Author's Note:
Starting from this chapter, I'll be adding images at the end of each episode to illustrate the dishes or preparations mentioned in the story.
It's a way to help you better visualize Gon's culinary world! 🍽️
Feel free to share your thoughts or reactions in the comments!
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"Am I truly that hopeless when it comes to cooking?"
It was the day of the final exam for the BTS in Culinary Arts, held at Abidjan Cook University, nestled in the heart of Côte d'Ivoire's capital.
The atmosphere in the room was stifling. A mix of heat from lit gas stoves, the scent of half-prepared dishes, and the thick tension between candidates created a charged, electric mood.
Thirty candidates stood in the vast hall, each at their own workstation. In front of them, five judges sat behind a long table, watching intently.
The task seemed simple—at least on paper:
"Prepare a dish of your choice in one hour, using only the ingredients provided."
Amidst the flurry of activity, one young man stood out: Kô Gon. His striking mixed features—born of a Japanese father and an Ivorian mother—naturally drew attention.
One of the judges, hidden behind a mask and dark glasses, muttered sarcastically:
"I wonder how such a pathetic amateur managed to make it this far..."
The other four judges exchanged nervous glances. It wasn't the harshness of the comment that unsettled them... but the man who had made it. Because in this room, he wasn't just any judge.
One of them cleared his throat and spoke, clearly caught off guard.
"Ah... you're talking about young Kô, aren't you?"
The masked judge didn't reply. He merely turned his head slightly, his cold gaze settling on a young man standing frozen at his station, looking completely lost.
"Kô..." the hesitant judge continued, "I was one of his instructors. I'll be honest—when it comes to practical cooking, he's... well, mediocre. But theoretically, he's one of the best I've ever taught. And as you know, our program isn't just about training cooks. We shape managers, leaders—chefs capable of running an entire brigade or managing an establishment. And he fits that mold. That's why he's here."
"Then why did he choose the culinary track instead of the management one?" the masked judge asked calmly, never once taking his eyes off the young man.
The instructor swallowed hard.
Right... he has access to the full profiles. I forgot about that.
"I... I honestly have no idea," he admitted.
"Doesn't matter. Apart that Koné Julia , the rest of them are painfully unremarkable."
He paused, then added with a tone bordering on boredom:
"Was coming here even worth my time?"
For the first time, his previously indifferent gaze settled on the now-famous Julia. She was working at twice the pace of the others, her movements precise and confident. She still lacked a bit of refinement, true, but there was a rare energy about her. More impressively, her dish dominated the entire room—not aggressively, but with a subtle, fragrant presence that cut through the mélange of scents.
"Interesting..." he murmured.
Then his eyes returned to the young man of mixed heritage—Kô Gon.
He stood motionless, staring blankly at his apron, as if he'd already given up.
The masked judge slowly shook his head at the sight.
"What a fool..." he muttered coldly.
The other judges sighed in unison. One of them, frowning, remarked:
"Out of all the possible dishes… why on earth did he choose pastry?"
"And of all things—molten chocolate cake!" another chimed in. "Now he's paying the price for that idiotic decision."
"It's a complete failure."
As for the masked judge, his thoughts remained silent:
The technique he used for that fondant throughout the test… it was on the level of a middle-schooler just starting out. A miracle wouldn't have saved it—not even enough to vaguely resemble a proper fondant. But this…
He even failed the most basic element, the one thing that could have brought him an average score, even if the rest of the dish was mediocre at best.
"The molten center."
Why attempt something so delicate when you know you're terrible at it?
Is he just plain stupid?
And now he's standing there, frozen, doing nothing—with only ten minutes left on the clock...
I get it. For a novice, there's no coming back from that in such a short amount of time.
---
Meanwhile...
"No, no, no... I can't fail here... I just can't..."
"Why didn't it work? I followed the recipe exactly…!"
Gon stood there, stunned. His eyes were trembling, his hands too. Even his legs seemed to give out.
He looked as if he could collapse at any moment.
But no one was really paying attention to him.
Everyone was focused on their own station — after all, this moment marked the beginning of their professional careers, and failure simply wasn't an option.
Gon himself barely noticed the state he was in.
He was lost in thought, desperately trying to understand where it had gone wrong.
