Chương 24: An Unprecedented Perfect Score

When Chris tied off the white apron and straightened, he thought the judgment was over. But Gareth Vane didn't turn to leave. He still stood in front of Chris, those sharp blue eyes seeming to pierce through his body and into the depths of his soul.

"Welcome back, Chris." Vane repeated it, but this time the tone held less ceremony and more inquiry.

"But that's not enough." He pressed the cheering down again. Everyone froze, not understanding what Vane still wanted. Even the seasoned host failed to react in time, standing rigid with his cue card.

"Not enough?" Chris raised his head and calmly met Vane's gaze. His pulse had steadied, his mind a high-speed computer analyzing the situation.

"That's right, not enough." Vane's voice was low but reached every ear clearly.

"I gave you a high score. Nina Marsh and Hale gave you high scores. But winning the revival round only proves you have the right to stand here again. It doesn't wash away the shame of your first elimination." Chris said nothing. He knew Vane had more.

"At Burning Kitchen, we speak with scores." Vane turned to the other two judges.

"Nina Marsh, what do you give this Triple-Flavor Potato Gratin? Out of ten." Nina Marsh raised her scoring paddle without hesitation.

"This dish is flawless in technique, creativity, and execution, and it tells a complete story. I give it a ten." A wave of gasps went up. Ten was an extremely rare score on Burning Kitchen, especially in an individual challenge. Vane nodded and looked to Curtis Hale.

"Hale?" Hale adjusted his signature white-framed glasses and said with a smile, "Chris used the plainest ingredient to create the richest experience of taste. This dish has soul, has bones, has flesh and blood. It isn't just a dish — it's a manifesto. So my score is a ten, too." Another ten! The audience went completely off. Two perfect scores in a row, exceedingly rare in the show's history. Every eye now fixed on the last man — Gareth Vane. What would he give?

He was famous for his severity; in his scoring system, a nine was the highest praise, and a ten was almost an impossibility. The host finally recovered his duty and pushed the mic toward Vane in excitement.

"Chef Vane! Two tens! This is unbelievable! Now only your score remains. What will you give Chris's dish?" Vane ignored the host. His eyes had never left Chris.

"A week ago, in front of everyone, I called your potato pavé garbage. I said you didn't deserve to stand here." Vane's voice was cold and clear, as if re-staging the scene.

"I gave you a failing score, and then I told you to get out of my kitchen. Do you remember?" You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"I remember, Chef." Chris answered without the slightest ripple of emotion.

"Good." Vane picked up his own scoring paddle, turned his back to everyone, and wrote something on it with a marker.

"Do you know why I did that? Because in my kitchen, wasting a chance is more unforgivable than making a bad dish. And that day, you wasted that chance." He paused, then went on.

"And today, by your actions, you've told me you didn't waste a second chance. You seized it, and you used it to slap me hard across the face." The line brought the mood on the floor to an eerie peak. Everyone held their breath.

"I hate being slapped in the face." As Vane said it, the corner of his mouth curved into an almost invisible arc.

"But if it's done by a dish this perfect, I do it gladly." He flipped the scoring paddle over abruptly and held it high. On the white board, in thick black marker, was an enormous number — 10. Boom. The whole soundstage seemed to detonate. Applause, screams, whistles merged into a tidal wave of sound that nearly lifted the roof. The director roared backstage for every camera to lock onto Vane and Chris and capture this historic instant.

"My god! Thirty points! A perfect score! The first perfect score in the history of the Burning Kitchen Revival Challenge has been born!" The host was practically screaming his broadcast. Marco heard the result in the contestant exit corridor; his body swayed and he nearly fell. A perfect score? The "Potato Guy" he'd taken for a joke had gotten a perfect score out of Gareth Vane? The fact was harder to accept than his own elimination. Up in the second-floor gallery, the other eleven contestants were stunned too.

"That's impossible… Vane actually gave a ten?" a blonde woman murmured.

"Is this guy a monster? One week — what the hell did he do?" Another big man knit his brow. The way they looked at Chris had changed completely. From the early contempt and pity, to surprise, to now — wariness. Chris had become a real threat. And Chris, at the eye of the storm, reacted in a way no one expected. No wild joy, no excited shout, not even a single tear. He only looked at that "10," then at Gareth Vane. Vane stepped forward and took back the black apron Chris had removed at his first-round elimination.

He held it in his hand, looked at Chris, and said, in a tone he'd never used before — admiration, challenge, and anticipation all mixed:"A week ago, I said, 'Get out of my kitchen.'" He paused, and every word seemed to land on every heart in the house.

"Today, I'm going to say, 'Welcome back to MY kitchen, Chef.'" He deliberately stressed my kitchen and Chef. It was no longer a simple welcome. It was recognition. The highest recognition from the devil in the kitchen himself. Chris drew a deep breath. He could feel every nerve in his body trembling with excitement, but he forced it down. He knew that if he showed satisfaction here, his road would end here too.

He bowed his head slightly to Vane and, at a volume only the two of them could hear, said something that left even Vane stunned.

"I'm not finished, Chef." Vane looked at the young man before him. There was no relief of a survivor in those eyes, no satisfaction of winning recognition — only a deeper, calmer, more terrifying ambition. He suddenly understood: winning the revival round was, to this man, no endpoint at all. It was merely the horn he'd blown to declare war on everyone. Vane laughed. It was a laugh from the heart, the laugh of a man who'd met his match.

"Good." He clapped Chris on the shoulder.

"Then let me see how far you can go." With that he turned and walked back to the judges' table, tossing the black apron of shame, offhand, into the trash can at the edge of the stage. The past was buried for good.