Chương 163: Opening Ceremony, Two Armies

At nine o'clock exactly, Paris time, the opening ceremony of the Global Culinary Champion League final began in front of the eyes of the world. The vast arena had no empty seats. Food lovers, press, and top chefs had gathered here from every corner of the earth. The flashes went off like a sea of stars at midday and lit the whole hall. Excitement and anticipation and nerves mixed in the air like a stock coming up to the boil. At the center stood an enormous, ornate stage.

Behind it, the flags of the sixteen competing nations rose slowly — a month-long festival of cooking about to reach its last chapter. In the American team's room, Chris, Ethan and Kira had changed into fresh whites: a small Stars and Stripes embroidered at the left breast, the league mark on the right sleeve. Ethan was checking his knives over and over, every one of them polished bright. Kira sat cross-legged in a corner with her eyes shut, working her breathing, gone somewhere weightless.

Chris stood at the window watching the crowd move outside, and inside he was strangely calm. Last night on the tower had finished the change in him. He wasn't gripping at winning or losing anymore, and he wasn't frightened of how strong the other side was. There was one thing left to do: stand with his teammates and put the best of what they had in front of people.

"Ready?" He turned to look at them. Ethan stopped what he was doing and stood. His eyes were as sharp as the steel in his hand.

"My knives can't wait any longer." Kira opened her eyes too, and they were clear and still.

"The ingredients are calling me." The three of them looked at each other and smiled, put out their fists, and touched them lightly together.

"For Team USA."

"For us."

"For… flavor." The door opened and an official put his head in.

"Team USA. On stage, please." The moment Chris, Ethan and Kira came out of the tunnel and onto the main stage, an ocean of applause and shouting drowned them. The spotlights hit them so hard they could barely keep their eyes open. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. On the other side of the stage, the three members of Team England came out at the same time. At their head, Arthur Campbell.

The same face as always: calm, remote, as though none of the noise around him had anything to do with him. His stride was so exact it might have been measured with a rule, every step the same length as the last. His two teammates carried nothing extra on their faces either — two precision components following the master program. The two teams met in the middle of the stage. The compère's voice came through the speakers at full lift.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the final battleground of the Global Culinary Champion League! Standing in front of you now are the last two of sixteen of the finest teams in the world!"

"On my left — the greatest dark horse of this competition, a team that has come from behind again and again and made miracle after miracle. Team USA! With emotion, with story, and with teamwork nobody has matched, they conquered the judges and they conquered us! Please welcome Chris White! Ethan Cole! Kira Watanabe!" The applause broke over the hall. A great many people stood to cheer three young cooks.

"And on my right — the most dominant force in this competition. An unbeaten record. A terrifying average above ninety points per match. They arrive at this final like royalty. Team England! With precision, with science, and with an absolute pursuit of perfection, they have redefined modern cooking! Give your warmest welcome to their captain, the man they call the cooking machine — Arthur Campbell!" England's supporters answered with a wall of sound that stood level with the Americans'.

Inside the roar, Chris's eyes met Arthur's across the air. Arthur's look was identical to the one in the training kitchen: cold, without any feeling in it. But underneath the ice Chris caught something unusual — an absolute, unquestioning confidence, the certainty of a man who has the trophy in his pocket already. He didn't look like a competitor. He looked like a man arriving to collect a prize that was already his. Chris's own eyes were level as water. No challenge in them, no submission either.

He simply looked back, the way you look at an opponent worth respecting who you are nevertheless going to get past. The corner of Arthur's mouth moved a fraction, as if he might say something. He didn't. He gave a small nod, the minimum a greeting requires, and looked away. The whole silent exchange took a few seconds and felt like a hard round of combat. The compère moved on to the special rules — the Three-Day War.

When he read the first day's theme, Homage to the Classics, a knowing murmur ran through the professional chefs and critics in the room. Everybody knew that was England's ground. The competition had opened in a position savagely unfavorable to the Americans. The chairman of the league solemnly declared the final under way, the huge screen behind the stage lit, and a countdown clock began to run.

"The Three-Day War. Round one. Homage to the Classics. Begin!" The house lights fell, leaving only two brilliantly lit kitchen stations, two islands facing each other across a dark ocean. Chris, Ethan and Kira moved fast into theirs. On the other side, Arthur and his team were already in position. Two armies. The war was on.