Chương 146: The Quarterfinal Opponent, Spain

The gunsmoke of the group stage cleared, and after a short rest and reset, the Global Culinary Champion League moved formally into the more brutal single-elimination phase. Eight teams that had risen out of their groups would now fight it out in pairs. Win, and you moved on; lose, and you went straight home. The round-of-eight draw was held in the central hall of the League's main venue. The mood was solemn and tense; the representatives of every team held their breath, awaiting fate's verdict.

The draw rule was simple: the four group winners would face the four group runners-up. Chris, Ethan, and Kira stood in the crowd as the American team's representatives. Having come through as a group runner-up, they knew perfectly well that whom they'd face was bound to be another group's top team — a team of formidable strength.

"Let's hope we don't draw Spain," Ethan said in a low voice.

"Their style is a hard counter to us." Spain, the winner of Group C. They'd advanced in overwhelming fashion, three wins from three, with a terrifying record of averaging over 90 points a match. Their cooking style was known the world over for its "extreme fusion of molecular cuisine and traditional stew." Their captain was a genius chef from the Basque region named Mateo Vila, a master at deconstructing the most traditional Basque snacks — pintxos — into avant-garde works of art full of a futuristic feel.

Their dishes held both the flashy forms and precise control of molecular cuisine and the bone-deep richness of a traditional stew. That style posed a direct challenge to Kira's dimension of creativity — because the Spanish team was bolder than Kira, more avant-garde, and more visually striking. The draw began. On the big screen, the bracket lit up match by match. England vs. Italy. Nordic Combined vs. Mexico. France, as Group A's winner — their opponent would be… Korea.

Seeing the result, a trace of an easy smile crossed Raphaël's face. Korea was no slouch, but compared to France they were clearly not yet in the same weight class. Now only one last pairing remained. The American team's opponent would come from between Spain and Group D's winner, Australia. Every eye fixed on the little ball in the president's hand. The president opened the ball and announced aloud, "The final match of the round of eight — Group A runner-up, the United States, against…"

He paused, and looked to the big screen.

"Group C winner — Spain!" The dust had settled. The very thing they'd least hoped for had happened after all. Ethan's face turned grave in an instant. Kira, too, set aside her usual ease, a new seriousness in her eyes. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Their opponent was precisely the Spanish team — the team whose style most countered theirs, and whose strength was the most unfathomable.

The draw over, the American team returned at once to the training kitchen, the mood somewhat oppressive.

"None of you hang your heads." Chris spoke first, breaking the silence.

"It doesn't matter who we drew. We want the title — that means we have to beat everyone. We'd meet them sooner or later. No difference." That was the word, but everyone knew how great the difficulty of this match was.

"Let's start by looking at their group-stage footage," Chris said, switching on the projector and pulling up all three of Spain's matches. On the screen, the footage of Spain's contests began to play. Their kitchen was like a laboratory of the future. Centrifuge, rotary evaporator, liquid-nitrogen tank, ultrasonic emulsifier… every kind of high-tech equipment was on hand. Their appetizer was a "deconstructed Spanish tortilla."

They made the potato into a foam, the onion into a crisp, the egg yolk into a burst-in-the-mouth sphere with spherification. The whole dish looked to have nothing at all to do with a traditional tortilla — but eaten, its flavor was identical to the traditional one. Their main was a "slow-braised beef cheek with nitrogen red-wine air." In the most traditional way, they braised the beef cheek for eight hours until it melted in the mouth.

Then, in the most modern way, they turned the red-wine sauce into a red foam light as air. Their dessert was "Oliva" — "The Olive's Disguise." Using white chocolate and mint, they made a sweet identical in shape and size to a real olive, filled inside with a sweet-sour citrus jam. Three matches, nine dishes, each of them full of imagination and technical power — leaving Chris and the others watching in awe.

"These guys… are they lunatics?" Ethan muttered to himself. His technique, before the Spanish team, seemed almost conservative.

"Their creativity really is strong," Kira admitted too.

"And their teamwork is near seamless. Look — all three of them, their styles are completely unified, like dishes made by one person." Wait… styles completely unified? Kira's line struck Chris like a bolt of lightning. He stood at once, walked to the screen, and set the nine dishes from the three matches side by side.

"Look," Chris pointed at the screen, his eyes bright.

"Kira's right. Their style is too unified. Every dish is a combination of 'traditional flavor plus molecular form.' The appetizer is, the main is, the dessert is. Match one is, match two is, match three too."

"Is there a problem with that?" Ethan asked, not following.

"It shows their team philosophy is consistent, their execution strong."

"No — that's exactly where their weakness lies!" Chris's voice began to rise with excitement.

"Because it's too unified, they lack 'contrast' and 'surprise.' Once you've seen their appetizer, you can basically guess what road their main and dessert will take. Their dishes can stun your eyes and your brain, but they struggle to truly touch your heart — because it's too much like a perfect formula." Chris's words sent both Ethan and Kira into thought. They cast their minds back over Spain's dishes, and it was true.

Each was a masterpiece, yes — but watch enough of them, and there really was a sense of repetition, of the predictable.

"And us?" Chris turned to look at his two teammates.

"The three of us are three completely different styles. Kira, you represent art, intuition, an Eastern Zen. Ethan, you represent science, precision, a Western logic. And I'm the 'translator' and 'narrator' who connects you together."

"Our edge lies precisely in our lack of uniformity. Every one of our dishes can bring the judges a wholly new experience. From Kira's ethereal, to Ethan's rigor, to my gentleness. Our menu isn't a formula — it's a story. A story full of contrast, surprise, and the rise and fall of feeling." Chris's analysis was like a shaft of light, instantly brightening the whole team's confidence. They'd always thought their unaligned team styles were a weakness.

But only now did they see that this was, in fact, their most powerful weapon.

"I understand." The light rekindled in Ethan's eyes.

"What we have to do isn't imitate their showmanship — it's to push our own styles to the extreme. To use our 'plurality' against their 'uniformity.'""Exactly." Kira nodded too, a faint smile at the corner of her mouth.

"I'll show them what real, unpredictable creativity is." The oppressive mood was swept clean away, replaced by a fighting spirit higher than ever before. Chris knew this duel would be very hard. But now he'd found the one possible road to victory. On the Spanish team's palace — gorgeous and cold, built of molecular cuisine — he would open a warm breach with the story of the three of them.