Ione Amberfang stood stiffly at Alister's side, her hands trembling as they pressed against the shallow cut from the broken bowl. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, ears pinned flat, her tails drooping lifelessly behind her.
A slave never raised her gaze. Not unless ordered.
Alister shoved her aside as he went to sit, and she stumbled, catching herself before falling. That was when she dared a glance.
The noble.
The one who had wagered for her. What did he want from her? Why would he claim her?
She couldn't understand it. He was weird. He even wanted to win her with a food duel. Clearly the Twins wouldn't lose. She once tasted their food, from the leftovers, and it was the best thing she had since so long. To beat that--let alone a noble?
Never. She didn't have hope in him winning, and even if he did win, what would change, it's just another owner, another noble who treated her like a slave and nothing more.
She frowned as she looked at him. His silver hair was tied back in a strange knot with a spoon, and he was rushing about the kitchen like… like a servant. No, like a cook.
A noble, cooking? The sight made no sense. But the way he moved, it was controlled and the look on his eyes...it seemed like he loved doing it.
Her eyes lingered too long. And then—he looked up, their eyes meeting.
Her stomach clenched, bracing for the glare, the unspoken command to lower her eyes and the common How dare a slave look upon me? look all gave her.
But instead, he smiled.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just… smiled.
Ione stiffened, unsure what to make of it. Nobles did not smile at slaves. She quickly looked down. Her eyes stayed down for the rest of the competition and before she knew it, the duel had ended, and it was time to taste the dishes.
* * * * *
The two dishes were displayed on the table as Minister Marcus leaned forward, sharp eyes tracing every detail of their texture and presentation. The Grace twins had finished first, so their dish would be judged before Ji Hoon's.
Malak and Isaac Grace, towering at nearly seven feet with broad shoulders and identical, confident faces, stepped up with poise. Their massive frames exuded strength, but their movements carried the precision of seasoned professionals.
Marcus's voice rang across the silent hall.
"What do you have for us today?"
Malak stepped forward, lifting the dish with both hands.
"A custard tart, my Lord. A recipe my brother and I have refined over years—our pride, perfected with care."
The tart gleamed under the lantern light. Marcus drew a knife and cut a neat slice. The blade met resistance, then slid cleanly through. The crust cracked with a soft snap, revealing custard within that quivered faintly as it settled back into place. Steam still curled faintly from the surface—the tart was warm, fresh from the oven.
Marcus noted the golden crust along the edges, though here and there the surface bore faint scorch marks.
Hardly surprising. Even trained professionals often struggled with heat control. Since modern ovens were fueled by Ignis stones, they normally were able to help with contol in stoves, but when it came to ovens...it was completely different.
The need for thorough bake made it that typically they use a dual-stone design—heat from both top and bottom—which made a heat control harder and demanded steady intuition and years of judgment.
The twins had managed a set custard, glossy and smooth despite the challenge. It was an impressive feat under pressure, a testament to why they had placed eighth and ninth in last year's ICC. Marcus's expression softened. He had high hopes for them in the upcoming tournament.
As the slice settled onto the plate, the custard's sweet aroma drifted out, filling the air with a buttery fragrance laced with honey and a whisper of spice. Customers seated near the judge's table leaned forward unconsciously, noses twitching, hunger tugging at them.
But only four were granted the privilege to taste: Marcus, Alister, Ji Hoon and Lior.
They lifted forks in unison. The first bite broke through a shell that crunched a little hardly with tough texture, but good enough with a bit of force, before giving way to velvety custard. Warm, sweet cream spread across the tongue, balanced with just enough spice to linger.
Alister was quick to speak, puffing with satisfaction.
"Well, I think it's clear who the winner is. Why bother tasting the other dish? Do we even know what that amateur noble put in his?"
Ji Hoon ignored him, quietly chewing, cataloguing every element of the tart—the crust's texture, the balance of flavor, their baking skills. His gaze was analytical, his silence sharper than Alister's laughter. Lior tasted beside him too, with unreadable expression.
Marcus cut across the room with authority.
"Both dishes will be judged. Only then will the winner be decided. That is final."
His tone brooked no argument. Even Alister, lips curling into a scoff, dared not protest further. Not against a Minister of the Empire.
Still, in Marcus's heart, doubt flickered. He recalled how Ji Hoon had returned the tart shell to the oven twice—reckless, foolish, even dangerous. Even the Grace twins, seasoned competitors, wasn't able to perfectly control the heat.
What could an untrained noble produce with such methods? Surely, at best, a burnt shell. At worst, disaster.
And so, the attention shifted. Ji Hoon stepped forward with steady steps, carrying his tray. Lior stood behind him proud of what they had made. Though he first had doubts when he told him how they will make it, he flinched at the end result. He was sure the other would too.
A simple white bowl covered the dish. He set it before Marcus, then lifted the cover away with a confident motion.
