Chapter 258 - 23: The Trial Mission Begins

Three black Beetles sped down the street. Each car held four members of the Mafia, and they were guarding Duan Fei, Cuihua, and Johnson—one captive per vehicle.

In this instance, each player was limited to a single item, and their Attributes had been reduced by some algorithm. This left them slightly stronger than an average person, but not by much.

The stats on their Equipment were also limited, and their personal Skills had been severely nerfed. This transformed them from god-like supermen into highly skilled experts—talented, but far from invincible.

So, when faced with Mafia members armed with Chicago Typewriters, Duan Fei and Cuihua had no choice but to back down.

Fortunately, these Mafia members were quite polite. Once they saw the three wouldn’t resist, they courteously "invited" them into the Beetles before racing toward their headquarters.

The three of them were blindfolded, brought into the headquarters, and tied to chairs.

Afterward, they were frisked. All of their weapons were confiscated, but thankfully, they weren’t stripped of their clothes.

Once it was confirmed that everything was in order, the blindfolds were ripped away, allowing the three to see the person before them.

The man facing them was smoking a cigar. He had a finely-trimmed mustache, and his sharp, mature eyes radiated an extraordinary sense of calm and composure.

Raising his glass to the trio, he said apologetically, "Mr. Johnson, I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but I need your help."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Johnson said.

"You’re far too humble. As the greatest chef in all of Britain, your reputation is known far and wide. You should have been destined for greatness after coming all this way across the ocean, but reality has played a cruel joke on you."

Johnson silently regarded the Godfather before him, then shook his head. "I think you have the wrong person."

"Is that so?"

With a snap of his fingers, the french fries confiscated from Johnson’s room were brought out.

Picking up a fry, the Godfather placed it in his mouth and chewed slowly. Then, in a voice like an opera tenor, he began his critique. "The fries are cut inconsistently. After they were cut, they weren’t rinsed, only soaked in milk for a short while, which is why the milky aroma isn’t rich enough. You could call them a failure. No discerning diner would pay for them. However, one single step rescued them, transforming them from shoddy trash into a work of art."

Leaning close to Johnson, the Godfather held a fry to the other man’s lips, guiding it into his mouth as he ate. Only then did he say with gravity, "It was the cooking. Your control over the heat... is absolutely perfect."

The Godfather recounted the process in a light, casual tone, yet with details so vivid it was as if he had been there himself.

Johnson’s eyes widened at the keen observation. He asked nervously, "Are you a chef, too?"

"No, I am merely a pitiful soul, toyed with in the palm of fine cuisine’s hand. I once studied in the mysterious East, at a Zen monastery with very little wood. The bald, muscular monks held nothing back in teaching me their arts, but of the seventy-two ultimate techniques, I only managed to learn one: the Divine Tongue."

"Divine Tongue?"

"That’s right. It means my tongue is like that of a god; it can discern every last detail in what I eat. Don’t deny it any longer, Mr. Johnson. Embrace your talent. Your control over the heat is second to none. Come, work with me."

Duan Fei stared at the two of them, completely dumbfounded. Their tones were so serious, but the subject of their discussion was utterly preposterous.

’A classic-looking Godfather discussing the art of frying potatoes with another man... Isn’t this a little too surreal?’

’It’s not out of place given the instance’s setting, I guess, but it’s still bizarre.’

Just as he was about to make a snarky comment to Cuihua, Duan Fei noticed that her face was covered in tears.

"This is it... This is really it..."

Looking at the emotional, speechless Cuihua, Duan Fei suddenly realized that out of everyone in the room, he seemed to be the only one who wasn’t getting into it.

’Could it be that I’m the one who’s not normal?’

While Duan Fei was still agonizing over whether or not he was the normal one, Johnson had already turned to the Godfather. "What do you want to do?"

"Money. But more importantly, we want to show the people of this city what real food is. The problem is, many dishes have issues—they’re inconvenient to prepare, the ingredients are hard to source, and so on. But your french fries are different. They’re convenient, the method is simple, and they can have many variations."

Clenching his fist, the Godfather spoke in a bewitching tone. "Imagine it. Punks on every street corner, all eating the fries you made. Every gang leader in the city, coming to us for their supply. They won’t be able to get enough of the different flavors, and you—you will become the greatest French Fry King in history."

"But... that’s illegal," Johnson struggled to say.

"Is a law that is so clearly flawed really worth obeying? The law is a weapon to protect the ruling class. So when a law can no longer protect the ruling class and, on top of that, brings harm to the common people, is there any reason to obey it?"

"But..."

"It is in everyone’s nature to love delicious food! We have evolved for millions of years, from the upright apes of Africa to our current position at the apex of the food chain, all so we could eat well! And yet, a bunch of stubborn old fools force us to follow their ridiculous rules, making us eat coarse grains that even cats and dogs wouldn’t touch! Is that reasonable?! Tell me, Johnson, is that reasonable?!"

The impassioned speech made Johnson’s blood boil. He couldn’t help but shout along, "It’s not reasonable!"

"Exactly. I have traveled to several countries and eaten countless delicacies, and the most barren of them all is this place right here. Even a Stargazy pie has its own unique culture and substance. But this place... it is a desert. Can you bear to watch it continue its decline, to eventually become a wilderness with nothing to offer?"

"I don’t want that!"

"Then join me! I have the money, you have the skill. Together, we can change all of this! Come on, Johnson."

"Alright, I’ll—"

"Ah, hold on a second."

Just as Johnson was about to agree, Duan Fei cut in. "Sorry to interrupt while you’re both having a moment, but I’d like to ask... how are you planning to split the profits?"

The Godfather glared at Duan Fei, who simply offered a treacherously innocent-looking smile.

The Godfather sighed. "Two hundred dollars for a complete buyout of your recipe."

"Johnson, this man is too merciful. He could obviously just steal it, but he’s actually offering you money."

Johnson snapped out of his trance and looked at the Godfather. "You want me to do illegal work for you, and you’re only offering me this little?"

"Well, you get to realize your dream, and I can..."

"Can dreams pay the rent?"

Fixing Johnson with a death glare, the Godfather finally conceded.

He clapped his hands and said to Johnson, "I’ll give you a percentage. We can negotiate the exact figure."

"Alright."

Just as the two reached a consensus, Duan Fei and Cuihua both heard a system notification.

"Instance Quest Activated."

"Current Quest: Increase the market share of a certain food item to over 50%."

"If another team is the first to complete this objective, your team will automatically fail."

"Enjoy the game."