Chương 169: Round One, a Narrow Margin

Out on the floor, time had been stretched. The three Americans and the three English stood in a line in front of their stations, waiting for judgment. The countdown clock had stopped. The hall was silent apart from the sound of people breathing badly. Chris could feel Ethan's body going stiff beside him. That error was still a splinter in him. Kira looked calm as ever, but the hand at her side had closed into a fist without her deciding to. Chris put a hand out quietly and patted each of them on the back.

No words needed. The gesture carried his support and his trust. At the judges' table, Mario Benini stood and took the microphone. His deep-set eyes went over the young people on both teams.

"Before we announce the scores, I want to say something." His voice reached every corner of the building.

"What we tasted today was not two dishes. What we tasted was the past and the future of cooking. The rigor of technique and the temperature of feeling."

"England. With scientific precision and unmatched skill you showed us how gorgeously a classic can shine under modern technology. Your work is a perfect object. It belongs in a museum." England's supporters broke into hard applause. Nothing moved on Arthur's face. The chairman turned to the Americans.

"And Team USA." His tone softened.

"With bold imagination and genuine feeling, you made us reconsider what homage means. Your work is not an object. It is closer to a poem — a poem written to a legend and covered in your own fingerprints. It may not be perfect. It has a soul." The American supporters came back just as loud.

"Both teams gave us work of world class. Whatever the result, you have every one of us in this room behind you." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. He set the microphone down. On the huge screen behind him, the scores began to appear. England first. Five judges' marks lit one at a time: 19, 19, 18, 19, 18. Total: 93. An astonishing number. Almost the theoretical ceiling. The hall broke into noise; the score had stunned everyone.

Ninety-three in the brutal first round of a final was effectively an announcement that England had locked it. The corner of Arthur's mouth finally moved a little. His two teammates visibly let their shoulders down. The pressure came across the floor at the Americans like a mountain. Chris's heart skipped half a beat. Ninety-three — higher than the system's projection. Which meant at least one judge had given England something near full marks. Now the Americans. The numbers began again. First: 18. Second: 19.

Third: 17. Fourth: 19. Fifth: 18. Total: 91. When the final number locked at 91, Ethan's body swayed visibly. They'd lost. Two points. But lost.

"That drop… that mistake…" Ethan's voice was full of it.

"That 17 has to be Madame Dubois. If my hand hadn't shaken we'd have had 92 at least. We'd have drawn—""No." Kira cut him off, and she was unusually cold about it.

"We didn't lose. On the one thing they do better than anyone alive, we lost by two points. Ethan, listen to what that means. Two points." Chris gripped his shoulder hard.

"Kira's right. We weren't broken." There was a refusal in his voice.

"They won their strongest round. Now it's ours." He lifted his head and looked at the screen. Beside the first-round result, the second round's theme had already appeared. THE FUTURE KITCHEN.

"Ethan." Chris turned and looked straight at him, and there was something burning behind it.

"Tomorrow is your world. Molecular technique, edge technology — a floor built out of everything you're best at. We take those two points back and we take them back double." Ethan looked at him, at the trust and expectation in his eyes that refused any argument. The guilt and the self-blame in him were slowly replaced by something stronger. Anger. Refusal. The will to go and take it back. He shut his fist so hard the knuckles went white.

"Right," he said through his teeth.

"We take it back." Day one was over. The Americans were two points behind, and not one of them had his head down. On the way off the floor, Chris's eyes met Arthur's again. There was something faintly surprised in Arthur's now. He appeared not to have expected that a near-flawless performance in his strongest field would open a gap of only two points. Chris answered with a look that was calm and entirely certain. The fight had only just started.