Chương 86: You're the One I Respect Most

The studio was dead silent. Only the rattle of the trash can lid echoed. Jack didn't blow up the way he used to, didn't reach for any excuse. He seemed to have seen this result coming long ago. He quietly untied the apron strings at his neck, folded the grease-stained white apron neatly, and set it on the station. He raised his head and looked at Vane.

"You're right, Chef." Jack's voice was a little hoarse, but calm.

"I screwed it up. I was too arrogant. I thought I could master every kind of fire, and the fire burned me. Thank you for teaching me all this time." Vane looked at him, his gaze softening a little.

"You're a very gifted meat chef, Jack. But remember—a kitchen doesn't need heroics. It needs respect for the ingredient. When you get out of here, get your temper under control." Jack nodded. He turned to leave. But he didn't head straight for the doors—he walked toward Chris. Chris watched him quietly. They'd been mortal rivals from day one, fighting over command in the team battle, jockeying in secret through countless challenges. Jack stopped in front of Chris. He held out his right hand.

"You're the one in this competition I respect most." Jack looked into Chris's eyes, no swagger left in his voice now, only honesty.

"On day one, when you burned your potatoes, I looked down on you. Later, when you took command from me in the team battle, I hated you. But now—I'm beaten. I respect you." Chris looked at the hand held out to him, reached out his own, and gripped it hard.

"Your steak is the best I've ever seen," Chris said seriously.

"If you could figure out your seasoning, you'd be a terrifying opponent." Jack let out a big laugh, a laugh with relief in it.

"Don't lose to that robot who only knows how to use a thermometer." Jack dropped his voice and said it at a volume only the two of them could hear, his eyes flicking toward Ethan. Chris smiled faintly.

"I won't." Jack let go and strode out of the studio. Vane stood at the front, having watched the whole thing, and nodded slightly. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"All right." Vane cleared his throat and pulled the remaining three's attention back.

"Look around you. Ethan, Chris, Sarah. You are this season's national top three of Burning Kitchen." Chris drew a deep breath. Everything had gone exactly as he'd predicted the night before. The three strongest had made it to the end.

"But Hell Week isn't over yet." Vane's words came down like a basin of cold water.

"Tomorrow is the last day of Hell Week. It's also your final elimination round before the championship finale. Of the three of you, only two will get a ticket to the final. Go back and rest well. Tomorrow, put your soul on the plate." Dismissed, Chris went back to his apartment. He threw himself onto the bed, feeling every bone in his body ache. Two straight days of high-intensity competition, plus constantly switching between the system and his instinct, had left his mind utterly drained.

He opened the system panel. [Main quest progress: Reach the national top three.] [Current Culinary Rating: B+ (82/100).] [Arena Points balance: 267.] He looked at the three names on the panel: Chris, Ethan, Sarah. Tomorrow's round would be three down to two. Ethan's ability was beyond question; he was all but incapable of a fatal error. Which meant the person eliminated tomorrow would, in all likelihood, come down to him or Sarah. Sarah.

The girl who'd backed him unconditionally in the team battle, who'd quietly handed him tools last night while he helped Marcus fix his dessert. She was the only friend he had in this brutal competition. If he gave it everything tomorrow, Sarah would very likely be eliminated. If he held back his hand… no. The moment the thought surfaced, Chris snuffed it out. Holding back was the greatest insult he could give Sarah, and a betrayal of the second life he'd been given. But this emotional tug-of-war left Chris on edge.

In the upper right corner of the system panel, the red energy bar that marked his stress level began to climb fast. [Warning: Host's current stress level is too high. Emotional fluctuation may distort technical execution in tomorrow's round.] Chris sat up and rubbed at his hair, agitated. His stress tolerance was only at C (60) right now. Fine for everyday cooking, but against a life-or-death fight tangled with feelings and his own future, this much resilience was nowhere near enough.

He opened the Skill Shop and turned to the advanced training section. [Advanced High-Pressure Adaptation Training, Tier 2: Deep Emotional Isolation. Price: 60 Arena Points. Description: Teaches you how, under violent emotional swings and extreme pressure, to forcibly strip away emotion and hold your muscle memory and technical execution absolutely steady.] Chris clenched his jaw. Buy it. [Exchange successful. Remaining Arena Points: 207.] In an instant, a flood of theory on breath control, focus of vision, and the severing of emotion poured into his brain. Chris closed his eyes and began a simulation drill following the methods in the manual. In his mind he ran tomorrow's scene: Vane's roar, the tick of the countdown, Sarah's tears at failure, Ethan's cold sneer… He forced himself, in that high-pressure simulation, to cut onions and sear steaks rock-steady. Again and again. Sweat soaked through his T-shirt.

By two in the morning, the system finally popped a prompt. [Training complete. Stress Tolerance increased. Current level: C+ (64/100).] Chris opened his eyes and let out a long, stale breath. His mind felt as if it had been rinsed in ice water—clear—and that agitation and anxiety had been pressed down into a safe corner. He was ready to face tomorrow.