Chương 79: Don't Sacrifice Yourself for the Team

The elimination judgment took place in the back kitchen after the dinner, empty now of everyone else. The cold stainless-steel counters reflected the pale, tense faces of Ethan's four. Vane, Nina, and Hale stood before them, grim.

"We've already made the reason for your loss perfectly clear," Vane said, getting straight to it.

"The menu's ambition outran your ability to execute it. Now we have to decide who's responsible for that failure." His gaze landed first on the captain, Ethan.

"Ethan, as captain, the menu was yours. This strategic misjudgment is your greatest share of the blame." Vane's voice was severe.

"But when the crisis hit, your 'open-faced Wellington' showed excellent on-the-spot adaptation and kept the team from total collapse. Your leadership is beyond reproach. So you—you're safe." Ethan nodded, no expression on his face—neither relief nor joy. To him, losing the competition itself was the greatest punishment. Now only three remained: David, Amelia, Sarah. Two of them were about to leave.

"Amelia." Vane turned to her.

"The Wellington pastry was your responsibility. Running short on prep was the direct cause of the main-course collapse. That's a fatal error, and there's no excuse for it." Amelia's tears finally broke loose, spilling over.

"I'm sorry, Chef... I... I miscalculated..."

"There's no 'sorry' in a kitchen," Vane cut her off coldly.

"Only results. Your mistake led directly to the team's loss." Everyone knew Amelia's fate was already sealed. Next was David.

"David, your performance tonight was... how to put it," Curtis Hale stroked his chin, as if searching for the right word.

"Very steady. The fish course you handled had no problems—but no highlights either. You were like a faithful soldier carrying out his general's orders. Nothing more." David's head dropped. He knew that "steady" and "no highlights," in an elimination round, were nearly the same as mediocre. Last was Sarah. Every heart clenched—especially Chris's, watching from the distance. Nina Marsh looked at Sarah, a thread of regret in her eyes.

"Sarah, we all saw it—you worked incredibly hard tonight. You not only finished your own dessert work, you helped Amelia with the dough, helped David with the garnishes... you were practically patching the holes for the whole team." If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Sarah's lips moved, but no words came.

"But," Nina's tone turned serious, "it was precisely because you scattered so much of your energy onto work that wasn't yours that you ran out of stamina at the dessert course. Our data shows you had three soufflés that, because they weren't sent out in time after coming out of the oven, collapsed slightly. The guests didn't complain—but we judges saw it." Vane took over, his voice cold as ice.

"Sarah, your greatest strength is your team spirit. But tonight, that became your greatest weakness too. You did a great many things that weren't yours to do—and failed to do, a hundred percent, the things that were. A cook, first of all, has to hold her own ground. If you can't even protect your own station, how can you win a war?" Tears swam in Sarah's eyes. She bit down hard on her lip, refusing to let them fall. The judgment was over. Amelia, directly responsible. David, mediocre.

Sarah, failed to hold her post. All three had reasons to be cut. After a brief conference, Vane announced the final verdict.

"Amelia," he said to the girl already sobbing helplessly, "for your fatal error at a critical link, your journey ends here. Please hand over your apron." Choking back tears, Amelia untied the white apron from her body and laid it on the counter. The first one cut. Now the second name would come down to David or Sarah. Chris's heart nearly leapt from his chest. He watched Sarah, his hands clenched tight into fists at his sides.

"David, Sarah." Vane looked at the remaining two.

"This is an extremely difficult decision." He fell silent for a full ten seconds—ten seconds that felt, to everyone, like a century.

"David," Vane spoke at last, "you're a technically decent cook, but you lack personality, lack the spirit to take risks. To this day I don't know what your dishes are even trying to say." Then he turned to Sarah.

"Sarah, you made mistakes tonight. But your mistakes came from your willingness to give everything for the team, to sacrifice yourself to help others. That quality, in a kitchen, is a double-edged sword."

"What we discussed," Vane drew a deep breath, "is that we'd rather have a warrior who makes mistakes than a machine that never does."

"David, it's time for you to go." David stood thunderstruck, frozen in place. He couldn't believe he'd lost to a Sarah who'd made errors. But this was Vane's creed. He could forgive a slip in technique—but he could not forgive mediocrity of spirit. Sarah froze too. She'd never imagined she would actually stay. The enormous swell of grief and joy together broke her last hold on her emotions, and she crouched down where she stood and wept. David quietly took off his apron, embraced Ethan, then turned and left.

The cut was over. The top seven had become the top five. Chris, Ethan, Sarah, Jack, Marcus. The contestants dragged their exhausted bodies back to the apartments. In the corridor, Chris saw Sarah standing alone at the window, crying. He walked over, said nothing, and simply stood quietly beside her. A long while later, Sarah finally choked out, "I... I almost didn't make it back." Chris looked at the night view beyond the window and said softly, "You came back. That's enough."

Sarah lifted her head, looked at him through tear-blurred eyes, and nodded, hard. Chris knew that, having survived tonight's life-or-death test, Sarah would surely grow stronger. But he also knew that as the competition turned ever crueler, their friendship would, one day, become a blade they had to face on the field. For now, he'd lost his most reliable lieutenant, David—and Ethan's team had unquestionably been weakened. The shape of the competition had grown murky once again.