Chương 94: The Championship Battle Begins

The day of the grand final. When Chris stepped into the studio again, he froze on the spot. The place had been completely transformed. The dozens of stations that used to stand in rows were all gone. In their place were two huge, separate stations, like two lone islands, set facing each other at the dead center of the studio. Behind the stations were three judges' chairs. Vane, Nina, and Hale were already seated there, their expressions serious.

And all around the judges' table, tiered audience stands rose from the ground, packed with people. At a single glance Chris saw the familiar faces—Sarah, Jack, Marcus, Owen, Jessica… every contestant eliminated this season, all of them back. They sat in the front row of the stands, watching the two men on the floor with complicated eyes. Sarah waved hard at Chris, an encouraging smile on her face. Jack played it cool, just giving him a nod.

Marcus looked a little heavier than he had during the competition, and he rubbed his hands nervously. In one corner of the stands, Chris even spotted Marco—the guy who'd made bad blood with him on day one and whom he'd later humiliated so thoroughly with his liquid-nitrogen salmon. Marco sat with his arms folded, no real expression on his face, who knew what he was thinking. Seeing these faces, an unspeakable feeling welled up in Chris's chest.

These people were his rivals, his teammates, the witnesses to his whole journey. Each of their departures had made him feel the cruelty of the competition. And now they were all back, to witness the final champion born from him and Ethan. The spotlights blazed on all at once, lighting the whole studio bright as day. Vane stood, picked up a microphone, and his booming voice rang through the place.

"Welcome to the Season 10 grand championship final of Burning Kitchen!" The whole place burst into thunderous applause and cheers.

"Over these past months, we've witnessed laughter, tears, failure, and rebirth." Vane's voice was charged with feeling. On the giant screen behind him, a highlight reel of the season began to play. On the screen appeared Chris's blank, despairing face the day he was eliminated. Right after, the rush of him taking the white apron from Vane's hands when he came back with a perfect score.

Then the footage of him turning the tide in the restaurant-takeover battle, with his limit-pushing Pittsburgh steak and that stroke-of-genius liquid-nitrogen salmon. Last, it froze on the moment he held out that bowl of chicken and said, to the camera, loneliness is the best seasoning. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Chris watched himself on the screen and felt like he was watching another person's life. So—he'd already come this far.

Then the screen cut to Ethan. The high spirits when he won the Beef Wellington challenge; his toughness after peeling potatoes for eight straight hours in the hell penalty round; and in the semifinal, after he finally made that duck breast "with warmth," Vane saying to him, you've finally learned to let the ingredient speak. The two men's highlight moments flashed in alternation, pushing the mood in the room to its peak.

"Now, only two remain on the stage." Vane's voice rose again, and he pointed in turn at Chris and Ethan.

"Chris—a challenger who clawed his way back from hell, who told the most moving story with the most ordinary ingredients. Ethan—an elite with flawless technique, who, like a precision machine, has never let us down."

"Today, one of them will lift the Burning Kitchen championship trophy, take home a prize of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and a contract to work in my restaurant!"

"The rules are simple." Vane's gaze sharpened.

"Two hours. Right here, you'll make a three-course menu that represents the peak of your ability. No twists, no special rules. This will be the purest duel of the season."

"Now—back to your stations!" Chris and Ethan turned at the same moment and walked to their "lone islands."

"The final—begins now!" At Vane's command, the giant countdown clock began to move: 02: 00: 00. The clamor of the whole place vanished in an instant, leaving only the tick of the countdown. Chris drew a deep breath and forced himself to ignore everything around him. In his eyes there was nothing left but his own station and those familiar ingredients. His Potato Trilogy, his final battle, had officially begun. He didn't hesitate for an instant and immediately started his first movement—"Rebirth by Fire."

He picked up a potato, his motions flowing like water. Peel, then onto the professional mandoline. This time, he didn't use the system to scan the thickness; he went entirely by his own feel and muscle memory. Slice after slice—thin as cicada wings, even and translucent—slid out of the machine. In the stands, Jack saw this and couldn't help saying quietly to Sarah beside him, "This guy's knife work has gotten even better since I last saw it. Look at those slices—they're almost see-through."

Chris layered the cut slices into a baking dish, brushing each layer evenly with cream seasoned with herbs and minced garlic. His movements weren't fast, but every step was precise as if measured with a ruler. Then he slid the dish into the preheated oven. This time he didn't even glance at the thermometer on the oven. Over the past two days, he'd become one with this oven; he could feel every degree of change inside it. All he needed was his own instinct.

Vane stood before the judges' table, arms folded, watching Chris work in silence. When he saw Chris close the oven door without even looking at the thermometer, one eyebrow rose, almost imperceptibly. This kid was no longer the rookie who needed to lean on data and machines. Across the floor, Ethan, too, had hit his stride. His French rack of lamb—every step was textbook perfect.

First he carefully marinated the rack with rosemary, thyme, and minced garlic, then used a sous-vide machine to lock the core temperature of the lamb precisely at 130°F. His station was clean as an operating room, every tool laid out in perfect order. There was no excess expression on his face—focused, calm, like an artist about to finish a masterpiece. In the studio there was only the sound of knives meeting boards, flames burning, and ingredients sizzling in pans.

Two top-tier chefs, each on his own battlefield, sank into his own world, not disturbing the other, and yet, invisibly, waging the fiercest contest. Time slipped by, second by second.