The man paused, a playful smile spreading across his face.
“We just think food that’s worse than pig slop doesn’t deserve to be called cuisine.” The single sentence was like a bucket of cold water thrown into boiling oil.
The entire restaurant exploded into an uproar.
“What did you say?!” Master Chef Bakara’s face instantly flushed a dark crimson.
The arrogance he’d worn like a crown shattered like fine porcelain, cracks spreading across his expression.
He glared at Rocks, murderous fury blazing in his eyes.
On the Island of Splendor, he was the undisputed king of the culinary world—the favored personal chef of the Celestial Dragons.
Never in his life had he suffered such humiliation.
Someone had just pointed at him in public and declared that his cooking wasn’t even fit for pigs.
“How dare you!
Who do you think you are to insult Master Chef Bakara?!” “You ignorant bumpkins!
Kneel and apologize to Master Chef Bakara immediately!” The noble diners around them eagerly joined in, seeing this as the perfect chance to prove their loyalty to the celebrated chef.
The restaurant guards drew their swords and surrounded Rocks’ table, the atmosphere growing tense enough to ignite at a single spark.
Gatz grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth as his massive fists cracked loudly.
Dorum and Silver quietly rose to their feet as well, their eyes turning ice-cold.
A brawl seemed inevitable.
“Wait.” A cool, youthful voice cut through the commotion.
Ryne stood up from his seat and walked to the table.
He glanced at the elaborately decorated yet hollow dishes before calmly raising his eyes to meet Bakara’s furious gaze.
“He’s right.” His voice wasn’t loud, yet every person in the restaurant heard it clearly.
“You use edible gold leaf to hide the fact that the snail meat is past its prime.
You rely on the sparkle of diamond dust to distract people from the fish roe’s unpleasant odor.
You use artificial coloring and clever lighting to fake the soup’s appearance…” “You’re not cooking.” “You’re deceiving your guests’ palates—and desecrating the ingredients themselves.” Each sentence landed like a surgeon’s scalpel, slicing away Bakara’s glamorous façade and exposing the ugly truths hidden beneath his culinary tricks.
Bakara’s entire body trembled.
Half from rage.
Half from shock.
He couldn’t believe that a child who looked no older than seven or eight had seen through every secret technique he prided himself on.
“Y-You’re talking nonsense!” Bakara barked, though his confidence had begun to falter.
“What could a brat like you possibly know about high-class cuisine?!” “True haute cuisine lets the ingredients shine.” “It doesn’t rely on gold or diamonds to make them appear valuable.” Ryne’s tone remained calm, yet carried unquestionable authority.
“If you refuse to accept that…” “…then let’s settle this the way chefs do.” He raised a small finger and pointed directly at Bakara.
“I challenge you…
to a cooking duel.” The word echoed through the restaurant.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Everyone stared at Ryne as though he’d gone insane.
An unknown child was challenging the personal chef of a Celestial Dragon—the legendary Master Chef Bakara?
It was the greatest joke anyone had ever heard.
Bakara froze for a heartbeat before bursting into hysterical laughter.
“Hahahaha!
A cooking duel ?
You?
Fine!
Fine!
I accept your challenge!
You brought this on yourself!” He’d been wondering how to publicly humiliate these arrogant fools.
Now they’d delivered themselves straight to him.
He would crush the brat’s pride before every noble on the island.
“If this is a cooking duel , there has to be a wager.” Rocks spoke leisurely from the side, wearing an amused smile.
“If we win, my Head Chef will take charge of tomorrow’s Grand Gourmet Banquet.” “And if you lose?” Bakara’s smile turned vicious.
“If we lose…” Rocks’ grin became downright dangerous.
“You can take every one of our heads.” That was no small wager.
“Deal!” Afraid they might change their minds, Bakara agreed without hesitation.
“Tomorrow at noon!
In the plaza of Saint Garumarco’s Vacation Estate!
I’ll make sure everyone on the island watches you lose like a dog!” With that, Bakara swept away dramatically.
He immediately began arranging what he viewed as a public execution—one that would become another glorious chapter in his culinary legend.
News spread across the Island of Splendor as though it had grown wings.
The personal chef of a Celestial Dragon versus a mysterious young chef.
The sensational story instantly became the hottest topic among the island’s elite.
To them, this wasn’t a competition.
It was entertainment.
A spectacle showcasing arrogance and destruction.
By noon the following day, the plaza outside Saint Garumarco’s mountaintop Vacation Estate was packed shoulder to shoulder.
At the center stood two lavish cooking stations.
One was crafted entirely from gold.
The other was forged from silver.
Saint Garumarco sat high above the crowd upon a jewel-encrusted throne, wearing the trademark bubble helmet of the Celestial Dragons.
His expression was one of complete boredom.
Rows of emotionless bodyguards dressed in black stood beside him, along with the king and ministers of the Prospar Kingdom .