"A lemon tart," Ji Hoon announced, his voice calm but clear, "topped with sugared berries and meringue."
Marcus looked at the plate before him, the sliced piece of lemon tart. The same was given to Lior, the Twins and Alister—who refused to touch it.
"Lemon tart you say, huh..." Marcus instantly noticed it, the perfectly golden tart shell. Not a single burn. Not one! He staired at Ji Hoon intently, who just smiled and motioned to the dish.
'How...? How was he able to get the tart shell to be perfectly balanced, this much of heat control, is he really unexperienced...?!'
He wasn't the only one who noticed, as the Twins and Lior just were as impressed. Alister who didn't care to watch started getting fussy to get 'his money'.
"Come on, Minister, just taste it already. We know who'll win—just tell him, how badly it tastes."
Alister smirked, as Marcus, his mouth watering just from the aroma and the perfect crust laid before him, he lifted the tart, almost reverently, and take a delicate bite.
~Crunch-Crunch~
Instantly, his eyes widened, pupils dilating as if struck by sunlight. The crust crumbled just so—fragile, buttery, whispering under his teeth—then dissolved, leaving the curd to unfurl.
The Twins and Lior picked theirs too, and all took a bite in unison.
Bright, electric lemon bursts across their tongues, sharp yet refined, tempered by a sweetness so balanced it felt like it was whispering into their very existence. A subtle warmth lingered, a gentle hug from the pastry beneath, while the zest teased at the edges, sparkling like tiny sunbeams.
All four of them didn't dare speak a word, leaving the crowd to murmur and gossip among themselves about how bad it must have been.
"See, even Minister Marcus, the nicest guy in the culinary world, can't bring a single compliment."
"It was clear from the beginning after all."
"I mean, how could a noble cook even beat pros like the Grace Twins?"
"It was our fault for expecting."
Ione, who stood beside Alister, wanted to take a taste from the tart laid for him. The shining crust of the tart and the yellow custard was begging her to gulp it right there. Meanwhile, Alister was getting more frustrated, since they hadn't announced the result yet.
"Come on! Say it out loud. We all know it's atrocious," he smirked.
Marcus paused, frozen mid-bite, a soft exhale escaping. "It… it's perfect," he murmured, voice barely audible, almost afraid to disturb the delicate harmony still lingering on his palate.
"What?" Alister couldn't hear, so he asked again.
"Cassian Ahn has won." This time he announced it loud enough for everyone to hear. Gasps echoed through the crowd, people not believing what had just happened.
"What just happened? Did that noble really beat the Grace Twins?!"
"No way~ Minister must be joking."
Alister got furious. How could that amateur noble win against his professional Grace cooks? He got up from his seat, still angry.
"What the hell do you mean he won?! Are you making a joke, Minister?" Marcus didn't answer him, so he turned to the Twins, hoping they would retaliate and ask the Minister to stop joking. But they too said nothing.
Finally, the oldest, Malak, looked straight at Ji Hoon. "The tart shell… how did you perfect it?" he asked, dissatisfaction on his face.
Marcus added enthusiastically, "Exactly! The Twins' tart was good too, but your shell was perfect. There wasn't any sogginess in it, and even the color and temperature control! How did you not burn it, especially considering you baked it twice?
That wasn't all! The lemon curd glides across the tongue with a perfect equilibrium of sweet and acid, leaving a lingering brightness that cleanses the senses. Even the topping wasn't there for detail, it complemented the tart.
Another thing I loved about it, is your time management and the fact you used the last minutes to chill it, allowing the custard to settle and bring it's flavors out. Every component speaks of technique, finesse, and restraint—a tart worthy of the Imperial kitchen!"
Ji Hoon simply smiled, as Lior patted him from behind.
"Nice work."
"Thank you, I had fun working with you." Lior smiled back at him, giving him a handshake.
Hearing the controlled and refined Minister praising the dish happily, the crowd started gasping and chattering among themselves more. This made Alister even angrier.
"Clearly, this must be a joke, everyone! You don't believe he actually beat two professionals, do you?"
Marcus looked at him and then spoke, his tone serious: "Taste it."
"W-what?"
"Try it and judge for yourself."
'They must be crazy! Fine, I'll humor you.' He picked the tart and tried it for himself. Ready to insult it even if it had a slight edibility, but it was… good? He took another bite since he couldn't believe it. But it was the same! It was actually truly good.
His brows started to frown, clearly displeased and trying to find imperfections. At least one fault was enough goodness! Where did his sharp tongue go?
Minister Marcus saw the look on his face and then asked, "Do you object?" The proud and arrogant Alister could find imperfections in even the Emperor. But this time he didn't dare speak up.
Minister Marcus picked up his official seal and spoke louder for all to hear:
"The winner of this duel is Cassian Ahn!"