All the ingredients were at room temperature…
I melted the chocolate and butter together…
Whisked the eggs with the sugar until pale…
Folded in the melted chocolate…
Then added the sifted flour… poured the batter into greased and floured molds…
And even let it rest five minutes before baking.
"So why… why doesn't it look like the fondant in the video?" he muttered with a nervous laugh.
"It looks more like a failed muffin..."
His so-called fondant looked like a dry little cake.
The top had cracked open, hard and uneven — and when he cut into it... nothing.
No molten center.
Just dense, dry sponge.
He stared at the pathetic thing as if the truth might suddenly reveal itself.
Sigh.
Gon looked briefly up at the ceiling.
A nervous, almost deranged smile tugged at his lips. Thankfully, no one was watching him just then.
"I'm so bad at this I can't even tell where I screwed up," he whispered with a bitter chuckle.
A wave of hopelessness washed over him.
"Maybe cooking just wasn't meant for me…"
My parents warned me. But I was stubborn…
I come from what you could literally call a "cooking family."
My father is a world-renowned pastry chef.
My mother — a butcher. A true virtuoso of meat, respected as one of the best by her peers.
And my little sister… just last year, she became the youngest adult MasterChef in history. They call her the culinary genius of her generation.
All of them... celebrities.
And me…
I was nothing more than the family's black sheep.
I truly loved cooking.
Everything about that world fascinated me.
I was captivated by my father's precision, by the raw technique of my mother.
I wanted to be like them.
But unlike with my sister, they forbade me from ever touching a kitchen.
Why?
Because, according to them, I was utterly devoid of talent in that field.
They believed I'd tarnish the reputation of our "culinary family" if I ever seriously pursued it.
And from that moment on… I lost my way.
I became a rebel — a full-blown delinquent.
I did everything I could to express my anger. I caused chaos. I looked for trouble.
Which, of course, only made my parents' public image worse.
Then one day, my mother gave me one final chance:
"If you can earn a culinary degree in my homeland, Côte d'Ivoire, without ever revealing who you really are… then, and only then, I'll consider letting you into the culinary world."
And that's how — leaving Japan behind —
I came to study cooking in Côte d'Ivoire.
"This was my only shot…" Gon whispered, his voice trembling.
"But just like always, my food isn't even worthy of being called food."
He lowered his head.
And a single tear — just one — slowly traced its way down from his left eye.
"Even if I've never managed to make a single decent dish in my life… I still had fun. So that's enough. Let's stop here. Let it go."
I'll go into finance, he thought bitterly, just like Mom always wanted. Find a stable job. Live a normal life. And this whole story… will be over.
Gon placed his hand on his apron.
He hesitated.
I don't want to…
He knew that if he took it off now, it would be the end. For real.
The dream, the ambition, the effort — all of it, buried for good.
"Stop being so damn stubborn, you idiot…" he muttered through clenched teeth.
"You can see it with your own eyes — cooking isn't for you!"
He grabbed the edge of his apron, ready to rip it off...
But his hand froze.
One more time.
A memory surfaced.
A voice.
Clear. Direct. A little mocking, but honest.
"You're so stubborn."
...
...
...
Ah...
No...
No...
"I can't!"
What am I doing...?
"Stop… Don't give yourself false hope."
Why am I so damn stubborn?
"You're only going to hurt yourself even more…"
Am I losing my mind?
Gon was in a daze, torn between giving up and pushing forward.
He was talking to himself, answering back, scolding himself...
But from the outside, all anyone could see was a young man suddenly reaching for a pan.
Then some butter.
Then chocolate.
A strange smile — almost manic — curled across his lips.
And in a whisper, he said:
"Let's start over… from zero."
Only six minutes remained.
"Maybe I am an idiot… but giving up just isn't who I am."
And at that exact moment — as if answering his stubborn resolve — something appeared before him.
A translucent panel, suspended in mid-air.
And in his mind, a mechanical voice echoed:
---
[Level: Novice]
Quest: Don't Give Up – (Completed)
Reward: +50 points
Starter Bonus: +100 points
Unique Skill Unlocked: Chef's Inspiration I
Description: Suggests solutions to a culinary problem
Activation Cost: 100 points
Would you like to use it?