Chương 87: Let's Neither of Us Leave a Regret

Early the next morning, the hallway was hushed. Chris pushed open his door, ready to head to the studio. The moment he stepped out, he saw Sarah leaning against the wall across from him, a cup of hot coffee cradled in her hands. She didn't look like she'd slept well; faint shadows ringed her eyes.

"Morning." Sarah saw him and managed a small smile.

"Morning." Chris walked over and leaned against the wall beside her. The two of them were quiet for a while. The steam off the coffee rose between them.

"Last night, I kept thinking about my grandmother," Sarah said suddenly, her voice soft.

"When she taught me to cook, she told me food is for loving people. If you have love in your heart, the food you make will taste good." Chris looked at her and didn't interrupt.

"But I've realized that in this competition, love alone isn't enough," Sarah said, turning her head to look at him.

"You need precision like Ethan's, strategy and adaptability like yours. The truth is, I know I can't match either of you on technique."

"Sarah, you…" Chris wanted to say something comforting, but he knew anything like that now would ring false.

"Don't comfort me, Chris." Sarah smiled, and this time it was much more genuine.

"I know what today means. Three of us, and only two can stay." She turned and looked Chris dead in the eyes.

"Chris, whoever goes today, let's neither of us leave a regret." Her gaze was unusually clear.

"Don't go easy on me just because we're friends. If you dare to let me through, I'll never forgive you for the rest of my life." Chris looked at her, and the last sliver of hesitation in him vanished completely. He felt Sarah's dignity as a chef. He nodded, his tone calm and serious.

"I won't go easy on you."

"I know." Sarah's smile turned brighter.

"And I won't either. That's exactly why we're friends." The two of them bumped fists, turned, and headed for the studio. The last day of Hell Week. The studio lights were brighter than usual, three stations arranged in a triangle at the center. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Vane stood at the front. He didn't roar the way he usually did; his expression was deeply solemn.

"Good morning, national top three." Vane's voice echoed through the open space.

"You've come through countless trials and proven you have the right to stand here. Today is the last day of Hell Week." He paused, his eyes sweeping over the three of them.

"Today's challenge has no mystery box, no required ingredient, none of my signature dishes," Vane said.

"Today's prompt is this: your ultimate dish." All three of them caught their breath for an instant.

"You have a full hundred and twenty minutes. Go to the market and take whatever ingredients you want. Make a dish with no limits at all." Vane spread his arms wide.

"This dish must represent the peak of your ability, your understanding of cooking—who you are."

"This is pure strongest-against-strongest. A hundred and twenty minutes from now, bring out the best dish you've ever made in your life. The worst one goes home."

"Now—to the market! The round begins!" Chris, Ethan, and Sarah rushed for the pantry at once. A hundred and twenty minutes. That was generous time, enough to make any complicated French grand dish. Chris stood before the dazzling shelves of ingredients, his mind beginning to run the numbers fast.

"Initiate Dish Simulation. Search for the optimal plan." The system gave its suggestions quickly. [Recommended plan 1: Triple-Flavor Potato Gratin · Ultimate Evolution. Add black truffle and premium wagyu fat. Estimated completion: 93% (Grade A). Safe and mature.] [Recommended plan 2: Pan-seared blue lobster with caviar beurre blanc. Estimated completion: 91% (Grade A-). High technical difficulty, likely to win judges' favor.] Chris looked at the two suggestions.

The potato was the dish that had made his name in the revival round; lobster was the standard of any high-end restaurant. If he were cooking to win, picking either of these would absolutely be the safe call. But that voice in his chest spoke up again. Represent who you are. Vane's words echoed in his ears. Who was he? A lucky man cheating with a system? A machine that only knew how to pile up expensive ingredients? Neither.

In his past life he'd been a programmer who worked late every night and could only afford a bowl of noodles at a roadside stall. In this life he was a chef clawing his way through a kitchen, trying to find his true self through technique. He didn't need black truffle, and he didn't need blue lobster. Chris drew a deep breath and said inwardly: Close the recommended plans. He walked to the ingredient section in the farthest corner. He took a stewing hen, a few pork bones, and a small handful of dried scallops.

Then he took a piece of skin-on pork belly, a few fresh eggs, a bunch of scallions, and a bag of high-gluten flour. When he walked out of the market with these most ordinary, cheapest ingredients in his arms, not only the other two contestants but even the eliminated former contestants watching from the second floor went blank. Ethan had taken premium French duck breast and black truffle. Sarah had taken a big slab of bone-in short rib and fresh tomatoes.

And what Chris had taken looked like he was about to open a fast-food cart on a street corner.

"Chris, are you sure you want to make your ultimate dish with these ingredients?" Vane came to his station, looked at that pile of bones and flour, and frowned.

"Yes, Chef." Chris answered while briskly blanching the chicken and pork bones.

"What are you going to make?"

"A bowl of noodles, late at night." Chris raised his head, his eyes calm without a single ripple.