To thunderous applause, Bakara stepped onto the golden cooking platform in his most extravagant chef’s uniform.
He looked like a monarch about to ascend the throne.
Ryne, meanwhile, wore only a clean, simple tunic as he silently walked onto the silver platform.
Standing behind him were Rocks, Gatz, Silver, and Dorum.
Compared to the luxurious surroundings, the four looked like barbarians who had wandered into a royal palace.
“Gahahaha!
What a spectacle!
Anyone who didn’t know better would think this was a public execution!” Gatz laughed carelessly, his massive ship’s anchor resting on one shoulder.
“Keep it down.
Don’t distract the Head Chef.” Silver quietly reminded him.
The theme of the cooking duel was soon announced.
Saint Garumarco chose it personally.
Light.
It was an exceptionally abstract and difficult theme.
The moment Bakara heard it, a confident smile spread across his face.
This was exactly his specialty.
He clapped his hands.
His assistants immediately wheeled out an enormous crystal tank containing a strange deep-sea eel that emitted a soft blue glow from its entire body.
The Luminous Eel.
Next came glowing mushrooms, spices that traced constellations in the darkness, and an entire chest filled with edible gold leaf and diamond powder.
He intended to create a dish that dazzled with brilliance—from its ingredients to its presentation.
Ryne’s station, on the other hand, contained only a handful of ordinary ingredients.
A sack of flour.
Several eggs.
Some milk.
And a basket of the island’s most common red berries.
The audience erupted with laughter.
“He’s going to make ‘light’ with those?” “What, is he baking pancakes?” “Looks like he’s already given up.” Bakara merely snorted in disdain.
He couldn’t even be bothered to look at Ryne again before beginning his theatrical performance.
Using a gemstone-inlaid knife, he expertly filleted the glowing eel.
Each graceful cut drew another wave of astonished applause.
He injected luminous mushroom essence into the flesh, making the entire fish shine even brighter.
Every movement was flashy.
Elegant.
Vain.
Meanwhile, Ryne quietly mixed the flour, eggs, and milk before kneading the dough.
His movements were unhurried.
Yet every motion flowed with perfect rhythm, as though he were conversing with the life contained within the ingredients.
After dividing the dough into several portions, he left it to proof.
Then he crushed the red berries and carefully filtered the juice through fine cloth until only a clear crimson liquid remained.
Time slowly passed.
Bakara finished first.
His dish was called Deep-Sea Stars.
The Luminous Eel had been grilled to perfection and plated upon a black dish.
Its naturally glowing blue flesh shimmered beneath luminous mushroom sauce and sparkling diamond powder, resembling the Milky Way stretching across a midnight sky.
It was breathtaking.
When the dish was presented, thunderous applause erupted throughout the plaza.
Even Saint Garumarco leaned forward with genuine interest.
At that moment, Ryne had only just placed his fermented cakes into a frying pan.
Sizzle— The plain sound stood in stark contrast to the dazzling spectacle unfolding at Bakara’s station.
Soon, Ryne’s dish was finished as well.
It consisted of several golden pancakes served with a small dish of crimson berry compote.
Simple.
Modest.
Almost shabby.
Compared to Deep-Sea Stars, it was like comparing the light of a firefly to the brilliance of the moon.
The crowd laughed even harder.
“It’s over.” “There wasn’t any suspense to begin with.” “This is what happens when arrogance goes too far.” Bakara’s smug smile had reached its peak.
Then, at the very moment Ryne poured the crimson berry sauce over the steaming pancakes— Everything changed.
The warm pancakes seemed to possess a mysterious power.
The instant the berry sauce touched them, an indescribable fragrance burst forth.
It wasn’t merely the aroma of food.
It was…
The scent of dawn itself.
Like the very first ray of sunlight piercing through clouds to illuminate the world.
Warm.
Pure.
Filled with hope.
The fragrance swept through the plaza like an invisible hand.
In an instant, it washed away everyone’s arrogance, vanity, and restlessness.
The mocking laughter stopped abruptly.
Silence fell.
Every person stood frozen, greedily breathing in the soul-cleansing aroma.
Saint Garumarco suddenly jolted upright inside his bubble helmet, staring fixedly at the humble plate of pancakes.
“T-This is…” Ryne lifted his dish and calmly announced, “My dish is called…” “Dawn.” Instead of presenting it to the judges, he walked toward the edge of the plaza.
There, a ragged little girl in tattered clothes was begging for food.
He knelt and offered her the plate.
“Eat.” The little girl timidly accepted it.
She picked up one of the warm pancakes and took a small bite.
The instant it entered her mouth— A light suddenly shone in her dull, lifeless eyes.
Not figuratively.
Real light.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she seemed to see her long-deceased mother smiling at her from a sunlit wheat field.