Chapter 287: Golden Ladle Championship: Finale [3]

"...Now then, let us see who among you has the soul of a true chef, and who has been hiding behind their power all along." Faris spread his arms wide as he finished his explanation. "Let the final round begin!"

The applause echoed from the speakers, and fireworks burst to life above the arena, coloring the sky in flashes of gold and crimson.

Lucent immediately moved toward his station, his hands already reaching for the ingredients with an eagerness that felt out of place. Meanwhile, Soren, Damir, and Nuelia exchanged uneasy glances, still processing what just happened.

"Hey!"

’...Let’s play along.’ Soren sent them a telepathic message, and they both flinched and looked at him, surprised. ’I know you’re confused, but keep your expressions in check. Act natural, and don’t let them notice it.’

He added out loud with a smile. "Good luck."

Damir and Nuelia quickly realized it and schooled their expressions, turning back to face their stations after returning a nod. "Good luck to you too."

’For now, do your best and aim to win. Treat it as the real final round.’ Soren added. ’Leave the rest to the Emperors.’

’...Gulp.’ Both Nuelia and Damir swallowed, inwardly relieved to have someone protecting them.

"...Now, let’s focus on the task," Soren muttered to himself as he scanned the ingredients. Surprisingly, they were all ordinary ingredients. He even peeked at the other three stations and found the same setup. ’At least they aren’t playing dirty, or there’s nothing poisonous.’

Relieved, he started thinking about what to make. He had countless recipes, even for ordinary meals, in his mind; however, he decided to play fair and challenge himself. Because the fake Faris’s words ignited something inside him. He liked cooking, even before he became a magic chef, even when he was alone. While he wasn’t exactly amazing back then, he had still found comfort in the act itself.

’...It really brings back memories, huh.’ He chuckled to himself as ideas started appearing in his mind. ’...Wait, what if I make that?’

He froze, memories rushing back to a time when he had nothing but flour and eggs. He didn’t have enough money to buy meat or vegetables, so he had to do with what little he had. Although it didn’t turn out that well the first time, he improved it after a few tries.

’...I don’t know whether it will count as an original recipe, but I am definitely going with this. After all, it was the first meal I ever created on my own.’

He took a deep breath and quickly prepared the materials he needed.

’First, let’s prepare the dough...’

He poured water into a large bowl and then cracked two eggs into it, one after the other, before adding a generous pinch of salt. He then whisked the mixture vigorously until the yolks broke and completely blended with the water, turning the liquid a rich yellow.

He then reached for the flour, scooping it into a sifter held over the bowl. With rhythmic taps of his palm against the rim, a fine white cloud rained down, burying the yellow liquid beneath a growing mound.

’Now...’

He plunged his hands into the center. His fingers twisted and turned, drawing the dry powder into the wet core. Strands of sticky paste began to cling to his knuckles as the loose particles bound together, forming a shaggy mass that gradually cleared the sides of the bowl.

He tipped the heavy cluster out onto the floured wooden table. Leaning his weight forward, he pressed the heels of both palms deep into the center, pushed the mass away from him, folded it back over itself, and pressed again.

He kept up the rhythmic motion for ten full minutes. With every turn, the shaggy edges tucked away, and the resistance beneath his hands changed. The stickiness disappeared, replaced by a smooth surface that sprang back slightly when pressed. Finally, he shaped it into a golden ball, placed it back in the bowl, and draped a damp cloth over the top.

’First step is done.’ He muttered inwardly. ’The next step is preparing the filling...’

He took another large bowl and put it right in front of him, next to the remaining eggs.

One by one, he picked them up, cracked the shells against the rim with a sharp ’tap’, and let the slick whites and golden yolks slide into the bottom of the bowl. He kept a steady rhythm until a dozen yolks floated together in a glossy pool.

He then grabbed a heavy wire whisk and plunged it into the center, breaking the yolks. The metallic sloshing echoed as he whipped the eggs in circular motions, blending them until the mixture became a completely pale yellow liquid.

Next, he poured in a splash of milk and a slow stream of vegetable oil, watching the liquids create swirling white and clear ribbons before the whisk forced them to merge. He finished it with a generous pinch of salt and a few shakes of black pepper, giving it one last stir. The filling remained completely fluid, sloshing easily against the sides of the bowl.

’This should be enough.’

He stopped and closed the bowl with a lid.

’I should prepare the fire now to boil the water...’ He paused as he looked at what he had. ’They were really serious about the rules, huh.’

The only things available were a pile of firewood, a metal grate, and a simple iron pot.

’Well, thankfully, I learned how to cook over an open fire.’ He didn’t think it would come in handy at a time like this. ’Guess no knowledge is ever truly useless.’

Smiling, he started stacking the wood carefully, leaving space for air, and reached for the flint and steel beside the station. A few strikes were all it took. The sparks caught, and soon the flames began to climb, crackling softly as the wood caught fire. He adjusted the grate over the flames and set the pot of water on top, watching as the first bubbles began to form at the bottom.

’Nice!’

He grinned and immediately turned his attention back to the table.

’The dough should be ready by now.’