Chương 70: Charity Dinner: The Losing Team Loses Two

The brutal baptism of the one-on-one cuts had changed the whole mood of Burning Kitchen. The seven remaining contestants each looked like a survivor of a bloody battle—a little less innocence in their eyes, a little more toughness and wariness. The production team, for once, gave them half a day off to reset. Most chose to go out and unwind, or gathered to talk, trying to shake off the enormous pressure of the competition. Chris shut himself alone in his apartment.

He knew his greatest weakness was still that C-grade Stress Tolerance. He'd managed to cover his nerves with sheer focus in the market challenge, but that treated the symptom, not the cause. He needed a more systematic, more scientific way to raise his mental game. He opened the system Skill Shop and found the option he'd had his eye on.

[Advanced High-Pressure Adaptation Training Manual] [Contents: systematic breath-regulation methods, attention-zoning techniques, and an "emotional isolation" methodology for keeping decisions clear under high pressure.] [Price: 60 Arena Points.]"Redeem." Chris didn't hesitate. [Arena Points -60, 267 remaining.] A vast stream of information poured into his brain. This time it wasn't knowledge about ingredients or technique—it leaned toward psychology and physiology.

How to drop your heart rate within seconds using "4-7-8" breathing; how to aim your attention like a searchlight, focusing it deliberately on the task at hand while letting the surrounding distractions "blur" into background; and, most crucially, "emotional isolation"—learning, when nerves or anxiety surfaced, to observe them like a bystander, acknowledge their presence, but refuse to be ruled by them. It was practically tailor-made for him. Chris began practicing right there in the apartment.

He shut his eyes and imagined himself standing in a loud kitchen, Vane roaring in his ear, a camera shoved in his face, the timer counting down like mad. He felt his heart speed up, his palms sweat. Then, following the manual's method, he began to breathe deep and slow. Inhale four seconds, hold seven, exhale eight. After a few cycles, he could clearly feel his heartbeat ease. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Next he practiced the attention-zoning. He set "chopping" as his core task and filed Vane's roar, the camera's lens, the timer's sound all under "background noise." He found that when he poured a hundred percent of his attention into the rise and fall of an imagined blade, the noise—still there—seemed to recede far away, no longer able to disturb his core thinking. It was only simulation training, but the effect was marked. Ding. [Through high-intensity self-training, your Stress Tolerance has improved.] [Stress Tolerance: C- (56) → C (60).] A small step up, but it meant he'd climbed out of the "danger zone"—he had stronger self-control now in the face of high pressure. That evening, Chris's phone buzzed. A text from Sarah. Chris, you up? Can't sleep. A little surprised, Chris wrote back: Yeah. What's wrong? I keep thinking about Owen getting eliminated, Sarah's reply came quickly. I feel so guilty, like I sent him home with my own hands. He smiled at me when he left, and I... that made it even worse.

Reading the words on the screen, Chris could feel Sarah's kindness and her conflict. He thought a moment, then typed out a line. You won because you were better than he was. In that duel, you beat him with your best work—and that's the greatest respect you can pay him as a cook. He paused, then added: If we don't dare give it everything because we're afraid of hurting our friends, that's the real insult—to this stage, to all our rivals, and to ourselves. A long time passed after he sent it before Sarah wrote back.

Thank you, Chris. I get it. You're right. Followed by a hug emoji. Chris looked at the screen and let out a soft sigh. He could use rational analysis to comfort others, to tell them how to face the cruelty of the competition. But the secret in his own heart—the enormous loneliness of the crossing, of the system—there was no one he could tell. He could build a soldier's bond with Sarah, Jack, the rest, even a real friendship. But he knew clearly there would always be a wall between them that could never be crossed.

He could comfort Sarah, but no one could come and comfort him—this soul in a foreign land. That feeling left him wearier than any pressure the competition could bring. The next day, the seven contestants regrouped in the kitchen. Gareth Vane's face was graver than ever.

"Welcome to the top seven. From today, every challenge you face will be hell-tier." The black cloth behind him was pulled away, revealing a huge task board.

"Your next challenge is a high-caliber team service. You'll be responsible for providing a five-course formal dinner for a two-hundred-guest charity gala in Hollywood." Two hundred people! Five courses! Everyone sucked in a breath. The scale was several times the earlier restaurant-takeover battle, and the difficulty rose geometrically.

"You seven will split into two teams. One of four, one of three," Vane went on, laying out the rules.

"When the service ends, the gala's guests will vote to decide the winning team."

"The winning team—everyone advances."

"And the losing team..." Vane's voice went to its coldest.

"Loses two people, on the spot." Lose, and that meant two eliminated! On a three-person team, a loss meant a two-thirds elimination rate. On a four-person team, a loss meant one in two. The rule was vicious. Every heart hung suspended, waiting for fate's verdict.