you eat?" Nat let out a low, dangerous chuckle, taking two slow, deliberate steps toward her. The tall mafia lord closed the distance before April could even step around him, towering over her as his gaze dragged down her face, settling directly on her lips.

​He leaned in close, his shadow completely enveloping her.

"I can practically smell the delicacies off you, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping into a thick, husky rumble that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes flashing with raw, uninhibited mischief. "Might even taste them right off your lips..."

​"Don’t be weird," April muttered, pressing a hand flat against his chest to push him back, though he came even one more inch closer.

There was no telling what he would do, might actually kiss her.

​"Collins," Xavier’s icy voice cut through the air, sharp enough to draw blood. He didn’t even look up from his phone, though the ambient temperature in the corridor seemed to drop by ten degrees. "Keep your hands—and your mouth—to yourself in a public venue."

​Nat merely smirked, letting April push his chest away, though his eyes remained locked on her like a predator watching his prey. "Just making sure she didn’t get full without me."

​"The preliminary scores were impressive," Alexander noted calmly, stepping over to join them, his gaze resting warmly on April and Emily. "Though I noticed a fair amount of eliminations in the dessert round."

​"Don’t get me started," April sighed, rolling her eyes as she remembered the cloying tartlet. "A disgrace to the title of master chef. I’m almost regretting not hosting a separate competition just for bakers."

​"Well, you won’t have to suffer through the mediocre ones anymore," Samuel added smoothly from behind her, stepping forward with his master tablet. "The break is almost over, Miss April. The final round is about to begin, and only the top twelve contestants have qualified."

​Emily looked up, her eyes brightening. "Which means the best dishes are yet to come!"

​April let out a quiet, satisfied breath, the subtle glint of anticipation returning to her dark eyes. "Let’s go then. Time to collect the rest of our harvest."

Inside the elevator, Samuel retrieved the tablet, tapping the interface to bring up the updated event layout.

"Miss April, here is the official structure for the remaining six days," Samuel began smoothly, handing the tablet over so she and Emily could review the details. "Following your original directive for a seven-day culinary festival, we have established a daily reward system to maintain maximum effort from every contestant."

April took the tablet, her eyes skimming over the terms. "Walk me through it one more time."

"Each of the preliminary days will carry its own standalone prize of ten million dollars for the daily winner," Samuel explained. "Because today’s opening round was an open-category showcase, several talented chefs were eliminated simply because their chosen dish didn’t align with your palate for this specific batch."

Emily perked up, looking over April’s shoulder at the screen. "Wait, so the chefs who were eliminated today don’t have to pack up and go home for good?"

"Correct, Miss Emily," Samuel replied, adjusting his glasses. "Starting tomorrow, the competition shifts into mandatory specialized themes. Day Two will focus strictly on Coastal and Deep Sea delicacies. Day Three will cover Mountain Roasts, Smoked Meats, and Heavy Broths. Day Four will be dedicated to Royal Pastries and Artisanal Baking, while Day Five covers Fusion Spices and International Hotpots."

He paused, a rare, faint glint of professional pride touching his eyes. "Any chef eliminated today is permitted to re-enter on the subsequent themed days. If a contestant failed in savory meats today, they may return tomorrow to prove themselves in seafood or pastries."

A slow, thoroughly satisfied curve touched April’s lips. "Which means they will bring out their secondary and tertiary masterworks just to take a shot at the daily ten million."

"Precisely," Samuel confirmed. "They will fight fiercely with their knives and stoves every single day. Then, on Day Six, the daily winners and top qualifiers will gather for the semi-final feast. On the seventh and final day, the ultimate champion will claim the grand prize of fifty million dollars, along with full backing from the Reed Consortium... They have a shot at being employed by Mastern Reed, which in turn will protect them from the coming apocalypse."

"Fifty million..." Emily gasped softly, her eyes widening. "No wonder everyone on that floor is cooking like their lives depend on it."

"Let them cook," April murmured, her eyes dark and cold with absolute satisfaction as she handed the tablet back.

With over a hundred master chefs fighting for ten million every single day—and the chance for eliminated contestants to return with fresh recipes—the stream of world-class gourmet food flowing directly into her spatial dimension was going to be astronomical.

Thousands of pristine, piping-hot dishes would be harvested, sealed in timeless stasis, and stored away before the apocalypse ever touched the earth.

The elevator doors slid open smoothly, revealing the quiet, carpeted hall leading back to the judging suite.

"The afternoon session for today’s final twelve is about to begin," Samuel announced, stepping ahead to hold the door. "Whenever you are ready, Miss April."

"Let me get back to my seat then," April said, stepping out into the suite. "It’s time to see who takes the first ten million."